The World of Emperor Charles V
Proceedings of the Colloquium, Amsterdam, 4-6 October 2000
Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen Verhandelingen, Afd. Letterkunde, Nieuwe Reeks, deel 188
The World of Emperor Charles V
Edited by Wim Blockmans and Nicolette Mout
Amsterdam, 2004
© 2004 Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. P.O. Box 19121, 1000 GC Amsterdam, the Netherlands T +3120 551 07 00 F +31 20 620 49 41 E
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Cover: Francesci Mazzola, called Parmigianino (1503-1540), Allegory on Emperor Charles V, around 1530. Oil on linen, 172 ≈ 119 cm. Private Collection.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
VII
Wim Blockmans and Nicolette Mout The Harvest of a Celebration: What more do we need to know about Charles V after the year 2000? 1
Part I The Centre of the Empire Mia J. Rodríguez-Salgado Obeying the Ten Commandments: the First War between Charles V and Francis I, 1520-1529 15 James D. Tracy War Finance and Fiscal Devolution in Charles V’s Realms
69
Peter Marzahl Communication and Control in the Political System of Emperor Charles V. The First Regency of Empress Isabella 83 José Martínez Millán Corrientes Espirituales y Facciones Políticas en el Servicio del Emperador Carlos V 97
Part II Integration of the Regions Giovanni Muto A Court without a King. Naples as Capital City in the First Half of the 16th Century 129
V
Giorgio Chittolini Notes sur la politique fiscale de Charles Quint dans le duché de Milan: le ‘nuovo catasto’ et les rapports entre ville et campagne 143 Arturo Pacini Genoa and Charles V 161 Erik Aerts Économie, monnaie et société dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux de Charles Quint 201 Aline Goosens Mourir pour sa foi au temps des réformes dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux 227 Péter Sahin-Tóth A Difficult Apprenticeship. The Integration of Hungary into the Habsburg Monarchy in the 16th Century 247
Part III Constructing the Imperial Image Ulrike Becker Das Bildnis des Kaisers. Zur Entstehung des ganzfigurigen Herrscherportraits 267 Uta Barbara Ullrich Karl V. und der Triumph von Bologna: San Petronio als Erinnerungsstätte der Kaiserkrönung von 1530 – ein gescheitertes Projekt 293 Martina Fuchs Die vielen Gesichter eines Kaisers. Zur Rezeption Karls V. in deutscher Epik und Dramatik 311 Alfredo Alvar Spanish Empire Commemorations The Authors
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Index of Names
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353
337
Acknowledgements
4-6 October 2000 an international group of specialists met in the Trippenhuis, the main building of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, in order to present and discuss recent research on the empire ruled by Charles V from 1515 to 1556. His empire was the longest lasting and largest political union on the European continent since the Roman Empire. During the year 2000, all kinds of commemorations had taken place in various European countries on the occasion of the Emperor’s 500th birthday. The organizers of the Amsterdam colloquium wanted to contribute to the integration of the new data and insights concerning the various parts of the empire. The results are presented here in four different languages, a typical concomitant of the study of Charles’s multilingual empire. The organizers wish to express their thanks to the participants of the colloquium. They are especially grateful to the contributors to this volume for their great efforts in making their insights and publications in the various national languages available to a wider audience. The Royal Netherlands Academy for Arts and Sciences has to be thanked for its support and for the friendly and efficient help provided by its staff for the organization of the colloquium itself as well as for the publication of this volume. During the editing process invaluable aid was given by staff members of the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study in Wassenaar, especially by Mrs. Petry Kievit-Thyson and Mrs. Ann Simpson who corrected the English texts authored by non-natives, and by Mrs. Lise Grünfeld who devoted much time and energy to the standardization of the manuscripts. The labours required to produce an international volume represent the difficulties to unify Europe, in the 16th century as well as in our own time. To our dismay, during the final stage of the printing of this volume, we received the sad news of the sudden death of Péter Sahin-Tóth. We would like to express our gratitude for the fine contribution he made to the colloquium as well as to this book. Wim Blockmans and Nicolette Mout
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Wim Blockmans and Nicolette Mout
The Harvest of a Celebration: What more do we need to know about Charles V after the year 2000?
The historiography on Charles V seems to be propelled by the commemorations of his birth, demise and death. The years 1955-1960 saw the emergence of a vast number of exhibition catalogues, monographs and conference volumes, after which few people had the courage to publish an extensive biography. Even the most up-to-date biography of that period, Manuel Fernández Álvarez’ Un hombre para Europa, which was soon translated into English and German,1 would be labelled today as a ‘short biography’. After his very sizeable latest book,2 the author would certainly agree to that qualification, although in private conversation he added that ‘his view had remained unchanged’. The great exhibitions organised in Ghent in 1955 and in Vienna and Toledo in 1958, as well as the conferences held in 1957 and 1958 in Brussels, Paris and Cologne, were truly international acknowledgements of Charles’s historical importance. In the heyday of economic growth after the Second World War historians had discovered a new and attractive dimension in the pursuit of study of an empire, an economic system and a cultural world which transcended purely national contexts.3 In 2000, a new wave of exhibitions, catalogues, biographies and conferences affected a number of countries, especially Spain4 and Belgium – in fact only Flanders – and to a much lesser extent Austria, Germany and at a later date also Italy. Various popular biographies appeared together with the more serious works by Alfred Kohler and Manuel Fernández Álvarez. Their books are based on decades of research in particular types of sources, respectively the Acts of the Imperial Diet (Reichstagsakten),5 1
First published as Charles V, Elected Emperor and Hereditary Ruler (London 1975), later published in Spanish (Madrid 1976) and in German as Imperator Mundi (Stuttgart-Zürich 1977). Apart from Henri Lapeyre’s very concise synthesis in the Collection ‘Que sais-je?’ (Paris 1973 and Barcelona 1972), the most voluminous biography worth mentioning is by Charles Terlinden (Brussels 1965), a book reflecting a political point of view which was rather traditional even at that time. 2 Carlos V. El César y el Hombre (Madrid 1999) 887 pages. 3 Overviews of the historiography in Fernández Álvarez, Carlos V, 27-34 and in Alfred Kohler, Karl V. Eine Biographie (Munich 1999) 18-22. Kohler’s book was also published in Spanish (Madrid 2000); José Martínez Millán, ‘Historiografía sobre Carlos V’, in Idem, ed., La Corte de Carlos V, vol. I (Madrid 2000) 17-41. 4 See the contribution by Alfredo Alvar in this volume. 5 Heinrich Lutz – Alfred Kohler, eds., Aus der Arbeit an den Reichstagen unter Kaiser Karl V. (Göttingen 1986).
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and the Habsburg correspondence, to the publication of which both authors contributed considerably.6 Furthermore, two richly illustrated volumes containing contributions by authors of different nationalities were published in Spain and in Belgium; the latter in five languages.7 Of the five biographies that appeared some were new editions of older works, three of which concentrated on Spain, paying much less attention to other realms belonging to Charles’s empire.8 The question arises in what way the approach to the Emperor’s person and his epoch has changed during the long interval between the commemorations in the fifties and those around the year 2000. In what respect has the progressive availability of source materials expanded our knowledge? Did the formulation of new research problems lead to considerable shifts in our views? An ample variety of new and detailed information has been the result of several major conferences and specialized volumes. It will take some time before their findings will be fully integrated into a coherent and fresh view of the subject. So far, however, these efforts have not led up to a truly innovative approach to understanding this exceptional epoch in European history – a period in which an extraordinary conglomerate of realms was ruled by a single prince during four decades.9 The most comprehensive research project based on sources was undoubtedly the one directed by José Martínez Millán. It focused on the structure of the various courts of the emperor and his family, taking into account courtiers and servants of every rank. The entire system of the central government was described and analysed at the level of its structural changes as well as at the level of the careers of the councillors and courtiers. The careers of all the councillors were thoroughly examined, and those of about four thousand courtiers serving at the courts of the different members of the dynasty were succinctly described. This prosopography will prove to be an invaluable instrument for further research, allowing new insights to develop concerning the functioning of the various councils and courts. Structures and processes such as the changing composition of these bodies in which allegiances to a particular clan or 6
Manuel Fernández Álvarez, ed., Corpus documental de Carlos V, 5 vols. (Salamanca 1971-81). CAROLUS IMPERATOR (Madrid 2000); Hugo Soly, ed., Charles V 1500-1558 and his time (Antwerp 1999), with contributions by Wim Blockmans, Peter Burke, Fernando Checa Cremades, Geoffrey Parker, Mia J. Rodríguez-Salgado, Heinz Schilling, Henri Vanhulst, Immanuel Wallerstein. 8 Joseph Pérez, Carlos V (Madrid 1999); John Lynch, Carlos V y su tiempo (Barcelona 2000); Pierre Chaunu – Michèle Escamilla, Charles Quint (Paris 1999); Wim Blockmans, Keizer Karel V. De utopie van het keizerschap (Amsterdam-Louvain 2000), also published in Spanish (Madrid 2000) and in English as Emperor Charles V 1500-1558 (London 2002); William S. Maltby, The Reign of Charles V (Basingstoke-New York 2002). 9 José Martínez Millán – Ignacio J. Esquerra Revilla, eds., Carlos V y la quiebra del humanismo político en Europa (1530-1558), 4 vols. (Madrid 2001); Juan Luis Castellano Castellano – Francisco Sánchez-Montes Gonzáles, eds., Carlos V. Europeísmo y Universalidad. Religión, cultura y mentalidad, 5 vols. (Madrid 2001); Bernardo J. García García, ed., El Imperio de Carlos V (Madrid 2000); Alfred Kohler, ed., Karl V – Carlos V (Vienna-Madrid 2001); Jan Denolf – Barbara Simons, eds., (Re)constructing the Past. Proceedings of the Colloquium on History and Legitimisation (Brussels 2000); a special issue of Handelingen van de Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde te Gent, LIV (Ghent 2000) deals mainly with the conflict between the town and the Emperor in 1537-1540 and with the architecture of the count’s residences in Flanders. 7
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nation played a part can now be analysed with great precision.10 Hopefully, this type of research will continue, analysing the courts of the various viceroys and governors general, in order to assess the functioning of personal bonds hidden behind political developments. Compared to the situation around the commemorative year 1958 historians now dispose of a greater number of wide-ranging source publications including prosopographical information about power elites. The Emperor’s entire correspondence was made accessible through the use of an electronic database.11 Moreover, a huge number of monographs were published concerning particular aspects in a specific region or period, all contributing to a better understanding of a variety of details or even major aspects of the reign. When organising the colloquium ‘The World of Emperor Charles V’ our key word was ‘integration’: how to integrate the recent results of international research, the impressive bulk of newly available publications and source materials, into an allencompassing view of the Emperor and his reign? We were considering two levels of integration: 1. integration of the various research themes pursued by scholars in diverse countries; 2. interregional integration of data. Have results obtained by research focusing on particular territories any impact on research concerned with different regions? Is it possible and feasible to rephrase our questions while digesting the research achievements of scholars who concentrated on another territory? How should the most recent insights and data which were acquired at a regional or even local level be incorporated into general overviews and into approaches to the history of those regions of the realm which were deeply influenced by external developments? An international group of scholars met 4-6 October, 2000 in Amsterdam under the aegis of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences in order to present and discuss results of recent or comparatively recent research and thus contribute to the ideal of integration which the organizers had in mind. Alfred Kohler noted that, so far, two main historiographical approaches have prevailed: one centred on the Mediterranean and dominated by Spanish, French and Anglo-Saxon scholars; the other focusing on Central Europe, especially the Holy Roman Empire. His aim was to bridge the gap. One might raise the question whether he and Fernández Álvarez paid enough attention to a few other regions, for instance Italy and the Low Countries. For these two territories, most of the ongoing research takes place at a regional level, although several studies have been published about the central administration of the Low Countries. In this volume, Erik Aerts presents a comprehensive view of financial and economic developments in the Southern Netherlands during Charles’s reign. The language problem regarding these and other countries often remains an obstacle for many scholars, as sources and specialized publications tend to be in native languages. Therefore, one of the aims of 10 11
José Martínez Millán, ed., La Corte de Carlos V, 5 vols. (Madrid 2000). Horst Rabe, ed., Karl V. Politische Korrespondenz. Brieflisten und Register (Konstanz 1999).
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our colloquium was to help overcome those barriers and contribute to a general accessibility of new research findings. James D. Tracy’s recent book Emperor Charles V, Impresario of War offers an admirable demonstration of the added value attained by studying the Kingdom of Naples and the Low Countries: he greatly contributes to an accurate understanding of the functioning of the empire as a whole.12 On the question of thematic integration, Kohler observed a low level of knowledge concerning finances and the links between economic and political systems.13 Although some published material on this issue does exist for Italy and the Low Countries,14 there is indeed a great need to have these data expressed in comparable value units, and to incorporate them into a comprehensive study of the imperial finances. Fortunately, Tracy has taken on this task, whilst Spanish as well as Italian scholars have collected more relevant material.15 Tracy has shown how Charles’s almost continuous warfare brought about massive movements of tens of thousands of mercenaries from Spain, Naples, Lombardy and Southern Germany to various battlegrounds. He studied the constant worries regarding the provision of their payment in good time and at the place of action. The ever increasing amounts of money could only be supplied by the largest bankers in Augsburg, Genoa and Antwerp, who had their reliable agents in all major European centres and could make the required capital available. Under the government’s increasing pressure to pile loans on loans, they became increasingly cautious and exacting.16 In the sphere of public finance, the political system became closely interwoven with the international economy. From the election of 1519 onwards, the imperial policy would have been inconceivable without the willingness and the increasing possibilities of the banking-houses to lend and to transfer large sums of money. The profits made by the big firms during these operations must have been considerable as they charged about 13% as exchange and transfer fees and interest rates of around 20 to 25 %, accounting for their real risks. Increasingly, however, they had the return on their loans funded on future tax income 12 Emperor Charles V, Impresario of War. Campaign Strategy, International Finance, and Domestic Politics (Cambridge 2002). 13 Kohler, Karl V., 19-22. 14 Recent overviews: Giuseppe Felloni, ‘Economie, finances et monnaie dans les possessions italiennes de Charles Quint’, in: L’escarcelle de Charles Quint. Monnaies et finances au XVIe siècle (Brussels 2000) 235-263; see also Giorgio Chittolini’s contribution to this volume; James D. Tracy, Holland under Habsburg Rule, 1506-1566 (Berkeley 1990) 74-89, 115-146; Idem, ‘The taxation system of the county of Holland during the reigns of Charles V and Philip II’, in: Economisch- en Sociaal-Historisch Jaarboek 48 (1985) 71-117; Wim Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’, in Soly, ed., Charles V, 247252; Idem, ‘The Low Countries in the Middle Ages’, in Richard Bonney, ed., The Rise of the Fiscal State, ca. 1200-1815 (Oxford 1999) 281-308. 15 James D. Tracy, ‘Charles V, his Bankers, and their Demands’, in Denolf – Simons, (Re)constructing the Past, 119-143; in his contribution to this volume, the author refers to his recently published book Emperor Charles V, Impresario of War; Carlos Javier de Carlos Morales, Carlos V y el crédito de Castilla. El tresorero general Francisco de Vargas y la Hacienda Real entre 1516 y 1524 (Madrid 2000); various contributions in Martínez Millán – Esquerra Revila, Carlos V y la quiebra del humanismo político, vol. IV, 363-473; Bernardo Hernández, Fiscalidad de Reinos e Deuda Pública en la Monarquía Hispánica del siglo XVI (Córdoba 2002). 16 Tracy, Impresario of War, 244-247.
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in various realms, mostly in Castile. In order to buttress their loan guarantees they dealt directly with the responsible agents of representative bodies rather than with government officials – a policy which has been called fiscal devolution.17 The decades of imperial warfare thus strongly contributed to the integration of the European financial market, as it mobilised the unskilled rural labour force for the army, raising the monthly wages of Landsknechte by 55 % between 1529 and 1553. This easily exceeded not only the rate of inflation but also the rise of other wages.18 It is hoped that Tracy’s work will incite others to study the international transfer of tax money systematically and calculate the costs of this internationalisation of public finance for the various realms and their subjects. For the study of Charles’s imperial policy it is essential to acquire an overall understanding of his financial possibilities and their limits. The question which is often raised in Spain, about the ‘cost of empire’ allegedly burdening its subjects in an inordinately heavy way, can only be answered if the scattered bits and pieces of information hailing from regional sources are brought together. Tracy took a big step forward in comparing, in his contribution to this volume and more extensively in his book, the well-documented and representative cases of Castile, the Kingdom of Naples, and the Low Countries’ core provinces Flanders, Holland and, to a lesser degree, Brabant. Between 1529-1533 and 1549-1553, the nominal value of subsidies (corrected for inflation) increased by 73,5 % in Naples, 49% in Castile, and 42 % in Flanders and Holland. Much importance should be attached, however, to the initial level of taxation, which was much higher in the Low Countries than in Naples. The relative figures of increase have therefore to be complemented by absolute and per capita data. Expressed in Spanish ducats, the subsidies levied in the 35 years from 1519 to 1553 in the two provinces of Flanders and Holland yielded about 10.5 million; those in Castile 9.3 million, and in Naples 5.7 million. Per head of population this means respectively 10.2, 1.6 and 2.7 Spanish ducats. Taking into account that Flanders and Holland contributed only 47 % of all subsidies granted in the Low Countries, the contrast between the three realms becomes even more striking.19 Representative assemblies strongly objected to the export of income belonging to their domestic treasuries, but in this respect the estates in the Low Countries proved to be far more effective than the Naples Parlamento and the Castilian Cortes. Most of the Castilian financial exports, however, stemmed from sources outside the representative bodies’ authority: transfers originating from Portugal and France, tributes from 17
Ibidem, 129-130, 178, 308-311. Ibidem, 248. 19 Ibidem, 249-253. The total population figure of 1,250,000 for Flanders and Holland given by Tracy (252) is evidently far too high; a more feasible figure is 1,030,000, calculated on the basis of 750,000 inhabitants of Flanders and 280,000 in Holland; see A.M. van der Woude, ‘Demografische ontwikkeling van de Noordelijke Nederlanden 1500-1800’, in Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden vol. V (Haarlem 1980) 131; H. Soly, ‘La dominance du capitalisme commercial’, in E. Witte, ed., Histoire de Flandre (Brussels 1983) 108. 18
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the Indies, and church revenues granted by the pope. The income from Charles’s domain in the Low Countries produced 20 to 25% of the total income from this realm in the peace years 1534 and 1551, but in the years of war steep rises of the budget combined with alienation and mortgaging of property reduced this share to a mere 5% in 1545, when the costs of earlier wars were still strongly felt.20 The Low Countries repeatedly suffered invasions and were, moreover, very vulnerable to disruptions of the economically important maritime trade and fishery; fleets had to be accompanied by armed convoys. The central government was especially eager to protect the maritime link between the Northern and Iberic parts of the empire against attacks by French galleys.21 These lands did contribute heavily, in their own way, to ‘the cost of empire’. The way in which this happened was probably closer to the methods used in Milan than in Castile. Be that as it may, the financial contributions to warfare together with the enrolment of mercenaries from various realms did lead to a certain effective integration within the empire. Once we are able to calculate ‘the cost of empire’, it will also be possible to raise a counterfactual question: would the subjects of the empire have saved a lot of money compared to the costs of rule generated by a greater number of smaller, but competitive, dynastic states? Or: did the Habsburg empire offer better protection against foreign aggression from France, the Ottoman empire or even England, than isolated rule of every single realm? The long-standing rivalry between the Emperor and the King of France, for instance, expressed itself unavoidably, so it seems, in warfare. In her contribution to this volume, M.J. Rodríguez-Salgado shows how Charles’s notions of dynastic and personal honour and glory clashed with ideals of Christian morality and the ruler’s supreme duty to maintain peace. If anything, Charles’s personal union of realms facilitated and stimulated financial and commercial contacts between all its constituent parts, in war as in peace. This must have contributed to long-term growth, even if most of the money gained in such a way was bound to evaporate in transaction costs and negative production. Moreover, it can be assumed that conflicts would be more easily avoided in an empire which was held together by some form of political unity, although this did not bring domestic pacification per se, and indeed brought about internal war in Germany. However, Habsburg power did resist all invasions of Naples, Milan, Navarre and the Low Countries and thus offered a certain degree of protection, albeit at a very high price. This also may have contributed to the economic growth manifesting itself so clearly in the various parts of Charles’s empire. If the relations between the empire and its economic and financial preconditions and developments appear as one of the main fields in which innovative research has
20 Tracy, Impresario of War, 102; the author ignores, however, the domain revenues and funding in the Low Countries, see Blockmans, Emperor Charles, 158. 21 Louis Sicking, Neptune and The Netherlands. State, Economy, and War at Sea in the Renaissance (Leiden-Baltimore 2004) ch. 3, 4, 5.
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taken place, the structure of Charles’s political system can be identified as a second domain in which considerable progress has been made. How to organise communications was certainly one of the most pressing problems at the time, and for current research it is one of the most intriguing issues. Information about the functioning of the administrative apparatus was an imperative concern, and closely related to the need to keep many messages secret and undecipherable to political opponents. Horst Rabe and his team have done the excellent job of collecting about 120,000 letters (in photocopy) exchanged between Charles and his many correspondents. This collection, which is kept in Konstanz University Library, is made accessible by electronic means. This electronic access will, in turn, facilitate future systematic examination of the correspondence which will certainly yield considerably more detailed information about the way the empire was governed. It will, for instance, disclose how the imperial system functioned at its highest level: that of the Emperor and the King of the Romans themselves, the viceroys, regents, governors general and military commanders. Peter Marzahl’s contribution to this volume illustrates the importance of the collection and the possibilities it offers to researchers by taking the Empress Isabella’s first regency as an example. Paleographic examination will disclose more about the role and possible political influence of ministers, diplomats, and secretaries, following the example of a detailed study of Mary of Hungary’s administration of the Low Countries.22 More prosopographical studies about councillors, diplomats, and secretaries are needed in order to understand fully the expansion of bureaucratic government, without which the complicated empire might never have been able to withstand the heavy pressures to which it was subjected.23 Martínez Millán’s multi-volume prosopographical analysis of the court, which in his view was the most prominent central institution of the empire, is a milestone. He approaches the court as an amalgam of the various councils and the individual servants. The essence of court life appears to have been the interaction between the most influential personalities holding functions in various institutions simultaneously. A formal, one-by-one study of such institutions could never reveal how power was exercised in reality. The study of relations between the administrative centres and the peripheries, in terms of levying taxes, information, legislative regulation and mobility of state servants seems to be the logical next step on the research agenda. In fact, it appears as if research is moving
22
Laetitia V.G. Gorter-van Royen, Maria van Hongarije, regentes der Nederlanden (Hilversum 1995). For the diplomats see the huge prosopography by Miguel Ángel Ochoa Brun, Historia de la diplomacía española, 6 vols. (Madrid 1990-99); for the Spanish royal council, see Fritz Walser – Rainer Wohlfeil, Die spanischen Zentralbehörden und der Staatsrat Karls V. (Göttingen 1959); Pedro Gan Giménez, El consejo real de Carlos V (Granada 1988); José Martínez Millán, ed., Instituciones y Elites de Poder en la Monarquía Hispaña durante el siglo XVI (Madrid 1992); for the central councils of the Low Countries see Michel Baelde, De collaterale raden onder Karel V en Filips II (1530-1578) (Brussels 1965); for a provincial council see P.P.L. van Peteghem, De Raad van Vlaanderen en staatsvorming onder Karel V (1515-1555) (Nijmegen 1990); for the lower bureaucracy see Jean Houssiau, Les secrétaires du Conseil Privé sous Charles Quint et Philippe II (c.1531-c.1567) (Brussels 1998). 23
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away from biography and histoire événementielle to an approach focusing on collective and institutional issues in which the political system itself is becoming the key concept.24 And indeed, it may be argued that the real issue is the question why this patchwork empire, ruled by this particular Emperor, somehow remained intact for nearly forty years under far from ideal circumstances. For instance, part of our colloquium was devoted to Spanish rule in Italy, where the rulers had to come to terms with many problems: political, financial and economic. In his contribution about Genoa and Charles V, Arturo Pacini defends the view that the imperial system structurally involved Italian political elites. As Giovanni Muto argues in his contribution to this volume, the absence of the King was at times certainly deplored in Naples, but at other times it was welcomed, because viceregal power was integrated with the interests of the local political elites – which made for a political system which was not only functional but even favourable to both city and kingdom. In Milan the administrative and fiscal innovations introduced by the Spanish had a profound effect on the duchy as a whole, although, as Giorgio Chittolini reminds us in his article in this volume, they were, from the imperial point of view, slow in yielding the desired results. Studying relations between the core lands of Charles’s Empire and the peripheries, Hungary is often regarded as a terra incognita. The country was, however, a very important part of the imperial political and military system because of the struggle against expansionist Ottoman power. Although, as Péter Sahin-Tóth shows in his contribution to this volume, there was a certain mental and real distance between the Hungarian high nobility and the Habsburg court, the Emperor and his brother King Ferdinand realised the importance of an integrated anti-Ottoman policy involving Habsburg presence in Hungary – a presence which may or may not have been benevolent to that country as a whole. The third major field which saw innovative research is that of relations between rulers, printers-publishers and artists. This theme is now tackled from the viewpoint of communication between ruler and subject concentrating on the way a given image of the ruler was disseminated and a broader public informed about his glorious deeds. In Renaissance Italy, political propaganda had increasingly become bound up with patronage of the arts and was making ample use of the new printing techniques enabling mass distribution of publications. Charles’s grandfather Emperor Maximilian I had introduced these communication techniques in the Empire. Owing to the large exhibitions and concerts which were programmed for the commemorations around 2000 in various countries, this theme has been studied in depth, not only at the level of individual patronage but also taking into account the use of new subjects and the emergence of new forms in great works of art as well as in ephemeral art forms used for public ceremonies such as joyeuses entrées.25 The mobility of artists and 24
Horst Rabe, ed., Karl V. Politik und politisches System (Konstanz 1996). See the revised and lavishly illustrated book by Fernando Checa Cremades, Carlos V. La imagen del poder en el renacimiento (Madrid 1999) and the catalogue Carlos V. Las armas y las letras (MadridGranada 2000). 25
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the dissemination of new subjects and forms seems to be reasonably well documented as far as visual arts are concerned, thanks to the special attention given to the topic in 1958-60. In recent times, the study of the role of musicians and music itself in these respects is receiving a strong impulse.26 One of the new themes of study is political propaganda, with special focus on the series of images executed by court artists such as Jan Cornelisz. Vermeyen, Maarten van Heemskerck and Antoon van den Wijngaerde.27 So far their work has been studied mainly for the factual information it conveys, but exactly how they created a kind of legitimisation of imperial policy is a question yet to be answered. Here, Peter Burke has made the first important move.28 Barbara Ullrich’s contribution to this volume deals with another interesting case in point: the iconographic programme of the San Petronio cathedral in Bologna. The Emperor, moreover, employed about a dozen historiographers for similar tasks. Charles was not the kind of patron who collected beautiful or exotic and extravagant objects, as did his aunt Margaret, his sister Mary and his rival Francis as well as the majority of the Italian princes. However, a turning point was reached about 1547, when he began to commission Titian and the Leoni’s with very personal portraits and devotional works. By then he had reached the summit of his reputación but was increasingly suffering from poor health. In this volume, Ulrike Becker pays attention to the imperial image captured in the two well-known full-length portraits of Charles V with a dog, by Jakob Seisenegger and Titian respectively. Especially the Leoni sculptures seem to offer compensation for the rapid deterioration of Charles’s political situation and physical condition by glorifying him in the shape of a classical hero. Charles himself had paid little attention to his image building until his imperial coronation. He simply conformed to the tradition of his Burgundian dynasty which was mainly kept alive by his aunt Margaret. She had commissioned her court painter Bernard van Orley with the designs for a series of eight tapestries representing the battle of Pavia, which was possibly hung in 1530 in the palace at Brussels. It was she who sent from Brussels to Bologna, along with 2000 cavalerists, her engraver Robert Péril whose mission was to immortalize the glorious event of the imperial coronation.29 It had been Charles’s grand chancellor Mercurino di Gattinara who had advised his master to have his hair cut short and to grow a beard for this occasion in order to look more like a classical emperor, an image familiar to the Italian Renaissance. Exhibitions have been organised in Flanders and in Spain around specific themes pertaining to Charles. Three of them consisted solely of tapestries. The most important 26
Eugeen Schreurs, ed., De schatkamer van Alamire. Muziek en miniaturen uit keizer Karels tijd (15001535) (Louvain 1999); Herbert Kellmann, ed., The treasure of Petrus Alamire. Music and arts in Flemish court manuscripts 1500-1535 (Ghent-Amsterdam-Chicago 1999); Francis Maes, ed., De klanken van de keizer. Karel V en de polyfonie (Louvain 1999). 27 Montserrat Galera i Monegal, Antoon van den Wijngaerde, pintor de cuidades y de hechos de armas en la Europa del Quinientos (Madrid-Barcelona 1998). 28 ’Presenting and Re-presenting Charles V’, in Soly, ed., Charles V, 393-475. 29 Carolus. Keizer Karel V 1500-1558 (Catalogue Ghent 1999; also available in a French translation) nr. 144.
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of those was held in Mechelen showing the complete series of nine tapestries called Los Honores which were designed by Bernard van Orley and Jan Gossaert, again on the insistence of Margaret of Austria, in order to celebrate Charles’s coronation as King of the Romans in Aachen in 1520. The nine pieces measuring 5 to 10 metres each, represent the ruler’s virtues, a visual variation on the theme of the mirror-ofprinces. This series of tapestries, which is kept in Madrid, was restored for the occasion and was shown outside Spain for the first time since Charles regularly took them along on his various journeys.30 The Emperor developed a keen interest in the arts only in so far as they contributed to the glorification of his deeds. Still following Burgundian tradition he appointed historiographers, but he also took a new initiative. On his so-called crusade to Tunis in 1535 he was accompanied by the painter Jan Cornelisz. Vermeyen, whose task it was to make sketches of the events for a series of tapestries and engravings. These were realised only after 1548.31 Similarly, Maarten van Heemskerck made drawings of the Emperor’s victories which were used for engravings published in 1556 and 1558.32 This suggests that even when Charles paid attention to his personal reputation he did not really encourage artists to deliver their final products so that these could be shown to the world. We have to describe Charles’s attitude to the arts until around 1547 as purely instrumental for political propaganda and self-glorification, but nevertheless he was evidently not making the best use of his investments. It was only in his later years, from the very brief moment of his quasi hegemonic imperial power onwards, that the mature Emperor initiated and developed artistic patronage in a systematic way. It should be noted that exhibitions such as those held in 2000 are approaching Charles’s reign by showing many objects which were closely related to imperial propaganda. This may seem obvious to scholars specializing in iconology and rhetoric, but not to the innocent beholder. In a time in which communication was revolutionized – and in this respect the sixteenth century is similar to our own days – the manipulative effects of images become more apparent. Art should therefore not only be exhibited for its intrinsic quality, but also with an eye on its communicative potential. Religious and intellectual aspects of the world of Charles V were the subjects of a few specialized exhibitions and volumes in or around the year 2000 and, naturally,
30 Guy Delmarcel, Los Honores (Catalogue Mechelen 2000) in Dutch, French, and English. The town of Oudenaarde commemorated its local tradition of tapestry weaving by putting on an exhibition which covered the art from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century: Ingrid De Meûter – Martine Vanwelden, eds., Oudenaardse wandtapijten van de 16e tot de 18e eeuw (Catalogue Oudenaarde 1999; Tielt 1999). A number of Flemish tapestries from Spanish royal collections have been shown in Brussels cathedral. 31 Kaiser Karl V. Macht und Ohnmacht Europas (Catalogue Bonn-Vienna 2000) nrs. 153-164; Der Kriegszug Kaiser Karls V. gegen Tunis. Kartons und Tapisserien (Milan-Vienna 2000). 32 Carolus, nr. 227; Kaiser Karl V., nrs. 423-434, 416.
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The Harvest of a Celebration
made their appearance in other exhibitions and publications as well.33 In his contribution to this volume, José Martínez Millán discusses the problem of heterodoxy in Spain, focusing on spiritual currents at the court of Charles V, while Aline Goosens presents her new findings, based on truly herculean labours in the archives, on the persecution of heretics in the Southern Netherlands. Last but not least, Martina Fuchs draws attention to an original theme: the image of Charles V in nineteenth and twentieth century German literature, reminding us that Emperors and their Empires have an interesting afterlife. It is obvious that the study of various aspects of Charles’s life and Empire has been greatly stimulated by the commemmorations around the year 2000. International scholarly exchange has never been so intensive and fruitful as it is now and has helped to deepen our understanding of the interdependencies between the various parts of the Empire. It is safe to conclude that the general studies and biographies about Charles V and his world which were published in 2000 have already become slightly obsolete because of the huge amount of new and detailed source material published at the same time. One hopes that we will not have to wait until 2058 for the publication of a new synthesis.
33 Heinz Schilling, ‘Charles V and Religion. The Struggle for the Integrity and Unity of Christendom’, in Soly, ed., Charles V, 285-363; Tineke Padmos – Geert Vanpaemel, eds., De geleerde wereld van Keizer Karel (Catalogue Louvain 2000); Geert Vanpaemel – Tineke Padmos, eds., Wereldwijs. Wetenschappers rond keizer Karel (Louvain 2000).
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Part I The Centre of the Empire
Mia J. Rodríguez-Salgado
Obeying the Ten Commandments: the First War between Charles V and Francis I, 1520-1529
‘Gregory: Do you quarrel, sir? Abrahams: Quarrel, sir? no, sir. Sampson: If you do, sir, I am for you.’
The casual, invited violence that marks the start of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Julliet offers a fictional account of the behaviour of many a renaissance noble and prince. Capulets and Montagues were engaged in a longstanding conflict that had become a fundamental part of their inheritance, as much as the land and possessions handed down from one generation to the next. The conflict both nurtured and reflected the pervasive culture of violence and provided them with a purpose, a focus, and above all, with excitement. It was the vehicle through which they could demonstrate the most valued virtues of their moral code: honour and valour. No wonder then that little was needed to provoke a fight. As Mercutio commented of his own friend Benvolio: ‘Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?’ Even lesser provocation sufficed: a surly look or the provocative biting of your thumb in the face of an opponent. While it was widely recognised that dynastic conflict might descend to these unwelcome depths, the fundamental nobility and virtue of the pursuit of honour and glory imbued it with as much power and cloaked it with as much justice as its opposite, the forces of love and peace. Even Romeo was compelled to abandon his peaceful stance and take up arms when his friend was killed in a brawl. In the sixteenth-century the inherently contradictory moral imperatives of conflict and peace were accepted as integral parts of the code of nobility and it was no easier to reconcile them in real life than in works of fiction. The youth, confidence and penchant for violence of the princes who came to power in early sixteenth-century Europe, especially Francis I, Charles V and Henry VIII, are not the only reason why Shakespeare’s story is an apt prelude to this paper. Their behaviour was closely reflected by these fictional counterparts – princes too were driven by a burning desire for honour and glory, by an intense attraction to war and violence, as well as by a profound commitment to dynastic conflict. They too
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struggled to reconcile these sentiments with the powerful imperatives that preached reconciliation and peace among Christians. Equally relevant to this study is the fact that even the most callous youth and casual provocateurs in the fictional Verona knew better than to start a fight. They knew it was imperative to ‘take the law of our sides; let them begin’.1 The key was to incite your opponent to begin the fighting and then pose as the innocent victim, making sure the violence was justified. As we shall see, this tactic was much favoured by the real-life renaissance prince making it difficult to determine who was the real aggressor and what were their motives. This paper seeks to reopen two questions: why war broke out between Charles V and Francis I in 1521 and why it did not conclude until 1529. It will examine to what extent the war can be ascribed to the imperatives imposed on these two monarchs by the prevailing ideology and dynastic imperatives, as opposed to their personal and political ambitions. Traditionally the war has been seen as an inevitable manifestation of dynastic rivalry, yet Charles V maintained throughout his life that Francis was the sole aggressor because of his refusal to accept Charles’ status as his equal, let alone his superior. Voluminous imperial propaganda disseminated this view of events and the absence of substantive studies on Francis I’s foreign policy have ensured that it predominates to our own day.2 It will be argued here that we have seriously underestimated the aggressive elements in Charles V’s early foreign policy, as well as his achievements in this, his first major conflict, and arguably the most important war he ever fought.
Causes of War In theory there was nothing to prevent Charles V and Francis I from being at peace. Traditional Christian morality stressed the desirability of peace in Christendom and presented it as superior to its opposite, a state of war. Many humanists, including one of Charles’ tutors, Erasmus dedicated works to this theme. ‘War breeds war’, he declared in 1515, urging Charles to avoid ‘the kind of war which is usually fought today’ and to concentrate on being a good prince to his subjects and nurturing the prosperity of his lands, which was associated with peace. Such was his commitment to peace that Erasmus questioned whether there was such a thing as a just war, despite the existence of important patristic support – especially from Aquinas and St. Augustine.3 He was unusual in this. Christian powers had long subscribed to the notion of a just war and believed that wrongs had to be avenged on an international as much as on a personal level, otherwise there could be no legitimate order 1
W. Shakespeare, Romeo and Julliet, Act I scene I; Mercutio to Benvolio in act III scene I. The curious attitude towards Francis in R.J. Knecht, ‘“Born between two women…” Jules Michelet and Francis I’, Renaissance Studies, 14, 3 (2000) 329-343. 3 D. Erasmus, The education of a Christian prince, ed. & trans. L. Jardine (Cambridge 1997), cits.102 and105. 2
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Obeying the Ten Commandments
or justice. They also paid lip service to the notion that only just wars should be fought and this had important implications. It meant that wars could not be formally declared unless there was a just cause. The concept was flexible and ill-defined – so much so, that writers as diverse as Erasmus and Machiavelli reckoned that any war could be justified, for ‘who is there who does not think his cause just?’.4 While it is true that finding a grievance or right was not difficult, rulers accepted that their justification had to be sufficiently persuasive to a wide public in Christendom, and this prompted them wherever possible to use universally recognised principles to justify aggression, such as defence of patrimony or faith; revenge for a wrong done to the dynasty or an individual; redress of breaches of peace or non compliance of treaties. Without such causes, there could be no open declaration of war and this accounts for the fact that many early-modern conflicts were never official. Another important reason was that through an official declaration powers made a symbolic and public commitment to a war and thus staked honour if they lost. Nevertheless, the prevailing system predisposed princes to aggression in certain circumstances not covered by just war theories. Besides the enduring pressures of greed for land, wealth and power, there was a potent association between glory and military success; between renown and bold, expansionist policies. Another vital element was the need for new powers to establish their credentials at the start of their reign. Unless they convincingly demonstrated their capacity to defend their lands they risked becoming the victims of covetous neighbours. In addition, they would gain honour and reputation if they managed to prove their valour. The highly competitive and unstable international system was maintained by the prevailing code of honour and the value accorded to valour, glory and renown. Machiavelli was absolutely right to note that ‘nothing brings a prince more prestige than great campaigns and striking demonstrations of his personal abilities’, and to question the viability of princes who failed to do so. Moreover, at this period, war still tended to be perceived in terms of a feud and as a result it remained attached to longstanding traditions of noble and chivalrous codes of behaviour. For all these reasons inter-state conflict was seen by many humanists as worthy of praise as peace, if not more so. They lent their eloquence to the justification of war and applauded the heroic deeds of the boldest, most aggressive princes. Even some of the most notable writings against war lose some of their force when placed in context. Tracy has argued that Erasmus’ condemnation of war in ‘The Education of a Christian Prince’ and in his ‘Complaint of Peace’ were part of a factional struggle at court, with the scholar working to support ‘that party in the Netherlands which favoured peace with France’ and in Guelders, rather than simply advocating peace for its own sake.5 4
Erasmus, Education, 104-105; cit. 104. M.J. Rodríguez-Salgado, The Changing Face of Empire. Charles V, Philipp II and Habsburg Authority, 1551-1559 (Cambridge 1988) 25-33; H. Duchhardt, ‘War and international law in Europe. Sixteenth to eighteenth centuries’, in P. Contamine, ed., War and competition between states (Oxford 2000) 279282. J.A. Fernández Santamaria, The state, war and peace. Spanish political thought in the Renaissance, 1516-1559 (Cambridge 1977).
5
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Historians have presented the first war between Charles V and Francis I as inevitable for three reasons: fear of France being encircled; longstanding dynastic conflicts, and personal rivalry which came to a head in the competition for the title of Holy Roman Emperor. All three aspects figure prominently in the propaganda of the period. Let us take these in turn briefly: First, fear of encirclement by enemy states. This has a long tradition and remains part of our states system. In the sixteenth century the French alluded to the danger of being encircled by Charles V to justify their attacks on his lands. The fusion of so many states bordering on France’s frontiers under the control of a single ruler was certainly a source of concern, but two points need to be made: one, Francis could have chosen to maintain good relations with his powerful new neighbour. Two, France was incomparably more compact, wealthy, populous and powerful than the loose coalition Charles inherited piecemeal between 1506 and 1519. Indeed, the French monarchy was the most powerful state in Christendom. It was also, according to Erasmus, ‘by far and in every way the most prosperous of all’. Its neighbours were forced to ally to contain its expansion, and the network of marriage alliances they had woven to reinforce political and military alliances had resulted in the creation of Charles V’s compound state. None dared fight France without support from a substantial league. This is why Ferdinand of Aragon warned Charles not to start a war with France: ‘it will be tantamount to starting an immortal war in Christendom’. France was so powerful ‘it cannot be conquered’.6 In Braudel’s apt phrase, France isolated her enemies. He was surely right to reckon that while the French felt uncomfortable with Charles V’s empire, he in turn was daunted by a neighbour so vast that at worst her enemies could inflict skin-deep wounds and invade its periphery. Having to mount guard from Milan, the France Comté, the Low Countries and Spain to contain France was, he reckoned, a worse fate than encirclement.7 It is, however, pertinent to note that France was not truly encircled. It retained extensive maritime frontiers and several free outlets for further expansion which it would take advantage of – notably, east towards the Rhine, south into Italy and west into the Americas. In sum, while the caroline empire presented a potential threat, France was not compelled to fight because she was encircled. The reason encirclement played such an important part in the propaganda of the time is because expansion was not a just or legitimate cause of war. Encirclement, with its suggestion of putative defence of one’s patrimony, was a useful cover for aggression. The second line of argument, that the war was an inevitable product of longstanding dynastic conflicts, is not compelling either. Insofar as there was an ancient tradition of dynastic enmity in France it was directed against the English. With Burgundy, a lesser branch of the French royal house, there had been a love-hate relationship reflected in bouts of war that alternated with intermarriage. Charles was raised with
6
Erasmus, Education, 95; Ferdinand in Archivo General de Simancas, Spain henceforth AGS. Section E (Estado). 496 ff.41-46. 7 F. Braudel, Carlos V y Felipe II (Madrid 1999) 50.
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Obeying the Ten Commandments
both francophile and francophobe groups at court. In Spain these tendencies were complicated by the existence at court of Aragonese and Castilian tendencies. The Aragonese had often fought with France, while the Castilians were frequent allies. More solid in its opposition to France was the Habsburg part of the family, particularly during Maximilian’s reign. But even he had opted for lengthy periods of peace and close family ties with the royal house of France. It should not surprise us, therefore, to find that Charles commenced his reign by signing an alliance with France on 24 March 1515. The francophile sentiments of his closest advisers had been criticised by Ferdinand and Maximilian, but their influence had remained undiminished. Significantly, the prince’s men thought they could get substantial territorial concessions in return for a longstanding peace that would be sealed with the marriage of Charles and Renée of France. Her dowry would include the disputed duchy of Burgundy, in French hands since the death and defeat of Charles the Bold in 1477, and also the duchy of Milan which had become something of an international plaything after the death of its last, legitimate duke.8 Francis I curtly rejected these demands. He let it be known that ‘no prince, whether great or small, will ever cause him to suffer the slightest reduction in his greatness’.9 He believed Burgundy to be French and he had dynastic claims to the duchy of Milan. The treaty that he offered highlighted Charles’ inferiority and weakness. It was, to many, deeply humiliating. Charles publicly acknowledged that he was a vassal of the king of France, by virtue of lands he possessed in Flanders and Artois. He agreed that Spanish Navarre, which had been annexed by Castile after Ferdinand’s invasion in 1512, should be restored to the Albret family that still possessed French Navarre and was closely allied to Francis. Charles was to remain under Francis’ tutelage until his twentieth year. The young prince admitted to his grandfather Ferdinand that the conditions were disadvantageous, but he justified it on the grounds that ‘a dishonourable peace is worth more to me than a just war’.10 This was disingenuous. There was no question of war at this juncture. Charles and his advisers accepted the humiliating conditions because the treaty was a ploy to neutralise France while they established the prince’s independence: that was why they had excluded Ferdinand of Aragon and Maximilian from the negotiations The alliance was renegotiated once Charles had taken the title of King of Spain but the conditions hardly improved despite this significant increase in his status. By the treaty of Noyon, [13 August 1516] he reaffirmed French sovereignty over Flanders and Artois, as well as Milan and Naples and agreed to ‘satisfy’ the demands 8 K. Lanz, Correspondenz des Kaisers Karl V., 3 vols. (Leipzig 1846), I, n.6, 5-9, ambassadors to Charles, 4.2.1515; n.17, 30-31 Charles to ibid., 5.3.15; n.20, ambassadors to Charles, 15.3.15. 9 ‘Que tous les princes, grands et petits, ne l’ameneraient jamais a souffrir une diminution de sa hauteur’. cit. P. Mesnard, François Ier (Paris 1967) 49. 10 Archivio General de Sìmancas (AGS), E 496 f.4 Charles to Ferdinand, 16.5.1515. Details of the negotiations, in A.J.C. Le Glay, ed., Négotiations diplomatiques entre la France et l’Autriche, 2 vols. (Paris 1845), II; capitulation, J.M. Doussinague, El Testamento politico de Fernando el Católico, 2 vols. (Madrid 1950), I, n.74, 414-428; n.75, 428-429 (Navarre).
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of the former king of Spanish Navarre. He now accepted the hand of the infant Louise of France, Francis’ daughter and was allowed to retain power over Naples in exchange for recognition of French sovereignty and an annual tribute of 100,000 écus. In addition, Charles offered to break the anglo-imperial alliance that alone threatened Francis by persuading his grandfather Maximilian to switch his alliance to France. There is a tendency to dismiss Noyon as a feint. Doubtless it was seen by Charles’ court as a temporary measure, but any alliance created a precedent as they well knew, and we should not underestimate the importance of this treaty.11 Moreover, there is a suggestion that it was not merely pragmatism that made Charles accept these conditions. The warmth with which he congratulated Francis on his victories in Italy hints at something akin to admiration.12 In sum, neither the fear of encirclement nor dynastic tensions made war between Francis I and Charles inevitable or even likely in the first four years of their reigns. According to Charles, what changed amity to conflict was the competition for the title of Holy Roman Emperor in 1519, the most senior title in Christendom. Historians have frequently echoed this.13 Charles maintained that he had not sought the title out of ambition, but out of duty towards Maximilian who had wanted his grandson to succeed him. In his view, Francis had been motivated by boundless greed and ambition and his resentment when he lost impelled him to war.14 Again, this postfacto explanation so frequently found in imperial propaganda needs revision. There is no doubt of Francis’ determination to get the title, or his profound commitment – emotionally as well as in terms of resources – to the election. But Charles was hardly an innocent waiting passively in the wings. While it is true that Maximilian started the process, Charles not only approved, but was so determined to secure the title he was willing to spend huge sums of money, promise his sisters in marriage to lesser German princes (a dishonour if they had gone ahead) and was ruthless in stamping out other competitors, including his own brother, Ferdinand, who was seen by many as a more acceptable compromise candidate. Using a mixture of threats and promises, Charles excluded Ferdinand. He also approved the strategy employed by his aunt and chief negotiator, Margaret of Austria, who deliberately stirred patriotic 11
Doussinague, Testamento, n.81, 438-448 Juan de Lanuza to Ferdinand. Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.26, 48-49, Charles to Francis, 23.9.1515. A. Kohler, Carlos V 1500-1558. Una Biografia (Madrid-Barcelona 2000) 55, endorses Brandi’s view that it was intended to fool the French into neutrality. 13 Mesnard, François Ier, 57, will serve as an example: the election ‘impliquait par elle-même l’assurance de la guerre prochaine’. An account of the election in K. Brandi, The emperor Charles V (London 1965) 99-114; R.J. Knecht Francis I (Cambridge 1994) 165-170; M. Mignet, ‘Une élection à l’Empire en 1519. Première rivalité de François Ier et de Charles-Quint’, Revue de Deux Mondes, 2nd, Ser. XXIV (1854) 209-264; and ‘Rivalité de Charles-Quint et de François Ier.’ Ibid., 2nd ser. XXVIII (1858), II, 257-305. 14 C. Weiss, ed., Papiers d’état du cardinal de Granvelle, 9 vols. (Paris 1841-1852), I, n.LVIII, 310346. Declaration de Guerre, 22 & 27.1.1528, this was from Charles’ written response to Francis’ declaration of war, 325: ‘se traictant en ce temps de l’élection de l’empire, laquelle estoit desjà en trayn du vivant du feu empereur Maximilian… ledit roy très-chrestien, pour l’empescher, fit faire diverses practicques… la vertu desditz électeurs fût telle que… par inspiration divine eslirent sa majesté’. 12
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and xenophobic passions in the Holy Roman Empire against the French as well as fears of French hegemony. Her envoys were instructed to stress the dishonour for the German nation if a Frenchman were elected, warning them that they would experience ‘total subjection and servitude… the power he will have not just from his kingdom of France, but from Italy and Germany, will enable him to reduce them to the status of the lowliest vassals in France.’15 The battle was closely-fought and on more than one occasion, it looked as if Francis would win. When Charles emerged victorious, and unanimously as well, both he and Margaret ascribed the victory to divine intervention. Far from being a mere platitude, this was considered the first clear manifestation of divine favour for the new emperor.16 The election altered the balance of power, and Charles was keen to emphasise this fact. Prior to the election most people would have endorsed pope Leo X’s dictum that Francis ‘surpassed in wealth and power all other christian kings’.17 He had achieved this supremacy without the imperial title and he could have maintained it without the title. The Holy Roman Emperor was, by tradition, superior in Christendom in the sense that his ambassadors preceded all others and he shouldered special duties to defend the Church. There were important legal rights attached to the office as well as status, but it did not have much effective power. The financial and military power of the Holy Roman Empire had long ago been seized by a handful of important German princes and major cities. The novelty of 1519 was that a prince with very substantial possessions was taking over. During the election Charles sought to stress this difference. He argued that the Holy Roman Empire, ‘together with the great kingdoms and lordships which we have, will make us more feared and esteemed than any other Christian king, prince and potentate’. It would allow him to execute great deeds and impose his own ‘settlement’ over Christendom. He also believed he would have such power it would deter his rivals, who ‘would not easily dare to move against us… as they would do against a weaker [power]’. In other words, the German princes would get enhanced defensive capabilities from their new, powerful sovereign, and have the chance of belonging to the most powerful state in the world, establishing supremacy over their erstwhile superior neighbours, the French.18
15 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.LV, 194-202, Instructions to Jehan de Marnix, c.3.2.1518: ‘parvenant icelluy à cest empire, sera la totalle subjection et servaige desdits princes… par la puissance qu’il aura, tant de son royaulme de France et d’Ytalie et Germanie, les tiendra plus subjectz que les moindres vassaulx de France.’ (197) Similar warnings were issued to the Swiss, 199. 16 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLII, 455 Margaret to the governor of Lille, Brussels, 30.6.1519, ‘par l’inspiracion du Saint-Esprit’. It was the unanimity that particularly suprised her after such division and uncertainty. 17 Cit. Mignet, ‘Election’, 237: ‘surpassant en richesse et en puissance les autres princes chrétiens’. 18 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.LXXXII, 303-310, Instructions to the ambassadors sent to Margaret, Barcelona, 5.3.1518 303-310; 305 ‘si laditte election est conferée en nostre personne, comme la raison veult,… nous pourrons dresser beaucop (sic) de choses bonnes et grandes, et non-seulement conserver et garder les biens que Dieu nous a donnez, ains iceulx grandement accroistre, et avec ce donner paix, repoz et transquilité (sic) à toute la chrestienté, en exaulçant et augmentant noste sainte foy catholique’; 306: ‘si ledit empire vient à tumber en noz mains avec les grandz royaumes et seigneuries que nous
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This kind of talk was not new. The question that must be asked, however, was whether it implied that Charles was from this stage onwards, making a bid for the status of the world’s most powerful monarch. The extent of Charles’ inheritance and the expectation that he would succeed Maximilian as Holy Roman Emperor had already prompted some of Charles’ supporters to proclaim his superiority and to dream of world empire – something contemporaries alluded to as Monarchia or Universal Monarchy. From the point at which he took the Spanish realms, some of his subjects had given voice to this idea. For some, Charles had gained sufficient power to match and even establish superiority over the French. Others thought in grander terms. In October 1516, at the first meeting of the Order of the Golden Fleece over which Charles presided, the humanist Luigi Marliano delivered the opening speech by proclaiming that it was Charles’ destiny to fulfil the prophesies of the coming of a universal monarch. Just as God ruled in heaven and the sun and moon had no equal; just as a ship was guided by a single pilot, so one ruler should govern the earth. Charles’ inheritance made him unique and marked him out for this role. Naturally, the imperial election heightened these tendencies. Shortly afterwards, Mercurino Gattinara, another Italian rapidly rising in favour at court proclaimed that Charles was God’s chosen ruler for Universal Monarchy. ‘He has raised you above all the Kings and princes of Christendom… He has set you on the way towards a world monarchy, towards the uniting of all Christendom under a single shepherd’.19 Yet even after the election, Charles’ real power fell far short of this ideal and both he and his advisers were acutely aware of this fact. These statements were rhetorical rather than concrete manifestations of his aims. As he acquired each new title and possession, however, he was eager to establish his new status. New seals and new devises were adopted, and concrete form was given to his enhanced power by the gradual repudiation of the most onerous clauses of the French alliance. After securing the Spanish realms he ceased paying the Neapolitan subsidy and he assured the Castilians he would not give up Navarre. Francis appreciated all this and sought to keep Charles weak. He tried to exclude Charles from the treaty of peace mediated by Cardinal Wolsey – chief advisor of Henry VIII of England – in 1518, for example. The English, though themselves temporarily allied to Francis, were keen to encourage the emergence of a power that could match France and insisted that Charles be included. Significantly, Wolsey commented that exclusion
avons, nous serions beaucop plus craingt et extimé entre tous les roys, princes et potentaz chrestiens, qui ne ouseroient si facilement entreprendre contre nous une vouvelleté our esmotion de guerre comme ils feroient contre ung moindre, dont ilz en seroient en meilleur repoz et transquilité’. 19 Marliano’s oration, ‘De Ordine Velleris Aurei’, summed up by E.E. Rosenthal, ‘The invention of the columnar device of Emperor Charles V at the court of Burgundy in Flanders in 1516’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. XXXVI (1973) 222-223; Kohler, Carlos V, cites Manrique de Lara’s assessment in 1516, 55-56, and Gattinara, 69-71, quote here from Brandi’s Emperor Charles V version, 112.
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could lead to war.20 Aware of the growing tension, the two monarchs arranged bilateral talks. A conference was held at Montpellier in May 1519 at which the imperialists made it clear that Charles would not abide by the existing treaties, and that he wanted Francis to recognise his enhanced status. There was no hint that he intended to break the alliance, however. The imperial election intensified rather than created these tendencies. Francis was reluctant to acknowledge Charles’ new power. This was both out of conviction and one-upmanship. During the imperial election his assessment of Charles – at least for public consumption – was damning: ‘he is young and has no practical experience of war’. Francis described him as a weakling, unable to ‘shoulder such a heavy burden’. Moreover, his chief advisers were too divided and too concerned to advance their own interests to enable him to follow a sensible policy. His lands were extensive but they were scattered; their customs and aims were different and he would not be able to control them. In private, however, Francis let it be known that if Charles became emperor there was cause for concern in the future, because he had powerful territories, ‘and in time could cause me inestimable harm.’ Francis appreciated that the election strengthened Charles and confirmed his potential for competition. He also believed it determined the future direction of his policy, arguing that Charles might attempt to ‘throw me out of Italy’.21 This needs some explanation. In part it reflected the French king’s own obsession with Italian expansion. He had started his reign with brilliant campaigns that had given him control of large parts of north Italy, notably Milan and the neighbouring states. In part also it was because tradition associated control of Italy with hegemony and there were a number of people at Charles’ court who urged him to take this direction. Gattinara in particular stressed that Italy was the foundation of Universal Monarchy and must henceforth be Charles’ priority. For a time Henry VIII feared that the young prince was so taken with this that he would leave for Italy without attending first to the revolt that broke out in Spain in 1521.22 Charles did want to go to Italy at once to get crowned as emperor by the pope, but wiser counsels prevailed at court and for now he focused on establishing his authority over his empire. It was precisely the unrest in Spain that confirmed Francis in his assessment of Charles’ weakness at this juncture. He also reckoned that the expense 20 J.S. Brewer, J. Gairdner, R.H. Brodie, eds., Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic of the Reign of Henry VIII, 21 vols. (London 1862-1910) II pt.2, n.52, 1545-1546, Wolsey to Henry VIII, s.d. c. September/October 1518. 21 Cits. in Mignet, ‘Election’, 233, from February 1519 Instructions to the French negotiators: ‘il était en bas âge,.. il n’avait aucune expérience et aucune pratique de la guerre, où il n’avait jamais paru encore;… il étati malady et hors d’état de porter un si lourd fardeau …’ ibid., 249: ‘s’il y parvenait, vu la grandeur des royaumes et des seigneuries qu’il tient cela me pourrait, par succession de temps, porter un prejudice inestimable. Je serais toujours en doubte et soupçon, et il est à penser qu’il mettrait bonne peine à me jeter hors de l’Italie’. 22 Rodríguez-Salgado, Changing Face, 31-32; Kohler, Carlos V, 70-1. Brandi, Emperor Charles V, 153-154, reckoned that Gattinara was alone in advocating this, but Henry VIII reckoned that Chièvres and others were pressing in this direction also, State Papers. Henry VIII, 11 vols. (London 1830-52) 1 pt.1, n.8, 9-10 Richard Pace’s account of a conversation with the king (no editor figures).
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of the election had seriously damaged Charles’ financial capability, and he knew that the advisers surrounding the emperor were divided and finding it hard to cooperate. Given Charles’ youth, immaturity and weakness, the situation was unlikely to improve quickly. As late as January 1522 Francis boasted to Henry, ‘if he will compare the friendship of myself and the Emperor, he will find the difference both in surety, in persons, and in power’.23 Clearly, before the French would deign to acknowledge Charles’ power and release him from the humiliating treaty obligations, the emperor would need to prove that he was able to govern his extended empire and tap its resources effectively. Francis also chose not to give concessions because it was the most effective way of proving that his superior status remained untarnished, particularly after losing the imperial election. This was a risky strategy, however, for it built up resentment and frustration in the caroline court and made war a more likely option as a way to establish the emperor’s international position. For now, however, Francis reckoned that Charles was in no position to take this option.
The Long Prelude to War Historians dislike the fact that great wars can have trifling causes, but Robert Knecht has argued convincingly that the first and longest war the emperor fought started unintentionally. Francis was convinced that Charles would go to Italy to get crowned as emperor at the first opportunity, and reckoned there he might use the armed escort that accompanied every monarch to seize some territory along the way. In order to reinforce Milan and his other conquests, as well as encourage his allies, Francis decided to go to Italy in the autumn of 1520. It is not clear why he delayed the journey until the following year, but it demonstrates the lack of urgency at the French court. The delay was extended after Francis was seriously injured during riotous Christmas festivities, requiring several months to recuperate. It was wise to keep Charles ‘occupied’ during this period of inactivity and Francis chose to do so by giving covert aid to two of the emperor’s enemies: in the Low Countries he supported Robert de la Marck and the duke of Guelders; in the south he aided the exiled king of Navarre to mount an invasion of Spanish Navarre. While Castile was torn apart by the Comuneros rebellion, a Franco-basque army overrun most of Spanish Navarre in May 1521. Marck launched an invasion of Luxemburg. ‘By these means’, Francis informed the pope, ‘I have diverted our common enemy from going to Italy’.24
23 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.3, n.1994, 857. French assessments of Spain’s hostility and power at this point can be followed in the documents printed in Le Glay, Négotiations,II. 24 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXX, 116-124, Francis I to count Albert de Carpi, ambassador in Rome, 19.6.1521, cits.,119: ‘par ce moyen j’ay diverty nostre commung ennemy d’aller en Ytalie’. ‘It is unlikely’ Knecht (1994) 105-106, argued ‘that Francis intended these moves to be the opening shots of a full-scale war with the emperor; he probably meant only to draw his attention away from Italy.’
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Imperial propaganda and historians favourable to the emperor point to these interventions as clear proof that Francis started the war. Some are even prepared to accept that it was not intentional since this serves to highlight the difference between the image of a superficial, thoughtless and aggressive French king, and a moral, innocent emperor. But the situation was not so simple. Charles’ government had been engaged in an intense search for allies which included negotiations with England, the papacy, the Swiss and the Venetians whom they sought to detach from France. Charles had left Spain in May 1520 despite the fact that rebellion was taking hold of Castile because he was desperate to visit England in an effort to win Henry VIII over to his side and prevent a meeting between the English and the French. This was dishonourable in two ways: first because it looked as if he was fleeing from the rebels; second because it was an open acknowledgement of the superiority of the English king, who was his titular inferior. The gamble did not pay off. Henry VIII was flattered as well as friendly to his nephew, but he thought it madness to abandon Spain before the rebellion was defeated, so he did not cancel the meeting with Francis. The evidence of these negotiations suffices to demonstrate that the emperor was already thinking in terms of war. Indeed in June 1521 he informed Henry that he had not started one thus far in deference to Henry’s repeated advice to wait.25 To investigate the emperor’s intentions and potential Francis had sent the sieur de Barroys to the imperial court at Worms at the start of 1521. The meetings confirmed Charles’ anxiety to emancipate himself from Francis’ tutelage, yet he declared his desire for peace and alliance. Charles promised to go on behaving as a good son if Francis acted as a good father towards him. There were times when the talks between Barroys and the emperor’s leading advisor, Chièvres, got tense and tetchy, and this was of some significance since Chièvres was strongly pro French and had been the architect of the peace treaties with France. Perhaps this accounts for the fact that Chièvres played down the tensions between the two monarchs, dismissing them as ‘quelque petite meffiance’, and for his reaffirmation of the alliance. The imperialists confirmed the emperor’s acknowledgement of French sovereignty over some of his possessions – notably parts of the Low Countries and Naples – and so admitted that the French were right to claim that Charles was Francis’ subject. Nevertheless, they insisted that the superior title Charles had acquired meant that Francis was now also subject to Charles and argued – with some subtlety – that the existing treaties would need to be revised to reflect the changes that had taken place. They maintained that with ‘the imperial title, by which the emperor acquired a status he did not have then, [he] can do more for his allies than he was able to do earlier’.26 If the French refused to accept this, the repercussions could be serious. Chièvres was concerned that both
25
Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.1, n.1371, 549, Charles to his ambassadors, 27.6.1521. Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLIII, 463: ‘depuis les traictez, est survenue la dignité imperialle, par laquelle l’emperuer est en autre estat qu’il n’estoit lors, et peut plus faire pour ses amys qu’il n’eust faict par avant’.
26
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sides were already heading for war by seeking aggressive alliances with England and the papacy, and he warned Francis: ‘you are both such great princes that once the conflict breaks out, it will not be on a small-scale, but will have repercussions throughout Christendom’.27 But Francis remained confident. With the Comuneros revolt still raging in Spain, and the outbreak of protestant unrest in the Holy Roman Empire, he reckoned he could bide his time. When informed of the French-backed attacks by La Marck in the Low Countries, and Albret in Navarre, Charles and his council decided to respond aggressively to the challenge first, because they realised the general perception of the emperor’s weakness had to be dispelled. They must prove that ‘though the Emperor was young, he had a great heart’ or else it might encourage other enemies to attack. Second, there was a group that included Charles who could scarcely wait to exercise the power he commanded. It was reported that when he was informed of the attacks he ‘raised his hands to Heaven and said “O God, I praise thee that this war has not been begun by me, and that this king of France seeks to make me greater than I am!… I hope shortly either I shall be a poor Emperor or he a poor king of France.”’28 Francis was totally unprepared for this violent response and the imperialists relished his confusion.29 French involvement was covert and for much the same reasons that it is used even now: it is a way to avert direct confrontation. Charles had the option to deal with these incursions and leave France out of it. Instead he denounced these attacks as a breach of the existing treaties and direct provocation by Francis, and announced that he would defend himself with the help of God and his allies. He immediately asked the pope and the English for aid against the aggressor. Once over the initial shock, Francis responded in kind. The emperor’s words, he declared, amounted to a formal challenge – ‘portans deffiance’ – and this meant that Francis would lose honour unless he responded likewise with war. Consequently, Francis proclaimed Charles as the aggressor. Still referring to Charles as ‘my son’, Francis complained that he had chosen to interpret the invasions as ‘an absolute breach of the treaties’ which was neither inevitable or necessary and which led to the inescapable conclusion that Charles wished ‘to declare war’ on Francis. Calling on God and his allies for help – and that included the papacy and England – Francis prophesised that the war would be devastating for their lands and subjects, immensely costly, and would drag others down because ‘the peace between us will give peace to the whole of Christendom; if there is a war between us, the whole of Christendom will be 27 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLIII, 456-467, Barroys to Francis I, Worms, 17.1.1520; brief encounter with Charles at 461, quotes 458: ‘vous estiez deux si grands princes que si une fois le debat y estoit, ce ne seroit pas pour peu, et que toute la crestienté s’en sentiroit, et qu’il estoit bien vray que ledit empereur son maistre estoit vostre subjgect, mais que aussi estiez-vous le sien’. 28 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.3, n.1380, 556. Report of Charles’ reaction III pt.2, n.1388, 559, Lorenzo Aleandri de’ Galeazzi to Luigi Aleandro de’ Galeazzi, 3.7.1521. It is odd, therefore, that Brandi, Emperor Charles V, 156, should say that ‘neither side actually wanted war’. 29 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, CXLV, 477 Gattinara to Charles V, 30.7.1521, ‘veant vous ennemys qui sont toutz estonnez’.
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divided’.30 Although there had been no declaration of war, Francis reckoned by June 1521 that they were in a state of war, not because of the fighting that had now spread along the borders, but because of the words used by the emperor – ‘le défy qu’il m’avoit faict par escript’.31 He would maintain throughout that Charles had been the first to start. In so far as he had not intended to begin a war and had left the emperor an option to avoid it, he was right. If we take into account the fact that he had helped to invade parts of the emperor’s patrimony, then Charles was right. Thus far both had played the international game skilfully. Having satisfied honour by making threats and accusing his opponent of breaking the peace, Francis sought to pull back from the brink. He was not ready for war and to his surprise Charles was ‘better provided than … expected’. Moreover, the rapid success of the French-backed invasion of Navarre made Francis confident he could withdraw now and keep Navarre which the English ambassadors reckoned was just ‘what they desire’.32 This initial success was not to last. Despite the rebellion in Castile, loyal Iberian forces organised the defence of Navarre. The French-backed invasion proved singularly counter-productive: it rallied many Spaniards to the defence of the patria and so strengthened the emperor’s position. In the Low Countries, the forces of La Mark and Guelders were driven back from Luxembourg. Imperial troops pressed forward to France, attacking Messencourt.33 To avert war, and at the risk of perjury, Francis initially denied giving aid to these assaults. Later he admitted to limited involvement in Navarre because he felt justified in his actions on the grounds that Ferdinand’s seizure of the Spanish kingdom was unlawful and because Charles had accepted Albret’s claims by the treaty of Noyon and committed himself to restore the kingdom. While he wished to delay the war, Francis ultimately relished the prospect of a military confrontation because he was confident of his capacity to deal with Charles: ‘the war will cut him down to size and thereafter he will prefer to seek repose rather than to cause trouble for others’. Francis had an alliance with the pope and felt strong enough not to give way to the high demands Venice was making in exchange for support. He boasted to Henry VIII that while he would prefer an alliance with England, he could manage without it. So long as Henry
30 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLIV, 468-72, Francis to Barroys, 14.4.1521, quotes 468; 471 ‘pur ce que mondit filz prant les choses si absolument, sans aucune restrinction, pour rupture de nosz traictez, il entend me faire la guerre’; and 469: ‘la paix de nous entretiendroit la paix universelle de la crestienté, et que où il y auroit guerre entre nous, toute la crestienté seroit en division’. He continued to blame Charles for outbreak, Weiss, Papiers, I, XXXIII summary of the Calais negotiations, 1521, 125 ff; Knecht, Francis I, 106. 31 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXX,120, Francis to Carpi, 19.6.1521. Over the following months and years Francis denounced these letters not as mere threats but as a formal declaration of war, thus placing the blame for the breach of peace firmly in Charles’ court, see also Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-86 esp., 565-578. Francis continued to justify his demand for English aid because Charles had started the war: Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1994, 857. 32 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1385, 558 ambassadors to Wolsey, 2.7.1521. 33 The emperor’s successes were highlighted by Gattinara during the Calais conference, and presented as divine intervention on Charles’ behalf: Weiss, Papiers, I, XXXIII, 154-155, 208.
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stood aside, ‘it will not take me two years to ensure that he becomes one of the poorest princes in Christendom’. His mother, Louise promised the English that they would soon see ‘what the strength of France was’.34 It was now Charles’ turn to back off. He had bluffed and his bluff had been called. He was not ready to take on the French either in a full-scale war. No substantial ally had yet agreed to fight on his side. The imperial Chancellor, Gattinara, declared that Francis had sadly misunderstood Charles. He admitted to issuing a threat, but this was not a formal challenge or declaration of war since his threat had not been ‘absolute’ but ‘conditional’. He had clearly stated that it would be withdrawn if Francis ceased to support these rebels and invasions, and thus it was not ‘a definitive defiance’. Furthermore, Charles had at no point said that he would settle the matter by force of arms.35 It was pretty tenuous but it sufficed in a situation where the other side was looking for a way out too. The imperialists had learnt an important lesson. It was vital not to escalate hostility into war unless you were ready and willing to engage in one. The fighting continued along the frontiers but the threat of a major military conflict receded as the war of words cooled. War might still have been averted if the ostensible guardian of peace and ultimate arbiter of Christendom – the pope – had exercised this role. The best that contemporaries could say of Leo X was that he ‘allowed the war’ to erupt. Some unambiguously blamed him for the troubles – ‘all these discords are owing to his ambition’, the English ambassadors reckoned and Wolsey concurred, noting that it was the blind wilfully leading the blind. Charles later argued that cardinal Medici, Leo’s chief adviser and later pope Clement VII, had ‘got us into this war’.36 This seems somewhat unfair unless we take into account the pope’s traditional role as peacemaker. As contemporaries lamented, however, popes and clergy had largely abdicated their traditional role. Indeed Erasmus reckoned that ‘nowadays we often see them as the very
34 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXX, 116-124, Francis I to count Albert de Carpi, ambassador in Rome, 19.6.1521, cit., 119. ‘ladite guerre le pourra mectre si bas qu’il aura plus de désir de se reposer que aller chercer noyse aux autres? Other cits.: Mesnard, François Ier, 58: ‘si le roy d’Angleterre veut me laisser faire, il ne se passera pas deux ans que je ne le rende l’un des plus pauvres princes de la chretienté’. Louise’s comments in Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1456, 596. 35 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586 Chancellor du Prat’s account of the negotiations in Calais, this 547. 36 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1419, 575 Sir Richard Wingfield and Sir Thomas Spinelli to Wolsey, Antwerp, 16.7.1521; Wolsey’s comment relayed by chancellor du Prat to Louise of Savoy, Calais, 19.8.1521 in Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLVI, 483: ‘il me dist…que le pape feroit du pire que pourroit; mais si le roy avoit donné bon ordre en Italie, cellale feroit joindre. Et ce disant, usoit de ces parolles: “C’est grant paine quant un aveugle maine l’autre; veuille ou non, il se fera.”’. Du Prat knew Wolsey was in the process of negotiating an alliance with Charles at the time. Earlier, he had reckoned that an overwhelming French military presence in Italy could prevent Leo X from changing sides, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n. CXLVI, 483 du Prat to Louise of Savoy, 19.8.1521. Ibid., n.CLIII,.586 du Prat’s secretary commented: ‘De son vivant, il [Leo X], consentit à une guerre qui depuis a porté domage à la chrestienté.’ W. Bauer, ed., Die Korrespondenz Ferdinands I. Vol. 1 (Vienna 1912), I, n.120, 250 Charles to Ferdinand, 4.2.1525 speaking of Clement VII: ‘le pape, lequel fut le premier qui du temps de pape Leon nous meist en ceste guerre’.
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firebrands of war’.37 That was certainly true of Leo X. His chief aim was to extend the lands held by his family and the papal state and he put pressure on his French allies to safeguard their position in Italy. Since he was in direct competition with Francis for certain areas, including Milan, Parma, Piacenza and Naples, Leo initiated discussions with the imperialists and finding them willing to make substantive concessions, switched sides in May 1521. The Italian chronicler, Guicciardini, found this morally reprehensible and, worse still, inexplicable. Given the enormous power of the two rival monarchs and their ambitions in Italy, the most rational policy to follow was to avoid giving them occasion to invade Italy. But Leo was determined to regain Parma and Piacenza and haunted by the desire to achieve a major victory before he died. He may have thought that he could use Charles to chase the French out of northern Italy, and then turn on him and get him out of Naples, so ridding Italy of ‘the barbarians’.38 Guicciardini was also at a loss to explain why Charles had taken the ‘opportunistic’ but indirect activities of the French as a casus belli when they were widely believed to be irritants rather than a substantive reason for war. In the end, he reckoned that the war between Charles and Francis started because the growing instability within the peninsula had tempted them both to invade. For him, as for many others, their ‘emulation, hatred and suspicion’ was due to their desire to control the whole of Italy.39 It was a commonplace of the time that whoever wished to establish superiority in Christendom would need to control Italy. But there is nothing to suggest that at this juncture Francis and Charles were already thinking in terms of establishing superiority; this would come once they had established whether there was something like parity between them, which is what this initial war would determine. Nor it is clear that at this stage Italy was as crucial as Guicciardini makes out. True, Francis intended the attacks on Spain and the Low Countries to hinder Charles’ journey to Italy and at the subsequent peace negotiations sought to impose as a condition that Charles should not set foot on Italian soil for at least five years.40 But there is little evidence that Charles was particularly concerned with Italy. Even Guicciardini could only find one relevant fact – his declaration that Milan’s future should be determined by imperial law. It was essentially the need to buy the pope’s alliance with France that brought the area to the forefront. Guicciardini may have been closer to the mark when he suggested that the pressure for war in the imperial court was the result of
37
Erasmus, Education, 108. F. Guicciardini, Storia d’Italia, 3 vols. (1988), III, his analysis of the situation: lib. XIV cap. I, 15231533. He also reckons that Leo’s hostility to Francis’ governor in Milan and his favourable impression of Charles after the latter’s denunciation of Luther at the Diet of Worms played a minor part in the pope’s decision to change sides. 39 Guicciardini, Storia, III, 1523. 40 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII Calais conference, esp. 556-558 exclusion from Italy; sticking point, 579-580, 584-5. Wolsey tartly reminded the French (558) that it was not right for a vassal to order his superior, an allusion to Charles’ imperial authority over Northern Italy, including the fiefdom of Milan which Francis claimed. 38
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a factional dispute to oust the francophile Chièvres. Chièvres’ death at the end of May 1521 removed the strongest restraint on Charles and left the way open for the aggressive Mercurino di Gattinara to take over as chief imperial adviser. It is evident that despite the initial clashes, neither monarch had a sufficient or legitimate cause to begin a war and neither side was ready for a major conflicts and this accounts for their willingness to take part in a peace conference. Francis took the initiative by calling on Henry VIII to mediate. This was a sharp move. Flattered to be considered the arbiters of Christendom, the English accepted the invitation and so were neutralised for the duration of the negotiations. Moreover, since Henry summoned both sides to the negotiating table, Francis was able to state that he had not sued for a truce but had merely responded to the summons.41 Charles was now in an invidious position. He did not wish to abort the multiple campaigns he had organised against France in Spain, the Low Countries or Italy, but he could not afford to be labelled as the aggressor. Nor could he alienate the English, with whom he was seeking an alliance. Two other factors impelled him towards peace: he needed to return to Spain to restore order after the rebellion, and he was under pressure to send aid to Hungary where his sister and her husband were under attack from the Ottomans. Moreover, after some initial victories, the emperor’s forces had experienced reverses in Genoa and Milan.42 Nevertheless, Gattinara dismissed the arguments in favour of accepting truce negotiations as the equivalent of the seven deadly sins. He countered them by proposing ten arguments in favour of war. Such was the potency of these arguments, and so vital was the need to abide by them, that he equated them with the ten commandments – ‘les dix commendementz de Dieu, lesquelz devez observer’.43 Gattinara’s first five commandments were variants on two themes: first, the importance of the alliance with the pope which could be maintained only if they agreed to support his ambitions in Italy, and second, the need to prove that Charles would keep his word. No one would trust the emperor in future if he reneged on his first offensive treaty. Besides, Charles could not afford to lose the financial and other benefits of the papal alliance – the subsidies levied on the Spanish church, for example, and the right of nomination to major ecclesiastical offices. Gattinara stressed that if Charles abandoned Leo, the pope would merely change sides and give Francis additional forces to fight Charles. Three other commandments related to losses the emperor would also incur from withdrawing from a military confrontation at this stage. It would waste the financial and military commitments made if he were to disband the troops he had ready, and the taxes levied would be wasted, causing
41 This was what they said to Wolsey and the world at the start of the talks in Calais, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586, Chancellor du Prat’s account of the negotiations, this at 536. 42 Summary of the reasons for accepting the truce in Gattinara’s letter to Charles V, 30.7.1521, in Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLV, 473. Gattinara presented the recovery of Navarre and La Marck’s defeat as divine intervention on Charles’ behalf. Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 154-155, 208. 43 Gattinara to Charles V, 30.7.1521, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, CXLV, 474-482 outlining these and countering the seven ‘deadly sins’, quote, 477. Brandi, Emperor Charles V, summarized these, 157-158.
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discontent in his lands. The theme that dominated this section was simple: why retreat from a conflict that could bring considerable gains? Gattinara then added other ‘commandments’ to emphasise the greatest gains of such a war. Because the emperor’s cause was just, he claimed, God would help and guarantee victory. Charles ‘needed above all else, to search and acquire reputation’ and this was the best way to do so. Hitherto, Gattinara reminded him, he had not demonstrated his capacity or skill and everyone was watching to see what he was capable of. Everyone wanted to know if ‘given this ideal occasion, you dare to act in a manner worthy of a great emperor’. If he failed to demonstrate his prowess, Charles would be considered pusillanimous and weak and this would tempt his enemies to attack. Conscious that matters of honour were crucial to the young emperor, Gattinara expounded at length on these aspects.44 It is difficult to say whether this impassioned call for war was addressed solely or even primarily to the emperor. There is some evidence that the young prince was as eager for war as his chancellor. We tend to think of Charles as a rather timid and indolent young man who, by his own admission, left much of the task of government to his ministers until he was 30. Observers are unanimous that he was taciturn and had not been much concerned with state affairs. But the advent of war aroused strong passions in him that influenced policy. Gattinara claimed that Charles was so incensed by the assaults of 1521 that he rejected the initial requests for negotiations with some vehemence, hence the delay in responding positively to Henry’s request. When the chief mediator at the peace talks, cardinal Wolsey, had an audience with Charles in the late summer of 1521 he reported that the emperor ‘manifested such intense ardour when he spoke of his desire for reparation and vengeance against the injuries and damage done to him [by France], he could scarcely contain himself’.45 During the talks, French negotiators informed Francis that Charles had been provoked by reports that the French king had made slighting comments about him.46 One other factor may account for his intervention at this juncture – Charles’ territorial ambitions and in particular his desire to recover the duchy of Burgundy and other lands seized by France after the death of Charles the Bold. Burgundy was his goal
44 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLV, 476 ‘V.M. doit sur toutes choses sercher à acquerir reputation; car, jusques à maintenant, vostre personne n’a esté employée en chose d’estat dont ‘hon puisse arguer bien ou mal; et l’expectacion de tout lemonde ha esté jusques à oyres en espoir que, ayuant si belle occasion, deussiés fere quelque chose digne de tel et si grad empereur’. 45 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 134, Gattinara to the Calais conference: ‘la juste et raisonnable indignation qu’il a conceu à l’encontre du roy de Fance est telle, que non seullement il nous a deffendu de ne traicter avec les ambassadeurs dudit roy de France, ains par exprès de non les veoir ou parler avec eulx’; Wolsey, 156: ‘démonstrant signes qu’il désiroit réparations et vengeance des tors et injures à luy faiz, et de telle ardeur que à peine se pouvoit contenir’. Again, we might allow for some exaggeration as this made Wolsey’s stance in favour of negotiations more admirable. 46 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586 French account of the negotiations; 539: ‘il a esté faict quelque rapport au roy catholique de quelques parolles que on dit avoir esté par vous de luy dictes, moyennant lesquelles il s’est si très fort enaigry qu’il se courrousse contre ceulx qui luy parlent de la paix.’
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and his obsession. In the will he drew up in 1522 he expressly alluded to the recovery of this patrimony and his desire to be buried in the Chartreuse near Dijon with his ancestors.47 He had used the insignia of Charles the Bold during his teens and he meant to revenge his ancestor. Charles also claimed dynastic rights from his other relatives, including Toulouse, Narbonne, Montpellier and the Pays de Languedoc from the house of Aragon; French Navarre when he decided that Spanish Navarre was rightly his, and on behalf of the Holy Roman Empire he demanded the return of the imperial fiefs annexed by French monarchs, past and present, namely Dauphiné, Arles, Provence, Milan, Genoa and Asti.48 When these demands were made during the peace negotiations at Calais in 1521 Wolsey dismissed them as a bargaining ploy. He was right to think that Charles would settle for much less, but there was no mistaking the magnitude of the emperor’s claims and the fact that they signalled substantial territorial ambitions that could never be achieved without war.49 Yet, in spite of his anger, his ambitions and Gattinara’s rhetoric, Charles agreed to attend truce negotiations mediated by England and the gathering took place in Calais between August and November 1521. His choice of Gattinara as chief negotiator at best reflects ambivalence, at worst, a lack of commitment to the peace process. Three factors favoured the talks: first the need to prove his credentials as a good Christian monarch; second, lack of resources due to the unrest in Spain and earlier expenditure; finally, the need to ally with Henry VIII. Charles was strongly advised not to declare war until the English were openly on his side.50 The English were determined to play the important role of mediators and would be offended by his refusal to participate. The way they arranged the conference, however, largely accounts for its acrimony and lack of success. Henry and Wolsey announced that they intended to determine who was to blame for the war and then they would choose to ally with the aggrieved side. That, not peace, was the main focus of the talks.51 It was an elaborate bartering process during which both sides negotiated secretly with Henry while laying out their justification in public, both during the conference and in published accounts.52 Despite the moving and impressive orations from all
47
Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXVI, 252-256, Testament, Bruges, 22.5.1522, this at 253. Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, Imperial version of the Calais conference, esp. 213, 218-219. The French countered by claiming Aragon, Valencia, Catalonia, Roussillon, Naples, Sicily, the rest of Burgundy, Flanders and Artois, 219-220 which prompted the riposte that Charles could claim the whole of France because Boniface VIII had deprived Philip le Bel of his lands and title and passed them to Albert, archduke of Austria and Emperor, 222-223. 49 Wolsey likened them to the demand from an English gentleman demand of a whole forest from Henry VIII. When asked how he dared make so great a claim, the man answered that he knew he would not get it but might get seven or eight trees in the area. Le Glay, Négotiations, II n. CLIII Calais negotiations, 551-552. There are ample references to these multiple claims in later imperial correspondence and other rounds of negotiation. 50 Advisers continued to urge this throughout 1521, Brandi, Emperor Charles V, 162-163. 51 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII,125-241, Gattinara’s account, 133. 52 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 125-241, Imperialist version of the conference at Calais, 1521. This is a pro-imperial document, addressed to Charles’ aunt and regent of the Low Countries, Margaret of 48
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participants in favour of a general peace in Christendom, the two rival delegations led by their respective Chancellors, Gattinara and Du Prat, were there to win allies and allocate blame. They traded insults and made massive territorial claims. Gattinara made much of the widespread stereotype of the French as uniquely perfidious, untrustworthy, and always plotting against their neighbours and helping rebels. Charles V was presented as a virtuous and wise man, a lover of peace in Christendom, indeed a model Christian prince; an innocent, aggrieved youth, whose lands had been invaded without provocation. Once the pope made public his alliance with Charles in June 1521 they were able to claim that the spiritual head of Christendom at least accepted the truth of their charges against Francis.53 Given the little that was known about Charles it was harder for the French to make convincing counter-propaganda. However, they believed they had a strong case to prove Charles was the aggressor. He had broken his alliance with France through non-observance and later violation of various treaties as well as by challenging Francis. He had not given them the required hostages to confirm the treaty of Noyon; he had reneged on his promise to marry a French princess; he had refused to pay the pension for Naples; he had usurped Francis’ sovereignty by refusing to do homage for Flanders and Artois, which he had repeatedly recognised as French fiefs. In contrast, Francis was presented as noble and moderate, offering compromise solutions over disputed areas such as Naples, Flanders and Artois which he could have demanded since they were French fiefs – as Charles had repeatedly acknowledged. To secure peace he had waived the outstanding debts from the Burgundian and Aragonese dynasties to the French crown. The French admitted sending aid to Navarre, but emphasised that this was just and allowed for in the treaty of Noyon that Charles had accepted. With many an oath they denied helping de la Marck – Du Prat even offered to forfeit his head if this were proved. As the war spread, they were able to point to Charles’ attacks against French territory and use of foreign troops against French positions, both further infractions of his treaty obligations to Francis. They threatened to make good their extensive territorial claims against Charles, especially in Naples, Flanders and Artois.54 Both chancellors showed their erudition with detailed accounts of complex dynastic histories which was the staple of peace negotiations in this period. Du Prat and Gattinara tortured the French language to put this or that interpretation on a particular statement or ancient clause. Few could have matched their impassioned discussions on the finer points of the subjunctive and at which point reported speech gave way to direct speech in certain letters. But try as they might neither side could dispel the substantial allegations made against them: Francis had given help to Charles’ Austria; one of du Prat’s secretaries put together the French version from material from memory and from letters. It is printed in, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586. 53 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 125-241, imperialist account, 131-132, 142, 151-152; pope, 138. Wolsey added to the glorification of the man he was secretly allying with, 136. 54 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586. The core of the French case had already been made by earlier ambassadors, Ibid., n.CXLIII, 456-467, Barrois to Francis I, 17.1.1520.
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enemies; Charles had reneged on his treaty obligations. Since both were at fault, the attempt to ascribe blame for the outbreak of war came down to chronology: who had threatened whom first? The issue was no easier to determine here than it would be in Shakespeare’s fictional Verona and for much the same reason: both sides had attempted to incite the other side to open violence so as to avoid being blamed for initiating the war. Both sides accused the other of issuing the first written threats and it proved impossible to determine who was right since both had threatened each other. The distinction between ‘absolute’ or ‘definitive’ threats and those that were merely scare mongering was too fine to call. Wolsey’s moving lament on the passing of peace was the last and most hypocritical act in this charade of peace. He had been engaged in secret negotiations with Charles to arrange for England’s participation in the war and it was the conclusion of this alliance that finally allowed Charles to declare his hand in favour of war.55 Since neither side was fundamentally committed to maintaining the peace, they had continued fighting during the talks at Calais.56 Their attitude towards a truce underwent rapid changes, reflecting the success or failure of their troops. When things were going well on the field of battle, the winning side would become intransigent while the loser would be enthusiastic for a truce.57 To begin with the situation looked bleak for Francis, hence his demand for a truce of at least four years in the summer of 1521. The combined forces of the emperor and the pope had managed to oust Francis from much of Milan and Genoa, and, as noted, the invasion of Navarre was beaten back in June 1521. Serious reverses in September and October made the imperialists favour a truce of eighteen months – time enough, as the French appreciated, to prepare a major new campaign. ‘This truce would be the true source of even greater wars’, was how the French chancellor, Du Prat, assessed the proposal. By the time the negotiations ended in November 1521 the two sides were roughly balanced. The French had taken Hesdin, held on to Mezières and devastated parts of the Low Countries, but they had lost Tournai and had been unable to reverse their defeats in Italy and Navarre. The news of the fall of Milan to the imperial-papal troops came shortly after the treaty was finalised.58 Why then had Henry VIII decided in favour of an imperial alliance? The English king was eager for war and tended to see France as the traditional enemy. Charles
55
The most lively exchanges are summarised by Gattinara in Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 182-191 which ended when Wolsey left the room saying he was ill; God’s backing 208; dynastic intricacies e.g. 213-218. 56 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIII, 136-137: this emerged in his discussions with Wolsey. 57 A good instance of the rapid ups and downs during October 1521, for example, in Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, ns. 1620, 1623, 1640, 1651, 1667, 1670, 1679, 1689. This volume provides documents that give a detailed account of the negotiations as seen by the English. 58 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIII, 529-586, quote at 579: ‘telle trefve qui est vraye nourriture de plus grandes guerres’. As this account by du Prat’s secretary makes clear, the French negotiators were particularly sensitive to these changes and used them to prove that Charles was fundamentally hostile to peace and willing to consider it only when things went wrong. Also Knecht, Francis I, 177-180.
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had also flattered him by his visits and humble behaviour. Wolsey assured him that Charles was willing ‘to take and follow your counsel and advice’ on all matters, and went on to stress that as a result of this special relationship, Henry was ‘not only the ruler of this your realm, which is in an angle of the world, but also by your wisdom and counsel, Spain, Italy, Almayne and these Low Countries, which is the greatest part of Christendom’. 59 Confident of this, Wolsey insisted that the English held back until certain that Charles had the military might and funds to win the war, although the outline treaty was already in place by August. Henry VIII must step in only when he could ‘be participat –sic – of hys vict[ories]’. 60 Yet this could not be extended indefinitely. The emperor was becoming impatient at the lack of commitment from his uncle and unhappy at the conditions on offer. It must have looked to him as if he was going from one humiliating treaty to another. By mid November Margaret, always the most ardent supporter of an English alliance, warned that the situation was becoming dangerous. She had heard Charles angrily declare: ‘I see well that the Cardinal … ask[s] of me things so unreasonable that I could not agree to them either for my honor or advantage’. He accused the English of wishing to constrain him, ‘as if I had become their prisoner’. His threat to seek other alliances and marriages worried her because ‘no one can make the Emperor change his mind.’61 Charles added to the pressure by suggesting a second state visit to England, more public, grand and elaborate than the last but not until there was an open proclamation of the alliance. Although still uncertain, Henry agreed to a secret league in November and the pope was a signatory to the alliance. Details of a joint campaign were to be finalized during the emperor’s visit to England, but the date set for the campaign was March 1523. On 29 May 1522 the English herald, Clarencieux, delivered his challenge to Francis.62 The imperial visit to England during June 1522 was a time for much rejoicing and posturing. The two monarchs and their retinues celebrated the coming of the war, prophesising the defeat of France. When envoys arrived at court clamouring for aid against the Ottomans in Hungary and Rhodes, they were curtly dismissed with many a bon mot about the need to face ‘our own Turk’ as they referred to Francis. The treaty of Windsor (16 June) formalised their plan for a joint invasion of France with each of them committing at least 40,000 men. Charles agreed to compensate the English court for the loss of their French pensions and to pay past debts. A marriage was arranged
59
Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1515, 634. Wolsey to Henry, August 1521. Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1479, 608, Wolsey to Henry VIII, 8.8.1521; further advice to hold back, n.1488, 612, ibid., 14 August. Summary treaty, Bruges 25.8.21 in ibid., n.1508, 620-621. 61 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1766, 747, Margaret to Berghes, s.d. [November 1521]. It is plausible that she was exaggerating in order to put pressure on the English to finalize the alliance, but it is in line with Charles’ behaviour. 62 Treaty: Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, III pt.2, n.1802, 760-761, Calais 24.11.1521; defiance, ibid., 2292. 60
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between the emperor and Henry’s only daughter, Mary Tudor. To Charles’ bitter disappointment, however, Henry insisted that he could not act until the summer of 1524. Although he offered plausible and pragmatic justification for this, the truth was he remained uncertain of the wisdom of his choice. Some months later, when the situation had dramatically improved for Charles, he would change his mind and clamour for a major invasion of France in 1523. Confident that Charles had Spain under control, and hearing that the duke of Bourbon had defected to Charles, Henry sensed the possibility of an easy victory and clamoured for an immediate invasion of France.63 The absence of genuine mediators and the incitement of allies meant that the aggressive and expansionist tendencies of monarchs such as Francis and Charles were not contained
The War The first war between Charles and Francis had started with a whimper and gradually become louder and more widespread, but it was still rather scrappy and remained undeclared. After the failure of the Calais negotiations in November 1521 it was generally accepted that the two monarchs were engaged in an open war but there was no official declaration or justification beyond what had been expressed in that conference. The absence of more symbolic actions reflects the scant justification on either side. Once the Calais talks ended the pace intensified, but the aims of the two contenders were unclear beyond the desire to defeat the other side. Francis was determined to keep Charles weak by whatever means appeared, and to hold on to Milan and Genoa. For his part, the emperor had to expel the French from their remaining Spanish outpost in Fuenterrabia and doubtless he still dreamt of taking the offensive against Burgundy, but the nature of his alliance with the papacy ensured that a good portion of his resources was devoted to the struggle for northern Italy. Gradually, Charles fell under the same spell that had blinded so many others and expressed his determination to expand in the area. Charles attempted to annex Cremona and hoped to do the same to Milan once the final French were finally expelled from the area. The emperor’s aggression and ambition now aroused considerable fear among Italian princes. Gattinara, Colonna and other leading councillors attempted to restrain him – not because they were opposed to expansion, but because they believed in a policy of alliances rather than annexation. Yet it was not clear that they would prevail. War aims were infinitely flexible in the conditions that prevailed in an area of small, rich and often insecure states. Above all, however, Charles nurtured an intense ambition in this war to ‘do something that would earn him renown throughout the world’.64 63 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLV, 589-592 Louis de Praet to Charles, 9.8.1523 with details of the league between the two kings, Ferdinand and the duke of Bourbon. 64 A. Rodríguez-Villa, ed., El Emperador Carlos V y su corte según las cartas de Don Martin de Salinas, embajador del Infante Don Fernando (1522-1539), 2 vols. (Madrid 1903-1905), I, n.29, 107 Salinas to Ferdinand, 15.2.1523, ‘que se haga una cosa sonada en el mundo’.
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For a time the imperialist league did well, In the north, Overyssel was taken, although fighting along the frontier with Artois was not going well. In northern Italy they advanced, routing the combined forces of the French, Swiss and Venetians at Bicocca on 27 April 1522 and holding on to most of Milan. Genoa surrendered in May. But there was now an unlooked for complication. On the death of Leo X in December 1521 the College of Cardinals unexpectedly elected the Netherlander Adrian of Utrecht as pope. Adrian VI had been Charles’ tutor and regent in Spain. Charles was confident he would have a loyal ally in Rome. He greeted the new pope with a holograph message that stressed two things: imperial support to secure Adrian’s election – thus implying that he owed them a favour – and the duplicity of the French. Charles reminded Adrian of a lesson he and other tutors had instilled into him, how ‘the French are rich and generous with wonderful promises and sweet sounding words, but measure friendship according to their own benefit’. Once it had ceased to be profitable, they invented an excuse and broke off the alliance. Charles added that he had now learnt by experience that this was indeed the case and he hoped Adrian would help him to contain the expansion and ambitions of France and looked forward to achieving ‘many good and great things, for we shall be as one and act in unanimity’.65 Francis shared the emperor’s expectations and tried to neutralise Adrian by formally requesting papal mediation for a new round of truce negotiations. Much to their surprise Adrian proved a man of principle who was determined to be impartial and prove a true shepherd to all Christians. He called upon the two sides to cease fighting and join forces against Islam. Charles at first paid lip service to the idea of peace and expressed his desire for a war against the infidel, but as the pope became more insistent, he used delaying tactics, claiming that he would need to consult his other ally, the king of England, before giving a formal response. He also blamed Francis for the conflict and suffering of Christendom in the hope Adrian would offer support. Such prevarication incensed Adrian, particularly after the shocking news of the fall of Rhodes to the Ottomans in December 1522.66 As tension heightened, the emperor’s correspondence with Adrian became more strident and petulant, showing his active participation in the formulation of policy at this juncture. The Mantuan ambassador noted in July 1523 that while he remained a ‘man of few words, very reserved’, he now spent ‘a great deal of his time in Council, and nothing can be done without his consent’. Margaret’s envoy, La Roche, also informed her about this time that everything now had to go through Charles, but more significantly, he claimed that the young emperor was doing what he wanted,
65 Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.32, 58-60 Charles to Adrian, 7.3.1522, ‘pour faire par ensemble beaucop de bonnes et grandes choses: et doit ester une mesme chose et unanime des deux’. Ibid., n.33, 61 Adrian to Charles, 3.5.1522 where he refers to ‘ce que de mouy avoit ouy et a prins aux escoles: assavoir les François estre rices et abundans de promesses belles et doulces paroles, mais mesurer lamitie a leur profict’. 66 Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.32, 59 Charles to Adrian VI, 7.3.1522; Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLIV, 587-588 Charles to Margaret, Valladolid, 6.9.1522. Knecht, Francis I, 147-148.
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often without taking advice from councillors. This might be due to the fact that the much-vaunted divisions among the imperial council continued to be one of its most salient characteristics, despite the fact that Gattinara was a dominant figure at court.67. But Adrian would not be moved from his policy. He continued to summon the two monarchs to unite against the Turks and in spite of the lack of response, on 30 April 1523 he demanded an immediate cessation of hostilities on pain of serious spiritual censures. A breach with Charles was averted by chance. Adrian now discovered that despite his fair sounding words, Francis had been busy conspiring to continue the war and planned to provoke a rebellion in Sicily with help from leading churchmen. Feeling betrayed, Adrian imprisoned some francophile cardinals and provoked Francis to declare that he would never lay down arms until he had recovered his ‘patrimony’ in Milan. Hoping to frighten Adrian he also threatened to set up an antipope and in June prohibited the sending of moneys to Rome, breaking off diplomatic relations. Meanwhile he prepared a major invasion of Italy.68 Adrian retaliated by doing what Francis most feared, that is to ally with Charles. On 3 August 1523 he joined the broad-based coalition around the emperor which now included Henry VIII, The emperor’s brother, Ferdinand, Venice, Milan, Florence, Genoa and other Italian principalities. The benefits for Charles were immense, not least because he was able to tap the vast ecclesiastical revenues of his lands and take full control of the Military Orders in Spain. Equally important was the defection of the French magnate, the duke of Bourbon. Bourbon was locked in a bitter dispute about property and power with Francis and he decided to defect to the emperor. He promised to organise a rebellion within France to coincide with a two-pronged invasion from the east and north. The defection prompted Ferdinand to end his talk of peace and urge his brother to continue the war since it not only enhanced their defensive capabilities but improved their chances of a major punitive expedition. Henry VIII threw caution to the winds and immediately set about organising an invasion, bombarding Charles with demands for action. The three negotiated a new offensive-defensive alliance in July and August 1523. Caught up in the optimistic expectations of the time, the Castilian cortes voted generous subsidies. The Indies fleets arrived with large consignments of bullion that the emperor seized for the war. All seemed set for victory. Yet the year ended with meagre results. English troops landed in France and marched on Paris, causing great consternation; but they lacked strength to hold on to conquests. Charles duly invaded France from the Pyrenees, but far from being a major invasion of Guyenne, as the English hoped, it was a minor incursion, easily put down. The
67
R. Tamalio, Ferrante Gonzaga alla corte spagnola di Carlo V (Mantua 1991) 83, Pandolfo di Pico della Mirandola to Isabella d’Este, Valladolid 14.7.1523: è molto riserva[to] in se, et parla pocho … Consuma gran tempo in Conseglio, né intendo ch’el fazzi cosa se non da par Suo’. Comments by La Roche and Gattinara cit. by Brandi, Emperor Charles, 202-206, 213. 68 Brandi, Emperor Charles, 204, 207-208.
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bulk of the northern army in Spain was devoted to retaking Fuenterrabia. Charles rightly assumed that until this was recovered he would continue having great difficulties in securing Spanish aid for the war. When it was finally retaken in March 1524 he disbanded the army, arguing that it was in no state to continue fighting after the arduous winter campaign. The army from the Low Countries made little headway. The English bitterly complained of the lack of effective backup from Flanders, while they in turn blamed Charles for diverting so much of his strength to the Italian front. Charles retorted that by keeping a strong presence in Italy he was dividing French forces and so facilitating their attacks in the north. Despite these tensions, the allies held a number of meetings where a major assault on France for the fighting season of 1524 was worked out. 69 Faced with this mighty coalition, Francis experienced isolation and despair, but the crisis brought out the best in him. ‘All Europe is in league against me’, he declared, ‘very well! I will face the whole of Europe. I do not fear the emperor. He has no money. Italy is mine: I will take personal charge of the situation there. I will go to Milan and take it’. These declarations emboldened francophile Italian princes, who, in anticipation of the French invasion, took up arms and started settling scores.70 Although Bourbon’s rebellion forced him to remain in France for some months, the situation in Italy turned against Charles in other ways too. Adrian VI died and the papal alliance ended. Spirits were high in the imperial camp after the election of cardinal Medici as pope Clement VII in November 1523 as he was reckoned to be an ‘imperialist’, but hopes were soon dashed. On assuming the papal tiara Clement declared neutrality and in March 1524 the college of Cardinals agreed to send papal nuncios to the leading courts of Europe urging them to end the fighting in Christendom and take up arms against the Turks. The other keystone of the antifrench coalition was also shaky. By January 1524 the English were expressing profound discontent with the imperial alliance. ‘Nothing has been done for the king’s profit, and no portion of his inheritance recovered’, Wolsey complained. Yet he had faced war in Scotland as a result of his breach with France and the loss of French pensions. English ambassadors reckoned Charles was taking advantage of the English alliance to divert his resources to Italy, and some were of the opinion 69 Events in Brandi (1965) 209-212, 216-219; J.J. Scarisbrick, Henry VIII (Harmondsworth 1968) 173177; Knecht, Francis I, 201-215; Ferdinand’s comment in Bauer, Die Korrespondenz Ferdinands I., I, n.32, 48-49, to Margaret, 4.5.1523; Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLV, 589-592, alliance between Charles V, Henry VIII and Ferdinand; Castilian end: Rodríguez-Villa, Salinas, I, n.53, 147 (4.10.1523) and n.60, 163-165 (24.3.24); M. Fernández Alvarez, Corpus documental de Carlos V, 5 vols. (Salamanca 1971-81) I, n.XIX, 88-90 Charles to Lope de Soria, 13.12.1523; Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.51, 96-97 Charles to Lannoy, 2.3.24; and n.95 (March 1524); Italian versus northern front, in Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.49, 84-94 Margaret to Charles, 21.2.1524; Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1, n.8, 4-5; Charles’ response, Ibid., n.209, 80 to the English ambassadors, March 24. 70 Cit. Mignet, ‘Election’, 245: ‘Toute l’Europe se ligue contre moi. Eh Bien! Je ferai face à toute l’Europe. Je ne crains point l’empereur, il n’a pas d’argent… l’Italie, c’est mon affaire, et m’en charge moimême. J’irai à Milan, je le prendrai, et je ne laisserai rien à mes ennemis de ce qu’ils m’ont enlevé’. For Guicciardini, note 38 above.
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that despite his boasts, Charles did not have enough money to continue the war. Henry would soon have worse problems as his attempts to raise further taxes gave way to rebellion. Not surprisingly, the English gave a warm reception to Clement’s peace proposals. More importantly, they also initiated negotiations for a reversal of alliances. Francis and Louise welcomed these initiatives with open arms. Bereft of substantial English support, the imperial invasion led by Bourbon into France that summer failed. The imperial army managed to take Aix but failed to take Marseilles and by September they withdrew.71 Charles’ response to Clement’s initiative was not overtly negative either. He declared that he would consider peace if he was given Burgundy and full sovereignty over Flanders, Artois and Naples, and if the duke of Bourbon was restored to all his lands in France. In exchange he was prepared to countenance the return of Milan to the French. Francis refused. Ferdinand for one did not take the talk of peace seriously. He commented to Margaret that Charles would pull out of any truce negotiations the moment things went well for him again on the Italian front. The emperor’s true intent was revealed when he heard that the German princes were planning to send envoys calling upon him and Francis to make peace and join forces against the Turk. He urged Ferdinand to stop them as he could neither accept the request nor be seen to reject it. He had rather hoped the German princes might be persuaded to contribute some funds to his exhausted coffers but that was not to be either.72 Bolstered by the failure of the imperial invasion of Provence Francis decided to direct his forces towards Italy again and set off for the front. His advance was rapid. On 26 October he made his triumphal entry into Milan from whence imperial forces had fled. Ferdinand reckoned the emperor’s ‘honour, authority and reputation’ was so seriously damaged by this that it required extraordinary measures. His concern can also be explained by reference to his hopes of securing Milan for himself. He decided to go there in person, raised troops and attempted to impose some coherence and unanimity between the divided imperial commanders in Italy. But this was to prove difficult not least because Francis had opted for a risky and daring strategy: a major part of his army was sent south immediately to conquer Naples. ‘I want nothing less than the entire state of Milan and the kingdom of Naples’, he declared. Ferdinand appreciated that they would need a similar tactic to halt the French advance. He tried to persuade Henry VIII to help, either by organising an immediate diversion or sending money. Charles
71 The growing tensions between England and the imperialists can be followed,in Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1 n.8, 4 Wolsey to William Knight, s.d. [January 1524]; also n.13, 11-2 Knight to Wolsey, 13.1.24; n.30, 14-15 Sampson and Jernigham to Wolsey, 15.1.24, n.32, 14, ibid., 18.1.24; n.61, 24-25 Wolsey to Sampson and Jerningham, also n.187, 74 to Wolsey, s.d., March 24; n.186, 72-74 Wolsey 25.3.24. Salinas had reported Charles’ reluctance to support English strategy in Rodríguez-Villa, Salinas, I, n.38, 118 to Ferdinand, 21.6.1523. 72 See Knecht, Francis I, 201-215, and Brandi, Emperor Charles, above. Call from the College of Cardinals, AGS, E.1553 f.111, Rome 11.3.1524; Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.67, 130-131, Ferdinand to Margaret, 12.5.24; Ibid, I, n.69, 132 Charles to Ferdinand, 25.5.24 and ibid., n.81, 204, 11.7.24.
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was conscious of the need for a diversion too and before he knew that Ferdinand intended to head for Milan, he asked him to organise an invasion through Burgundy. Panic now gripped the imperial camp, especially as news filtered through of the negotiations between Henry VIII and Clement VII with the French. Convinced that it would not take the allies long to drive Charles out of Italy for good the English demonstrated their hostility towards Charles. The emperor’s diplomatic correspondence was seized and Wolsey publicly insulted the emperor and his family.73 Dazzled by Francis’ success and lavish offers of territorial concessions for the Medici, and perhaps also frightened by the prospect of French troops marching south to Naples, Clement signed an alliance with the French king in January 1525.74 Shortly after, the new Anglo-French alliance was completed. It was Charles’ turn to face isolation and despair. ‘My friends have forsaken me in my evil hour’, he wrote, ‘all are equally determined to prevent me from growing more powerful and to keep me in my present distressed state’.75 The crisis made him understand the fear which his mighty power aroused and its impact on international relations. It also prompted him to attempt to work out a suitable strategy independently. As noted, he had on occasion been acting independently since 1523, but the document from January 1525 is the earliest evidence we have of how the emperor thought and attempted to resolve one of the sharpest crises of his life, and although it was printed in Brandi’s magisterial biography, it is pertinent here to analyse the main points and draw some inferences on what it reveals of the emperor’s policy.76 The document is repetitive, lacking clarity of thought and structure, and proves that he was as yet rather immature, shallow in his perceptions and short on strategic vision. He starts rather self-consciously from the premise that the remedy for all ills was peace. But peace, it soon emerges, was not just an ideal, it was a necessity. The lack of funds to launch a major new campaign against Francis obsessed and tormented him, but his comments on this alternated with agonised reminders to himself that he should try to reduce taxes and to pay his soldiers well, neither of which could be done until Milan was recaptured. Charles blamed Francis for having started 73
Ferdinand’s reaction can be followed in the correspondence published, in Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I; offers to help in Milan, n.100, 229 Charles to Ferdinand, 16.10.1524; n.106, 238 Ferdinand to Charles, 5.11.24; attempts to rouse the English, n.109, 240 Ferdinand to Margaret, 13.11.24 and n.111,.240-241, id, 18.11.24; Charles’ call for a diversion in Burgundy, n.117, 246 Charles to Ferdinand. Francis’s strategy in Knecht, Francis I, 163-5. Wolsey’s views, Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1, n.1018, 446-447; hostile actions in numbers 1083, 1101, 1190, 1372, 1379 and 1381. Charles knew of the negotiations with France in the summer but did not ask formally for them to be suspended until October, ibid., n.752, 330-331 Charles to Praet, 20.10.1524. 74 Brandi, Emperor Charles, 216-219; Knecht, Francis I, 217-218. Clement’s lengthy justification of his actions were communicated to Charles via Cardinal Farnese sometime later, Weiss, Papiers, I n.LVII, 280-310. 75 Cit. Brandi, Emperor Charles, 219-220. 76 Brandi, Emperor Charles, 219-221 (quote, 219-220). This includes an elegant translation of it which improves the original style as can be seen from the French excerpt he published in Brandi, Kaiser Karl V., 2 vols. (Munich 1941) II, 428-429.
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the war. It is evident that the propaganda picture of himself as the innocent victim of French aggression reflected his own view of the situation. This manichean view of events combined with his natural stubbornness would prove an important hindrance to peace since he believed that the aggressor must pay for the war. Anger combines with earnest Christian moralising, but there is excitement too, as he outlines the new campaign he wants to launch against France in Italy and the North. One more titanic effort was required. This line of thought ends abruptly, however, as if Charles was correcting himself, giving way to a comment of how much better it would be if an honourable peace was offered instead and avoided the necessity for this new round of fighting. In this document as in real life Charles was torn between his desire to be a model military hero and the embodiment of a virtuous, pacific Christian king. To raise the money needed for the next campaign he would have to marry the rich Portuguese Imfanta, Isabel. But this would force him to break the alliance with England that required him to marry Mary Tudor. The fear of a final breach with England paralysed him for some time, delaying his match with Isabel and causing him untold anguish. The document confirms Charles’ obsession with making an impact; with achieving greatness and glory, and that he believed by now he could only prove himself against France by ousting Francis from Italy. Charles was now determined to go there in person as soon as possible. A letter written to Ferdinand shortly after this confirms the depth of his despair early in 1525. He denounced the perfidy of the pope and Italian princes who had defected to France, and his fears of being abandoned by England, as well as his gratitude for Ferdinand’s loyalty and help.77 It was Ferdinand who made the difference by rallying and supporting imperial forces in northern Italy. But he was unable to go there in person as he had hoped. Francis had skilfully weakened him by negotiations with the duke of Wittemberg and Bohemian dissidents both of which threatened to destabilise Ferdinand’s lands. The Turks were still active in Hungary and soon news of the devastating peasant’s revolt spread throughout Europe. It is a tribute to Ferdinand’s loyalty and expectations of securing Milan that he managed to divert important resources to this front. They were not enough. Starved of funds the imperial commanders faced the threat of a major mutiny as French troops continued to advance against their remaining positions. More fearful of this than of death, the imperial commanders risked battle on 24 February near their base at Pavia. The French troops were seriously weakened by the four-month winter siege they had endured, and by the departure of some of their Swiss and Italian allies. In a confused engagement that went now one way, now another, the imperialist forces finally triumphed and routed the enemy. Francis I fought bravely but he and many of his nobles were taken prisoner; thousands were slaughtered. ‘Your Majesty’, wrote an exultant Ferdinand, ‘is now Monarch of the
77
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Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.120, 250-253 Charles to Ferdinand, Madrid, 4.2.1525.
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whole world.’ Another supporter, Lope de Soria, wrote: ‘Your Majesty can now impose your own rules and imperial supremacy throughout Christendom’.78 But this was not to be. Pavia would prove a hollow victory.
Plucking the Wings of the French79 ‘We require you to pray to God for the souls of the departed, and to thank him for the victory he has given the Emperor… and may the long war which we have suffered and still endure be ended with a good and lasting peace’. This was Margaret of Austria’s pious exhortation when she received confirmation of the victory.80 Shock at the bloodshed and an unshakeable belief that this battle heralded a major change in international relations was common to friend and foe. The Spanish humanist Juan Luis Vives heard the news in Oxford where he was teaching. He feared that the victory would prompt an all-out attack by the allies on the defenceless people of France – which was precisely what Henry VIII now urged on Charles. He repudiated the new alliance with France and sent envoys to Spain demanding a joint invasion and the recognition of his right to be king of France. Ferdinand too reckoned it was an excellent opportunity to reduce the power of the French monarchy permanently. ‘Let us not lose this opportunity to get our enemy, but execute our victory’, he urged, warning Charles not to suffer the fate of Hannibal after the battle of Caana.81 Vives wrote Henry VIII arguing that this would lead to horrendous bloodshed of innocent people and demonstrate that victory had made Charles and Henry so ‘insolent’ they would countenance the destruction of Christendom. Moreover, what had happened to Francis could easily happen to them and they might find themselves at Francis’ mercy in future. For all these reasons, he urged Henry and Charles to show magnanimity, compassion and Christian virtue. Surely no one could fail to feel pity for Francis and for France; for fellow Christians and fellow human beings. It was a marvellous opportunity, he argued, ‘to do good, to 78 Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.124, 266 Ferdinand to Charles, 15.2.1525; n.131, 273-276 ibid., 14.3.25; n.136, 282-293. Quote in Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.136, 287 Ferdinand to Charles, 2.4.25, ‘Su Md. Es señor de todo el mundo’. Fernández Álvarez, Corpus, I, n. XXI 98 ‘V. Mat. Puede agora poner ley y usar de su preheminencia Imperial en toda la Xriptiandad.’ (sic) Lope de Soria to Charles V, 26.2.1525. Ferdinand’s crucial role – acknowledged by Charles – Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.133, 280 Charles to Ferdinand, 31.3.25; n.136, 287 Ferdinand to Charles, 2.4.25. A clear description of the battle in Knecht, Francis I, 165-172. 79 Cit. Ferdinand recommended that Charles should pluck the wings of the French making sure they could never fly again, Fernández Alvarez, Corpus, I, 100. 80 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLII, 262-263, to the council of Flanders, Malines, 13.3.1524/5: ‘Nous vous requérons faire prier Dieu pour les âmes des trespassez, luy rendre grâces de la victoire qu’il a envoyé à l’empereur,… et que la lungue guerre que avons jà heu et encoires avons, puisse terminer par bonne et perdurble paix.’ 81 Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.131, 273-276, esp. 275 Ferdinand to Charles; and n.135, 289 instructions to his ambassador at the imperial court, 2.4.1525, ‘no perder tal oportunidad ante el enemigo sino executar la victoria’.
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gain merit before God and glory among men!’. They would prove that they not only had power over the king of France, but ‘power over yourselves’. By reassuring the French ‘that while they have lost a king, they have found two other defenders and protectors’, Charles and Henry would convince them never to fight against such magnanimous opponents. Further aggression might well have a devastating effect since desperation frequently prompted people to heroic deeds.82 Another humanist, Johannes Dantiscus reckoned that as the victory had clearly come from God, it imposed upon the emperor a duty to seek peace and friendship with all Christians.83 Charles heard the news on 10 March 1525. Ambassadors were informed immediately and flocked to court to congratulate him. They found to their astonishment that he showed little emotion and was entirely devoid of the expected triumphalism, insolence or pride. Charles responded to their effusive words, via Gattinara as usual, emphasising that it was God’s work. Alone with the Polish ambassador he modestly declared that he had not merited such great favour from God but now that he had the upper hand, he hoped to secure peace in Christendom so as to join Ferdinand and the king of Poland in their fight against the Turks. This was the party line, repeated ad nauseam also by his counsellors. The court organised muted celebrations – a procession, admittedly with much pomp – and a service of thanksgiving that quite deliberately eschewed the usual Te Deum Laudamus. The sermon, doubtless carefully vetted, urged them to universal peace (sic) and war against the Infidel, as well as the reform of the church. Almost the only sharp note struck was the comment Charles allowed himself for Henry. He instructed his ambassador in London to say how very happy he was with the victory, ‘especially having had such little help from our friends in this campaign’.84 The Venetian ambassador, Gasparo Contarini, interpreted this extraordinary reaction as a manifestation of Charles’ character: he did not generally show emotion or say very much. The chronicler Sepulveda – who commented with masterly understatement that ‘news of the victory was not displeasing to him’ – believed that it demonstrated his sensitivity, his sadness at having won glory at such cost to Christian lives, as well as ‘his characteristic gravitas’.85 Both explanations have something to offer, but even 82 Moreover, these human considerations were, of course, as nothing compared to the pleasure they would give Christ. Vives, to Henry VIII, Oxford, 12.3.1525, in J.L. Vives, Obras políticas y pacifistas, ed. F. Calero et al. (Madrid 1999) 77-79. 83 Dantiscus to Sigismund I, Madrid 16.3.1525, in A. Fontán, & J. Axer, eds., Españoles y polacos en la corte de Carlos V (Madrid 1994) n.23, 171-174. 84 Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.66, 157 (26.3.1525). Charles’ reaction was described in a variety of sources, including: Dantiscus to Sigismund I, Madrid 16.3.1525, in Fontán & Axer, Españoles, 171176. Tamalio, Ferrante Gonzaga, 236-237, Ferrante Gonzaga to the marquis of Mantova, Madrid 26.3.25; Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1, n.1189, 520-521 Sampson to Wolsey, 15.3.25. Examples of the effusive letters of congratulations that poured into court in AGS, E.1553 f.142 from Cardinal Colu, Rome 2.3.1525 and f.146 from Francesco Sforza, 13.3.1525. 85 Contarini’s Relazione (November 1525) in E. Alberi, ed., Le relazioni degli ambasciatori veneti al Senato durante il secolo decimocesto, 15 vols. (Florence, 1839-63). Relazione Gasparo Contarini, ser. 1, vol. II, 62: ‘uso tanta modestia che fu un miracolo; non si vide un segno d’insolenza’. E. RodríguesPeregrina, ed., J.G. Sepúlveda. Obras Completas, vols. I & II, ‘Historia de Carlos V’. (Posoblanco
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when combined they are not entirely convincing. It would seem that Charles was stung by the criticism levelled at him for the slaughter and for the sympathy Francis attracted due to his plight. The pope, for example, refused to congratulate Charles formally, although he instructed the vice-chancellor to inform the emperor how happy he was that the emperor should be doing so well. He justified his position on the grounds that as universal shepherd, he could not approve such war and bloodshed among Christians.86 A profound ambivalence towards the victory seems to have affected the emperor. Despite the enormity of the victory, he remained anxious and vulnerable because this was not the glory and spectacular deed he had hoped for. In a short but expressive letter to Charles de Lannoy, the real victor of Pavia, Charles thanked him for his magnificent service and begged him to do his best to create a suitable opportunity for him: ‘so that before I get much older, I will be able to do some great deed which will serve God and not heap blame upon me. I refer to myself as old because in relation to this, it seems to me I have already lived a long time and the future seems so far off’. 87 Charles remained cold and aloof during the ensuing negotiations, with bouts of stubbornness alternating with periods of acute indecision as things failed to go his way. His behaviour was puzzling at the time and remains a matter of controversy. Brandi reckoned that he ‘surpassed himself in delay and obstinacy,’ remaining oblivious to the dangerous situation he created by his policies, whereas Fernández ´Álvarez, taking the emperor’s words at face value, has enthused about his chivalric behaviour and desire to put the good of Christendom first.88 To understand what happened we must begin from the basic premises of the emperor himself. His policy would be rooted in three elements: his belief that God had given him victory and proved that right was on his side; his firm conviction that Francis was to blame for the war and should pay for his error, and finally the belief that the victory had placed France and not just Francis, entirely at his mercy. Even Louise, the king’s distraught mother, was not to be spared the key lessons. He instructed the imperial ambassadors to visit her and declare that Charles had not wanted war and was not to blame for it breaking out. They were then to emphasise that ‘God, who is a just judge, and who
1995-6) I, cap.V, 122: ‘aunque la nueva de la victoria no le fue desagradable. en atención a que se habia conseguido a costa de muchas vidas de cristianos no permitió que se hiciese ninguna manifestación pública de regocijo’. He also refers to ‘la gravedad que le era caracteristica moderó su gozo’. 86 AGS, E.1553 f.142, Cardinal Colu to Charles, Rome 2.3.1525. 87 Weiss, Papiers, I, n. XLIV, 265-266, Charles to Lannoy, c.April 1525, cit. 266: ‘Aydés á bien dresser les affaires, afin u’avant que je deviene beaucoup plus vieux, je face chose par où Dieu peust ester servy et que je ne sois á blasmer. Je me dict vieil pour ce qu’en ce cas le temps passé me semble long et l’advenir loing.’ 88 Brandi, Emperor Charles, 227; M. Fernández Álvarez, Carlos V, el César y el Hombre (Madrid 1999) 316 ff. Characteristically he cites (316) a letter the emperor wrote to the ambassador in England in March 1525 where he rejected the idea of invading France with Henry VIII on the grounds that Francis was a prisoner who could not defend himself or the kingdom, and this ‘would look bad’ emphasizing the first part as proof of his goodness and ignoring the implications of the closing remarks ‘que sembleroit sonner mal’.
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gives all victories, knowing the justice of our cause and our true intentions, has already given us many fine victories against the king of France, [and] has now added this last one, granting that the said king should fall into our hands’. Charles acknowledged that such divine favour required an appropriate response and accepted that the only suitable payment to God was by making a durable peace in Christendom, but his belief that Francis needed to pay for his folly would colour his strategy.89 He felt no need to preach to France the extent of their powerlessness, but other states were informed of this. France, he wrote later to Portugal, had been left ‘orphaned, without its king and its armed forces’, and therefore Charles could do as he willed with her.90 The second strand that we need to understand subsequent events is to take into account the barrage of contradictory advice that he faced. His fundamental beliefs did not easily translate into rational policy so he looked to his allies and counsellors to provide him with cogent solutions. Henry VIII at once repudiated his new agreement with France and sent warm congratulations to Charles, reminding him of his promises to marry Mary Tudor and restore the English to their French territories. Henry urged the return of ‘his crown’ and demanded that Francis and his successors should be ‘utterly destroyed’. Only then could peace in Christendom be guaranteed. The way to obtain the desired end was by mounting a devastating joint campaign in France.91 Ferdinand too reckoned it was the best opportunity to ensure that the French monarchs were left powerless to challenge Charles or his family in future. He was less clear as to what means should be used, whether negotiation or war, but thought Charles must secure the return of his patrimony, the restoration of Bourbon, and imperial sovereignty over Dauphiné. The imperial council was deeply divided on the issue. The emperor told Ferdinand that some were urging him to press on with the war while negotiations commenced and if the conditions offered within six weeks were not to his liking, that he should ‘pursue his good fortune’ and invade France. According to the partisan Venetian ambassador, these councillors were supporters of Gattinara and their aim was to establish Charles as the Universal Monarch, whereas others, including some of the imperial commanders in Italy such as Lannoy and
89 A. Champollion-Figeac, ed., Captivité du roi François Ier (Paris 1847), n.LIX, 149-159 Madrid, 28.3.1525, cits,150: ‘Dieu, qui est juste juge, et duquel descendent toutes victoires, congnoissant nostre juste cause et droitte intention, après nous avoir donné tant de belles victories contre ledict roy de France, finablement nous ait donné ceste derniere en faisant tomber ledict Roy en nostre puissance’. Strong statements about God’s favour were included in the emperor’s letter to the regent of France also, Ibid., LXVIII, s.d., esp. 169. A statement with almost the same words was made to the Cortes of Castille, F. Laiglesia, ed., Estudios históricos, 3 vols. (Madrid 1918) I, 372, Valladolid 11.2.1527. 90 AGS, E.1554 f.514, Charles to the king of Portugal, ‘estando francia huerfana de su rey y de sus capitanes y gente de guerra’; revenge mentioned in E.1554 f.529 draft to an unnamed duque. This was also the argument made before the Castilian Cortes, AGS, Section PR (Patronato Real), PR 70-19 (1525) and again in the 1527 gathering, AGS, PR 70-22. 91 Brewer, Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1, n.1212, 528-529 instructions to Tunstall and Wingfield, envoys to the emperor; their report back n.1378, 610-616, (2.6.1525). They put it thus, that the French monarchs ‘should be extirpated, removed and clearly repelled, with all his lineage, from the government of France for ever’.
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Hugo de Moncada, and the two Spanish members of the council, were opposed to this, some arguing in favour of peace with France and the partition of Italy. The situation was rather more complex than this. Some counsellors wanted the war to be intensified; others accepted that fighting should continue but only so as to increase pressure on France during peace negotiations, and others still reckoned that there should be a suspension of arms and immediate peace negotiations. Lannoy and others wanted Charles to leave Spain at once and establish himself in Italy; most Spaniards would not hear of the emperor’s departure.92 A further option was always present: as Vives and others advised, Charles might make the ultimate magnanimous, chivalric gesture and release Francis immediately. Faced with these contrary options, Charles decided on an intermediate measure: to demand peace with certain concessions and delay a decision on whether to continue fighting or suspend it. Soon after he would agree to very short-term suspensions, which meant that the French faced the threat of war throughout the ensuing negotiations. Gattinara told the Polish ambassador that he feared that what had been said of Hannibal would be said of the imperialists: you can win a battle but do not know how to exploit the victory.93 Charles decided from the outset that he would not demand a ransom and that he would try peace negotiations, and vaunted this as the most honourable and merciful approach he could take. But the peace was to be secured at a heavy price for France, although just how heavy remained a matter of fierce debate in the imperial camp. There were those who reminded him of the papal bull issued by Boniface VIII transferring the lands and title of king of France to the archdukes of Austria. Others preferred to claim what appertained to each of the royal houses Charles represented – this included Provence, Toulouse, Narbonne and Languedoc (royal house of Aragon); Champagne and Brie (from Navarre), Dauphiné (an imperial fief) and the duchy of Burgundy. In what he interpreted as a clear demonstration of magnanimity, Charles was prepared to share these with his allies. Despite his treason, he was willing to purchase a renewal of his alliance with England by requesting Normandy, Guyenne and Gascogne for Henry. Bourbon was to get Provence. Thus he could reward them and weaken France for ever, although naturally he did not say this openly. It did not take long for Charles to realise he would need to reduce his own demands if he was going to reduce suspicion and hostility among other Christian powers and remain within the bounds of mercy and magnanimity. Making a virtue out of necessity he declared that he would settle for the ‘resolution of recent quarrels’, that is the restoration of Burgundy, sovereignty over Flanders, Artois and its neighbouring territories, and
92
Henry’s advice, Brewer, a.o., Letters and Papers Henry VIII, IV pt.1 n.1212, 528-529; Ferdinand to Charles, in Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.64, 155 (14.3.1525) and Brandi, Emperor Charles, 224-227; Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.133,.278-279, Charles to Ferdinand, Madrid 31.3.1525; Lannoy to Charles (25.2.25) in Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.62, 150-2; Alberi, Relazione Contarini 1525, esp. 54-6, 58-9. 93 Fontan & Axer, Españoles, Dantisco to Sigismund, Madrid 16.3.1525, 173: ‘Temo que se pueda decir de nosotros lo mismo que de Aníbal, sabes vencer, pero no sabes aprovechar la victoria.’
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the repudiation of French claims to Milan and Naples. This, he declared repeatedly, was nothing more than ‘restitution of his patrimony’ so unjustly seized by France. Territorial and financial concessions for his allies were essential to safeguard their allegiance.94 He constantly stated that his demands were just and limited, and his acts a clear manifestation of his ‘virtue, magnanimity and clemency’. Indeed, he insisted that his conditions were ‘so just and equitable that they could not be altered in any way’. As the French resisted, however, he scaled down his demands for his allies, requesting monetary compensation for the English and the restoration of Bourbon’s state.95 At last, he told ambassadors, he could do what he had so often proclaimed: establish universal peace among Christians and devote himself to the war against Infidels. Significantly, however, even his allies interpreted this as a cover for his real aim which was to continue expanding in Christendom.96 Perhaps they had an inkling of Gattinara’s wistful dream of annexing Languedoc, Provence and Dauphiné, thus creating a safe land route between Spain and Italy.97 Things did not go the way Charles expected. Both Francis and Louise resisted the emperor’s territorial demands and waited for a truly magnanimous gesture to materialise. The king’s initial messages to Charles were brief, elegant and to most readers then and now, moving. He appealed to the emperor’s honour and magnanimity. He argued that Charles would make greater gains by showing pity and not dishonouring him further, since he would be guaranteed friendship and gratitude. ‘Instead of a useless prisoner,’ he wrote, ‘you can make a king forever your slave.’98 Even after Charles let it be known he would not release Francis without conditions, the French
94 Details of his demands vary in textbooks and in the documentation as the demands underwent many alterations during the negotiations, but see de Champollion-Figeac, Captivité du roi François Ier, n.LIX Charles V’s Instructions to the imperial ambassadors going to France, 28.3.1525, territorial concessions esp.151, 153-155; variants of these in Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLIII Charles to the regent Louise, s.d. c. April 1525, 263-265. Detailed imperial demands with Francis’ replies, in Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.LXVI, 166-169 and Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLIX, 270-273. Charles’ speech to the 1525 Castilian cortes insisted that it was: ‘restitución de lo que injustamente le estaba y está ocupado de su patrimonio’, Laiglesia, Estudios históricos, I, 369. 95 See note above for the changing demands. Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLVII, 268-269, Charles to Francis, s.d. ‘ce sont tant de bons propos et honnestetez, que de la verty [] d’un tel prince que vous estes se doit espérer.’; Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.66, 158 Charles to his ambassadors in England, 26.3.1525 ‘user de la vertu de magnanimite et clemence, sans user de plus grand rigeur’. 96 Tamalio, Ferrante Gonzaga, Ferrante Gonzaga to the marquis of Mantova, Madrid 26.3.1525, 236237, ‘ha ditto a lo ambasatore de Venecia et a certi altri ch’el dimostrarà qual sempre sia stato l’animo suo et desiderio de vedere pace universale tra cristiani per andare contra infieli, nondimeno credeesi che habia in animo de fare gran cose ch’el non dimostra’. The war against the Turks was also briefly mentioned, in Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.LXVI, 166-169 and Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLIX, 270-273 and in Charles’ letter to Charles de Lannoy: ‘je vois que ne me sçaurois où employer si ce n’est contre les infidelles’ in which ‘je ne sois à blasmer’. Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLIV, 265-266, s.d. 97 He wished they could prove that this belonged to the Aragonese, but admitted it might be too much to hope for. His memorandum summarised in Brandi, Emperor Charles, 226. 98 Francis’ two letters to Charles, in Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLV, 266-267, and n.XLVI, 268. The quote comes from the first, 267: ‘si vous plaist avoir ceste honnestesté et pitié de moy, avec la seureté que mérite la prison d’ung roy de France, lequel l’on doibt rendre amy et non désespéré, vous pourrez estre seur de faire un acquest, au lieu d’un prisonnier inutile, de rendre un roy à jamais vostre esclave.’
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pointedly asked him to free the king without more ado since they were kinsmen, and most importantly because this would be ‘an act worthy of perpetual memory, demonstrating his goodness, humanity and mercy’99 In retrospect, Francis’ expectations might appear unrealistic, even quixotic; another example of his rather shallow and optimistic personality. But this is not the case. He believed that Charles essentially had three choices: to keep him a prisoner indefinitely; to demand a vast ransom; or to ‘give him his freedom and let him go as a friend’, forging a perpetual debt to such magnanimity and mercy. Not surprisingly, Francis did not regard Pavia as a judgement from God, but merely as a devastating reversal of Fortune. He was convinced that Charles would not act in such a way as to deepen the enmity between them, as would undoubtedly happen if he imposed a harsh and dishonourable settlement on his captive. Francis also took refuge in chivalric ideals, invoking the traditional code of honour of the Christian noble and this too influenced his response to the crisis. Honour was the concept he referred to most frequently during his captivity. Charles’ public declarations to the effect that he did not want to prolong the king’s imprisonment more than was necessary to get peace; that he would not demand a ransom, and that he wanted to have Francis as a friend were interpreted by Francis as a signal that Charles too was following the same idealised chivalric code and that he would be released soon.100 Moreover, the French constantly reminded the victors that a treaty made under duress was invalid. This had never prevented such treaties from being concluded or imposed, but it was incompatible with the emperor’s repeated statements from the outset that he wished for permanent peace and the rapid conclusion of the crisis. Such a settlement spelt war and both sides needed peace. All this explains why Francis was somewhat confused and offended when faced by substantial territorial concessions. But he believed, as did others, that a compromise was possible.101 The situation became more tense and unpleasant as Charles countered his every move by reiterating his demand for Burgundy. Francis’ response was a brief and uncompromising: ‘Impossible’; it was, he insisted, contrary to ‘la raison et honnesteté’ and he offered Charles a substantial ransom instead.102
99 The three steps were outlined by the French negotiators in July, Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CLVIII, 255-261 esp. 256-258; quote 257: ‘fit ung acte digne de perpetuelle memoyre, representant sa bonté, humanité et clemence.’ The power of kinship was repeatedly used by Louise from her first letter to Charles on 3 March 1525 (Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XXXIX, 259), through to the detailed negotiations – eg. Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CXVIII, 255-261, the French negotiators to Louise, Toledo, 19.7.1525, esp. 256 and 261. 100 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CCXXII, 466-478, this at 470, ‘mettre en liberté et le laisser aller son amy, en ce sas luy devoit donner occasion de demeurer envers luy obligé de clemence et magnanimité’. 101 This was the sanguine expectation of Ferrante Gonzaga’s tutor at the imperial court in Toledo. Although he acknowledged the difficulties over Burgundy, his belief was – ‘Non è fuori de speranza, per quel se dice, che l’acordio tra loro Maestà habbia a concludersi’: Pandolfo to Isabella, 26.6.1525 in Tamalio, Ferrante Gonzaga, 247-252, this at 250. 102 The point on Burgundy was made in the king’s first Protest against the emperor’s conditions, 22.8.1525, in Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CXXXIV, 300-303, this at 301.
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It was not until July 1525 that the French accepted that Charles would not act out of magnanimity as they defined it – that is the free release of the king. As he also insisted that he would never accept a ransom either, this left them no alternative to the third option available, that is full negotiations over his territorial demands. Francis and his negotiators assessed these according to the concepts of ‘honneur et honnesteté’ and ‘raison et honnesteté’. Essentially these ill-defined terms signalled the parameters of the chivalric-christian tradition. They expected Charles not to dishonour his captive further and not to ask for anything unreasonable. To establish a viable measure, they also put on the table Francis’ own territorial claims, namely his rights to Naples, Aragon, Valencia, Roussillon, Sardinia, Catalonia, Milan, Genoa, Cremona, Asti, the Franche-Comté, Flanders and Charolais, and once again asked for payment of old debts which the royal house of Aragon owed the French monarchy.103 When he heard that the emperor would not relinquish his demand for Burgundy Francis declared that ‘he was also advised not to give anything more than what he offered’. Louise insisted that he would rather die a prisoner than give up his patrimony.104 Charles remained utterly unmoved by the king’s plight and dismissed his words with contempt as mere ‘gracieusetéz’. In his very first exchange, Charles took the king to task for not having given his immediate assent to the peace conditions, noting sharply ‘this is not the way to peace’. Far from acting according to chivalry, Charles refused to give any guarantees regarding Francis’ honour other than to state his intention ‘to preserve my honour without sullying yours’.105 Charles insisted that Burgundy was his patrimony and that since he could have taken the whole of France, his demands for restitution of his dynastic claims was both honourable and magnanimous. Stalemate was evident within weeks. By early May the emperor was seriously considering the renewal of the war and set in motion preparations that were halted both by lack of funds and by the need to attend to his marriage. In late June, frustrated by the lack of progress in the negotiations Charles announced a major campaign against France in the spring of 1526. But the situation had changed. Alarming news from the Ottoman court suggested a massive new invasion of Hungary was planned for precisely this time. Ferdinand now urged his brother to make peace and to help defend the eastern front.106
103 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.LXXXV, 198-209 Instructions to the French ambassadors, Lyon 6.6.1527 includes (198) a clear introduction which allows a closer definition of these terms. Also, Ibidem, n.CLVIII, 255-261 esp. 256-258. 104 Francis’ position can be put together from his curt answers in Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.LXVI, 166-169, titled: Francis to Charles V and dated by the editor as April 1525, but which also includes a note of strategy followed in the answers given in Weiss, Papiers I, n.XLIX, also undated but dated by the editor. as December 1525; Louise insisted in September, ‘plustost morra en prison’, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLXXIV, 635. 105 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLVII, 268-269, Charles to Francis, s.d. cit. ‘y gardant mon honneur sans souiller le vostre, conservant mes amys et aussy désirant de vous veoir délivré’. Response to Francis’ words in Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.143, 309 from his letter to Ferdinand, 20 & 31.7.1525. 106 Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.138, 294 Charles to Ferdinand, 4.5.1525 which crossed with Ferdinand’s of the same day, Ibid., n.139, 296. Delays announced in n.145, 312-7 Charles to Ferdinand 20-31.7.25 and plans in n.143, 305-311, esp. 307-309, quote from 309, Charles to Ferdinand, 25.6.25.
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Francis also sought another way out: dynastic union. He revived plans put forward by the imperialists in 1524 for a double marriage that would have bound the two dynasties firmly. The Dauphin would marry Charles’ niece, Maria of Portugal, and her mother, Leonor, would marry Francis himself. The second match had two inestimable advantages – it would deprive Bourbon of his promised bride and so avoid a powerful dynastic bond with Charles; and it would bring money. The French reckoned her dowry could cover half the ransom, setting the figure at a staggering one million écus.107 But the imperialists continued to demand territorial concessions and Francis appreciated he would have to make concessions. He offered his rights to Naples, Milan, Genoa and Asti, and the transfer of sovereighty over Flanders, Artois, Tournai and the Tournaisis, Mortaigne, St. Amand and Arras to Charles and his successors,108 but he still refused to yield Burgundy. It was, as Sepúlveda vividly put it, like death to him – ‘instar mortis videbatur’.109 Yet, shortly after his arrival in Madrid in August 1525 he realised he might have to cede Burgundy to regain his freedom, so he drew up a formal protest in which he declared that any treaty he signed to this effect was null and void since it was unjust and gained by force. He swore that as soon as he was free he would ‘pursue the rights of the French crown, and recover the duchy of Burgundy and other rights of that crown that he [Charles] might secure by force’, committing ‘his person, his subjects and his goods’ to this end.110 This was the very opposite result Charles expected. Observers noted with curiosity that he did not wish Francis should not give him Burgundy because he had no power to resist the demand. On the contrary, he must do so because he at last accepted that Charles had every right to have it.111 Pragmatists in the imperial council must have frequently shaken their heads in disbelief at such expectations. They became increasingly alarmed when news filtered through of negotiations for an anglo-french alliance. From the Low Countries Margaret urged her nephew to conclude the negotiations rapidly with a firm peace. He must, as the imperial ambassador insisted, neutralise France either through friendship or war. In October he reported that the conclusion of a new treaty of friendship with Henry had given the French heart and stiffened their resistence.112
107 He justified this on the grounds that Leonor’s status was exalted: she was the eldest child of Philip and Joanna and close to the succession since Charles was unmarried and childless. Only Ferdinand and his family stood between her and a fabulous inheritance. It is notable that the emperor relaxed his efforts on Bourbon’s behalf after he ceased to be Leonor’s prospective husband. 108 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.LXVI, 166-169; Weiss, Papiers, I, n.XLIX 109 Sepulveda, Historia de Carlos V, II, cap.VI, 15. 110 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CXXXIV, 300-303, cit., 303 ‘luy ayant liberté de sa personne, de poursuivre les droits de la couronne de France, de recouvrer la duché de Bourgogne et autres droits d’icelle couronne qu’il auroit baillez par contrainte’. Knecht, Francis I, 225-226, 239-246, account of his travels and captivity. 111 Tamalio, Ferrante Gonzaga, 253-258, Pandolfo to Isabella d’Este, Toledo, 26.7.1525. 112 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLXX, 629, Nicholas Perrenot to Margaret, 27.10.1525; n.CLXX, 613620 esp. 615-619, Louis de Praet to Charles, Lyon 13 & 15.10.25; n.CLXXIV, 632-635 ibid., Lyon 14.11.25.
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Charles had a final chance to change course when Francis fell seriously ill. Until then he had refused every request to meet his captive, now he relented. Ever the optimist, Francis interpreted Charles’ comforting words about soon gaining his freedom in the best possible light, and trusted that the eloquence and grace of his sister, Marguerite d’Angoulême, who had travelled to Madrid would soften the emperor’s heart. It was not to be. Charles proved impervious to either charm or despair; unmoved he reiterated his demands. As one frustrated observer noted: ‘the French persist in their determination, and His Majesty persists in his… I believe that the emperor will not allow the king to leave until he has what he wants.’113 Francis was profoundly depressed and growing weary. By the end of the year he realised he must capitulate over Burgundy or remain a prisoner indefinitely. Bitterly, he agreed to these conditions but refused to accept a treaty of friendship. Charles was aghast. He knew that Francis would not be morally committed to the conditions without a bond of friendship. He in turn now made significant concessions. He agreed to release Francis before Burgundy was handed over. The French claimed that this was necessary since they could not guarantee the transfer without the king’s personal intervention. Gattinara argued vehemently against this. In vain he reiterated the policy options he had set out from the start, and which he felt were apposite even at this late stage. He insisted that Charles had only two options. He must either release Francis unconditionally and thus gain the French king’s friendship, or else keep him in prison indefinitely and take full advantage of the situation. Others persuaded Charles that it was possible to have peace, friendship and Burgundy. He could guard against Francis’ duplicity by demanding that the king hand over his two eldest sons who would remain in Castile along with Francis’ new wife, Leonor, until such time as Burgundy was handed over. Charles later he told the Castilian Cortes that this plan had been supported by some Castilian grandees, but it seems to have originated with some of the commanders in the Italian front and particularly Lannoy. Because of Gattinara’s continued opposition to this strategy, Charles withdrew him from the negotiations.114 By the treaty of Madrid, concluded in January 1526, Francis promised to cede Burgundy and abandoned his claims to Italy. He withdrew support for his allies and agreed to reinstate Bourbon and his followers. With only hours to go before he appended his signature, however, Francis made a solemn declaration that the treaty was invalid since it was signed under duress and ‘contained several clauses that are unjust and unreasonable’, chief among them was the cession of Burgundy which
113
Le Glay, Négotiations, II n.CLXXVIII, 649 Jean L’Allemand to Louis de Praet, Toledo, 21.11.1525, ‘Messieurs de France persistent en leur propos, et S.M. persiste au sien… je crois fermement que l’empereurne laissera partir le roi sans premier avoir le sien.’ 114 Brandi, Emperor Charles, 234-236; Knecht, Francis I, 246-248. The emperor’s claim in the cortes of Valladolid, 1527, Laiglesia, Estudios, I, 373, was intended to make them more receptive to his demands for further funds for the war that had revived. His confessor, Garcia de Loaysa, later criticised the hostage taking and may well have done so earlier.
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belonged of right to the kings of France. In addition, he stated that no one, not even an emperor, could demand that a king break his word of honour to allies or that he should reinstate rebels. Francis noted that he had offered honourable terms for his freedom – first, his friendship; second, a huge ransom, and lastly, judicial processes to determine the rights to both Burgundy and Milan. By rejecting them Charles made a further war inevitable.115 The imperial camp talked up this ‘treaty of perpetual peace, friendship, alliance and ‘intelligence’. They emphasised Charles’ restraint and love of peace; his desire to negotiate rather than to take things by force.116 In a letter to his brother, Charles triumphantly asserted that the treaty ‘wiped out all discord’, and he boasted to his aunt Margaret that he could have extracted far greater concessions, but had preferred a lasting peace to his own profit. Sensibly he tried hard to rally enthusiasm for a crusade, writing to the kings of England, Hungary, Poland, Denmark, Portugal and Scotland, as well as to the Swiss, to Ferdinand, Margaret and Italian princes at the end of March 1526 calling them to action against the Turks.117 It was soon evident that he had made a serious mistake. Francis left Madrid in February, having contracted but not consummated his marriage to Leonor which was to be the seal of perpetual unity between the two houses. He returned to France on 17 March 1526. It was said that it was not only the king but all of France wept to see his two sons taken into captivity.118 These were tears of rage as well as sorrow. Just as Gattinara and Vives had predicted, the lack of magnanimity on the emperor’s part provoked France to take revenge and the French people supported him generously. The demand for the two young hostages shocked and outraged opinion throughout Christendom and the emperor’s substantial increase in power and evident ambition made others fearful. As Lannoy had warned Charles even before Pavia, ‘you are great, indeed far more powerful than even your allies want’. Sepúlveda, who was in Italy after the treaty of Madrid was known, reported great fear and resentment on the part of Italian princes, who wished to counter it with a new war. The pope was convinced Charles would try to reclaim the extensive territories the papacy had seized in the course of the recent wars. Francis did all he could to nurture such fears. He also tried to convince them that together they could form a league so powerful it would achieve anything they set out to do. There were soon conspiracies against the emperor in Milan, Florence and Genoa.119 The lack of 115 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CCXXII, 466-478, Madrid 13.1.1526, cit.: 467 ‘les articles et traicté de paix contenoient plusieurs choses contre justice et contra raison’. 116 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.LIV, 277 Margaret to the Flemish council announcing the peace, 10.2.1525/6; Examples of Charles’ announcements and justification AGS, E.1554 f.514 Charles to the king and Queen of Portugual and E. 1554 f.529 to an unnamed duke. 117 AGS, E.1554 f.557 draft of letter to the various monarchs, end of March 1526; Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.182, 366, Charles to Ferdinand, 2 & 9.2.26, ‘effacer toutes noz discordes’; Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.81, 190-191 Charles to Margaret, Toledo, 9.2.26. 118 G. Guiffrey, Chronique du Roy François Premier de ce nom (Paris 1860) 49-50. 119 Sepulveda, Historia de Carlos V, II, lib. VI, cit., 3; he discusses the motives of the Italians and Henry VIII, 3-6. Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.60, 149 Lannoy to Charles, 5.12.1525: ‘Vous etes grand, et plus que vos allies ne voudroient. Vous me pardonnerez de ce que vous en dis.’ See also Albèri, Relazione … Contarini, 1525, 70; Brandi, Emperor Charles, 227-233.
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compensation had also made Ferdinand resentful and unhappy.120 Conscious of the growing hostility, Charles attempted to appear less grasping and ambitious. He accepted Gattinara’s advice not to annex Milan and promised to reinstate Francesco Sforza. He continued to emphasise his desire for a crusade. The Italians remained sceptical, pointing to the fact that Charles would retain the citadel of Milan and so effectively control the area. Moreover, as often happens, fear alternated with opportunism. After Pavia Charles allowed his armies in Italy to be drastically reduced and failed to send money to maintain what troops were left despite increasingly anguished warnings. Charles was aware of the danger but argued he did not have money and placed his hopes on the peace talks. Once the peace was concluded, he lost no time in announcing his departure for Italy.121 Observers noted the disintegration of the imperial position and the divisions among the imperial commanders, as well as Ferdinand’s profound discontent at his lack of reward. Moreover, busy as he was with unrest in the Holy Roman Empire – the Knight’s war and the Peasant’s War had devastated large areas in 1525 – and with the Ottomans, he could not be much help to his brother. For a time the repeated promises that the emperor would come to Italy in person stilled the growing unrest, but when he failed to appear that autumn – to the despair of Ferdinand, Gattinara and the imperial commanders in Italy – his enemies saw an ideal opening.
War Renewed Charles was so confident that Francis would not break his word that he did not know how to respond when informed in May 1526 that he would never get Burgundy. Francis repudiated the treaty of peace and on 22 May signed a vast coalition known as the league of Cognac which included the pope, Francesco Sforza, Venice and Florence. Henry VIII had encouraged everyone else to join, then much to their concern and fury, refused to contribute directly to the war effort. It was the only good news Charles received that fateful May. In rage and frustration Charles declared that Francis could not declare war since he was still technically a prisoner, but this was a technicality his enemies were happy to overlook.122 Francis clearly hoped that the League and renewal of war in Italy would force Charles to capitulate without committing France to another major campaign, but it was not to be. Despite 120
His requests can be followed in Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, vol. I; see his rather de/ spairing demands towards the end of the process in n.149, 322-326, esp. 324, to Charles 1.9.1525. 121 Examples of the warnings he received, Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.67,160, Lannoy to Charles, 20.4.1525; Bauer, Die Korrespondenz, I, n.149, 324 Ferdinand to Charles, 1.9.1525; and response, n.158,.340-341; Fernández Alvarez, Corpus, I, n.XXIII, 115-117 Charles to Lope de Soria, 7.2.1526 announcing his departure for Italy. 122 Lannoy’s warning about Burgundy in Lanz, Correspondenz, I, n.88, 209-210, Cognac, 16.5.1526; his response, Brandi, Emperor Charles, 242. Brewer, Letters and Papers, Henry VIII, IV pt.2, n.2451, 1094-1095 the emperor’s thanks to Henry VIII, 2.9.26.
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the limited help they received from Francis, his Italian allies did well initially. Venice took Lodi, and Milan rebelled against the imperialists. Charles at last reacted. He ordered Ferdinand to create a diversion in the north. Aware of his brother’s lack of funds, he instructed Ferdinand to ask the German princes for aid and as a concession offer a religious peace while the war with France continued. As Brandi commented, it is striking that the first compromise settlement with the Lutherans had its roots in the needs of the Italian front, not (as was claimed later) as a result of the Islamic threat.123 Nor was this the only stain on his religious ideology. He was once again at war with the pope. Clement VII emphasised this by publishing a bitter attack against imperial policy, justifying his resort to arms to resist Charles’ over-mighty power and blaming Charles for disturbing the peace of Christendom. The response was a blistering indictment of papal policy from the imperial court. Far from being a shepherd, the imperialists claimed, the pope had turned into a wolf. It was he who threatened Christian unity.124 The renewal of the war also made Charles retract from his promise to give aid to Hungary that year, and this time it proved fatal. In August 1526 Suleiman led his troops against the forces of Louis of Hungary. Thousands died at the battle of Mohács and the king was killed while attempting to flee from the carnage. Much of Hungary fell to the Ottomans. Profoundly shocked by these events, nine imperial councillors advised the emperor to withdraw at once from Italy and send these troops to resist the Ottomans. They admitted he would endure immediate losses in that front, but reckoned they would be more than compensated by the benefits of serving God and saving Christianity and his ancient Habsburg patrimony.125 Such altruism was alien to the emperor. True, he went through a period of intense sorrow and determination to send a rescue mission to Hungary, but it did not last long, particularly as the tide turned in his favour in Italy. That September imperial troops under don Hugo de Moncada forced their way into Rome and forced Clement VII to agree to a truce. Bourbon managed to retake Genoa and Milan. But the imperial treasury could not sustain such costs and the pope knew it. In January 1527 after the French won the battle of Frosinone he broke the truce. It was to prove a serious error. Charles attempted to keep his army on the field by sending irregular subsidies, giving strict instructions to paymasters to hold back payments until the situation was critical, and not to reveal the scarcity of funds.126 It was a risky strategy and it failed disastrously. The unpaid and near mutinous soldiers ravaged the Romagna and marched towards 123
Brandi, Emperor Charles, events, 237ff; religious peace 242-243. Sepulveda, Historia de Carlos V, II, cap. VI,19-20; Brandi, Emperor Charles, 244, 250-252. 125 AGS, E.14 f.7 published in Fernández Álvarez, Corpus, I, n.XXIV, 118: ‘porque es grandissymo el daño que se sigue de tener Guerra, aunque sea justa e justisima contra christianos, entrando los enemigos de la fee y estando tan adelante; porque aunque v.m. reçiba daño al presente fará grandes efectos en serviçio de Dios e defensyón de la fee e del antiguo patrimonio de sus pasados’. 126 AGS, E.1554 f.538 an example of the kind of order being sent. Here the Emperor sends 100,000ds to the duke of Bourbon’s forces, much less than promised and yet not to be delivered until the situation was critical since nothing else was available. 124
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Rome demanding money. Bourbon and other captains chose to stay with them so as not to lose control completely. Aware of the danger and in order to buy time Clement renewed his truce with the imperialists on 17 March. He knew that Francis was negotiating a new aggressive alliance with Henry VIII (completed on 30 April) and reckoned that the league armies were close enough to protect him. Such was his confidence in the power of his calling, he dismissed demands for money even when the imperial army appeared before Rome on 5 May. The lack of response broke the remaining bonds of discipline and the following day the mutinous troops attacked, determined to take by force what was denied to them. Bourbon died in the initial assault and soon after the prince of Orange, another popular leader, was seriously wounded. Nothing could be done to control the troops. For over a week Rome was subjected to a horrendous assault. No one was safe; no one was privileged; nowhere was out of bounds. The multi-ethnic and multi-religious army did not allow for this. Cardinals as well as peasants were paraded in the streets and abused by the soldiers; churches like houses were sacked; monasteries as well as palaces. Eye witnesses would not forget the horror of those days. The sight of torture and rape; the screams of living and dying; the stench of rotting corpses would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Only those who were allowed to remain with the pope in the relative safety of the Castel Sant’Angelo were spared, even if their property was not. And yet Clement refused to capitulate, waiting still to be saved by his allies. By the time he admitted defeat in early June and started to give the sums needed to get the troops out, the damage was done. Surveying the destruction of the city, Francisco de Salazar commented that Rome would not recover for hundreds of years. Charles had succeeded ‘in becoming absolute master of all Italy’, but it was regrettable that he should have achieved his aim with ‘such great cruelty when, given his great power, it could have been done in other ways’.127 Once again Charles had won a spectacular military victory which earned him more condemnation than plaudits. A disaster of this magnitude was naturally ascribed to divine forces and Charles felt vindicated. God could not have allowed such a victory if he had not been on his side. This was the line taken in the official justification of events penned by one of the leading humanists who was also a secretary to the emperor, Alfonso de Valdes. The pope and the corrupt city of Rome deserved this divine punishment for their moral as well as political sins. Not surprisingly, his Dialogue would later prove valuable ammunition for the protestants against the papacy. But the imperial council was deeply divided on what to do next. They toyed with the idea of bringing the pope prisoner to Spain. They could not agree what concessions to demand in exchange for peace. Martínez Millán argued recently that 127 AGS, E.847 Francisco de Salazar’s detailed and harrowing accounts, possibly to Gattinara, ff.180-181 Rome 8.5.1527 and ff.182-183 fragment of a letter s.d., early June. Quote from ff.180-1, ‘aunq\ podemos dezir q\ del todo han hecho absolut señor de ytalia al emp[e]rador como todos lo deseavan, a todos nos pesa q se aya hecho con tan gran crueldad podiendo se hazer de otr[r]a manera co[n] la grandeza de su potençia’. Brandi, Emperor Charles, account of these events, 252-254, 259-263.
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the hesitant policy followed at this juncture is due to the fact that for the first time Charles had to resolve the crisis on his own. The sack of Rome discredited the ‘Flemish party’ at court on whom Charles had relied recently and coincided with the death of key advisers such as Lannoy and Bourbon who might have provided alternative ideas. Charles lacked the speed or the vision to face such a complex situation alone.128 Brandi argues, however that the problem was precisely the lack of input from Charles who responded to the crisis by withdrawing from the turmoil and spending time with his family. Without his participation, the divided council could come to no firm resolution. In the absence of clear guidance from court, the commanders in Italy allowed the pope to escape in December. As Gattinara feared, Charles had once again won a major victory and lost the war.129 As far as many Christians were concerned he deserved no better. However much the imperialists blamed the corruption of the church, the captivity of the pope and sack of the Eternal City put Charles outside the moral and political norms of the time. In January 1528 Guyenne and Clarencieux, heralds of France and England respectively, arrived in Burgos to make a formal declaration of war. Not an ordinary war, but a struggle for the safety and soul of Christendom. Francis and Henry projected themselves as saviours of the Respublica Christiana. They proclaimed their passionate commitment to peace, blaming Charles for starting the war and for the violent capture of the Pope. They also condemned the emperor for continuing the war by refusing to return the French princes in exchange for ransom; for failing to abide by the conditions of earlier treaties and for attempting to annex Italian territories that did not belong to him. Since Charles had subjected Christendom to suffering and bloodshed, it was the duty of Christian princes to punish him and restore order and peace. In his declaration, Francis emphasised that most of Christendom supported him: England, Venice, Florence and the papacy had offered him their support because they believed right was on his side. Both monarchs also criticised Charles for failing in his imperial duty to safeguard Christendom from infidels and heretics. His aggression and ambition had prevented Christendom from countering the Islamic threat.130 There was nothing new in the arguments used by the heralds, what was novel was the fact that after seven years of fighting between Francis and Charles this was 128 J. Martínez Millán, ‘La corte de Carlos V y el Mediterráneo’, paper given to the international conference in Naples, January 2001. He went on to argue that after considerable hesitation and uncertainty, Charles resolved the situation by accepting the advice of ‘the Aragonese group and Gattinara’ who urged him to adopt a more interventionist policy in Italy and persuaded him to go there in person in 1529. 129 Brandi, Emperor Charles: account of these events, 252-254, 259-263; Gattinara’s comment, note 93 above. 130 Weiss, Papiers, I, n.LVIII, 310-346 Account of the Declaration of war and of Charles’ verbal and written responses, 22 & 27.1.1528. These were publicised in contemporary publications and summarised by A. Valdés: Diálogo de Mercurio y Carón, J.V. Ricapito ed., (Madrid 1993) 187-192, 194-197. Valdés blames Wolsey for Henry’s policy. He is also insistent on the point of law that prevents a prisoner from challenging his captor by war or duel, esp. 196-197.
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the first formal declaration of war, and it came from Francis. For his part, the emperor refuted each charge with arguments that were equally familiar. His strongest line of argument were the emphasis he placed on the fact that the English had agreed with him when they declared war on Francis in 1522, and the fact that the pope was no longer in his power. Charles was able to benefit from a result he had neither ordered nor desired. While his loyal subjects lauded his actions and reassured him that he had acted quite properly, Charles knew that such public denials would not suffice to persuade the rest of Christendom.131 He therefore resorted to another spectacular chivalric ritual: he challenged Francis I to a duel. Commenting on Francis’ repudiation of the treaty of Madrid in August 1526 Charles had angrily told the French ambassador that Francis had broken his word and acted ‘vilmente y ruinmente’, failing to meet the noble code of honour. This was undoubtedly an insult and the ambassador wisely pretended that he had not passed it on to his master, otherwise Francis would have had to respond in kind in order to defend his honour. Now Charles repeated his words in public and set it down in writing so that the ambassador would pass it on to the king. He had turned an insult into a personal challenge and given Francis no option but to respond. Single combat between two monarchs was unheard of and quite incompatible, most contemporaries felt, with the duty of a prince to his subjects and to God. On being informed of all this, the French king commented that it would be ‘manifest infamy and dishonour to fail to respond’, so on 28 March he solemnly and publicly declared Charles a liar and proclaimed his acceptance of the emperor’s challenge, demanding a time and place for the duel. The emperor received the challenge in June at Monzón, where he was dealing with Aragonese affairs prior to his delayed departure for Italy. To the horror of many counsellors he accepted the duel ostensibly ‘for the good of Christendom and to avoid further bloodshed and to put an end to this war and defend my just demands’. And yet, what else was he to do? He had impetuously set in motion a process that tied both men to ritual responses and where rejection spelt infamy and dishonour. The depth of the crisis can be measured by the fact that he abandoned his journey and returned to Castile to consult and make preparations. Contemporaries were stunned by the news, and convinced that whoever lost would not only die, but also be damned since God and right could only be on one side. While a few, including the apologist Alfonso de Valdes who publicised the challenges and reponses in a famous Dialogo de Mercurio y Carón, praised the emperor’s valour, others condemned his action. Sepúlveda spoke for many when he said that the two monarchs were behaving as if they were ordinary soldiers, without abiding by the decorum of their office. Such behaviour was
131 As above, Weiss, Papiers, I n.LVIII, 310-346; Valdés, Dialogo, 187-192, 194-197. AGS, E.9 f.136 the duke of Medina Sidonia’s to Charles 8.2.1528 acknowledging receipt of details and reassuring him that he believed Charles had demonstrated ‘su yntinçion a sido tan santa y ha justificado su cavsa ante dios’.
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unworthy of a monarch. While he blamed Francis for the situation, the French naturally argued that they were the victims of the emperor’s challenge.132 Sensible men on both sides sought to dissuade them and when they failed, used various stratagems to disengage. The imperial ambassador refused to accept Francis’ challenge and so forced them to use a special envoy. Safe conducts on both sides were delayed. Charles received a formal response in mid June and sent his acceptance via the herald, Burgundy. When he finally arrived at the French court, the herald was made to hear a formal justification on the part of the French king but not allowed to utter his public defiance. Both monarchs had succeeded in organising grand public events that allowed them to proclaim their willingness to fight each other, but they were under great pressure to disengage from such madness. Typically, Charles would not do this without further – and to many commentators, unnecessary – publicity. He consulted the chief men of his realms, lending himself to accusations that he did not know what to do and finally, at the end of November, issued a barrage of letters to leading figures of his empire informing them what had happened and asking them to disseminate his version of events. He claimed that Francis had pulled out of the duel and assured them that ‘we have sufficiently and completely done our part and satisfied not only our honour but what was required by God and our subjects, for the good of the whole of Christendom’. Significantly, Charles presented himself in the guise of Christ: ‘I wish to lay down my life in order to redeem so much Christian blood’.133 Shakespeare could not have invented more extraordinary or dramatic exchanges or scenes more redolent of an archaic chivalric romance. While the two monarchs postured, the war continued. Evidence of war-weariness is not hard to find, particularly in Italy which was taking the brunt of the conflict.134 Genoa, Venice, Ferrara and Mantua joined France. Although Francis encountered more resistance than he expected in Lombardy he did not change his plan to attack Naples, actively encouraged and aided by Venice who coveted its Adriatic ports, and by the papacy. The allied forces made good progress and by the end of March 1528 most of Naples was under their control. The city was the only area of any importance left to the imperialists and that was besieged on all sides. Imperial troops were under the command of the prince of Orange, still only twenty-five years old and seemingly
132 Valdés gives a detailed account of all this in his Treatise: Diálogo de Mercurio y Carón, 201-6, 228233, 241-4, 250-258, 263-264. Cit., 252: ‘digo que por bien de la christiandad y por euitar efusión de sangre y poner fin a esta guerra y por defender mi justa demanda, manterné de mi persona a la vuestra ser lo que he dicho verdad.’ Sepúlveda, Historia de Carlos V, II, cap. VII, 49. He describes the duel along the lines of Valdes, 45, 49-53. 133 AGS, E.1554 f.629 Charles to Sancho Martínez de Leiva, Toledo, end of November 1528. The letter was drafted by none other than Alfonso de Valdes. Charles ordered similar ones for ‘prelados, grandes, caballeros, letrados’ and ‘others’ which is not surprising given the importance of the [non]event. Cits: ‘desseauamos poner n[uest]ra vida en peligro por redimir con ella tanta sangre Chri[sti]a[n]na’; ‘hauiamos sufficie[n]te y enterame[n]te cumplido y satisffecho no solame[n]te a n[uest]ra honrra, mas tambie[n] a lo q[ue] deuemos a dios y a nors subditos, y al bie[n] de toda la chri[sti]andad’. 134 AGS, E.1553 f.176 the duke of Ferrara to Charles urging him to make peace, 4.10.1527.
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no match for the experienced French commander Lautrec. Against all the odds, Naples was saved. Orange displayed unexpected resilience and skill, but the imperialists also benefited greatly from the spread of the plague in the enemy camp, and the death of the French commander, Lautrec, on 16 August. More significant still was the last-minute defection of Andrea Doria, the commander of the Genoese fleet. The ships under his command had cut Naples off on the seaward side; their withdrawal allowed the city to be relieved. Reporting these facts to the imperial ambassador in Rome, Jeronimo Morone declared exultantly: ‘Victory, victory, victory! The French have been defeated and broken …there is no doubt that today this war ended today!’135 The celebrations were genuine, but somewhat premature. The imperialists made substantive progress but failed to dislodge the Venetian and other allied forces from the realm. The tide was turning in the north too. After his defection Andrea Doria used the fleet to take control of Genoa. Promised its freedom and imperial protection, the republic signed its own agreement with Charles and threw the French out. Not only did this dramatically change the balance of power at sea, giving Charles a clear numerical advantage in the Mediterranean; it changed the strategy that could be followed in Lombardy since Genoa could be used as a base for a new assault on French positions in the north. Rows broke out between imperial commanders who wished to finish the campaign in Naples and those who advised Charles to shelve the mopping up operations (as they saw it) in the south and concentrate all imperial forces in the north. Doria strongly favoured the latter. With strong reinforcements sent to Lombardy, the imperial forces were able to defeat the French at Landriano on 21 June.136 Doria and others urged the emperor to continue the war, but contrary advice came from almost all other fronts.
La Paix des Dames Rather unexpectedly, the first step towards peace was taken by Clement VII. In the course of the war he had seen church lands attacked by both friends (especially Venice) and enemies. He had also not seen his own family prosper as he wished. Consequently, he took advantage of Charles’ desperate desire to restore friendship and seek absolution for what had happened in Rome and agreed to peace in June 1528. Charles undertook to help him recover Ravenna, Cervisa, Modena, Reggio and
135 Fernández Álvarez, Corpus, I, n.XXXIII, 136-7: ‘Vittoria, vittoria, vittoria. Li francesi si son debellati et rotti’ (136|), ‘non si è dubbio che oggi serrà finita questa guerra’ (137). Naples, 29.8.1526. 136 AGS, E. 1553 f.253, Doria announced Genoa’s defection to Charles, 27.10.1528. Its use as a base, E.1553 f.251, ibid., 29.10.28; examples of the new strategy E. 1553 f.254 Doria to Charles, 15.11.28; f.264-265 ibid, 2.12.28 and E.1553 f.226 Marques del Basto to Doria, 7.12.28 which demonstrates that it was not simply Doria’s plan. A recent account of Genoa’s defection and subsequent role in A. Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria nell’Impero di Carlo V (Florence 1999). A brief account of these events in Brandi, Emperor Charles, 270-274.
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Rubiera, to restore the Medici to Florence, and – more significantly in ideological terms – withdraw his demand for a Council to reform the Church. The pope justified yet another change of allegiance with reference to the fact that Italy had descended into lawlessness. The question of Milan was shelved.137 The second step was taken by Margaret in the Low Countries. The northern sector had been relatively quiet in this new round of fighting; indeed it had benefited from the instability and war weariness of certain provinces. Three provinces ravaged by previous strife from the French-backed forces of La Marck and Guelders decided to ask for imperial protection and were annexed to the Low Countries – Utrecht in 1527 and Guelders and Overyssel in 1528. Financial exhaustion, a desire to keep their gains, and fear of further dislocation due to the war with England all contributed to the demand of the northern provinces for an end to the strife.138 Margaret negotiated a temporary truce between the Low Countries, England and France. The exchanges between her envoys and those of Louise of Savoy, Francis’ other and regular regent during her son’ absence, gave them an opportunity to explore the possibility of a general peace. Both sides were financially exhausted and it seemed clear that neither could inflict a decisive defeat on the other. It should be noted that Francis had been offering conditions from the moment he repudiated the treaty of Madrid, namely a two million écus ransom for his sons and hinting at other favourable concessions. The inconclusive nature of the war was to prove a problem, however. Since neither side had lost, neither would sue for peace. Given the insults so publicly traded between the principals in this war, it was hard to see how either could disengage with honour, and honour was the last thing Charles or Francis would sacrifice since it now looked as if there was little hope of emerging with major territorial gains. Another problem was the lack of credible mediators. The pope was now allied to Charles and not a neutral. Henry VIII attempted to pose as mediator, claiming that while he had declared war against the Emperor he had not carried out the threat. But his divorce proceedings against Catherine of Aragon and his alliance with France made him unacceptable to Charles and Francis did not trust him. After Henry’s notable failure to provide effective support for either side neither wished to be beholden to the English, or to enhance Henry’s reputation. When an agent was sent by Wolsey to Spain to discuss conditions of peace he was ‘entertained’ or five months before being asked to leave by the emperor in November 1528 without being allowed to make an impact on the matter of peace. There was some talk at the French court of proposing the marquis of Mantua as a mediator but nothing came of it. Later, he acted as mediator between Charles and the Venetians.139
137
Brandi, Emperor Charles, 276-279. Ibidem, 277. 139 Archivio di Stato, Mantova, Gonzaga, Busta 586 f.490 Gian Baptista Malatesta to the marquis of Mantua, Toledo, 18.1.1529 – ‘hauendo il Chr.mo Re di Franza posto in mano della Ex. Vostra la pace 138
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Fortunately there was a viable alternative to external mediation. The symbolic embodiment of peace was always female and peace was thought to be a natural tendency in women. The two sides had women of stature and experience to call upon for the negotiations: Margaret and Louise, both active politicians and skilled negotiators. Francis asked them to begin negotiations but pretend it was being done without the knowledge or authority of either ruler, so that both he and Charles could pretend they had been forced to the negotiating table because of the love and respect they bore Margaret and Louise. The strategy would also allow them to exclude the English and the pope from the process.140 The initial contacts convinced both sides that there were sufficient grounds to proceed. Margaret sent an important embassy to Charles and indirectly prompted his agreement by simultaneously sending an up-to-date account of the parlous finances of the Low Countries. Her envoys travelled through France to Spain and held secret talks with Francis and Louise, so that they arrived in Spain with a draft treaty in essence, as well as a formal proposal for a peace conference in Cambrai. Significantly, Charles hesitated. He expressed his fear that the negotiations would damage his honour and spoke of his profound mistrust of the French. Contemporaries at court around the time of the negotiations were struck by the hatred Charles manifested towards the French and commented that he found all talk of peace with Francis unwelcome. This may be because – as his confessor had noted some years earlier – Charles found it difficult to forget or forgive injuries.141 But needs must. By the end of December he had consented to the chief points and he empowered Margaret to negotiate in his name. He wanted to go to Italy immediately and to free himself from the war if this could be done with honour. When Ferdinand was informed by Margaret he urged Charles to conclude peace and turn his resources toward two pressing problems: heresy and the advancing Turks.142 Both sides lied about their intentions sa as to deflect Henry’s attention but he could not be kept out indefinitely if there was to be a full and lasting settlement. All parties to the war, including the English, the pope and a host of other princes would have to be included. Aware of the slight, Wolsey suggested that he, Louise, Clement and Charles should meet in Narbonne and determine the future of Christendom.143 Later
tra lui et lo Impre.’; for his role as mediator later, AGS, E.1553 f.325 the marquis of Mantua to Charles V, 19.5.1529. 140 J.G. Russell, Diplomats at Work. Three Renaissance studies (London 1992), section III: ‘Women diplomats: the Ladies’ peace of 1529’, 94-163, this 106-7. I used Russell’s useful details but I do not agree with his declaration (107, 109) that Charles’ reluctance to make peace was a manifestation of his anti-feminine sentiments. He was much more influenced by his obsession with honour and his mistrust of France. 141 Archivio di Stato di Mantova, Gonzaga, Busta 586 ff.502-504 Gian Baptista Malatesta to the duke of Mantua, 24.4.1529: ‘no[n] potrei dir all’Ex.a V. l’odio c’mostra sua Mta. co[n]tra Franza no[n] uolendo udir alc[un]o c’li parli di far pace col [Christianissimo]’. The confessor’s comment was made to Contarini, Venetian ambassador, who reported it in his Relazione of 1525: Albèri, Relazioni, 62. 142 AGS, E.1553 f.546 Ferdinand to Gattinara, 9.2.1529. 143 AGS, E.1553 ff.307-309 Don Iñigo de Mendoza to Charles, London, 15.3.1529; the ambassador had reported on 16 January that the English knew about the negotiations Margaret had initiated. Ibid, f.291.
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Henry declared that the cardinal would go to Cambrai although no invitation had been issued. In the event, Henry did not press for him to go. Relations between the king and his chief advisor worsened and Wolsey fell from power in October 1529. He eventually sent a distinguished delegation headed by Cuthbert Tunstall, Bishop of London and Privy Seal, and including Sir Thomas More. The Pope chose men of calibre too: Cardinal Giovanni Salviati, Bishop of Fermo, and Nicholas von Schönberg, Archbishop of Capua. Delegates and ambassadors of other powers affected by the long war, many of them Italian, also made their way to Cambrai. The conference opened later than intended – instead of June 15, Louise and Margaret made their entry on 5 July. Although the delay made Margaret nervous, both sides had needed time to prepare the glittering retinues that were meant to display the supremacy neither monarch had secured on the field of battle. The other participants had also complained at the short notice. As was the norm in the diplomacy of the period, the two main parties entered the negotiations certain of a mutual desire to come to an agreement. What made Cambrai unusual is that they had also made doubly certain of avoiding failure by doing most of the detailed negotiations beforehand. Even so, they did not succeed in averting the ill-tempered recriminations that were characteristic of all peace negotiations. The claims and counterclaims for territories and titles had to be made in the public domain. More importantly, as this was the first opportunity the allies had to see the conditions and influence the process, they put enormous pressure on both sides to change the preliminary agreement. Russell has rightly emphasised the importance of the Italian states in the latter stages of the negotiations but it was largely because they were pushing at an open door. Francis was reluctant to abandon Italy and their presence and pressure put new life into his negotiations. Charles showed equal determination to hold on to what he had gained. The clauses relating to Italy became so hotly contested both sides seriously considered signing a peace that excluded this sector.144 After several unpleasant confrontations the French delegation decided on 24 July to abandon the talks, but significantly the breaking point related to matters of honour and security rather than specific territories. They were coaxed back and soon after the treaty was concluded.145 During the long war the focus of both contenders had changed, but two key areas remained crucial and their acquisition can be thought of as the ultimate aim each of them pursued. For Francis it was the duchy Milan, for Charles it was the duchy of Burgundy. In order to achieve peace Francis abandoned the lands he still held in Italy as well as his claims to Milan, Genoa and Naples. The blow was softened somewhat
144
Russell, Diplomats, 122-124, 126-129. It is striking how often delegations were brought back just as they were mounting horse in sixteenthcentury negotiations! The imperialists had demanded additional security in the shape of hostages and towns, putting the word and honour of the French king in doubt. 145
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by the fact that Milan was restored to imperial authority but its future was left open. As expected, Charles restored Francesco Sforza to the duchy, while Genoa’s independence was confirmed. Francis was out, but Charles was in only by virtue of unstable alliances and not by possession. He did get Asti, however, and a promise that Francis would help recover those lands that his allies had seized from both Charles and the Pope. This left Venice, which still held some Neapolitan territories, isolated and more likely to capitulate too. The emperor also demanded that Francis should provide money and ships to facilitate his journey to Italy, a journey Francis had feared and done so much to delay since it was believed it would seal Charles’ dominance over the area. The request also effectively neutralised France for the five months during which a sizeable part of its fleet was committed to the emperor’s cause. The treaty of Cambrai thus demonstrated that Charles had gained the upperhand in Italy and helped to reverse French expansion in the area, but he did not secure significant territorial gains. By contrast, Francis kept Burgundy, Auxerrois, Mâconnais and Bar-sur-Seine, which crucially he had conceded in the treaty of Madrid. Ways were found to soften the blow. Charles did not renounce his dynastic rights to the area and the treaty specified that the disputes would be settled ‘by amicable and legal means’, but there was no doubting that France had proved strong enough to hold on to these recent gains. Francis yielded sovereignty over Flanders and Artois to Charles, who also kept a host of disputed towns, including Arras, Tournai and Hesdin, but he in turn had to give way on other disputed zones along the frontier. Significantly, however, he lost the taint of being a subject of the king of France. As for Navarre, that matter remained open. Unable to come to an agreement, it was not included in the treaty. Charles kept possession but would remain vulnerable along this part of the frontier with France. Both sides agreed to repudiate each others’ enemies and defend the other against invasion, which forced Francis to break his alliance with the duke of Guelders and Robert de la Marck; equally it broke the emperor’s link to the duke of Bourbon and his heirs who were, if anything, more dangerous to his rival. Notwithstanding Charles’ repeated denials that he would never take a ransom, Francis paid 2 million écus to get his sons back. To seal the peace and bind the two rivals with a love that they could never muster, Leonor was finally given in marriage to Francis. Henceforth she would dedicate herself, as expected, to bring about genuine reconciliation between the two men.146 Financially, France was badly affected by the treaty, having to shoulder the burden of the emperor’s debts to England as well. Charles, by contrast, got the ransom as well as a sizeable contribution from Venice when the republic finally made peace. This allowed him to disband much of his forces without putting further strain on his exhausted lands. As for the other leading contenders, the papacy emerged stronger but primarily due to Charles’ commitment prior to the peace. England, on the contrary, 146 The terms were ‘por via Amigable o de justicia’ in AGS, EK 1640 f.20 Capitulacion… Cambrai, 5.8.1529.
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saw its status severely diminished by the negotiations. Both sides dealt with it like a minor power rather than an equal. While they secured further trade concessions from the Low Countries and promises of payment for old debts, Henry VIII paid the prize for lack of commitment and the lesson would not be lost on contemporaries.147 The treaties of Cambrai were concluded on 3 August and peace was proclaimed two days later, to much public rejoicing. Over the next few months, as ceremonies of ratification and oath-taking took place in the major western European courts, masses followed by banquets, pageants and other celebrations confirmed the end of war among Christians. – The principal signatories had all committed themselves to mounting a major crusade against the Infidel. The question was: would peace and cooperation last? Back in 1521 Chièvres echoed a widely held commonplace when he declared that the only certain way to have peace in Christendom was if Charles and Francis learnt to like and respect each other. Only thus could good friendship between these two powers endure.148 No such friendship was established in 1529. On the contrary, both Charles and Francis felt deeply aggrieved and betrayed by the other. The peace had been a pragmatic response to unbearable financial and political pressure and was not born out of genuine conviction. It was widely believed that the two men had unfinished business and would attempt to gain what they had failed to take in this round of conflict. But there were forces acting as powerful restraints on aggression. While the Christian powers fought, Suleiman had taken Rhodes, invaded much of the Balkans and destroyed the kingdom of Hungary. As Charles and Francis negotiated, the Ottomans besieged Vienna. Muslim corsairs had repeatedly attacked Mediterranean ports. There was a universal belief that it was time to attend to this major threat. There were some in the imperial camp who considered Cambrai a failure, pointing to the massive costs, devastation, the loss of Burgundy and the future difficulty of holding Milan.149 This was to take too narrow and bleak a view of events. This first, protracted war with France had one inestimable benefit: it made Charles V, just as he and his advisers hoped it would. If we compare his international standing in 1521 with that in 1529 it is evident that a radical transformation had occurred. Clement VII reflected on this. He admitted that at the start of the war Charles was perceived in Rome as much weaker than Francis, and it was predicted that this very weakness would encourage Francis to launch a war against him. Clement claimed that he was one of the few who realised then that Charles’ empire – Spain he tended to call it –
147
Details in Russell, Diplomats, 133-135, 154-161. ‘S’ilz veullent avoir bonne amittié vostre maistre et le mien, it faut qu’il viengne d’eulx deux et qu’ilz s’ayment l’un l’autre; et fault, pour bien faire cella, que ledit roy son maistre vous soit bon filz et qu’il vous ayde en tout ce que vous aurez affaire; et aussi, en cas pareil, que vous soyez bon pere envers ledit roy son maistre’. Verbatim account by the French ambassador J. Barroys of what Chièvres had said to him, January 1520, Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CXLIII, 462 from Barroys to Francis I, Worms, 17.1.1520. Erasmus, Education, 94. 149 Russell, Diplomats, 139. 148
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had the potential to resist and match France, and this is what Charles had now demonstrated.150 With the support of his family, notably Ferdinand in the Holy Roman Empire and Margaret in the Low Countries, Charles had proved capable of governing the vast empire effectively and raising sufficient contributions to fund an extended military conflict. Indeed the very extension and duration of the war had helped to nurture cooperation and even a tenuous and reluctant unity between the disparate states of his empire while enhancing his authority and popularity with periodic victories that brought glory and renown. Dismissed as a weakling at the start, Charles was undoubtedly a respected and even feared leading player in the international field when the war ended. But while he had been able to win quite spectacular victories, he had not been able to sustain success. At the end, despite the hopes and predictions of his partisans, he was by no means the master of Italy nor did he much resemble the mythical universal monarch. It was not clear to contemporaries just how far his power and status had reached. When Henry VIII allowed the publication of defamatory propaganda against Charles, Margaret issued an angry complaint and demanded that the offending literature be destroyed for Charles was ‘not so small a power that he can be insulted in this fashion’.151 As the imperialists well knew, Charles’ status would depend ultimately on the perception of the other leading powers and on his ability to display, as much as on any concrete manifestation of strength. Much depended on France. After Pavia the French acknowledged that Charles was the greatest territorial power in Europe since Charlemagne.152 Soon after Charles faced a massive coalition almost in isolation and held out, something only a great power could do – indeed it was a feat matched by France on more than one occasion during the conflict. He showed he had the military and financial might to give that territorial status true substance. The treaty of Cambrai more than anything else confirmed the emperor’s state to be a great power, the equal of France. On the personality stakes, Francis remained the more charismatic and popular figure but was diminished by his failures. Charles remained a rather distant figure. He had not yet proved his military valour but had the power to win. He had also acquired a somewhat unsavoury reputation for brutality due to several bloody victories.
150 Clement also claimed that once he realised this he sought to tip the balance in Charles’ favour so that the French would have some respect for him. Weiss, Papiers, I, n.LVII, 280-310, Memoriale s.d. editor. dates it c.1526, this at 282-283: ‘Ma vedendo il cardinale queste due potenze di Spagna et Francia divise di sorte, che malamente, non contrape[]sando bene l’une et l’altre forze, si poteva sperare di pace, andò primo con questo dissegno di aggiungere tanta autorità et potere al rè di Spagna, che essendo equale al christianissimo dovesse haver rispetto di venire a guerre’. 151 Le Glay, Négotiations, II, n.CLXXXVIII, 673: ‘car l’empereur n’est pas si petit prince que l’on poive blasoner S.M. de telle sorte’. 152 Champollion-Figeac, Captivité, n.CXVIII, 256, French ambassadors in Spain to Louise, 19.7.1525: ‘luy qui est prince et plus grand terrien qui eut esté en la chrestienté depuis Charlemaigne’.
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‘I wish Christ would grant me this: to see Spain, where I was born, and France where I was educated, flourishing, vigorous and… not competing to see which of them is most cruel or can hate most… but which is the more learned, more prudent, more humane, more holy and more pious!’153 Vives’ dream never materialised. Nor was it universally shared. Charles and Francis were engaged in a struggle for honour, status, land and power that excited as much as it repelled contemporaries. Charles was right to claim that the war had been largely about status, but wrong in ascribing sole blame to Francis, although this does not discount the fact that he may have convinced himself that this was true. In 1521 Charles needed and wanted a conflict because he could not endure the dishonour that his early treaty obligations condemned him to, and Francis would not change those favourable conditions without a struggle, or recognise the emperor’s elevated status until it was proven beyond doubt. The war was not inevitable; it was delayed and might have been further delayed and even averted if they had wanted to find an alternative resolution. But neither side was interested in maintaining the peace. They believed they would gain more by war than by negotiation, and they found the planning and conduct of war exhilarating and appalling by turn. Dynastic conflicts did not compel them to fight but they were of vital importance, for they provided a focus for their quarrels, their justification and ultimately, their concrete aims. Once engaged in fighting, the conflict acquired a momentum of its own, ensnarling the contenders in a spiral of violence as each new action impelled them to seek revenge and restitution, according to the prevailing norms. In the course of the war both men and their lands suffered deeply. They also acquired a profound distrust of each other, so that personal antipathy soon added an edge to the competition for honour, status and power. Despite the material damage it would soon be evident that even a crusade could not dampen this intense rivalry that had grown between Charles and Francis, nor still their unfulfilled ambitions for long. The parity they had reached acted both as a deterrent in the short-term, and as a temptation to resort to arms in order to establish superiority as soon as they had the resources and the excuse to fight once again.
153 ‘Ojalá me concediese Cristo que viese alguna vez a España, que me engendró, y a Francia, que me educó, florecientes, vigorosas e impulsadas a una competición hermosísima por otras cosas más importantes y más dignas de hombres cristianos! así como que no compitiesen en crueldad y en odios por cuál de las dos causa mayores daños y desgracias a la otra, lo cual no es propio de naciones cristianas o vecinas o de aquellas entre las que hubo una óptima relación durante tantísimos años, sino por cuál de las dos era más erudita, más prudente, más humana, más santa y más entregada a la piedad.’ J.L. Vives, Obras políticas y pacifistas, ed. F. Calero et al. (Madrid 1999) 172.
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James D. Tracy
War Finance and Fiscal Devolution in Charles V’s Realms
How much did the subjects of Charles V’s various realms contribute to the cost of his wars, especially through subsidies approved by their parliamentary bodies? This apparently simple question is enormously complicated. Before attempting an answer, one has to make several preliminary points. First, the costs of war increased dramatically during the first half of the sixteenth century, for at least two reasons. As is commonly recognized, the Habsburg-Valois conflicts were a great engine driving forward what scholars call the Military Revolution: armies grew larger, artillery trains grew longer, and fortifications had to be more solidly built to withstand cannon fire.1 Since the soldiers who did the fighting were mostly mercenaries, not militiamen or units of a standing army, good fighting men were able to bargain: their wages rose even faster than the overall cost of living. For example, the highly prized South German landsknechte, who with the Spanish tercios were always the backbone of Charles’s infantry, were paid the equivalent of 3.53 Spanish ducats a month in 1530, and 5.47 in 1552, an increase of 55% over twenty-two years. Thus the army that Charles led into Provence in 1536, without accomplishing anything, cost him about 1,500,000 Spanish ducats; the somewhat larger army that he led against Metz in 1552, accomplishing even less, cost about 3,276,000 ducats.2 Second, European governments generally paid for their wars not with cash but with credit, accepting as necessary costs of war the fees bankers charged for interest, and for currency exchange. In other words, state revenue entered the picture not as the immediate source of soldiers’ pay, but as an array of assignations that bankers could choose from in negotiating the terms for repayment of their loans. After nearly forty years, the best study of this whole process, dealing with the all-important revenues of the kingdom of Castile, is still the monumental Carlos V y sus Banqueros by Ramón Carande Thobar.3 1 Geoffrey Parker, The Military Revolution. Military innovation and the rise of the West 1500-1800 (2nd edition, Cambridge 1996). 2 See my Emperor Charles V, Impresario of War: Campaign Strategy, International Finance, and Domestic Politics (Cambridge 2002) 111, 125-6, 178, 242. 3 The original three-volume edition was published in Madrid in 1943, 1959, and 1967; there was a new edition of vol. I in 1965. In the latest edition, Ramón Carande, y Otros, Carlos V y sus Banqueros
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Third, if one is to focus on the direct consequences of decisions made by Charles, one ought to exclude the costs of war that were routinely carried on the budgets of his various realms. Habsburg governments in Brussels, Valladolid and Naples (among others) had regular expenditure items for moneys spent during the cold months of the year, for garrison wages and for the strengthening of fortifications, including the building of expensive, new-style bastion-trace fortifications at certain key points.4 During the warm months of the year – in other words, the campaign season – the same governments found revenues to pay for field armies to repel invaders or strike into enemy country. One can properly speak of an imperial war budget only when Charles himself identified a particular conflict as of sufficient importance to warrant support from realms other than those most closely affected. For example, when papal forces began a siege of Parma, held by Ottavio Farnese, Charles decided that the defeat of France’s only major ally in Italy was a priority. Hence the siege, though ultimately unsuccessful, was supported not just by troops from nearby Milan, but also by substantial loans charged against the revenues of Naples and Castile, and by an imperial appropriation of savings Mary of Hungary had accumulated to pay off government debt in the Low Countries – creating a debt to his sister that Charles eventually repaid, also from Castile. Most costly of all were the ‘imperial’ campaigns in which Charles decided that ‘honor and reputation’ required him to take the field in person. Thus if nearly 1,000,000 Spanish ducats were expended in the futile, eleven-month siege of Parma, the twelve-month campaign in which Charles either outlasted or defeated the main armies of the Schmalkaldic League (1546/1547) cost 3,000,000 ducats.5 Finally, this basic distinction between ‘imperial’ wars and other Habsburg wars was recognized in contemporary fiscal accounts. On the expenditure side, Charles and the family members who were his closest collaborators always understood – even if only after some disagreement – who was responsible for paying the wages of which troops for how long. For example, in 1530, when Margaret of Austria was asked to arrange the recruitment and dispatch of 10,000 German infantry to join Charles in Italy, it was agreed that revenues from the Low Countries should serve as the guarantee for loans sufficient to get the men mobilized, and down the Brenner
(Barcelona 2000), with an interesting preface by the author’s son, chapter titles and pagination are the same as in the second edition of vol. I and the first editions of vols. II and III. 4 The best detailed study, dealing with modern fortifications built by Charles’s officials in Italy, then defended against the imperialists by rebel Sienese and their French allies, is Simon Pepper and Nicholas Adams, Firearms and Fortifications. Military Architecture and Siege Warfare in Sixteenth Century Siena (Chicago 1986). 5 My Charles V, Impresario of War argues for this distinction between the more costly personal campaigns of the emperor and his other wars. The First Schmalkaldic War is discussed in Chapter 10, the siege of Parma: 232. 6 Charles V, Impresario of War, 129, 225-227. This was but one instance of Mary’s getting Charles’s permission to draw on Castile’s revenues for expenses in the Low Countries, over the objections of Philip: see Mia Rodríguez Salgado, The Changing Face of Empire: Charles V, Philip II, and Habsburg Authority, 1551-1559 (Cambridge 1988).
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Pass into Lombardy, after which they would be on the emperor’s payroll. But in 1546, when Mary of Hungary sent a Low Countries army to support her brother’s campaign against the German Protestants, she got permission to charge the needed loans in Antwerp against the treasury of Castile, despite the vehement protests of Philip and his Consejo de la Hacienda in Valladolid.6 On the revenue side, treasury accounts kept track of which future incomes were allocated to which purpose, even if they sometimes had to make adjustments in light of Charles’s imperious commands from afar. This process is nicely illustrated in a document found by Manuel Fernández Álvarez in the Archives at Simancas, sent to the emperor by the Consejo de la Hacienda in the fall of 1544, in order to make clear to him how much of Castile’s revenues for the next four years was already set aside for settlement of the loans that had paid for his successful campaigns in the Rhineland (1543) and in northern France (1544).7 To come back now to my opening question, I will focus on the subsidies granted to Charles by the parliamentary assemblies of the three realms that yielded more revenue than any others directly ruled by him: Castile, Naples, and, in the Low Countries, what Jonathan Israel8 has called the three core provinces of Flanders, Brabant, and Holland, which provided about 75% of the subsidies from all the Low Countries provinces.9 Subsidies were of course a politically sensitive kind of revenue. There was not a single sixteenth-century European principality whose subjects were happy to see their money expended on their prince’s foreign wars, or rather (as they might say) squandered, all the more so because subsidies were invariably requested for the purpose of defending the home country against attack. But the leverage that parliamentary bodies could exercise in trying to control the use of the grants to which they had agreed depended on many circumstances, of which two should be emphasized: how important were subsidies voted by this or that parliament in the overall revenue structure of this or that realm? And to what extent were deputies willing to increase the size of their grants? Hence the first section of this paper takes a look at the relative importance of subsidies in the overall revenues of Castile, Naples, and the core provinces. The second examines the rates at which subsidy revenue increased in all three realms during Charles’s reign, in light of, if not in proportion to, the steadily increasing cost of his war. The concluding section offers a few comments about how much of the subsidy revenue in each case seems to have been allocated for imperial wars, as against the needs of the realm. 7
‘Relacion de la Hacienda’ in Manuel Fernández Alvarez, ed., Corpus Documental de Carlos V, Letter CCLXXXV, vol. II, (Salamanca 1971-81) 262-265. 8 Jonathan I. Israel, The Dutch Republic. Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall 1477-1806 (Oxford 1995). 9 For example Algemeen Rijksarchief / Archives Générales du Royaume, Brussels, ‘Papiers d’Etat et de l’Audience’, no. 650, 295-298, a summary in the hand of Lodewijk van Schore (President of the Council of State, 1540-1548) of subsidies granted from 1542 through 1544. For 1542, the total ordinary and extraordinary subsidies combined was 1,500,500 Carolus gulden, of which 1,160,000 (77.3%) came from the three core provinces: 470,000 from Brabant, 450,000 for Flanders, and 240,000 for Holland.
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Revenue structure of Charles’s realms Most crown revenues can be fitted into one of two conventional categories: ordinary income, and subsidies. ‘Ordinary income’ (line 1 in Table 1) was a term commonly used for miscellaneous crown rights inherited from the remote past, including tolls and especially agrarian dues of various kinds. In many lands, as in the Low Countries and Naples, these revenues were known as the ‘domain,’ that which belonged to the dominus of the land.10 In Castile the king had toll receipts, but virtually no domain income in the sense of landed revenue. On the other hand, Castile’s crown had ‘ordinary income’ (rentas ordinarias) that rival sovereigns might envy. Its principal component was the alcabala, a sum collected by tax-farmers for each town and its dependent countryside.11 Alcabala seems to have been the Arabic equivalent of the Latin gabella, a general sales tax of 5% that was known in Iberia in Roman times. One by one, the towns of fourteenth-century Castile agreed to a 5% levy on the value of sales within their jurisdictions. Under the Catholic Kings, Isabella of Castile (d. 1504) and Ferdinand of Aragón (d. 1516), the rate was increased to 10%.12 The subsidies granted by parliamentary assemblies (lines 2-4 in Table 1) usually ran for a term of two or more years. In Castile, the servicios granted by the Cortes rested on population estimates for commoners not deemed too poor to pay. In the Low Countries, beden or aides were apportioned according to assessments of taxable wealth. In Naples, the focatico approved by the Parlamento of the fifteenth century was, as the name indicates, a tax levied per hearth.13 In Castile and the Low Countries, rulers could expect the grants to be renewed (albeit with some bargaining) when the current subsidy had expired. In Naples the process of routinization advanced a step farther: from the early sixteenth century, officials collected the focatico without any further consultation of the Parlamento;14 this is why the focatico is classed in Table 1 as part of the ordinary income of Naples, not as a subsidy. Once the annual subsidies of Castile and the Low Countries had come to be seen as ‘ordinary,’ governments 10 Aud. 868: 62-70v, a summary of income and expenses for the domain revenues of Brabant for 1535. Total income was 72,408, of which only about a third (24,300) came from the Antwerp collection district, including the toll. After subtraction for standing charges, the net (cler) was 23,207. 11 For the importance of towns and town boundaries in Castile, Helen Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain: the Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516-1700 (Baltimore 1990). 12 James D. Tracy, A Financial Revolution in the Habsburg Netherlands: ‘Renten’ and ‘Renteniers’ in the County of Holland, 1515-1565 (Berkeley 1985) 31; Alan Ryder, The Kingdom of Naples under Alfonso the Magnanimous (Oxford 1976) 359-362; I. A. A. Thompson, ‘Castile: Polity, Fiscality, and Fiscal Crisis,’ in Philip T. Hofman and Kathryn Norberg, Fiscal Crises, Liberty, and Representative Government (Stanford 1994) 140-180. 13 Antonio Calabria, The Cost of Empire: the finances of the kingdom of Naples in the time of Spanish rule (Cambridge 1991) 39-40 (note that the focatico did not require periodic re-approval by the Parlamento); Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, vol. II, Chapter XII; Tracy, Financial Revolution, 32-33. 14 Calabria, Cost of Empire, 40-43; Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, I, 536-537; Tracy, Financial Revolution, 32; Ryder, The Kingdom of Naples under Alfonso the Magnanimous, 210-213.
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Table 1. Revenue structure of Charles V’s lands15 (Annual averages, sums expressed in Spanish ducats) Provinces Population c. 1550 Income 1520s/1540s: 1. ordinary
Castile
Kindom of Naples
Core Provinces
5.896,515
2.129,185
2.175,000
1520
1540
1520
1540
785,150
1.539,420
1.023,515
1.159,923
2. ordinary subsidies
111,645
268,800
3. extraord. subsidies
44,444
125,867
60,671
4. all subsidies
156,090
394,667
5. other income: – Indies treasure – maestrazgos – clerical subsidios – cruzada
298,462 38,667 133,333 58,795 66,667
726,572 282,005 152,000 166,667 125,900
1520
1540
74,816
102,729
161,746
375,970
201,381
252,987
255,968
60,671
201,381
414,733
631,938
—
108,694
31,361
(no ord. subsidy)16
—
pressed for ‘extraordinary’ subsidies in time of need. In Naples, officials convened the Parlamento to demand ‘gifts’ or donativi that were, in effect, extraordinary subsidies by another name.17 15 Castile: Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, I, 64 (est. of hearths 1541), II, 91 (rentas ordinarias), II, 536-537 (servicios), I, 240, II, 378-425 (maestrazgos), II, 466-486 (subsidios), and II, 435-464 (the cruzada). Naples: Giuseppe Coniglio, Il Regno di Napoli al tempo di Carlo V (Naples 1951) 152 (hearths in 1553); Giuseppe Coniglio, Consulte e Bilanci del Viceregno di Napoli dal 1507 al 1533 (Rome 1933), Document 35; Alonso Sanchez’ revised stated of income for 24 March – 1 December 1529, subtracting from the income column the 676,033 Neapolitan ducats in loans that Sanchez counts as income: see my Impresario, 60-61; Antonio Calabria, ‘State Finance in the Kingdom of Naples in the Age of Philip IV,’ (Ph.D. diss. Univ. California 1978) 143 (Chart XI, ‘Patrimonial Income for 1560-1600,’ 1560 receipts for the hearth tax or focatico and the dogna di Foggia, both counted here as ordinary income, and ‘other’income); Guido d’Agostino, Parlamento e Societa nel Regno di Napoli, Secoli XV e XVI (Naples 1979) 217-282 for the donativi or extraordinary subsidies. Core provinces of the Low Countries: for population, 75% of the estimate for all of the Low Countries in 1550 by Jan De Vries, ‘Population,’ in Thomas A. Brady jr., Heiko A. Oberman, James D. Tracy, eds., Handbook of European History… 14001600, 2 vols. (Leiden 1994) vol. I, 13; for domain income in the 1520s, Aud. 873:1-21, estimating 60% as the total for the core provinces (as for the year 1535, Aud. 868:62-88), and for ‘the 1540s,’ average domain income for the core provinces for the years 1536-1539, Aud. 868:62-88, 115-199v); for other income as well as subsidy income in the 1520s, Aud. 867:71-91, taking 75% of the subsidy totals as the amount for the core provinces (cf. Aud. 850-33-42, a document dated October 1560: for a special subsidy, Flanders will be asked for 12/36 of the total, Brabant for 10/36, and Holland for 5/36, and apportioning ordinary and extraordinary subsidies as for Holland, cf. James D. Tracy, ‘The Taxation system of the County of Holland during the Reigns of Charles I and Philip II, 1519-1566’, Economisch- en Sociaal-Historisch Jaarboek 48 (1984), 110-111); for subsidy income in the 1540s, Aud. 650:406-449, summary of the subsidy income for these three provinces for the years 1540-1548. 16 The focatico originated as an ordinary subsidy, but I count it as ordinary income, since from about 1500 parliamentary approval was no longer needed for its collection. 17 Calabria, Cost of Empire, 40, 57; Carande Thobar, Carlos y sus Banqueros, I, 536-537, 511; Tracy, ‘The Taxation System’, Table I, 108-109.
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Some forms of revenue do not fit either of the conventional categories. These ‘other’ incomes (line 5 in Table 1) were not consequential in Naples or the Low Countries, but Castile had no less than four types of ‘other’ income that had no equivalent in the other two realms. The flows of silver from the great mines of Potosí in the Viceroyalty of Peru and Zacatecas in Mexico, dating from the latter years of Charles’s reign, boosted the royal ‘fifth’ of Indies treasure from an annual average of 39,000 ducats in the 1520s to 282,000 in the 1540s. More important is a point not included in Table 1: Charles also claimed and sometimes exercised the right to sequester the much larger quantity of silver to which his subjects had title, in return for juros or interest-bearing bonds charged against the treasury.18 The maestrazgos or masterships of Castile’s three military orders, were a legacy of the long struggle against Muslim Spain. Through donations over the centuries the orders grew quite wealthy, with vast tracts of land for sheep-grazing. Since they ceased to have a purpose after the conquest of Granada (1492), as each grand-mastership became vacant, members elected Queen Isabella as grand-master. Early in his reign Charles V was recognized as ‘perpetual administrator’ of the three orders by his erstwhile tutor, Pope Adrian VI (1521/1523).19 Finally, both the cruzada and the subsidios were privileges granted by the papacy during the fifteenth century and renewed during Charles’s reign. The first, dating from 1484, allowed Castilians to gain a plenary indulgence by contributing to the war against infidel Granada; by the second, Castile’s clergy was constrained to pay an annual tax to the crown, with the amount to be determined by negotiation.20 In effect, the availability of these ‘other’ revenues peculiar to Castile undercut the bargaining power of the Cortes, because they were so attractive to bankers looking for the best ’assignations’ for their loans. Unlike Castile’s rentas ordinarias, the ‘other’ incomes were too new to have accumulated a large train of standing obligations. Unlike the servicios granted by the Cortes, they did not depend on contractual agreements with sometimes obstreperous parliamentary deputies.
Subsidies in Castile, Naples, and the Core Provinces Table 2 compares the official values21 of subsidies granted during Charles’s reign by the parliamentary bodies of two of the three core provinces of the Low Countries,22 18
Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, I, 232-244. Hermann Kellenbenz, Die Fuggersche Maestrazgopacht (1525-1542) (Tübingen 1967) 2-6. Carande Thobar, Carlos y sus Banqueros, vol. II, Chapters IX, X and XI. 21 That is, what the subsidies would be worth if collected in full. At least in the Low Countries and Naples, the actual sums collected were significantly less, due to standing reductions in the quotas of particular localities. 22 Brabant is not included in Table 1 because there is no study of its finances for this period. Owing to a fire that destroyed the old archducal palace in Brussels in the 1660s, the archives of Brabant are less well preserved than in Flanders or Holland, but a summary of the deliberations of the provincial states may be found in the ‘Root Boek van de Staten van Brabant,’ (Algemeen Rijksarchief / Archives Générales du Royaume, Brussels) no. R 199/16. 19 20
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Table 2. Average annual subsidies 1519-1553 (nominal amount, in Spanish ducats) Years
Low Countries beden23
Naples donativi24 Castile servicos25
Flanders
Holland
Sum
1519-1523
199,536
108,304
307,840
1524-1528
115,676
98,972
214,648
1529-1533
125,298
73,299
198,597
105,785
226,933
1534-1538
186,963
76,534
263,497
248,286
164,267
1539-1543
262,135
114,417
376,252
315,419
419,220
1544-1548
288,644
82,132
370,776
153,078
348,800
1549-1553
231,790
133,708
365,498
261,352
404,267
totals
7.050,210
3.436,830
10.487,040
5.699,630
9.304,655
56,006 0
128,711 168,733
Naples, and Castile. The fact that Table 2 gives the totals in five-year periods makes the starting point for Castile’s servicos artificially low: owing to the Comuñero revolt of 1520-1521, there was no subsidy income for two of the first five years of Charles’s reign. The same is true for the donativi of Naples, for a different reason: these grants, dating only from 1507, were still a relative novelty in Charles’ early years. Conversely, the overall upward trend for beden in the Low Countries is partially masked by a high starting point, due to invasions of the Habsburg Netherlands from both France and Guelders in the 1520s. Though ordinary subsidies failed to keep pace with inflation over the course of Charles’s reign,26 the core provinces approved larger and larger extraordinary subsidies during each succeeding military crisis. It would thus give a fairer picture of overall trends in all three realms to focus not on the whole reign, but on the two-decade interval between 1529-1533 and 15491553. This would mean nominal rates of increase of 84% for the Low Countries, 147% for Naples, and 78% for Castile. Making the necessary corrections for inflation rates that have been estimated for each realm,27 real value of subsidies would have 23
For Flanders, N. Maddens, De Beden van het Graafschap Vlaanderen tijdens de Regering van Keizer Karel, 1515-1550 (Heule 1978). I add to Maddens’totals for 1543 a figure of 300,000 pounds of 40 silver groats for two tenth pennies in Flanders that year (Aud. 650:198), and to his figures for 1552, 480,000 pounds for a Flanders extraordinaris bede (Aud. 65-.299). For Holland, Tracy, ‘The Taxation System’, 108. 24 Figures from d’Agostino, Parlamento e Societa nel Regno di Napoli, 272-274. 25 Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, II, 536-537. 26 For Flanders and Holland, the ordinary subsidies were 240,000 and 80,000 Carolus gulden in 1518, and 300,000 and 100,000 in the 1550s – an increase of only 25% over more than three decades. 27 Charles David Hendricks, ‘Charles V and the Cortes of Castile. The Politics of Renaissance Spain,’ (Ph. D. dissertation, Cornell University 1976) 223, calculates a wage/price inflation rate of 2% per annum for these two decades. Calabria, The Cost of Empire, 94-96: grain prices at Bari increased by roughly 200% between 1550 and 2000, or 4% per annum; if one assumes half this rate for the previous fifty years, prices would have gone up by about 40% over twenty years. E. Scholliers, Chr. Vandenbroecke,
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increased during these two decades by about 42% in the Low Countries, 73.5% in Naples, and 48.7% in Castile. The relative size of the grants in each realm may seem surprising in light of population estimates for 1550 mentioned in Table 1. Flanders and Holland, the two provinces represented in Table 2, accounted for 45% to 50% of the beden raised in the Low Countries,28 and had a combined population of perhaps 1,250,000, a bit more than half that of the Kingdom of Naples, and about a fourth as much as Castile. Yet they provided more subsidy income than Castile, and nearly twice as much as Naples. This does not mean, however, that Flanders and Holland were over-taxed. One may be certain that Charles’s Low Countries subjects would not willingly have traded places with tax-payers in Castile,29 where subjects paid the alcabala, reckoned at 10% of the estimated value of all transactions, or in Naples, where households liable to the donativi also paid the annual hearth-tax which was in most years a heavier burden.30 In each realm, parliamentary assemblies were most responsive to the government’s demands for higher subsidies in specific situations, and for specific reasons. In the Low Countries, during the Habsburg-Valois war of 1542-1544, Mary of Hungary and her officials persuaded the provincial states to agree to a new kind of extraordinary subsidy in which the states issued long-term bonds on the government’s behalf; to fund these bonds, the states levied new taxes as they saw fit, collected by officials who rendered their accounts to the states, not to the central government’s financial bureaucracy. In this bargain, Mary got a stream of income against which her bankers were willing to make loans, and the provincial states made certain that the investments of their constituents in state debt were protected against the vagaries of a central government that always found more pressing needs for the monies earmarked for debt service.31 In Castile, Charles and the procuradores representing the eighteen towns with voting rights came to an agreement at the Cortes of Toledo in 1539. In return for more generous grants, especially in extraordinary servicios, income from the alcabala was to be frozen at current levels for the next ten years, and collected not by tax-farmers, but by the towns themselves, which were free to raise the money as they saw fit. In
‘Structuren en konjunktuur in de zuidelijke Nederlanden, 1400-1800,’ Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, V (Haarlem 1980) 278, an estimate of a 2% per annum inflation rate for this period. 28 In Lodewijk van Schore’s summary of all beden to which the various provinces had consented between May 1542 and December 1543 (Aud. 650: 299), Flanders and Holland accounted for 47% of the total (2,475,000 gulden out of 5,250,900), or 51% of the extraordinary subsidy which in May 1542 was approved ‘in case of war’ (230,000 out of 447,000). 29 The common feeling in the Low Countries that Castile’s alcabala was a form of tyranny helps explain the massive resistance in 1572 to the Duke of Alba’s ‘Tenth Penny’ sales tax, which touched off the Dutch Revolt. See Ferdinand H. M. Grapperhaus, Alva en de Tiende Penning (Zutphen 1982). 30 Sales and hearth taxes levied for the profit of the central government, though not unknown in the Low Countries, were put in place only when the provinces agreed to raise an extraordinary subsidy by these means. 31 Tracy, Financial Revolution.
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light of inflation in Castile, scholars have seen this as a bad bargain for the crown, and a good one for the nobility that filled the ranks of the urban magistracy, especially the caballeros who owed military service and often fought in the emperor’s campaigns; nobles of all ranks had to pay in the alcabala, but not in the ordinary servicios. But it was also a good bargain for the towns, which, like the provinces in the Low Countries, gained the capacity to manage important crown revenues in ways that suited their interests.32 In Naples, the fact that the value of the donativi rose sharply during the tenure of Pedro de Toledo as viceroy (1532-1553) can be attributed to infighting among the great barons, most with residences in the capital, who dominated the Kingdom’s Parlamento. On the one hand, Toledo formed a coterie of supporters who loyally backed his requests for money. On the other hand, Toledo’s enemies, following a peculiar Neapolitan custom, sought to win credit with their sovereign by outbidding the viceroy’s partisans in their offers of financial support.33 Thus Naples increased its contributions to the Habsburg government at a higher rate than the other two realms without receiving in return any devolution of powers to local governments. In the Low Countries and in Castile, the wars of this era increased the self-sufficiency of provincial parliaments and town governments by inducing them to develop their capacity for managing state finances in one way or another. In Naples, where the same wars gave the Parlamento an opportunity to bargain for concessions, the opportunity was squandered, because those who counted in the politics of the Kingdom – the titled barons – represented only their personal interests,34 and did not represent at the same time the settled interests of particular localities.
Contributions of the subsidies to Charles’s wars To my knowledge, Charles got large sums from the provincial subsidies of the Low Countries for his own needs on only two occasions. The first was the so-called imperial coronation subsidy of 1529/1530, yielding some 348,000 gulden (190,706 Spanish ducats); this was the money Margaret of Austria used for the German infantry that joined the emperor in Italy, as mentioned above. To be sure, a ruler could always find ways of ‘taking’ the revenues of his native lands, and Charles did so when he made arrangements to leave the Low Countries for Germany at the end of 1531. Though he told the States of Holland (assembled in Brussels) he was not taking more than 200,000 gulden from the ordinary35 subsidies of all the provinces, a summary for income and expenses for 1531 to 1536 shows that he in fact used
32 33 34 35
Tracy, Impresario, 254-273. Ibid., 274-288. See Prof. Muto’s essay in this volume. There were no extraordinary subsidies for this year.
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162,600 gulden for the companies of ordinance that accompanied him, and had a further 408,881 gulden remitted to him in Germany, counting exchange fees. These sums amount to a hefty 58% of all the ordinary subsidy income recorded for 1531, which included large ‘anticipations’ of receipts due in subsequent years. For example, 100,000 gulden of the remittances to Germany was assigned on the ordinary subsidies of Brabant; in Holland, Charles may have taken as much as 160,000 gulden, or two full years of the face value of a six-year ordinary subsidy running from 1531 through 1536. But measures of this kind provoked a hefty response. In 1532, Holland’s deputies professed to be outraged to learn that money they had counted on for the defense of Holland’s frontiers was already ‘gone’ because of Charles’s trip to Germany the previous year.36 Even an emperor could not ignore such reactions. The summary account for 1531-1536 does not show any further remittances to Charles for the years 1532-1536. Thus the provincial states did have a certain leverage, all the more so, I suggest, because the subsidies they granted represented such a large proportion of the government’s income (Table 1). But politics was not the only thing that prevented the emperor from making of the Low Countries the cash-cow that his subjects thought it was.37 If Castile and Aragón sheltered behind the Pyrenees during the Habsburg-Valois wars, the Low Countries had no natural boundary to define its border with France. The provinces closest to France, though not so urbanized as the core provinces farther north, still offered French commanders more wealth per square kilometer to be ravaged than most of Spain did. This helps to account for the enormous growth in the military expenditures of the Brussels government during Mary of Hungary’s tenure as Regent, from about 2,500,000 Carolus gulden per year during the Habsburg-Valois war of 1542-1544 to about 5,000,000 a year during the 1550s.38 Even in 1543/1544, when Charles himself was in the area with an army, indirectly helping to shield the Low Countries from attack, the accounts of provincial revenue collectors (at least in Holland) show money being spent for local defense needs, not for the grand strategy of empire.39 36 Aud. 875, summary of income and expenses for 1531-1536. GRK no. 3436, Willem Goudt’s thirtyfourth account as Receiver for the Subsidies in Holland (in his initial summary of the sums accounted for here, Goudt says Charles ‘took’ the first four half-year terms of the ordinary subsidy of 80,000 gulden per year); ‘Prothocolle van alle die reysen… bij mij Andries Jacops gedaen,’ (Gemeentearchief, Amsterdam) entries for 24/25 October 1531 (Charles tells the States of Holland he has not taken ‘more than 200,000 pounds’ in subsidy revenue), 6 August 1532. 37 This was the opinion of Erasmus, who paid more attention to the politics of his native lands than many have realized. ‘Taxation beyond measure is something everyone has to bear, but for us it is worse, because the money is carried off to Germany and Spain:’ P. S. Allen, Opus Epistolarum D. Erasmi, 12 vols. (Oxford 1906-1958), Letter 2177, lines 47-55, III, 194 (my translation). 38 Compare the expected Low Countries war budget for 1553 (Aud. 650:529-530, 5,377,420 Carolus gulden) with Lodewijk van Schore’s tally of money spent during the war of 1542-1544 (Aud. 650:533534, 7,142,042 gulden, or an average of 2,380,680 a year). 39 One may take as an example Rijksarchief van Zuid-Holland, The Hague, IIIe Afdeling, Grafelijkheids Rekenkamer no. 3444, the account (rendered by Willem Goudt’s widow) for an extraordinary subsidy of 120,000 gulden, approved by deputies from Holland at the meeting of the States General in Mons. The widow Goudt reports 121,500 gulden in income and 112,981 in expenditures, including 106,386 in payments to Jan Carpentier and Hendrik Sterck, Treasurers of War in the Low Countries.
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Instead of the Low Countries coming to the aid of their sovereign, it was again and again Castile that came to the aid of the Low Countries, by Charles’s command, starting in the 1530s and 1540s, and increasing dramatically during the 1550s, as Mia Rodriguez-Salgado has shown.40 For the donativi of Naples, one must start with the fact that monies sent outside the Kingdom were remitted by bankers who charged interest for sums advanced against a donativo to be collected over a term of years, as well as fees for exchanging money into the currency desired at the destination. One may also assume that the bankers deducted these charges from what they remitted, rather than awaiting payment at a later date. From various indications in published sources and from the secondary literature, one may conservatively estimate that 40% of the projected donativi income was either ‘eaten’ by interest and exchange charges, or never collected. To be sure, the Parlamento sometimes insisted in its formal grant of a donativo that at least part of the money be kept back for the needs of the Kingdom, and such agreements could not be altogether ignored. By gathering together the clues offered by published sources as to how the sums that bankers provided for individual donativi were allocated, one may estimate that some 1,200,000 Neapolitan ducats in donativi money (1,112,800 Spanish ducats) would have been spent within the Kingdom during Charles’s reign (19% of gross receipts or 32% of the net), as opposed to 2,538,000 expended beyond its borders (41% of gross receipts or 68% of the net).41 Roberto Mantelli has come to a similar conclusion by different means: in his view, roughly 40% of the gross receipts for donativi approved between 1541 and 1559 went for payments outside the Kingdom.42 To take but one well-known example, when Charles had to flee across the Alps to escape the armies of Moritz of Saxony at the beginning of the Second Schmalkaldic War (1552), what saved him in his hour of need was not a loan from the Fugger, nor New World silver remitted from Spain, but 200,000 Neapolitan ducats, representing the first installment from a donativo just approved by the Parlamento.43 Money from Naples – and not just from the donativi – supported the grand strategy of empire to a degree that has not been appreciated by students of Charles’s reign, save for those working on Naples itself. Finally, Castile. Carande Thobar has demonstrated that the great bulk of the loans for which Charles accepted responsibility were secured by his revenues in Castile, especially those classed above as ‘other’ revenue, including silver from the Indies.
There is a payment of 30,000 for troops, without further description, and another for 7,500 for garrisons in Artois and Flanders, but the other payments all relate to Holland itself or provinces bordering on Holland. 40 The Changing Face of Empire. 41 Tracy, Impresario, 285-286. 42 R. Mantelli, Burocrazia e finanze pubbliche nel regno di Napoli a meta del cinquecento (Naples 1981) 356-358. 43 Charles to Mary, 30 May 1552, Karl Lanz, ed., Correspondenz des Kaiser Karls V., 3 vols. (Leipzig 1844-1846), Letter 793, vol. III, 202-208, and Charles to Philip, June 1552, Fernández Alvarez, Corpus Documental, Letter DXXXIX, vol. III, 443-444.
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How much of the Castilian income that supported Charles’s wars came from the servicios? One must bear in mind that, during his reign, the servicios never brought in more than half of gross income for the alcabala, even though the former rose in value after 1539, while the yield of the latter was relatively fixed.44 In certain years, moreover, income from both sources was dwarfed by the huge sums that Charles realized through sequestration of private treasure shipped from the Indies.45 But alcabala income was increasingly eaten into by a rapidly rising debt for treasury bonds secured by the rentas ordinarias; and servicio income was more predictable than the Indies fleets, especially with the larger grants that began with the Cortes of 1538-1539. From 1539 to 1555, the average annual value of the servicios was 470,980 ducats; for the previous seventeen years (1522-1538), the average annual value had been 293,689 ducats, or about five-eighths as much. The one occasion for which published documents permit comparison of how Charles’s revenues were applied to his foreign campaigns was in September 1544, when the auditor’s report mentioned above identified the assignations for about 1,870,000 ducats in remittances sent to the emperor during the previous eighteen months. Roughly 25% of the total was secured by the servicios granted by the Cortes of Valladolid in 1544, slightly more than for any other source of revenue. Looked at from the other end, it seems that virtually all of the money for the servicios granted in 1542 was used to settle old war debts, while money from the grants of 1544 went for loans contracted during Charles’s campaigns of 1543-1544.46 One who remembered the early years of Charles’ reign in Castile might not have predicted such a development. At the Cortes of Madrid in 1528, for example, town procurators pointedly reminded the king that money raised by the consent of his subjects was better spent on defending the kingdom than on foreign wars. In rejecting the emperor’s proposal for a kingdom-wide excise tax ten years later, Castile’s grandees delivered the same message rather more forcefully.47 Nonetheless, what scholars have called the ‘Castilianization’ of Charles – his adoption of the country’s language and customs as his own – evidently made a difference over time. Even during the long and difficult years of absence at the end of the reign, some speakers at meetings of the Cortes expressed their pride in the fact that Castile’s wealth was supporting the glorious Christian emperor, who had now surpassed even Julius Caesar by his victories over the previously invincible Germans.48
44
Hendricks, ‘Charles V and the Cortes of Castile,’ 219-221. Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, vol. III, 312-317. 46 E.g., 800,000 ducats in 1535, nearly 2,000,000 in 1551: Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, III, 169-170, Carande Thobar, Carlos V y sus Banqueros, II, 535-536. 47 The best study of the Cortes of 1538/1539 is Juan Sanchez Montes, 1539. Agobios Carolinos y Ciudades Castellanos (Granada 1975). 48 Hendricks, ‘Charles V and the Cortes of Castile,’ Chapter 9. The reference is perhaps not so much to the campaigns in Germany described in Caesar’s Gallic Wars as to the annihilation of three Roman legions under Marcus Quintilius Varro by a German commander known to the Romans as Arminius (9 A.D. – cf. Tacitus’ Germania). 45
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In sum, one can say that the provincial states of the Low Countries begrudged the emperor money needed for their own wars, and also had sufficient leverage to have their will respected; that the Parlamento of Naples, without any inter-governmental quid pro quo, gave more for the Emperor’s wars than was kept back for domestic needs; and that the Cortes of Castile, at least by the latter part of the reign, worried less than other parliaments about how their money was spent, because urban procurators, many of them caballeros and veterans of Charles’s wars, had come to see the triumphs of Castile’s naturalized prince as their own.
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Peter Marzahl
Communication and Control in the Political System of Emperor Charles V. The First Regency of Empress Isabella
Princess Juana, then regent in Spain, wrote to her father, the emperor Charles V: ‘He (the messenger) carried them (the letters) between the soles of his shoes and they arrived so damp and in such pieces that one could hardly read half the words and since it was about business of much importance, I felt sorry that one could not determine everything that was said except by divination,’.1 The mails were unreliable and divination may sometimes have been a convenient way of interpreting the emperor’s wishes. As a rule, though, the emperor’s regime rested on a system of continuous communication focussed on himself. This system is represented by a massive body of correspondence that is still open to analysis and interpretation, whether centered on the ideas expressed, the policies announced or the politics pursued by the emperor or by his subjects.2 The emperor’s policies and the goals that informed them called for effective control over the affairs of his far-flung empire, so as to enable him to mobilize their resources for a common purpose. In the words of Peter Rassow: ‘Each one of his countries possessed a government of its own, with him (the emperor) in control wherever he happened to be. The emperor personally derived from the interests and needs of each one of these countries – whose government depended upon him and was controlled by him – a complex of common interests that he equated with the interests of Christendom and that the opposing interests of these countries were subject to.’3 Rassow here describes a mature system of control and coordination that actually had taken more than a decade to put into place, whether in Spain, the Low Countries or the Empire.4 1
Juana to Charles, 2-10-1555, Archivo General de Simancas (AGS), Estado 112, f. 255. The volume and range of this correspondence is discusssed in Horst Rabe – Heide Stratenwerth, ‘Die politische Korrespondenz Kaiser Karls V. Beiträge zu ihrer wissenschaftlichen Erschließung’, in Horst Rabe, ed., Karl V. Politik und politisches System. Berichte und Studien aus der Arbeit an der politischen Korrespondenz des Kaisers (Konstanz 1996). 3 Peter Rassow, Die Kaiser-Idee Karls V. dargestellt an der Politik der Jahre 1528-1540 (Berlin 1932) 83-84. 4 For formal aspects of this system see Horst Rabe – Peter Marzahl, ‘’Comme representant nostre propre personne’ – The Regency Ordinances of Charles V as a Historical Source’, in E.I. Kouri – T. Scott, eds., Politics and Society in Reformation Europe. Essays for Sir Geoffrey Elton on his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (London 1987). 2
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My purpose in this paper is to describe some of the key features of the empress Isabella’s first regency in Spain, after the revolt of the Comunidades had demonstrated the risks of trying to govern Spain from abroad.5 How could a functioning regency operate that would be able to deal smoothly with domestic business and also satisfy imperial concerns (lo de acá and lo de allá). But before the emperor could depart again and address those concerns – which included claiming his crown from the Pope – he had to reestablish himself in control of the peninsula, pacify the realm and organize his government. The restoration of his authority in Spain after the revolt of the Comunidades was followed by experiments in government, notably the creation of two new councils, of finance and of the Indies. But attempts to turn a loosely articulated council of state from a mere advisory body into an institution that would coordinate his affairs under the Grand Chancellor Gattinara were rejected by the emperor as not being in line with Castilian tradition. Rather the emperor had begun fashioning a governing style of his own by relying on a loose and informal circle of advisers and other collaborators, such as the secretaries Francisco de los Cobos and Jean Lallemand who could deal effectively with the explosive increase in business while leaving him in actual control.6 Dynastic and financial considerations were uppermost in the emperor’s mind when pondering the question of how to maintain his authority and to keep control when he was absent from Spain: marrying his Portuguese cousin would not only produce a good dowry; as his queen she could rule in his absence if served by good advisers.7 The emperor’s reflections, set down before the news of Pavia had reached him, were confirmed a little later by Martín de Salinas, an astute observer at court who prognosticated that the emperor’s departure for his coronation in Italy might take place within two months.8 The seriousness of the emperor’s reflections is also confirmed in the proposals made by the royal councillor Galíndez de Carvajal that addressed the shape of government in Spain during the emperor’s absence. Galíndez did not distinguish between levels of importance in matters of state and government as Gattinara had done but rather advocated a separation of functions and competencies between regent and ruler; an arrangement that employed these criteria would more
5
For a standard history of this regency see M. Fernández Álvarez, La España del Emperador Carlos V (1500-1558) (Madrid 1990), 479-501 and also J. M. Jover, Carlos V y los Españoles (Madrid 1963). The empress Isabella’s correspondence with the emperor is found in M. Mazarío Coleto, Isabel de Portugal. Emperatriz y Reina de España (Madrid 1951). 6 The relation between emperor, chancellor and secretaries is discussed in J. M. Headley, The Emperor and his Chancellor. A study of the imperial chancellery under Gattinara (Cambridge 1983). Gattinara’s proposals to have ‘all affairs of state in a single volume, well organized according to the rubric of each office’ are presented in appendix IV. 7 K. Brandi, ‘Eigenhändige Aufzeichnungen Karls V. aus dem Anfang des Jahres 1525.’ Berichte und Studien zur Geschichte Karls V. IX. Nachrichten v. d. Ges. d. Wiss. zu Göttingen, Phil. Hist. Kl. II, Vol. 3, No. 4, 1933. 8 A. Rodríguez Villa, El Emperador Carlos V y su Corte según las Cartas de Don Martín de Salinas, Embajador del Infante Don Fernando (1522- 1539) (Madrid 1903) 270.
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easily allow a division of power that met the emperor’s requirements.9 Events were to show that these deliberations were premature: four more years were to elapse before the conditions for the voyage to Italy were right. Marriage to the Portuguese princess and the birth of an heir one year later settled the question of a regency’s dynastic authority in Spain and made it possible to find a solution analogous to that arrived at in the Empire and the Low Countries, where the emperor’s brother and his aunt Margaret governed in his name. Initially both these solutions had been provisional in character. In each case the emperor’s permanent presence was required to establish a lasting and stable arrangement. How would a lasting arrangement in Spain be shaped? The emperor’s trip to Valencia in the spring of 1528 provided an opportunity to test how well the business of government would fare with the empress as regent. Fundamental to the design of regency was a set of ordinances and instructions that established the regent’s competencies and regulated her relations with the apparatus of government that remained in place with her. The power of government, formally expressed in the title ‘la reyna’ that preceded her decrees and replaced that of the emperor (el rey), was extensive on paper but restricted in fact. In her conduct of business she was to heed the advice of her councils, in particular the recommendations of the president of the royal council (of Castile), whose prudence the emperor esteemed most. Her instruction (la orden) was paralleled by an instruction to the president that demonstrated his central role in government, as the regent’s main adviser. He was responsible for the official correspondence (cartas de negocios), its proper forwarding and prompt dispatch.10 The president Juan Tavera was one of the prelates who had risen to prominence in the emperor’s service.11 From the council of the Inquisition he had gone on to become the president of the chancillería of Valladolid and in 1524 he had been appointed president of the royal council and became the archbishop of Santiago. As he continued in the emperor’s favor, he was made a cardinal in 1532 and in 1534, upon the death of Alonso de Fonseca, he became the archbishop of Toledo. His assiduousness in the management of affairs can be seen in a letter sent to the secretary Cobos as soon as the emperor had left. ‘Matters are in good order, as His Majesty has left them and everybody is taking care that they remain so. Polanco and I have taken care of the petitions of the Cámara …we will heed the instruction in all
9
Fritz Walser, ‘Spanien und Karl V. Fünf spanische Denkschriften an den Kaiser.’ Berichte und Studien zur Geschichte Karls V. VI. Nachrichten v. d. Ges. d. Wiss. zu Göttingen, Phil. Hist. Kl. II, vol. 2, No. 6, 1932. 10 The powers of government and the instructions are to be found in AGS, Patronato Real 26. Some of them are printed in M. Fernández Alvarez, ed., Corpus Documental de Carlos V. 5 vols. (Salamanca 1973-1981) (=CD) passim. For the president’s instruction see S. de Dios, ed., Fuentes para el estudio del Consejo Real de Castilla (Salamanca 1986) 85-87. 11 Some information about Tavera can be gleaned from Walser, ‘Fünf spanische Denkschriften’. See also J. Martínez Millán, ‘Las elites de poder durante el reinado de Carlos V a través de los miembros del Consejo de la Inquisición (1516-1558)’, Hispania XLVIII/168 (1988) 103-167.
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points.’ He simply sent the emperor a short note that referred to the lengthy communication that had been sent to Cobos.12 The president and the Licenciado Polanco constituted the Cámara that handled all matters of grace and patronage, with Cobos as its permanent secretary. His nephew, Juan Vázquez was to serve in his place, keeping the forms for the dispatch of business, while Cobos accompanied the emperor. The Empress’ instructions show her to be a mere figurehead who was to listen graciously to all supplicants while telling them to hand their petitions to the secretary: ‘and when the president and the Licenciado Polanco have conferred about those things they will tell Your Majesty what you have to do and to say.’13 In their turn, the members were instructed – ostensibly by the empress – as to their duties and to their meetings that were to take place every Saturday in the president’s residence. Business ordinarily to be consulted on with the emperor was to be presented to the empress and then forwarded to him.14 As an additional safety measure, Cobos instructed his nephew explicitly: ‘do not dispatch anything, as minor as it might be, without the president and the Licenciado seeing it.’15 To emphasize the Castilian character of the regent’s court (actually of her household – la casa) and to lend it added dignity, it was now organized along Castilian lines. Until then the empress had retained not only her Portuguese ladies in waiting but also all her servants and officials. Now the count of Miranda was selected as her mayordomo mayor, responsible for maintaining the court as a center of gravity and decorum in the Castilian manner. This reorganization was overseen by the secretary Cobos whose memoranda were based on inquiries that sought to reconstruct the household management of Isabella the Catholic.16 When the emperor departed from Toledo in March of 1529, the framework adopted the year before was followed in most essentials. While the regent’s power of government was not subject to a limitation in public as it had been before, when the empress’ decrees had to be validated by a councillor’s signature, a separate ordinance restricted that power with respect to specific appointments that the emperor reserved to himself. In addition a council of state consisting of four members was installed to advise the regent on important questions: Juan Tavera, as president of the royal council, the count of Miranda, mayordomo mayor, the archbishop of Toledo, and don Juan Manuel.17 12
‘Lo que V.M. ha de comunicar a S.M. es lo siguiente’, Tavera to Cobos, 3-5-1528, f. 334-335.
AGS,
Estado 16,
13 CD, vol.1, 131-133. 14 AGS, Patronato 26, f.
27. Estado 42, f. 118. In addition Cobos sent detailed instructions immediately after the departure from Toledo, 20-3-1529, AGS, Estado 29, f. 170. The care taken in Cámara business is illustrated by a letter accompanying a provision – already signed and countersigned – sent to the Licenciado Polanco. If Polanco found grounds for objection, he was to rephrase the provision and send it back, already initialed, AGS, Estado 21, f. 341. 16 See n. 40 17 The power of government, instruction and restriction are printed in CD, vol. 1, 143-154. 15 AGS,
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The First Regency of Empress Isabella
Nearly four years were to elapse before the emperor’s return to Spain. The initial agenda for the voyage, as announced in public had been his coronation by the Pope and possibly a visit to his Italian possessions. Planning at the departure from Toledo was still contingent on agreements with the Pope and with France. It was not until the treaty with the Pope had been concluded and peace with France had become a certainty that the voyage to Italy became a firm prospect. At the regent’s court, hopes for an early return of the emperor were never abandoned. Hence, when informed of plans to proceed to Germany after the coronation, the president Tavera expressed his misgivings in no uncertain terms and warned the emperor not to get involved in an enterprise so fraught with danger and obstacles, with no money nor credit available and that would actually require more than two years rather than the envisioned two months.18 His prediction as to the German quagmire proved to be more than correct. But the president’s realism was no match for the emperor’s optimism and belief in the efficacy of his personal intervention in affairs. Despite their difference in perspective the president’s concern being to keep order in Spain and the emperor’s professed goal to maintain order in Christendom – the president managed not only to maintain peace in the peninsula but also provided the support required for the emperor’s enterprises. While the lines of command and control at the emperor’s itinerant court were clear, it took more than a few months to clarify who was in charge at the regent’s court. In a letter to the emperor summing up his experience after nine months, the president said of the empress: ‘She keeps good order in everything but Her Majesty does not have to justify herself to anybody and does not have any experience or knowledge of these countries,’ pointing out that the burdens of office were his to bear, defending the emperor’s enterprises while also serving as the realm’s advocate.19 At the time Tavera wrote, he had mastered a double crisis, confronting both a crisis of confidence at home and the emperor’s urgent requests for financial assistance. He reported on the destruction by corsairs of the Spanish galleys at Ibiza that had carried the emperor to Genoa – only one galley managed to escape – resulting in demands for the emperor’s return to the council of state.20 Under these circumstances, it was unlikely that the Cortes could be called upon to impose an excise (sisa) as proposed by the emperor’s emissary, the bishop of Ciudad Rodrigo. Another part of his mission – to present the papal grants of the crusade tax (cruzada) and of the clergy’s subsidy – could be turned to good account by the president, who took over the negotiations and managed to shunt aside the council of finance, whose capacity he had never thought highly of.21 In these negotiations as in earlier discussions in the council of state, the archbishop of Toledo had been sidelined: accused 18
Tavera to Charles, 19-12-1529, AGS, Estado 20, f. 204. Tavera to Charles, 19-12-1529, AGS, Estado 20, f. 204. 20 AGS, Estado, Guerra Antigua 2, f. 229. 21 Tavera to Charles, 19-7-1529, AGS, Guerra Antigua 2, f. 59. Francisco de Mendoza, bishop of Zamora was the president of the council of finance and also in charge of the cruzada. 19
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of defeatism, he had no chance to reply effectively since he had no access to the cipher system.22 He and the other members of the council were referred to official correspondence sent to the empress for their information, with only the president possessing confidential access to the emperor, either directly or via Cobos, to whom he wrote that he was sure that in matters of common interest, Cobos would heed his recommendations, ‘under the conditions existing between us,’ and that Cobos could rely on his doing the same.23 The regency’s first months had been difficult. Messages exchanged between what was now a separated government were frequent, but actual information was often sparse or incomplete. In one urgent case, the regent felt compelled to send a request for information in the form of an instruction for Cobos, in order to get attention: no coherent information about the defense of the realm had been provided, no funds (consignaciones) for paying the guards had been appropriated, nothing had been said about how to deal with the affairs of the Crown of Aragón to the regent’s knowledge.24 This stratagem of sending a special delivery message a few days before the emperor’s embarkation for Genoa was apparently effective. The only members of the council of war who were to accompany the emperor beyond Barcelona were the secretary Zuazola and the count Don Hernando (de Villalba), while Diego Hurtado was to return; Hurtado, Antonio Fonseca and the count of Miranda were to form the council of war with the regent. The contador Martínez de Ondarza was to serve as the secretary’s substitute. Don Yñigo de la Cueva was appointed as inspector of the guards and should he not accept, a blank appointment was provided. In addition the condestable Velasco was to serve as captain general, should the need arise.25 Financial affairs were in disarray for most of the year. In July, at the prodding of the council of finance, the regent felt moved to protest that there were no funds available for any kind of emergency.26 The treasurer Juan de Adurza had accompanied the emperor; possible substitutes to serve at the regent’s side were either Sancho de Paz or Alonso de Baeza. Because Paz was encumbered with multiple duties, Baeza was selected and even managed to forward small amounts of cash to Barcelona. At some point, however, he was forced to inform the emperor that there was no revenue left to draw on for letters of exchange (cambios) nor was there likely to be any in the future.27 An attempt to sell bonds (juros) to the amount of 300,000 ducats had only produced 100,000 ducats. Selling offices was not a viable alternative since the emperor had to be consulted in each case; following remonstrations, this particular restriction on the regent’s power was removed by October.28 By that 22
Archbishop of Toledo to Charles, 9-12-1529, AGS, Estado 20, f. 205-207. Tavera to Cobos, 18-12-1531, AGS, Estado 24, f. 191. 24 Isabella to Cobos, 18-7-1529, CD, vol. 1, 156-158. 25 Charles to Isabella, 27-7-1529, AGS, Guerra Antigua 2, f. 28, Estado 17/18, f. 4. 26 AGS, Guerra Antigua 2, f. 4. 27 Isabella to Charles, 31-8-1529, AGS, Estado 17/18, f. 51-57; Isabella to Charles, 9-9-1529, Guerra Antigua, f. 8. 28 Charles to Isabella, 23-10-1529, AGS, Guerra Antigua 2, f. 31. 23
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The First Regency of Empress Isabella
time the financial horizon had brightened, as two papal grants including the cruzada were to allow the raising of extraordinary revenue that would put the emperor’s finances on a more stable footing. The effort to translate the papal grants into a stream of revenue capable of supporting the emperor’s enterprise provided an opening for the president to assert his leadership in the regent’s councils. Until then, it appears that he had simply been first among equals in the council of state. Now he managed to become the effective counterpart of Cobos at the regent’s side. One of his important tasks was to compose and edit the regent’s official correspondence with the emperor, aided by Juan Vázquez. A look at this correspondence, and especially the letters which he sent and received under his own name, reveals that he had to deal with literally every aspect of the regency.29 Tavera, the president of the Royal Council, may also have lacked the ability to delegate tasks. Juan Vázquez said as much when he wrote that the president had stayed on for days after the court’s departure from Medina de Campo, in order to deal with correspondence before the mail left.30 On another occasion Juan Vázquez wrote of the president that he wished ‘that these gentlemen (of the council of state) were busier in serving His Majesty; I say this because the cardinal has many occupations and wants to do all the work and consequently he cannot help missing out on one thing or another. I know that he wants to be relieved of the presidency.’31 The president served as an intermediary between the royal council and the emperor, forwarding its recommendations as to candidates for positions and proposing some as being most suitable.32 When the emperor proposed in his turn a candidate for fiscal of the council, the president responded that the council had rejected him as not being qualified (no suficiente).33 When the council of war’s capacity to conduct business proved to be erratic, Tavera took charge and dealt with the expedition of its business; this included that despatches were being read before they were expedited and that the registers were kept in order.34 The emperor could rely on his discretion in delicate matters whether they involved extracting benefits from the Duke of Béjar’s estate or ensuring that 60 000 ducats were received on his behalf in the notorious divorce case of the dukes of Medina Sidonia.35
29 A detailed letter to the president indicates the extent of his duties. Sent in July, it deals with business that had accrued between December and May; the emperor excused this delay with his indisposition and with having to take the cure at Bad Abbach. There are fifty-seven items of business that range from recruitment for office to the nobility’s affairs. It is a notable patchwork, stitched together from consultas bringing the most varied items to the emperor’s attention. Charles to Tavera, 11-7-1532, AGS, Estado 636, f. 52-55. 30 Juan Vázquez to Cobos, 9-8-1532, AGS, Estado 25, f.224-228. 31 AGS, E. 24, f. 185. 32 AGS, Estado 24, f. 389. 33 AGS, Estado 22, f. 108-109. 34 Christóbal Suárez, contador de sueldo, would be charged to keep things in order in the future, Tavera to Charles, 6-6-1530, AGS, Estado 20, f. 18. 35 Charles to Tavera, 25-11-1531, CD, vol. 1, 331-333. Tavera to Charles, 17-9-1532, AGS, Estado 24, f. 174-175.
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While the president’s ostensible role was to advise the empress, his actual function was to conduct her government. The regent’s role, though, was not unimportant. As regards the court, Tavera wrote, ‘I do not interfere except to put in a reminder (acordarlo).’36 Her official share in the daily affairs of the court can be seen seen in the decrees (cédulas) registered under her name by the Cámara, most of them relating to individuals requesting grants and favors.37 Her ability to make grants was closely circumscribed as evidenced by the stream of consultas de particulares with her recommendation that reached the emperor. Even grants she had already made were countermanded, as being beyond her competence.38 For a while Pedro González de Mendoza served as a faithful reporter of life at the regent’s court, emphasizing the disappointment felt about the emperor’s delayed return, or including as a positive note the fact that the empress was now drinking wine. There was ‘private’ correspondence between the emperor and the empress but evidence of it is mostly indirect. A communication from Cobos accompanying a letter from the emperor gives an indication of the regent’s involvement in business: ‘Your Majesty must see (it) alone and then show (it) to the council of state, with the emperor asking Your Majesty to request that they keep it secret.’39 One of the president’s regular correspondents at the emperor’s itinerant court was the secretary Cobos, raised to the dignity of comendador mayor de León.40 Cobos’ most important resource was the emperor’s confidence and the close working relationship they had established. While en route his duties continued as in Spain. As secretary of the Cámara he was in charge of the awarding of offices and jobs at court, memberships of the knightly orders as well as handling matters of grace. The empress’ recommendations, while not always granted, were treated with special care and received individual attention.41 Much of this business was dealt with in summary fashion and reached the emperor in the form of consultas prepared by Cobos, divided into ordinary matters (cosas ordinarias) and matters of substance (cosas sustanciales). They were often presented orally and then annotated as to the decision made (fiat, no hay lugar etc.). There were exceptions to this summary procedure as when Cobos wrote: ‘I am sending what has arrived from there and which Your Majesty should see; since it is so little, no summary (relación) has been done. Your Majesty might want to read it; it is less than appears.’ The draft of a letter to the empress, in
36
Tavera to Charles, 13-5-1532, AGS, Estado 24, f. 202. A. Alvar Ezquerra, ‘El gobierno de la Emperatriz y la consolidación de la Monarquía’ (MS). As small a matter as a grant of 50 fanegas of wheat made to the son of Sancho de Paz, from the Order of Santiago, AGS, Estado 22, f. 199-200. 39 Cobos to Isabella, 1-8-1530, AGS, Estado 635, f. 89. 40 There is the biography by H. F. Keniston, Francisco de los Cobos, Secretary of the Emperor Charles V (Pittsburgh 1958). 41 In a letter to Juan Vázquez (destined for the empress’ ear?) Cobos wrote that’it has hurt him in his soul fo hear how the empress had felt,’ for not having her wishes fulfilled and he added that ‘His Majesty should understand that between their Majesties each one should think of doing what the other one wishes.’ 9-7-1530, AGS, Estado 637, f. 24-26. 37 38
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the hand of Idiáquez, was accompanied by a note from Cobos: ‘Here is the draft of the letter to the empress if Your Majesty wants to see it.’ The emperor did and added two remarks.42 Cobos was the friend and confidant to many, so of the emperor’s former confessor García de Loaysa, now ambassador in Rome, who unburdened himself by complaining about the emperor’s stinginess in awarding him Siguenza instead of Zaragoza, when, as everybody knew, appearances counted for everything in Rome.43 Cobos’ colleague Granvelle had learned to humour the secretary. When Cobos was forced to stay behind due to illness, he consoled him by writing that the absence of ladies (of the court) would surely help his recuperation but adding that his wife (ma vieille) did not share this opinion but that the emperor did.44An important duty of Cobos was the distribution of sums of money, doling them out as gratuities or having them assigned to deserving members of the court, thus functioning as a kind of broker. He also became the new patron of Alonso de Valdés after the death of the Grand Chancellor Gattinara and after Valdés had died in Vienna, Cobos’ assistant Idiaquez in turn was given Valdés’ job as secretary for Naples.45 One episode may describe the working style at the emperor’s roving court. While Cobos and his colleague Granvelle had been dealing with the papal legates at Ghent on the question of holding a general council, the emperor had spent Easter at Groenendal (a cloister in the woods south of Brussels). The report of their conversations and letters already drafted to the empress and to his brother Ferdinand were then taken by Idiáquez to Groenendael. In his response to these communications, the emperor told how Idiáquez had become lost en route and had to spend the night in a ditch; he also complained about the burden of doing penance and having to write letters as well, as he had already written on his own to the empress and to his brother. He also asked Cobos to respond to insinuations in his brother’s letter (probably about lack of support), but asked him to do so on the level of the secretaries’ correspondence.46 The emperor’s small retinue and limited staff possessed the advantage of mobility. But when he wrote to the empress that ‘from here I cannot provide anything because nobody from the councils of these countries (of the Crown of Aragón) resides with me,’ the drawbacks became apparent.47 To the count of Alcaudete, viceroy of Navarra, the emperor wrote from Mantua: ‘From here (acá) nothing can be provided since there is no information about the business there (allá) available. I am therefore
42 AGS, Estado 636, f. 118, f. 67. 43 Loaysa to Cobos, 28-2-1531, AGS,
Estado 25, f. 206. Granvelle to Cobos, 25-1-1534, AGS, Estado 44, f. 129. Estado 44, f. 129. Cobos orders Valdés and Urriés, as secretaries for Sicily and Naples, to pay specified amounts to a number of beneficiaries, that had accrued from the sale of offices. Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid, Colección de Manuscritos, 18634, fol. 263r-v. 46 Charles to Cobos, April 1531, with the date based on contents and itinerary, CD, vol. 1, 260-263. 47 Charles to Isabella, 11-7-1532, CD, vol. 1, 368. 44
45 AGS,
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writing to the empress, asking her to recommend what is needed.’48 Communication suffered from this limited capacity. Cobos could not keep his promise to send mail every twenty days.49 This deficiency found telling expression in a complaint: ‘Your Majesty should be advised of the great inconvenience of his not having responded nor of having ordered information to be sent for such a long period, on matters of such great importance and, for the good of affairs and my peace of mind, he should order a response in all brevity.’50 Important decisions could be considerably delayed and a forceful reminder could be required as in the ‘memorial de Gante’ with Cobos pointing out business that had been put off since Innsbruck for more than seven months, for instance the appointment of a viceroy for Aragón and of judges there.51 Cobos in turn was reminded by Juan Vázquez that he had to pay attention to the ladies at the regent’s court who complained that they were not of the inner circle (privadas) like the marquesa de Lombay and therefore received no mail.52 A measure of the direct control exercised by the emperor can be seen in his comments delivered on the affairs of the Crown of Aragón before his departure from Spain and showing his judgment of peoples’ capacities and his predilections as to how to run a government. He completely disregarded an extensive memorandum prepared for his information that dealt in four parts with the administration of justice, matters of grace, affairs of state and questions of finance.53 Instead he limited his comments to the following:’Micer Gualvys is a nice man; he has no abilities, neither for staying (behind) nor for coming along. If possible he should be sent home and if that cannot be, he can serve as regent of the Rota of Catalonia. Micer Renna who is serving there can then pass his office on to Micer Gualvys.’ The secretaries also received appropriate comments: ‘Orihuela is superfluous and useless. Comalonga is a busybody, he can serve with the Cortes.’ He then proceeded to designate those councillors who should stay behind and serve with the empress as the council of Aragón (Micer Ram, Micer Artes and Micer Pastor), with Alonso de Soria serving as secretary, and those who should travel with him to Italy, including the newly appointed vice chancellor (Micer Sunyer). In a final and characteristic comment, the emperor added that no council of state would be needed ‘if the administration is good.’54 How could a peninsular perspective on the operation of the regency be aligned with an imperial perspective? One concern shared by both sides was that domestic tranquillity was an absolute priority. Another shared preoccupation was defence.
48
Charles to the count of Alcaudete, 5-4-1530, AGS, Estado 21, f. 325. Cobos to Isabella, 28-12-1529, AGS, Estado 2, f. 341 50 Isabella to Charles, 16-9-1530, Mazarío Coleto, Isabel de Portugal, 294. 51 December 1530 is the likely date of this communication from Cobos to Charles, given the emperor’s itinerary, AGS, Estado 636, f. 113. 52 AGS, Estado 25, f. 224. 53 The summer of 1529 is the likely date for this memorandum, with matters to be decided in Barcelona and Gattinara still serving as chancellor, AGS, Estado 301, f. 79-81. 54 AGS, Estado 267, f. 198; the date again is before the departure from Barcelona in August of 1529, with Micer Sunyer to serve as vice chancellor who only later was replaced by Miguel Mai. 49
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A sufficiency of funds for his enterprises was the emperor’s primary concern and one that also imposed a burden on the regency, not always borne with enthusiasm. After peace with France had been concluded, defence of Spain’s northern frontier temporarily ceased to be a problem. Spain’s maritime frontier in the Mediterranean now became a major preoccupation and Algiers became a focal point of concern, especially after the destruction of Portuondo’s galleys off Ibiza.55 The emperor’s solution was to contract the services of his close ally, Andrea Doria, on an annual basis during spring and summer, with Spain footing the bill. This arrangement was never quite to the regency’s satisfaction. The costs it entailed were considered too high and the security it bought was deemed insufficient. The admiral would arrive late, make a few sweeps with his galleys and leave early, according to the complaints to the emperor. Differences as to tactics and strategy were more significant. When Doria proposed putting forty galleys into service, the regent conveyed that she did not think much of making the large sweeps favored by the admiral and would have preferred regular patrolling with fewer ships. ‘Tanta galera’, so the argument ran, offered no solution. The only remedy to put that turbulent frontier to rest was to equip a large expedition (armada) that would have to include cavalry and infantry.56 Henceforth this project was on the books, to be dusted off every fall and winter and then shelved in spring and summer. Long-range credit arrangements were needed to forestall the sort of permanent state of financial emergency that had accompanied the months following the emperor’s departure. Three major credit deals (asientos) that produced temporary solvency were concluded during the regency. Fugger and Welser were the partners of the first contract; the Welser alone concluded another credit package that was based on leasing the maestrazgos (the income from the knightly orders of Santiago, Calatrava and Alcántara). A Spanish group of financiers were the backers of a third contract with Alonso de Vozmediano and Juan Enciso serving as frontmen; both of them also were office holders under the crown. How business was handled between emperor and regency, and who was actually in charge, can be seen in considerable detail in the records of negotiations that led to the agreement with the German bankers in February 1530.57 These documents also throw light on the conflicts and tensions within the regency government. After the bishop of Ciudad Rodrigo had presented the papal briefs concerning the cruzada and the subsidio, the conditions were published in early December. Rival groups of Genoese and German bankers thereupon presented bids. While the Genoese were quickly sidelined, the German consortium’s proposals supported by Spanish middlemen (medianeros) 55
For the situation in the western Mediterranean see Fernández Alvarez, La España, 505-556.
56 AGS, Estado 19, f. 390-393. 57 R. Carande, Carlos Quinto y
sus banqueros, 3 vols (Madrid 1943-1967), vol. 3, 86-93; H. Kellenbenz, Die Fugger in Spanien und Portugal bis 1560. Ein Großunternehmen des 16. Jahrhunderts, 2 vols. (München 1990), vol. 1, 71; C. J. de Carlos Morales, ‘El Consejo de Hacienda de Castilla en el reinado de Carlos V (1523-1556)’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español, 59 (1989), 95-99.
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under the leadership of Alonso Gutiérrez were taken up by the president, who managed to convince his colleagues in the council of state of their merits. The archbishop of Toledo, however, took exception to the proposals because he had had no opportunity to study them before they were sent out on December 19. They reached Bologna on January 4 and a detailed answer was returned on January 16, with Cobos drafting not only the emperor’s letter but also the accompanying notations that set out the defects of the proposals. The emperor stressed the necessity ‘in which I find myself and how needful this money is for my honor, my position (estado) and my reputation and what the lack therof would mean.’58 The asiento was thus approved in principle but returned in the hope of obtaining better conditions; its approval was to be kept secret for the time being. The emperor’s financial situation was indeed desperate: of the asiento’s 1.5 Mio. Ducats 400,000 were already mortgaged for debts due, or about to fall due. The asiento certainly provoked some criticism in Spain before it was approved there and sent to the emperor. The contador Christóbal Suárez took issue with many of the provisions as not being in the emperor’s interest. The president himself noted the conflict of interest presented by the contract in the fact that the Spanish partners served both the bankers while at the same they were crown servants in their capacity as contadores de la Cruzada.59 The implementation of the asiento was to take months of work and considerable effort. The bankers complained when collections fell behind schedule because drawing up the papers for proclaiming the cruzada had been delayed, and the bishop of Zamora, as comisario of the cruzada was blamed.60 Months of discussion with the clergy’s assembled representatives (congregacion) were required before they agreed to their contribution, again a job for the bishop of Zamora. An agreement (concordia) to pay a lump sum was not reached until the clergy had been threatened with confiscation and warnings had been issued by the regent that a break with the clergy (el estado eclesiastico) would be a mistake. The sum settled upon was 480 000 florines after the initial request had been for 700,000 florines.61 Two years later, when the Pope had been persuaded to authorize a contribution of one half of the clergy’s income (medios frutos) an even more pointed confrontation between the clergy and the regent became extremely heated. Negotiations were protracted, lasting for more than a year, and were now accompanied by confiscations and by the clergy’s threat to cancel divine service. An agreement was reached only after the sum demanded was scaled back to the amount agreed upon two years earlier. The three prelates in the emperor’s service – the president, the archbishop 58
Charles to Isabella, AGS, Estado 21, f. 247-249. Estado 4, f. 38: J. Martínez Millán and C. J. de Carlos Morales, ‘Los orígenes del Consejo de la Cruzada (siglo XVI)’, Hispania, LI, 179 (1991), 901-932. 60 AGS, Estado 20, f. 141. 61 Details in AGS, Estado 20, f. 94-95. The regent’s news about the progress of negotiations in Mazarío Coleto, Isabel de Portugal, 267-280. 59 AGS,
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of Toledo and the bishop of Zamora – could not make the clerics’ assembly budge and even the emperor’s intervention after his return had no immediate effect.62 The clergy’s contribution of medios frutos constituted the main share of the third credit contract negotiated during the regency. Despite predictions of trouble it proved to be much easier to deal with the towns’ representatives in the Cortes than with the clergy’s assembly. The president, who had dealt with the towns’ representatives (procuradores) in 1528, warned repeatedly that calling a Cortes in the emperor’s absence would be a risky and possibly dangerous undertaking, whether the professed reason was to pay for the emperor’s quick return or to help his brother against the Ottoman advance that threatened his lands. Full of dark premonitions, the president wrote: ‘Your Majesty should not wonder why here we fear the reunion of the Cortes, because what is to be feared in this kingdom is to move things that will cause hardship and discontent in the people; many Grandes and persons of importance are not averse to seeing Your Majesty in difficulties, even though they do not admit as much.’63 Despite such fears, the Cortes held in Segovia in September 1532 were a success and voted a servicio of 180 cuentos (180 Mio. maravedís) for two years, when the council of state would have been satisfied with 200 cuentos only, for three years.64 The price to be paid in the loss of domestic tranquillity that the president had feared did not materialize. Neither the clergy nor the Cortes carried their resistance to the emperor’s demands too far and it would appear that these demands in turn were also moderated in response to such resistance, whether real or anticipated. But another potential focus of unrest was presented by the nobility. The admiral of Castile was an almost permanent source of irritation at the regent’s court. When his attempts to arrange marriage connections among the nobility brought him into conflict with the count of Miranda, the president was moved to write a detailed report about his intolerable behavior, adding that the Grandes were about to lose all shame (verguenza) and asking the emperor to issue a reprimand.65 It was not only the nobility that aroused suspicion, however. In a communication to the emperor, who had asked to be kept informed about those who aspire to changes (novedades), the president wrote that there was no need to worry about Don Pedro Girón (a disgraced former leader of the Comunidades), but rather about the scandalous behavior of clerics who exploited poverty and discontent and were likely to create a disturbance.66 In April 1533 the emperor returned, while the empress awaited him in Barcelona. The regency had been a success. The next two years were spent in reassuring the 62 Carande, Carlos Quinto, vol. 2, 474-478: Juan Vázquez reported the hard bargaining to Cobos and that the emperor’s curt answer to the clergy’s last offer had been that they should do what he told them and that their yes or no should be given to the bishop (of Zamora) and to Don García (de Padilla) because he was now leaving. AGS, Estado 12, f. 169-170. 63 AGS, Estado 24, f. 192-194. 64 AGS, Estado, f. 174-175, f. 176-177. 65 AGS, Estado 24, f. 180. 66 AGS, Estado 22, f. 105-107.
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realm of his personal attention, thus laying the groundwork for the voyage that would take him to Tunis and Italy. The informal circle of his advisers was joined by some of the members of the council of state and the council of war. While the council of finance disappeared temporarily, Cobos not only resumed the duties that substitutes had performed for him but also became the guiding hand in financial affairs, his position enhanced by his appointment as contador mayor de hacienda. As secretary, Juan Vázquez was put in charge of the routine operations of the council of war.67 If the need should arise, the partially dismantled conciliar apparatus could be reactivated to support another regency. The emperor’s stay remained an interlude. Regencies were henceforth to govern Spain in his name, with his occasional presence designed to reaffirm his authority. A prominent feature of these regencies was their dynastic dimension. Stability and expertise were provided by a fleshed out framework of councils. Reliable communication on several levels was assured based on networks developed by the secretary Cobos. But it was Cobos himself who later pointed out a fundamental flaw in their mode of operation. Writing to Juan Vázquez, he explicitly alluded to the difficulties created by the ruler’s distance from Spain, stressing the emperor’s reluctance to authorize expenditure and the impossibility for him to judge from over there (desde allá) who was most deserving of a reward.68 Whoever would be in charge in Spain, would have to breach this gap, either by divining the ruler’s intentions or by substituting his own judgment for the emperor’s. Either way the shortcomings of government by regency would become apparent with the passage of time.
67 AGS, Estado 25, f. 217-219. 68 Cobos to Juan Vázquez, 8-7-1540, AGS,
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Estado 49, f. 96-97.
The First Regency of Empress Isabella
José Martínez Millán
Corrientes Espirituales y Facciones Políticas en el Servicio del Emperador Carlos V
En las últimas décadas del siglo XIX, un joven y osado investigador se propuso estudiar la historia de todos los españoles que habían disentido o se habían separado de la doctrina cristiana de la Iglesia de Roma a lo largo de la historia.1 No era la primera vez que un historiador español abordaba tema tan espinoso, pues – para estas fechas – ya habían aparecido fundamentados estudios al respecto como la Historia de los protestantes españoles y de su persecución por Felipe II (1851) de Adolfo de Castro o la colección de los Reformistas antiguos españoles que Luis Usoz y Río había comenzado a publicar por los mismos años. Con todo, la obra de Menéndez Pelayo tuvo el éxito de convertirse en el paradigma de investigación sobre este tema, hasta el punto de que todos los personajes, que en ella se mencionan, fueron relegados al bando de los ‘equivocados’ de la Historia de España, de modo que sus ideas no han sido estudiadas en las universidades españolas hasta tiempos muy recientes. Al margen de la intencionalidad ideológica con la que el polígrafo santanderino escribió dicha obra, dada la situación política concreta que atravesó, no cabe duda de que planificó su estudio de acuerdo con los planteamientos historiográficos de su época; es decir, desde los ideales románticos de unidad nacional.2 El deseo de recuperar las señas de identidad de la nación española llevó a Menéndez Pelayo a recorrer el pasado buscando las raíces sobre las que se asentaba la conciencia de españolidad. Comprobada la disparidad lingüística, étnica y cultural de España, concedió una importancia primordial a la religión. La esencia de la nación española había sido el cristianismo y, a partir del siglo XVI, el catolicismo:3 ‘… la Reforma en España – afirmaba – es sólo un episodio curioso y de no grande trascendencia… Desengañémosnos: nada más impopular en España que la herejía y de todas las 1 M. Menéndez Pelayo, Historia de los Heterodoxos españoles. La primera edición de la obra, en tres volúmenes, fue publicada en Madrid por la Librería Católica San José entre 1880-1882. La edición que he utilizado es la publicada en Madrid BAC 1978, 2 vols. 2 J. M. Jover Zamora, ‘Caracteres del nacionalismo español, 1854-1874’, Zona Abierta 31 (1984) 4-7. P. Cirujano Marín, T. Elorriaga Planes, J. S. Pérez Garzón, Historiografía y Nacionalismo español, 1834-1868 (Madrid 1985) 6 y ss. 3 A. Santoveña Setién, Menéndez Pelayo y las Derechas en España (Santander 1994) 37.
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herejías, el protestantismo’. En resumen, concluía, ‘El genio español es eminentemente católico; la heterodoxia es entre nosotros accidente y ráfaga pasajera’.4 Esta visión integradora del pensamiento español se observa con claridad en el prólogo a la primera edición de su magna obra, en la que denomina a todos los estudiados con el epíteto cariñoso de ‘nuestros heterodoxos’;5 es decir, parte integrante de esa colectividad que forman los españoles. Por consiguiente, no creo que Menéndez Pelayo quisiera escribir, en dicha obra, solamente una apología en favor de la religión católica, como después se ha tratado de presentar,6 ya que la simpatía con que trató a estos personajes y la pasión que puso en descubrir su pensamiento, le llevó a engrandecerlos de tal modo, que quedó mal con los políticos ultra-conservadores de su época, quienes al principio le habían apoyado.7 Años después, en 1937, Menéndez Pidal escribía su famoso artículo sobre la idea imperial hispana de Carlos V, siguiendo la visión integradora de don Marcelino, en el que trataba de hispanizar la política europea del Emperador haciéndola derivar del mismísimo Fernando el Católico.8 En la misma fecha aparecía la clásica obra de Marcel Bataillon (Erasme et l’Espagne), apoyada en una sólida investigación, en la que venía a demostrar que en la España del siglo XVI no habían existido ni herejes ni luteranos, sino solamente erasmistas. Es más, el gran hispanista francés llegaba a afirmar que el erasmismo ‘Es el único [camino] que permite descubrir la continuidad que existe entre la agitada época de Carlos V […] y los dramas íntimos de la Contrarreforma’.9 Según esta interpretación, en los reinos hispánicos no habría existido Reforma, sino solamente un Renacimiento cultural y espiritual de raíces erasmistas. Bataillon no hacía sino sino llenar de contenido las categóricas afirmaciones de historiadores germanos y anglosajones coetáneos, como Victor Kemplerer, quien afirmaba con rotundidad que ‘no hubo un renacimiento español’,10 o Aubrey F. Bell, quien recurría a los ‘modos de ser españoles’ para interpretar el Renacimiento his-
4
Las citas en Menéndez Pelayo, Heterodoxos, I, 46 y 48. La unidad de España tenía, para don Marcelino, un fundamento religioso. Así lo expresa en su Historia de los Heterodoxos, cf. P. Sainz Rodríguez, Estudios sobre Menéndez Pelayo (Madrid 1984) 82-85. 6 Véanse, al respecto, los comentarios de Santoveña Setién, Menéndez Pelayo, 218-225 y 250-251. 7 A. Santoveña Setién, Menéndez Pelayo, 61-74. M. Campomar Fornieles, La cuestión religiosa en la Restauración. Historia de los Heterodoxos españoles (Santander 1984) 246-253. Para la ideología política y militancia de Menéndez Pelayo, R. Sanz De Diego, ‘Una aclaración sobre los orígenes del integrismo: la peregrinación de 1882’, Estudios Eclesiásticos 62 (1977) 91-122. C. Robles Muñoz, ‘La Unión Católica. Su significación y su fracaso’, Burgense 28 (1987) 109-187. J. M. Magaz Fernández, La Unión Católica (1881-1885) (Roma 1990). Asimismo, resulta muy clarificador B. Urigüen, Orígenes y evolución de la derecha española. El neocatolicismo (Madrid 1986). 8 La edición que he utilizado R. Menéndez Pidal, La idea de Carlos V, 6a ed. (Madrid 1971). Sobre las ideas de Menéndez Pidal, J. Pérez Villanueva. Don Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1869-1968), (Madrid 1991). Sobre la interpretación de don Ramón Menéndez Pidal, véase mi trabajo en J. Martínez Millán, dir., La Corte de Carlos V (Madrid 2000) I, 29-32. 9 ‘Prefacio de la edición francesa’. Utilizo la siguiente edición: M. Bataillon, Erasmo y España (México, FCE 1966), VII. 10 V. Kemplerer, ‘Gibt es eine spanische Renaissance?’, Logos. Internationale Zeitschrif für Philosophie der Kultur 16 (1927) 129-161. 5
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Corrientes Espirituales y Facciones Políticas en el Servicio del Emperador Carlos V
pano,11 al igual que K. Vossler lo hacía desde el punto de vista religioso.12 Tal visión fue asumida íntegramente por la mayor parte de los especialistas en el tema a pesar de las serias advertencias y objeciones que desde el principio de su aparición se le pusieron.13 La razón del éxito del libro de Bataillon radicaba (además de su meticulosa y completa investigación) en que, al reconocer simplemente como heterodoxos (erasmistas) a todos los disidentes religiosos españoles, se daba unidad, no solo a la evolución política de España (lo que ya había hecho Menéndez Pidal) sino también ideológica y religiosa, ya que se negaba que hubieran existido herejes. Los herejes solamente habrían estado en la imaginación de los inquisidores, quienes exageraban la heterodoxia de los perseguidos por el temor a la expansión de la Reforma.14 De esta manera, el gran hispanista francés venía a integrar a todos los españoles en su evolución histórica, al considerar erasmistas (católicos al fin y al cabo) a todos aquéllos que habían sido marginados.15 Esta teoría se veía reforzada, además, por otra interpretación globalizadora de la Historia de España, que ha tenido una amplia influencia sobre historiadores y literatos; me refiero a la de Américo Castro,16 quien identificó o, al menos, 11
Aubrey F. Bell, ‘Notes on the Spanish Reinaissance’, Revue Historique 80 (1930) 319-695. He seguido la traducción que hizo E. Juliá Martínez, El Renacimiento español (Zaragoza 1944). Una crítica acertada a todas estas interpretaciones en, M. Batllori, Humanismo y Renacimiento. Estudios hispanoeuropeos (Barcelona 1987) 3-50. 12 K. Vossler, Algunos caracteres de la cultura española (Madrid 1962, 4a edic), afirmaba: ‘Si España no se adhiere a la Reforma es, ante todo, porque no le hacía falta, lo que viene a querer decir que habían conservado su juventud, ductilidad y viabilidad’, 102. 13 Al respecto, Eugenio Asensio, ‘El erasmismo y las corrientes espirituales afines (conversos, franciscanos, italianizantes)’, Revista de Filología española 36 (1952) 31-99. En 1985 se celebró un interesante congreso en Santander cuyo objetivo era precisar el alcance e influencia que había tenido la obra del gran hispanista francés, y en el que – sorprendentemente – a la hora de definir el concepto de erasmismo, se ponía de manifiesto de que aún no se tenía completamente claro; así lo señalaba Manuel Revuelta: ‘El erasmismo es para unos un episodio, para otros la clave del pensamiento del siglo XVI en su primera mitad. El erasmismo es herejía o cristianismo auténtico, paulinismo, religión interior frente a prácticas petrificadas, antiescolasticismo, acicate moral frente a clérigos cuyo Dios era su vientre. ¿Pueden matizarse las definiciones de estas palabras? ¿Eran los escolásticos enemigos de San Pablo? ¿Predicaban una religión de puras romerías o vigilias en las ermitas de extramuros? El prestigio de Erasmo en España es un fenómeno tardío. Se hace vigente en torno a 1527, cuando Erasmo es un anciano en retirada. A partir de 1532 el erasmismo español pierde rápidamente prestigio y fuerza. ¿Cómo se compara el fenómeno español con el erasmismo en otros países, especialmente el de otro país católico y contrarreformista como Italia?’ (M. Revuelta Sañudo y C. Morón Arroyo, eds., El erasmismo en España (Santander 1986) 6. 14 J.I. Tellechea Idígoras, ‘El protestantismo castellano (1558-1559). Un topos (M. Bataillon) convertido en tópico historiográfico’, en: M. Révuelta Sañudo y C. Moron Arroyo, eds., El erasmismo en España, 304-321. Tellechea hace referencia a esta opinión de Bataillon y explica cómo esta idea se ha ido difundiendo entre los historiadores. El gran historiador vasco termina su trabajo señalando que ‘quizá no estará de más recordar que para acometer con seriedad ciertos temas es preciso poseer al menos un bagaje conceptual teológico’, 321. De la misma opinión que Tellechea es Nieto, quien, curiosamente, también concluye su estudio advirtiendo sobre la necesidad de conocer la teología para deslindar este problema (J.C. Nieto, El Renacimiento y la otra España. Visión cultural socioespiritual (Genève 1997) 770). Tanto para Nieto como para Tellechea, en la España de mediados del siglo XVI, hubo luteranos. 15 Lo pone de manifiesto, A. Huerga, ‘Erasmismo y Alumbradismo’, en Revuelta Sañudo y Morón Arroyo, El erasmismo en España, 341-342. Por su parte, M. Andrés Martín, Los Recogidos (Madrid 1976), afirma: ‘la historia espiritual de España en los últimos treinta años se ha hecho sub specie Erasmi’, 11. 16 La Realidad histórica de España (México 1975), 6a edic. La primera edición apareció en 1962.
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puso en relación a los heterodoxos españoles con las minorías étnicas que existían en la península durante los siglos XV y XVI (judeoconversos y moriscos), mientras que los españoles castizos los equiparaba con los católicos ortodoxos. Tal enfoque (seguido por los discípulos de don Américo) ha dado como fruto interesantes y sugestivos estudios sobre todo en el campo de la literatura. La abundante bibliografía que derivó de semejantes planteamientos no ha ayudado mucho a perfilar una respuesta satisfactoria sobre la Reforma en España, pues, el tema se ha enfocado tratando de mostrar la existencia o no de protestantes a través del estudio exhaustivo de fechas y datos históricos de la posible infiltración de libros y propaganda luteranos en los reinos peninsulares y los individuos o grupos que los recibían,17 declarándolos protestantes porque tenían o parece que tenían ciertas ideas semejantes a las de Lutero o sus seguidores. Evidentemente, este enfoque se niega a admitir, ya de antemano, que hubieran existido personajes hispanos con las mismas o parecidas ideas que las del monje alemán antes de que éste rompiese con la Iglesia de Roma. Sin embargo, una lectura desapasionada y atenta de los escritos o ideas que determinados reos hicieron a la Inquisición demuestra que defendieron ideas muy semejantes a las de Lutero sin haber leído sus obras. De la misma manera, muchos de los individuos acusados de luteranos tenían ideas que ellos reconocían afines a las que enseñaba la Universidad de Alcalá a principios del siglo XVI. Hubo, pues, ideas coincidentes con las luteranas en muchos que sufrieron los autos de fe de Sevilla y Valladolid, etc.; ahora bien, estas ideas no los hacían seguidores de Lutero, ni ellos se sentían por tales. Seguían siendo fieles cristianos, pero se daban cuenta que había una diferencia entre su manera de pensar y ser católico romano. Por consiguiente, en sus conciencias eran buenos católicos, sin embargo, eran luteranos en las conciencias de los inquisidores. Según J. C. Nieto, se entiende mucho mejor la diversidad de corrientes religiosas en los reinos hispanos durante la primera mitad del siglo XVI si utilizamos el término genérico de evangélicos, ya empleado desde hace tiempo para explicar los movimientos de la Reforma en Europa. Los orígenes de dicho concepto pueden verse en la obra de Imbart de la Tour, cuyo tercer volumen, aparecido en 1914, lo titulaba L’Evangelisme (1521-1538).18 En esta obra, el evangelismo era empleado como característica que comprendía fuerzas reformadoras tan dispares como Lutero, Erasmo o Lefèvre d’Etaples. Marcel Bataillon se percató del acierto de esta caracterización y vio este evangelismo en personajes tan dispares como Erasmo, Loyola o Juan de Valdés, identificando el erasmismo con la religión de la espiritualidad interior de la cual Erasmo era el arquetipo; la esencia del erasmismo era, pues, el culto del espíritu, con todo lo que esto implicaba: desvalorización de la escolástica y retorno a la fuente genuina del
17 A este respecto, considero que el trabajo más completo sobre la infiltración de los libros e ideas luteranas en la península es el de A. Redondo, ‘Luther et l’Espagne de 1520 à 1536’, Melánges de la Casa de Velázquez 1 (1965) 109-165. 18 P. Imbart De La Tour, Les Origines de la Réforme (Paris 1905-1935) 4 vols.
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mensaje evangélico. Ahora bien, lo que el gran hispanista francés no explicó con claridad fue en qué consistió esa religión interior, aparte de cierta moralidad, rechazo de ceremonias externas y una cierta espiritualidad interior, lo que resulta común a muchos movimientos religiosos que han sucedido en la historia. Y es que, a pesar de utilizar el mismo término, existe una diferencia fundamental entre los conceptos de Imbart de la Tour y Bataillon; pues, mientras aquel incluyó a Lutero, éste enfocó su concepto de evangélico dentro del seno exclusivamente del evangelismo católico, del cual Erasmo fue el gran exponente. Desde el punto de vista teológico, el paulismo, para Bataillon, es lo mismo que erasmismo, pero no hace distinción entre el paulismo bíblico del Nuevo Testamento y el paulismo erasmiano. Esta distinción resulta fundamental para entender los movimientos de Reforma en España, ya que no se pueden meter en el mismo movimiento a personajes tan significativos como Bartolomé de Carranza, Ignacio de Loyola, Luis de Ávila o Luis de Granada con otros no menos singulares como Juan de Valdés, Egidio o Constantino de la Fuente.19 En este trabajo pretendo poner en relación las distintas corrientes espirituales con los partidos o grupos políticos cortesanos que gobernaron la Monarquía durante el reinado de Carlos V, lo que, no solo nos ayudará a entender mejor la ortodoxia o heterodoxia de las corrientes espirituales, sino también su éxito o persecución tanto en la corte como en el reino. De esta manera, el triunfo de una determinada ideología católica ortodoxa no aparece tanto como fruto del ‘carácter español’ (según la opinión de los historiadores mencionados anteriormente) o del fiel seguimiento de los monarcas hispanos a las doctrinas de los pontífices (la ortodoxia en España y Roma no coincidió con frecuencia a lo largo del siglo XVI), sino como resultado del triunfo de un grupo de poder y su ideología en el gobierno de la Monarquía.
La conexión de los distintos personajes e ideas en el servicio del Emperador La diversidad de reinos independientes que heredó Carlos V, todos con su propia organización administrativa y su Casa real dificultó sobre manera la centralización de todos los territorios. La Casa del rey constituía el núcleo de la Corte desde donde se articulaba la Monarquía y en el que los diversos sectores sociales y grupos de poder de los reinos se querían ver reflejados a través del servicio de sus representantes a la familia real. La conducta que regía esta alianza venía dada en términos de lealtad o fidelidad, lo que permitía crear unos intereses comunes entre el monarca y las elites del reino. Esto explica que los diferentes estilos de servicio de las Casas reales se adecuasen con cada uno de los reinos (Borgoña, Castilla, Aragón), pues eran quien los articulaba políticamente. Las decisiones que se tomaban en la Casa del rey (mercedes, nombramientos, etc.) tenían repercusión universal en el reino ya que el monarca no solamente era cabeza de su casa, sino también era cabeza de numerosos 19
Nieto, El Renacimiento, 271-276.
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organismos concéntricos (cabeza de los Consejos, de la Corte, etc.) a los que gobernaba de la misma manera que su casa; esto es, como un padre de familias, ya que, en la edad Moderna, resultaba tópico considerar que un buen político era también un buen ecónomo.20 La Casa de Carlos V se estableció – desde niño – de acuerdo al estilo de Borgoña y así permaneció durante toda su vida. Ahora bien, dentro de los territorios que formaron el Imperio carolino, no solo Borgoña (Flandes) poseía Casa real con ordenanzas definidas y estilo propio, al menos otras dos Coronas – con tanto peso político y con mayor poder económico – tenían establecidas sus respectivas casas reales con ordenanzas tan precisas y antiguas como las de Borgoña; me refiero a las de Castilla y, sobre todo, Aragón. Las elites castellanas no se resignaron a aceptar la preeminencia de la Casa al estilo Borgoñón y a que fuera servida exclusivamente por flamencos, lo que produjo enfrentamientos entre grupos políticos cortesanos. La lucha por mantener la autonomía e importancia de la Casa real de Castilla se puso de manifiesto desde la llegada de Carlos a la península. Ya en las Cortes de Valladolid de 1518, los castellanos mostraron su deseo de servir y tener acceso directo al rey: ‘… que en su casa real quepan castellanos e espanoles, como cabían en tiempo de sus pasados, y en los oficios della se syrvan dellos, como sus antecesores lo hacían, y en el género de los porteros y aposentadores aya de todos, porque algunos de ellos entendamos y nos entiendan’. Se protestaba por tanto la postergación de los súbditos castellanos en el servicio del rey, y así solicitaron que entrasen algunos procuradores a servir en la Casa borgonona de Carlos en el estado de los gentileshombres.21 No obstante, no debieron ser en número significativo porque en las Cortes de La Coruna de 1520 volvieron a repetirse las mismas quejas, al mismo tiempo que se insistía en la relevancia que debía darse a la Casa de Castilla.22 Sin duda alguna, los factores que provocaron el estallido de la revuelta de las Comunidades fueron de muy diversa índole, pero acaso no se haya puesto todo el énfasis que merece la cuestión de la ruptura de los cauces de patronazgo y de integración de las elites sociales que supuso la imposición de la tradición flamenco-borgoñona. La profunda insatisfacción que había producido en Castilla el predominio de la Casa de Borgoña y de los personajes procedentes de los Países Bajos en el servicio del monarca se acompañaba de una vigorosa defensa del modelo de Casa de Castilla desarrollado en tiempos de los Reyes Católicos. Estas reivindicaciones constituyeron algunas de las reivindicaciones más importantes de los comuneros. Por eso, cuando fueron aplacados tales movimientos y en las Cortes de Valladolid de 1523, Carlos V procedió a reformar su servicio, dejó muy claro cuál era la configuración política que deseaba establecer en sus territorios para mantener el orden: 20 D. Frigo, Il padre di famiglia. Governo della casa e governo civile nella tradizione dell ‘economica’ tra Cinque e Seicento (Roma 1985) 25-26. 21 Sobre el tema, J. Martínez Millán, dir., La Corte de Carlos V (Madrid 2000), vol. I, cap. 2° y 3°. 22 Cortes de Castilla y León, vol. IV, 322-323. P. De Sandoval, Historia del emperador Carlos V (Madrid 1953), vol. I, 216.
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‘A esto vos rrespondemos – decía Carlos – que pues no conviene hazer apartamiento de los mienbros que Dios quiso juntar en vn cuerpo, entendemos commo es rrazón de seruirnos juntamente de todas las naciones de nuestros rreynos e señoríos, guardando a cada vno dellos sus leyes e costunbres; y teniendo estos rreynos por cabeça de todos los otros, entendemos preferillos a todos otros, rrescibiendo en nuestra casa rreal más numero de los naturales dellos que de qualquier otro rreyno e señorío; y ya lo ovieramos hecho syno por otras ocupaçiones mas ynportantes que lo han estorvado’.23
Es decir, no solo articulaba su herencia, estableciendo una gradación de importancia (a partir de la Corona de Castilla) para cada uno de los reinos y territorios que la componían,24 sino que además integraba a sus vasallos dentro de su servicio a través de una lenta incorporación de las elites en la Casa de Borgoña, al mismo tiempo que respetaba las diversas fórmulas de asistencia y etiqueta domésticas de Castilla y Aragón. Esta representación de las elites del reino en el servicio del monarca también incluía las corrientes espirituales que practicaban. Ello significa que las distintas corrientes culturales y espirituales del reino se legitimaban al verse reflejadas en las facciones cortesanas que compartían el poder y que el triunfo político de una de ellas, llevaba consigo la imposición en el reino de su espiritualidad como ortodoxa. La Casa de Borgoña y la espiritualidad de la Observancia La espiritualidad que Margarita de Austria había inculcado a su sobrino Carlos se insertaba dentro de la corriente reformista de la observancia, que es la que respiraban los personajes que su tía le había puesto en su entorno.25 Dicha tendencia fue impulsada por los duques de Borgoña del siglo XV e, incluso, utilizada como
23 Cortes de Castilla y León, vol. IV, 366-367. El subrayado es nuestro. Un borrador de la copia ‘de lo sobrello acordado’ se encuentra en AGS, CJH, leg. 7, núm. 203, y podemos identificarlo como hológrafo del secretario Cobos. Los procuradores volvieron a insistir en las peticiones 90, 101 y 103, sobre las incompatibilidades en servir más de un oficio a la vez. 24 Este proyecto de Monarquía es el mismo que defendían los personajes del ‘partido fernandino’ que se hicieron con el manejo del gobierno central en tiempos del emperador (Francisco de los Cobos y Juan Tavera) y que, posteriormente, transmitieron a sus clientes políticos (a los que denominé ‘castellanistas’), quienes llevaron a cabo la configuración de la Monarquía hispana en el reinado de Felipe II (cf. J. Martínez Millán y C.J. Carlos Morales, dirs., Felipe II (1527-1598). La configuración de la Monarquía hispana. Junta de Castilla y León 1998). No me parece acertado, por tanto, la terminología, acuñada por el prof. J.H. Elliott para referirse a la Monarquía hispana, como ‘Monarquía compuesta’, pues, hace referencia a la ‘unidad en la variedad’, lo que no expresan las palabras de Carlos V ni tampoco los acontecimientos posteriores (J.H. Elliott, ‘A Europe of Composite Monarchies’, Past and Present 137 (1992) 49-71. Con todo, el término del prof. Elliott ha tenido éxito, hasta el punto que se ha celebrado un seminario sobre el tema, cuyos trabajos se encuentran publicados en: C. Russell y J. Andrés Gallego, eds., Las monarquías del Antiguo Régimen ¿monarquías compuestas? (Madrid 1996). 25 E. López, ‘L’observance franciscaine et la politique religieuse des ducs de Bourgogne’, Annales de Bourgogne 72 (2000) 73-103 y 177-236. A. Walther, Die Anfänge Karls V (Leipzig 1911), passim. R. Fagel, ‘Un heredero entre tutores y regentes. Casa y corte de Margarita de Austria y Carlos de Luxemburgo (1506-1518)’, en Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, I, 115-138.
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acicate político para unir sus dispersos territorios.26 Esta política religiosa fue seguida por Felipe el Bueno con el fin de asegurar un carácter específico de sus Estados a través de la institución eclesiástica, lo que mantuvieron los sucesivos duques de Borgoña. Así, Margarita de York, esposa de Carlos el Temerario, decidió llevar a cabo la implantación de la observancia en Malinas y fray Juan Glapión fue un ardiente partidario de la Observancia en los conventos franciscanos de Flandes durante las primeras décadas del siglo XVI. Éste disfrutó de la gracia y amistad de Margarita de Austria, a la que Maximiliano le había encomendado los Países Bajos. En 1511, fue promovido a guardián del convento franciscano de Brujas donde se señaló por la rigurosidad de su vida y la solidez de su enseñanza teológica.27 Desde antes de su adolescencia, Carlos había tenido un confesor asignado: Miguel de Pavía y Juan Briselot, obispo auxiliar de Cambrai y enemigo de Erasmo, habían dirigido la conciencia del joven príncipe, limitándose en su función solo a administrar el sacramento de la penitencia. Distintas fueron las obligaciones de Glapion y sus sucesores en el cargo, quienes ayudaron a Carlos a tomar decisiones políticas, que no entrasen en contradicción con la teología. Parece que entró a servir a Carlos V en 1520. A partir de esta fecha, Glapion fue el personaje más influyente en la conciencia del emperador, destacando sus decisiones en la Dieta de Worms (1521) contra Lucero.28 Glapión mantenía estrecha amistad con personajes castellanos que practicaban su misma espiritualidad reformista, entre ellos destacan: El padre Francisco de Quiñones, emparentado con familias de rancio abolengo, ya que era hijo de los primeros condes de Luna. Había nacido en torno a 1480, y en 1498 ya era paje del cardenal Cisneros. Pocos años después (1507) ingresaba en la orden de San Francisco, llegando a alcanzar el cargo de vicario provincial de Castilla (1512-1515) y ministro provincial de la misma (1518-1521). En el otoño de 1520 se encontraba en Worms, donde estaba el joven emperador asistiendo a la Dieta del Imperio, donde se entrevistó con su gran amigo Glapion.29 Allí recibió instrucciones de Carlos V para que volviera a Castilla y disuadiese a los religiosos franciscanos que se habían levantado al lado de los comuneros, al mismo tiempo que portaba cartas del propio emperador para los gobernadores del reino en las que le daba instrucciones para terminar con el levantamiento.30 Desde que llegó a la península, anduvo 26
H. Lippens, ‘Saint Jean de Caspitran en mission aux États bourgouignons, 1442-1443’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 35 (1942) 10. ID, ‘Deux épisodes du litige séculaire entre les Clarises Colettines et les Pères Observants au sujet de leurs privilèges respectifs (XVe-XVIe siècles)’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 41 (1948) 282-295. López, ‘L’observance’, 221 ss. 27 A. Heysse, ‘Trois convents des Observants à Bruges et environs (1461, 1462 y 1468)’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 49 (1947) 217-239. H. Lippens, ‘Jean Glapion défenseur de la Réforme de l’Observance’, Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 44 (1951) 51-52. 28 Una pequeña biografía de Glapion se puede ver en Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, vol. III, 178-179. 29 Lippens, ‘Jean Glapion’, 6. 30 J. Meseguer, ‘El P. Francisco de los Ángeles de Quiñones O.F.M. Al servicio del Emperador y del Papa (1526-1529)’, Hispania 18 (1958) 653-654. Sobre los frailes revoltosos, J. Pérez, ‘Moines frondeurs et sermons subversifs en Castille pendant le premier séjour de Charles-Quint en Espagne’, Bulletin Hispanique 67 (1965) 217-224.
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en diálogos y mediaciones entre comuneros e imperiales con el fin de llegar a un acuerdo.31 Tras la batalla de Villalar, intercedió con su valimiento para que numerosos sublevados no recibieran castigo, en especial don Ramiro Núñez de Guzmán, señor de Toral, casado con una hermana del propio Quiñones, quien se hizo comunero por estar resentido de ser apartado del servicio del infante Fernando,32 esto le provocó numerosas enemistades y envidias entre los altos cargos del reino, como las de Antonio de Rojas, presidente del Consejo de Castilla, que aconsejaba al emperador que prescindiera de los servicios del franciscano. En defensa de fray Francisco de Quiñones salió el cardenal Adriano, quien en una sentida carta a Carlos V le alababa sus virtudes.33 Otro hombre de confianza de Juan Glapión fue fray Juan de Quintana, confesor de Carlos V,34 quien había llegado a La Sorbona hacia 1510, desde donde muy pronto pasó a formar parte de la corte del emperador, pues en la lista de predicadores de la capilla real de los años 1516-1522 aparecía en el último lugar ‘mosén Juan de Quintana, maestro de teología’.35 En 1517 regentaba la cátedra de Escoto en el convento de san Francisco de París. Una vez en Castilla, intervino en la reunión para calificar el edicto de los Alumbrados de Toledo (1525), siendo acompañado por Miguel Servet, al que llevaba como servidor.36 Dos años después era convocado a la reunión de Valladolid para discutir sobre las obras de Erasmo, al que defendió.37 Juan Glapion también fue amigo de Erasmo,38 al igual que los servidores de Felipe el Hermoso y su hijo Carlos. Entre estos últimos es importante destacar al canciller Sauvage, quien le prometía una mitra con sus rentas en Castilla o Aragón.39 Asimismo, en una carta que Andrés Osiander escribió a W. Linck y a D. Schleupner desde Basilea (4 de julio de 1530) afirmaba: ‘El confesor del César está en relaciones familiares con Felipe [Melanchton]. Aprueba abiertamente nuestra doctrina sobre la justificación y las buenas obras y maldice a estos asnos alemanes que rebuznan contra nosotros por este motivo y provocan sin razón 31
M. Danvila, Historia crítica y documentada de las Comunidades de Castilla (Madrid 1897) III, 223-224, 230, 304, etc. 32 Miguel-Angel de Narbona, ‘La vie franciscaine en Espagne entre les deux couronnements de Charles-Quint’, Revista de Archivos, Bibliotecas y Museos 26 (1912) 200-202. Sobre la actividad comunera del Padre Quiñones, M. Danvila, o.c. III, 224 y 412-413; V, 11-13, etc. Hermano del padre Quiñones fue Antonio de Quiñones, procurador de León en la Junta comunera. 33 M. Danvila, o.c. IV, 408. Carta del presidente del Consejo de Castilla y arzobispo de Granada, Antonio de Rojas, a Carlos V aconsejandole que no se confíe con el padre Quiñones. La carta de Adriano, en Ibídem, IV, 552. 34 M. De Castro, ‘Confesores franciscanos en la Corte de Carlos I’. Archivo Ibero-Americano 35 (1975) 270. 35 Sobre Quintana, Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, vol. IV, 310. 36 M. Ortega Costa, ‘Las proposiciones del edicto de los Alumbrados. Autores y calificadores’, Cuadernos de Investigación Histórica 1 (1977) 25. 37 A. Paz Y Meliá, ‘Actas originales de las congregaciones celebradas en 1527 para examinar las doctrinas de Erasmo’, Revista de Archivos, Bibliotecas y Museos 6 (1902) 63. M. Avilés, ‘El Santo Oficio durante la primera etapa carolina’, en J. Pérez Villanueva y B. Escandell, dirs., Historia de la Inquisición en España y en América (Madrid 1984), vol. I, 454, lo incluye dentro del ‘partido erasmista’. 38 Lippens, ‘Jean Glapion’, 44. 39 Sobre las amistades y fidelidades de Erasmo en la corte borgoñona, M. Bataillon, Erasmo y España (México 1966) 79-82.
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la discordia. En cuanto al [Gil López de Biedma] predicador del César, es mucho más favorable aún, aprueba toda nuestra doctrina y nos dice que no perdamos nuestros ánimos’.40 Partidario de la Observancia fue también el tutor del joven Carlos, Adriano de Utrecht, quien tuvo entre los servidores de su casa al traductor del Carro de las donas, de Francisco Eximénez, uno de los libros más leídos por los partidarios de la observancia en Castilla y Aragón, cuya difusión fue impulsada por el cardenal Cisneros. Este servidor de Adriano era miembro del grupo cortesano apadrinado por Isabel la Católica, que defendía una religiosidad observante,41 entre los que se encontraban: fray Hernando de Talavera, confesor de la reina y primer arzobispo de Granada; García de Padilla, confesor de la infanta María, hija de los Reyes Católicos, a quien acompañó cuando ésta se casó con Manuel I de Portugal. El padre Padilla difundió la observancia en la corte portuguesa y creó un círculo cortesano de adeptos como fray Hernando Nieto o doña Guiomar de Melo, dama de la futura emperatriz Isabel (hija de María), entre los que se educó la emperatriz Isabel, a quien acompañaron a Castilla cuando ésta se casó con Carlos V.42 Familiar de Adriano también fue Diego Ramírez de Villaescusa, que compartía la espiritualidad de fray Hernando de Talavera, hasta el punto de que lo llevó a Granada, cuando fue conquistada la ciudad, para formar parte del cabildo de la nueva catedral. En 1496 fue nombrado capellán de la princesa doña Juana, a quien acompañó a Flandes cuando ésta se casó con Felipe el Hermoso. Allí se graduó de teología en la universidad de Lovaina, donde conoció a Adriano.43 Cuando Juana y Felipe volvieron a Castilla en 1506, convertidos en monarcas, la influencia y poder de Villaescusa en la corte llegó a su culmen. No resulta extraño, por tanto, que fuera perseguido por los seguidores de Fernando el Católico tras la muerte de Felipe el Hermoso, ni tampoco, que simpatizase con los comuneros cuando estalló la revuelta. Cuando se dio cuenta de que había apostado a bando equivocado, se marchó acompañando al nuevo papa, su amigo Adriano, para librarse de las iras del emperador.44
40
De Castro, ‘Confesores franciscanos’, 272, basándose en textos de: A. G. D’Artigny, Nouveaux mémoires d’histoire, de critique et de littérature (Paris 1749) II, 55. Corpus reformatorum (Halle 1835) II, col. 163. No era el único, también Alfonso de Valdés simpatizaba con Melanchton, según se deduce de las cartas publicadas por G. Bagnatori, ‘Cartas inéditas de Alfonso de Valdés sobre la Dieta de Augsburgo’, Bulletin Hispanique 57 (1955) 353-374. 41 J. Meseguer, ‘El traductor del ‘Carro de las Donas’ de Francisco Eximenez, familiar y biográfo de Adriano VI’, Hispania 19 (1959) 235-237. 42 Sobre la labor de fray García de Padilla, Fidel Fita, ‘Nuevos datos sobre fray García de Padilla’, Boletín de la Real Academia de la Historia 20 (1892) 587-612. La expansión de la observancia en la corte portuguesa y en el reino en general, M. Martins, ‘O ciclo franciscano na nossa espiritualidade medieval’, Biblos 27 (1951) 232-250. F. de Ros, Le frère Bernadin de Laredo (Paris 1948) 44-45, señala la influencia que tuvo Fray Bernardino de Laredo en el rey Juan III de Portugal y en la de su esposa Catalina, hermana de Carlos V, quienes abrazaron sus ideas espirítuales. 43 F.G. Olmedo, Diego Ramírez Villaescusa (1459-1537) (Madrid 1944) 55-57. Explica muy claramente el contexto histórico en el que se movió Villaescusa tras la muerte de Felipe el Hermoso: J.L. González Novalín, ‘Pedro Mártir de Anglería y sus ‘triunviros’ (1506-1522)’, Hispania Sacra 33 (1981) 143-192. 44 Olmedo, Diego Ramírez Villaescusa, 149-157.
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La espiritualidad de la Casa Real Castellana a principios del siglo XVI La Casa de Castilla de la reina Isabel (que también heredó Carlos) era mucho más modesta que la de Borgoña. Estaba formada por un grupo, cuyos miembros compartían no solo intereses políticos y sociales, sino también ideológicos y espirituales. El núcleo se componía de los mismos personajes que simultáneamente ocupaban cargos en el Consejo Real y en la administración del Reino. Isabel había conseguido introducir en su servicio personal a los miembros más representativos de la elite social castellana, formando una fuerte cohesión entre la elite dirigente de la corte y la del reino, lo que daba paz y tranquilidad a la Monarquía. Dentro de este gran grupo (‘partido isabelino’) se apreciaban varias facciones. En primer lugar, se hallaban los hijos de los servidores o consejeros de su padre, Juan II, que la habían apoyado de forma incondicional en las guerras que mantuvo contra su hermano (Enrique IV) a la hora de conseguir la corona de Castilla. La mayor parte de ellos eran de origen judeo-converso, que se habían convertido al cristianismo sinceramente, y sobre los que se había apoyado la reina para llevar a cabo las reformas de su primera etapa de gobierno (el secretario Hernán Álvarez de Toledo, que comenzó sus primeros escarceos políticos en la corte de Enrique IV, de quien fue contino, al mismo tiempo que era regidor de la ciudad de Toledo.45 En 1475, lo tomó la reina Isabel como secretario, fecha a partir de la cual se le ve interviniendo ininterrumpidamente en los asuntos principales de la Monarquía hasta finales de 1497 en que su firma desaparece bruscamente de los documentos, a pesar de que se sabe que murió bastantes años más tarde. Su confesor, el franciscano Hernando de Talavera,46 quien colaboró en el establecimiento de los Reyes Católicos, reorganizando la cancillería, interviniendo en el saneamiento de la hacienda real en la Cortes de 1480 y defendiendo la asimilación de los judeo-conversos mediante la predicación y la catequesis y no mediante la persecución con la Inquisición. También pertenecieron a la familia de la Reina, el cronista Hernando del Pulgar, los médicos Fernán Álvarez de la Reina47 y el 45 El padre de Hernán, Juan Álvarez de Toledo también fue regidor de Toledo (y doncel del rey Juan II, padre de Enrique IV), al igual que sus hermanos Luis Álvarez Zapata, Pedro Zapata y su pariente Rodrigo de Ajofrín (F. Márquez Villanueva, Investigaciones sobre Juan Álvarez Gato (Madrid 1960) 84-85). 46 Era pariente de otro famoso converso, fray Alonso de Oropesa, general de los Jerónimos desde 1457 a 1468. Oropesa era partidario de la Inquisición episcopal (J. Amador de Los Ríos, Historia social, política y religiosa de los judíos en España y Portugal (Madrid 1973) 631-633. D. Clemencín, Elogio de la reina católica doña Isabel. Memorias de la Real Academia de la Historia (Madrid 1921) 488, afirma que Talavera era sobrino de Oropesa. J. de Sigüenza, Historia de la orden de San Gerónimo, I, 366 ss). La influencia de su familiar fray Alonso de Oropesa, estrechamente vinculado a la Casa Trastámara, fue uno de los primeros caminos que pusieron a fray Hernando con Isabel la Católica (F. Márquez Villanueva, ‘Estudio preliminar’ a Fray Hernando de Talavera, Católica impugnación (Barcelona 1961) 10). 47 El doctor Reina fue nombrado médico de los reyes el 15 de noviembre 1497; una hija suya casó con Francisco Maldonado, el comunero degollado en Villalar, mientras que otro hijo, Hernando de Anaya, habría de figurar en la ‘relación formada por los contadores mayores de la reina doña Juana, consignando los continos que fueron despedidos por comuneros’ (Danvila, Historia de las Comunidades, III, 608). Sobre estos médicos y sus familias, N. Alonso Cortés, ‘Dos médicos de los Reyes Católicos’, Hispania, 11 (1951) 607-660.
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doctor Juan de la Parra, ambos judeo-conversos y muy probablemente, parientes del secretario Álvarez de Toledo,48 etc. A ellos hay que añadir una serie de letrados que simultáneamente ocupaban cargos en el Consejo real o en el de Inquisición (Juan Díaz de Alcocer, Felipe Ponce, Pedro de Oropesa, Ordóñez de Villaquirán, Gonzalo de Ayora,49 etc.), a los que se vinieron a sumar una serie de religiosos, sobre todo franciscanos, preocupados por la reforma espiritual, que desempeñaron diversos cargos relacionados con la religión en la familia real, tales como Pascual de Ampudia, nombrado maestro de la infanta Isabel, o Andrés de Miranda, que fue nombrado en el mismo cargo para la infanta Juana.50 Finalmente, integraban los hijos de destacados dirigentes de las ciudades, que ocupaban los principales cargos de gobierno de estas, o que formaban parte de la nobleza territorial.51 Todos ellos participaban en los movimientos espirituales que a finales del siglo XV y principios del XVI venían desarrollándose en los reinos hispanos bajo el nombre de la observancia.52 Las reformas emprendidas por franciscanos como Juan de la Puebla y Juan de Guadalupe,53 continuando la línea espiritual iniciada por Pedro de Villacreces y Pedro Regalado, hallaron una inspiración en los textos medievales de la vida de San Francisco,54 que también era leída por la corriente de los alumbrados, 48 Alonso Cortés, o.c., 616-643. Los médicos de la reina Isabel que aparecían en nómina en 1502 eran: el doctor Fernand Álvarez, doctor Soto y doctor Julián; mientras que en 1504 eran: el doctor Soto, el doctor Julián, el doctor de la Reina y el bachiller Guadalupe (A. de la Torre y E.A. de la Torre, Cuentas de Gonzalo de Baeza, tesorero de Isabel la Católica, II, 566 y 617). 49 Gonzalo de Ayora, cronista, que al decir de Clemencín, ‘manifestó mayor inclinación a Felipe I y de resultas perdió la gracia de don Fernando’, por lo que más tarde se apuntó a las Comunidades y tuvo que emigrar a Portugal, donde murió (Clemencin, Elogio de la Reina doña Isabel la Católica, 188-189). De hecho, ya se puso de parte de los perseguidos por el inquisidor Rodríguez Lucero en la ciudad de Córdoba, encabezando (en 1507) una delegación de protesta ante el rey Católico, Tarsicio de Azcona, ‘La Inquisición española procesada por la Congregación General de 1508’, en J. Pérez Villanueva, dir., La Inquisición española. Nueva visión, nuevos horizontes (Madrid 1980) 122-130. 50 A. de la Torre, ‘Maestro de los hijos de los Reyes Católicos’, Hispania, 16 (1956) 256-266. T. de Azcona, Isabel la Católica. Estudio crítico de su vida y de su reinado (Madrid 1964) 711. De la Torre y De la Torre, Cuentas de Gonzalo de Baeza, II, 78-79, presenta la relación de servidores de las infantas doña Juana, doña María y doña Catalina en 1493, cuando aún estaban dentro de la casa de su madre. 51 Para más detalles sobre estos personajes, véase, Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, I, cap. 11. 52 Aunque han existido algunas críticas a la primera redacción que se hizo sobre el movimiento observante, escrito por fray Lope de Salazar y Salinas, la reforma en los franciscanos de Castilla fue así: ‘… Fray Pedro de Villacreces, el cual comenzó a reformar la Religión en esta provincia en vida conventual e ermitaña, fuyendo de los conventos fundados en los pueblos, auqnue el papa Benedicto XIII se lo mandaba e encomendaba. El cual, después que el obispo de Burgos, su hermano, don Juan de Villacreces, le hizo maestrar, aunque le pesó, comenzó su estrecha vida en la cueva de San Pedro de Arlanza; e después, fuyendo de los favores humanos de los reyes, don Juan e don Enrique, e del infante don Fernando, su hermano, e del dicho obispo, su hermano, fiçó a Santa María de la Salceda, asentando ende la primera congregación en gran estrechura de vida, agora ha setenta años o poco más; e después en el Compacto, e después en El Abrijo’ (‘Introducción a los orígenes de la Observancia en España’, Archivo Ibero-Americano 17 (1957) 176. Sobre la espiritualidad de la Reforma de Villacreces, Ibídem, 623 ss. Sobre la fundación del convento de La Salceda, J. Meseguer, ‘Orígenes del convento franciscano de La Salceda (1408-1412)’, Hispania 19 (1959) 483-502. 53 Sobre ambos franciscanos y sus relaciones con Isabel la Católica, F. Lejarza, ‘Orígenes de la descalcez franciscana’, Archivo Ibero-Americano 22 (1962) 16-22 y 34-35. 54 Sobre el papel importante que jugó Villacreces en el concilio de Constanza, ‘Introducción a los orígenes de la Observancia en España’, Archivo Ibero-Americano, 120. Sobre la actuación de Pedro Regalado,
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perseguidos por la Inquisición como Pedro Ruiz de Alcaraz, María de Cazalla, etc.55 El triunfo de la observancia se produjo en Castilla a finales del siglo XV cuando, en 1494, Cisneros impuso la observancia obligatoriamente en todos los conventos franciscanos y su ideal espiritual fue apoyado por Isabel la Católica.56 Ambos propiciaron la traducción y publicación de obras espirituales como las de San Bernardo, Santa Ángela de Foligno,57 Santa Catalina, San Juan Clímaco, en la Imitación de Cristo de T. de Kempis, en el Ejercitatorio de la vida espiritual de García de Cisneros (1500), en la Teología mística de Hugo de Balma, traducida al castellano con el título de Sol de contemplativos (Toledo, 1514), etc. De esta manera, no solo había unión entre personas, sino entre los escritos también existía una comunicación con las mismas o parecidas corrientes espirituales europeas.58 Las primeras obras nórdicas publicadas en la península fueron la Imitación (Barcelona 1482), los Quator novissimis de Dionisio el Cartujano (Valencia 1496) y el Tractatus de spiritualibus ascensionibus de Gerardo Zutphen (Monstserrat 1499). Paralelamente, el famoso Ejercitario de García Jiménez de Cisneros59 desplazaba al de Zutphen y utilizaba el Rosetum de Mombaer. Asimismo, se conocieron las obras místicas de Ruysbroec, Tauler y Suso, a los que precedió Enrique Herp con su Espejo de perfección.60 Cisneros fue el punto en el que confluyeron los distintos movimientos espirituales del siglo XV y quien, a su vez, los proyectó con fuerza hacia la centuria siguiente; para ello, desarrolló una serie de actividades tanto desde el punto de vista espiritual (reavivamiento de la piedad medieval a través de la traducción al castellano de obras de espiritualidad seleccionadas; reforma de las órdenes religiosas y clero en general) como intelectual: fundación de la universidad de Alcalá de Henares.61 Ahora bien, Cisneros era también el gran patrón político que apadrinaba a todos los sectores que componían el servicio de la Reina cuando ésta murió.62 Ibídem, 507-579. El Floreto de Sant Francisco fue leído por todas las comunidades franciscanas de la península a partir de 1450, J.M. Arcelus Ulibarrena, Floreto de Sant Francisco (Madrid 1998) 96. 55 M. Ortega Costa, Proceso de la Inquisición contra María de Cazalla (Madrid 1978) 444. A. Selke, ‘Algunos datos nuevos sobre los primeros iluminados. El edicto de 1525 y su relación con el proceso de Alcaraz’, Bulletin Hispanique 54 (1952) 125-152. 56 Lejarza, ‘Orígenes de la descalcez franciscana’, 22. 57 J.M. Arcelus Ulibarrena, ‘Angela da Foligno nella Penisola Iberica alla fine del medievo’, en E. Menesto, dir., Angela da Foligno. Terziaria Franciscana, (Spoleto 1992) 244-250. Cisneros mandó publicar en 1505 el Liber qui dicitur Angela de Foligno (Arcelus Ulibarrena, Floreto de Sant Francisco, 115). 58 P. Groult, Literatura espiritual española. Edad Media y Renacimiento (Madrid 1980) 138-139, donde señala numerosos ejemplos en los que escritores espirituales españoles de la primera mitad del siglo XVI copiaron textos de autores europeos (sobre todo flamencos), que constituyeron todo un éxito editorial. Para una época poco posterior, F. de Ros, ‘Aux sources du ‘combat spirituel’. Alonso de Madrid et Laurent Scupoli’, Revue d’Ascétique et Mystique 30 (1954) 117-139. 59 Sobre el personaje existe gran cantidad de bibliografía, véase un pequeño resumen de los estudios que existen en J. Meseguer, ‘El traductor del ‘Carro de las Donas’, de Francisco Eximenez, familiar y biógrafo de Adriano VI’, Hispania 19 (1959) 230, nota 2. 60 P. Groult, Les mystiques des Pays-Bas et la Littérature espagnole du seizième siècle (Louvain 1927) 56-79. J. Orcibal, San Juan de la Cruz y los místicos renano-flamencos (Madrid 1987) 32-33. 61 Bataillon, Erasmo y España, cap. 1°. 62 A. de la Torre, ‘Servidores de Cisneros’, Hispania, 1 (1940) 182 ss. A. Gómez de Castro, De las hazañas de Francisco Ximénez de Cisneros (Madrid 1984) 218-228. J. de Vallejo, Memorial de la vida de fray Francisco Jiménez de Cisneros (Madrid 1913) 21-25.
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El influjo político de este grupo se vio muy reducido a partir de 1498, tras la muerte del príncipe Juan (hijo de los Reyes Católicos y heredero del trono), lo que motivó que la reina Isabel abandonase el gobierno de Castilla en manos de su esposo, Fernando el Católico, y de la facción apadrinada por éste.63 Donde primero se observa este cambio fue en la dirección de la Inquisición, donde antes de morir Tomás de Torquemada el monarca nombró inquisidores generales adjuntos (1496) a todos los miembros del Consejo de Inquisición con el fin de condicionar su actuación,64 pero además, fue por estas fechas, cuando buena parte de los servidores de la reina Isabel fueron colocados en los distintos cargos del recién conquistado reino de Granada para que llevasen a cabo la asimilación y conversión de los moriscos que habían quedado, utilizando las técnicas sociales y religiosas de diálogo y convencimiento que ellos defendían; ahora bien, esto significó que dicho grupo abandonó la corte y, por consiguiente, redujo su capacidad de influencia en la voluntad de los monarcas.65 Con la muerte de la reina Isabel se consumó el cambio de facciones: la facción ‘fernandina’ no solo controló los principales cargos cortesanos, sino que también dominaron el gobierno de las ciudades (lo que produjo no pocos altercados) expulsando a los seguidores de Isabel. Ante semejante acoso y persecución, el ‘partido isabelino’ buscó en Juana la Loca y en, su marido, Felipe el Hermoso el relevo legítimo en el trono. La llegada de Felipe el Hermoso a Castilla permitió de nuevo el triunfo de las corrientes franciscanas reformistas y las elites sociales y políticas (‘partido isabelino’), que las practicaban. La casa de Borgoña de Felipe el Hermoso y la casa de Castilla de su esposa Juana se llenaron de personajes flamencos y castellanos, respectivamente, que compartían las ideas humanistas y la espiritualidad observante, tales como Diego Ramírez de Villaescusa (confesor de Juana), Pedro Ruiz de la Mota (predicador y capellán), Pedro Mártir de Anglería, Pedro López de Padilla (capellán), Gregorio del Castillo (capellán), etc.66 Pero, la repentina muerte de Felipe el Hermoso permitió volver a Fernando el Católico como gobernador de Castilla y junto a él a toda su clientela, por lo que una pléyade de hombres de Iglesia y de nobles (todos con este tipo de ideas) se exiliaron a Flandes, instalándose en la Corte del príncipe Carlos, a la espera de que éste alcanzase la mayoría de edad y fuera proclamado rey de Castilla.67 La facción fernandina y la espiritualidad dominica El núcleo del partido ‘fernandino’ o ‘aragonés’ estaba compuesto por servidores aragoneses de origen judeo-converso, buena parte de los cuales habían formado parte de
63
T. de Azcona, Isabel la Católica. Estudio crítico de su vida y de su reinado (Madrid 1964) 711. Los nombramientos de los miembros del Consejo como Inquisidores Generales en: RAH, C-183 y AHN. Inq, leg. 5051. 65 Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, I, 54-58. Márquez Villanueva, ‘Estudio preliminar’ a Fray Hernando de Talavera, Católica impugnación, 9 ss. 66 La lista completa en Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, vol. V. 67 Ibídem, vol. I, 110-111. 64
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la Casa del rey Juan II, padre del Rey Católico, que se allegaron a Castilla cuando éste se afianzó en el poder,68 tales como los secretarios Miguel Pérez de Almazán, quien protegió a Francisco de los Cobos, Pedro de Quintana, Lope de Conchillos, Juan Ruiz Calcena, etc.; a los que se unieron buena parte de los servidores del difunto príncipe don Juan, hijo de los Reyes Católicos (entre los que destacaban, el célebre cronista Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, el dominico fray Diego de Deza, confesor del príncipe, Juan Zapata, su ayo, etc.), que acudieron a la protección del rey Fernando cuando vieron segadas sus aspiraciones cortesanas por la muerte del principe69. Finalmente, una serie de nobles castellanos que, desde su boda con Isabel, siempre se mantuvieron favorables a don Fernando incluso en los momentos difíciles: además del duque de Alba, ‘don Bernardo de Rojas, marqués de Denia; que era su mayordomo mayor; don Diego de Mendoça y don Ioan de Mendoça; su hermano; don Hernando de Toledo, hermano del duque de Alua y don Hernando de Rojas, hermano del marqués de Denia’,70 etc. Aunque el grupo ‘fernandino’ se componía de un número mucho menor de partidarios que el de la reina Isabel, su evolución posterior resaltó la eficacia de su gestión y la rapidez con que consiguieron dominar los principales cargos de la Monarquía. Para Giménez Fernández, ello se debió a que ocuparon con presteza los oficios de la hacienda real, sobre todo los relacionados con las Indias,71 con lo que pudieron comprar y corromper cualquier persona que se interpuso en su ambiciosa carrera por el poder. Aun admitiendo como lógica esta interpretación, no me parece del todo convincente y considero que el éxito de su contundente actuación también fue debido al rápido dominio que consiguieron sobre la Inquisición. Los miembros de este grupo político tuvieron muy claro desde el principio la utilidad de esta institución para fines políticos y sociales, y la emplearon como ‘arma de revolución social’ con la que expulsaron a sus enemigos de los oficios de la Monarquía y del gobierno de las ciudades.72 Efectivamente, la proyección del ‘partido fernandino’ arrancó en torno a 1498, fecha en la que Diego Deza fue nombrado inquisidor general, parece que no sin problemas, pues el primer despacho que extendió con tal cargo no data sino del 17 de agosto de 1501.73 Junto al nombramiento de inquisidor general, Deza recibió 68 M. Giménez Fernández, Bartolomé de las Casas. I. El plan Cisneros-Las Casas para la reformación de las Indias (Madrid 1984) 7-10. 69 Las biografías de todos ellos en G. Fernández de Oviedo, Batallas y Quinquagenas (RAH, 9-234/4465). Dichos manuscritos han sido publicados recientemente por el académico don Juan Pérez de Tudela. 70 J. Zurita, Historia del Rey don Hernando, fol. 80v. L. de Padilla, Crónica de Felipe I llamado el Hermoso (Codoin, vol. 8) 144. 71 Giménez Fernández, Bartolomé de las Casas, I, 12 ss. 72 El mismo plan – parece – que llevó Fernando en Aragón: J. Á. Sesma Muñoz, La Diputación del reino de Aragón en la época de Fernando II (Zaragoza 1977) 68-70. Ángel Alcalá, ‘Introducción’ a V. Blasco De Lanuza, Historia de la vida, muerte y milagros del siervo de Dios Pedro de Arbués (Zaragoza 1987), edición facsímil de la de 1624. 73 AHN, Inq, lib. 572, fol. 66v. Deza ya había arrebatado a Tomás de Torquemada su influjo en la Corte, así como a otros declarados ‘isabelinos’, tal como Alonso de Burgos, obispo de Palencia y miembro de la capilla de la reina, F.A. de Góngora, Historia del colegio mayor de Santo Tomás de Sevilla (Madrid 1890) 2 vols., I, 23 y 26.
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otro breve en el que el pontífice le nombraba único juez en las causas de apelación de la Inquisición.74 Con tales poderes comenzó la reforma de la institución; primero, introduciendo a los miembros de su partido en el Consejo; en seguida, iniciando una reforma social que se tradujo en la detención de algunos presuntos judaizantes, a los que aplicó los métodos inquisitoriales ya ensayados en Córdoba por Rodríguez Lucero.75 En realidad, se trataba de suprimir a los miembros del ‘partido isabelino’ que habían ocupado los principales cargos políticos y eclesiásticos del reino, cuyas ideas políticas y religiosas diferían notablemente de la facción ‘fernandina’.76 Finalmente, llevó a cabo la ampliación del número de tribunales del Santo Oficio, al mismo tiempo que promulgaba unas Instrucciones que definían y homogeneizaban la actuación de la Inquisición.77 Desde el punto de vista espiritual, la reacción contra el conventualismo y en favor de la observancia, que apareció en los franciscanos durante el siglo XIV, también influyó entre los dominicos,78 pues, no solo hubo movimientos dentro de la Orden ya en dicho siglo, como los intentos por establecer eremitorios, en los que se retiraban tres o cuatro religiosos a vivir en la soledad, siguiendo el ejemplo de Pedro de Villacreces y San Pedro Regalado, u aquellos otros, como el beato Álvaro de Zamora, confesor de la reina Catalina, esposa de Juan II, sino que también se vio afectada de manera especial durante el período en el que Cisneros gobernó en Castilla como regente, que aprovechó para impulsar estas corrientes espirituales. No se debe olvidar el núcleo dominico que surgió en torno a la beata de Piedrahita, amparada por el propio Cisneros y bajo la fama de sus milagros pretendía formar un grupo de reformados,79 ni tampoco a personajes reformistas, como fray Pablo de León, que intervinieron activamente a favor de los revoltosos comuneros.80 Este grupo, entre los que 74 AHN,
Códices, lib. 1, tít. 2, breve 5. Véase la bula de confirmación y la ratificación de otros privilegios, en G. Martínez Díez, Bulario de la Inquisición española hasta la muerte de Fernando el Católico (Madrid 1998) 304-313. 75 Tarsicio de Azcona, ‘La Inquisición española procesada por la Congregación General de 1508’, en J. Pérez Villanueva, dir., La Inquisición española. Nueva visión, nuevos horizontes (Madrid 1980) 122130. Márquez Villanueva, Investigaciones sobre el poeta Juan Álvarez Gato, 404-413. AGS. PR, 28-40. 76 La actividad del Deza como inquisidor general fue criticada, incluso, dentro de su propia orden, Maestro Vicente María Fontana, Sacrum Theatrum Dominicanum (Romae 1666). Fernando A. de Góngora, Historia del colegio mayor de Santo Tomás de Sevilla (Madrid 1890) 2 vols. I, 117-119. 77 Las instrucciones en AHN. Inq, lib. 1225; la ampliación de tribunales en, RAH, C-183. 78 Así se observa ‘En el Capítulo provincial de Peñafiel, celebrado en 1504 con asistencia del reverendísimo Bandelli, había sido elegido el P. Diego Magdaleno,…, para gobernar la Congregación de la Observancia. Por voluntad del General, su autoridad se extendió a toda la Provincia, a fin de realizar la fusión de ésta con la Congregación, lo cual tuvo lugar oficialmente en el capítulo siguiente, celebrado por septiembre de 1506 en Burgos. Muchos de uno y otro campo se oponían a esa unión: los observantes, por temor a que con ella se rebajase el nivel de la vida religiosa; y los conventuales, por miedo al rigor de los primeros. En medio de esa inquietud, Magdaleno parecía el hombre providencial capaz de tranquilizar a todos. […]. El General, sin dar oídos a los que aconsejaban aplazar la fusión, la impuso, prometiendo todo su apoyo al encargado de realizarla’: V. Beltrán de Heredia, Las corrientes de espiritualidad entre los Dominicos de Castilla durante la primera mitad del siglo XVI (Salamanca 1941) 6-7. 79 V. Beltrán de Heredia, Historia de la reforma de la provincia de España (1450-1550) (Roma 1939) 14 ss. 80 L. Getino, ‘Vida y doctrina del procurador de las Comunidades castellanes, Fr. Pablo de León’, Ciencia Tomista 45 (1932) 345-355; 46 (1932) 47-60; 47 (1933) 326-344.
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se contaban personajes como el padre Tomás de Matienzo, confesor de la reina Juana,81 llegó a enfrentarse contra el provincial de la Orden dominicana por seguir dichas tendencias espirituales, que de ninguna manera pueden ser relacionadas con los alumbrados, si bien, tenían en común una tendencia mesiánica (conquista de los santos lugares y lucha contra el infiel) muy arraigada en la espiritualidad franciscana de principios del siglo XVI.82 Ahora bien, frente a esta tendencia, la reforma de la Orden de Santo Domingo se desarrolló por otra vía espiritual más intelectual de acuerdo a sus principios tradicionales (vida de oración, vida de estudio, observancia regular y apostolado).83 Dicha vía discrepaba de los teólogos y practicantes de la observancia franciscana en varios puntos, tales como la lectura de los libros espirituales en lengua romance, lo que no era considerado conveniente por los dominicos, como tampoco se mostraban favorables a una frecuencia excesiva de los sacramentos (sobre todo la comunión), ni de practicar habitualmente la oración mental, por considerar que ello rayaba en la herejía de los alumbrados. Asimismo, mientras la corriente espiritual más intelectual, que defendían los dominicos, se atenía exclusivamente a la razón fundada en las Sagradas Escrituras y en las resoluciones de la Iglesia, y no quería hacer ninguna innovación; la corriente de tendencia más mística, que defendía la reforma franciscana y que dio lugar al recogimiento, admitía la autoridad de la Iglesia, pero creía que las personas espirituales recibían inspiraciones de Dios y, por consiguiente, promovía la renovación cristiana del pueblo por medio de la oración y la frecuencia de los sacramentos.84 La mentalidad de los intelectualistas era preferentemente extrínseca y conservadora; la de los místicos era inmanente y renovadora. La espiritualidad de los intelectualistas llevaba a la sequedad religiosa y al formalismo, pero resultaba fácil de controlar por la autoridad, mientras la espiritualidad de los místicos era más personal y vivencial, pero frecuentemente podía derivar en herejía y resultaba difícil de vigilar por los dirigentes eclesiásticos. La implantación de esta reforma intelectual dominica fue obra de fray Juan Hurtado de Mendoza; si bien, el prestigio de esta corriente reformista y de los hombres que la propiciaron creció cuando tales personajes consiguieron introducirse en el servicio del emperador tras la revuelta de las Comunidades, en cuya pacificación jugaron un papel esencial algunos dominicos.85 Fue a partir de entonces cuando triunfó la 81
Beltrán de Heredia, Historia de la reforma, 72-73. AGS. Libros de Cámara, 17, fol. 300v. La reforma de la Iglesia y otras ideas reformistas están relacionadas con las doctrinas de Savonarola y no con los alumbrados, pues, cuando sucedían todos estos acontecimientos, en torno a 1508, aún no había aparecido tal corriente heterodoxa (cf. Beltrán de Heredia, Las corrientes de espiritualidad, 1415). Sobre las corrientes milenaristas, A. Milhou, Colón y su mentalidad mesiánica en el ambiente franciscanista español (Valladolid 1983) 293 ss. E. Asensio, ‘El erasmismo y las corrientes espirituales afines’, 44. 83 E. Colunga, ‘Intelectualistas y místicos en la teología española del siglo XVI’, Ciencia Tomista 10 (1915) 232, afirma: ‘La generalidad de los Dominicos seguía la tendencia intelectualista’. 84 E. Colunga, ‘Intelectualistas y místicos en la teología española del siglo XVI’, Ciencia Tomista 9 (1914) 214. M. Andrés Martín, Los Recogidos (Madrid 1977) 22 ss 85 ‘Siguiéronse desto notables desórdenes, y el mayor fue repartirse la gente en dos bandos, unos en favor del Santo Oficio, y otros en favor de los presos. Estos prendieron al fiscal y a un notario de la Inquisición, apoderándose del alcázar donde el tribunal estaba, entraron con mano armada en las cárceles 82
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reforma bajo el mandato de fray Juan Pineda, discípulo de Hurtado y de su sucesor, García de Loaysa, confesor de Carlos V, como testimonian la fundación de los conventos de Talavera, Atocha y Ocaña y, poco después, el de Aranda de Duero,86 al mismo tiempo que se establecía definitivamente la formación religiosa de los novicios basada en un riguroso ascetismo (vigilias, ayunos, mortificaciones, etc.) y en la clasificación del personal de acuerdo a su vocación: el estudio (cátedra) o el apostolado (predicación). Con todo, fue Diego Deza quien – en mi opinión – construyó (e impulsó) el sistema intelectual que sostuvo este tipo de espiritualidad. Éste, siendo obispo de Salamanca, ya fue encargado por el cardenal Turriani de realizar la reforma de los dominicos en la Provincia de España, facultándole para que nombrara dos o tres delegados, que en su nombre, entendieran de ello, nombrando a fray Antonio de la Peña y a fray Bartolomé de Torres, conocidos partidarios de Fernando el Católico.87 Deza era enemigo acérrimo del cardenal Cisneros e impulsó la creación o la reforma de centros intelectuales y académicos que contrarrestasen la influencia de la universidad de Alcalá.88 Antes de ser nombrado arzobispo de Sevilla, Deza ya había reformado el colegio dominico de San Gregorio de Valladolid, que había sido fundado por el ‘isabelino’ Alonso de Burgos en 1488.89 A semejanza de éste culminaba, en 1518, y dieron libertad a los que en estaban en ellas. Cometieron otros muchos insultos, y no contentos con esto enviaron a Sevilla a D. Francisco de Mendoza, arcediano de los Pedroches, a D. Francisco de Simancas y a D. Pedro Ponce de León, para que hablasen al inquisidor general Fr. Diego de Deza, y diesen grandes quejas de los inquisidores de Córdoba. Y en especial se quejaron pesadamente del inquisidor Diego Rodríguez Lucero…. Demás desto hicieron particulares diligencias para persuadir a los caballeros y gente principal de Sevilla que de conformidad saliesen todos a la causa’ (J. Cuervo, Historiadores del convento de San Esteban de Salamanca, I, 239). 86 Beltrán de Heredia, Las corrientes de espiritualidad, 17 ss. ID, ‘Directrices de la espiritualidad dominicana en Castilla durante las primeras décadas del siglo XVI’, en Corrientes espirituales en la España del Siglo XVI (Barcelona 1961) 179-180. Por su parte, Gonzalo de Arriaga afirma que, en el año 1523, Carlos V favoreció a los dominicos de esta manera: ‘dio el arzobispado de Toledo al famoso hispalense Don Fray Diego de Deza, arzobispo de Sevilla, a quien, caminando a él, atajó los pasos la muerte. el de Granada a el santo fray Juan Hurtado que, humilde y santo, no aceptó. El obispado de Córdoba a fray Juan de Toledo y el de Osma al General de la Orden, fray García de Loaysa, habíendose primero publicado [como] arzobispo de Granada’. En el año 1524 nombraba presidente del Consejo de Indias a Loaysa, lo que permitió el envío de frailes dominicos a América. 87 Beltrán de Heredia, Historia de la Reforma de la Provincia de España, 47-48. 88 Véanse las diatribas que Deza lanzó contra Cisneros en una carta que le escribió a Fernando el Católico tratando de convencer de que no lo nombrase Inquisidor General, pues, toda la reforma que el propio Deza había realizado en dicha institución, sería destruida: ‘Memorial de fray Diego de Deza al Rey Católico sobre varios asuntos de Estado. Sevilla 11 de enero de 1507’ (A. Cotarelo, Fray Diego de Deza (Madrid 1905) 350-351). 89 En una carta del tribunal de la inquisición de Santiago de Compostela se dice al Consejo que se duda si fue judeo-converso (AHN. Inq, leg. 2886). Los estatutos se firmaron el 3 de noviembre de 1499, ‘Todo se reduce a religión y estudio’. Los colegiales fueron veinte, distribuidos de la siguiente manera: ‘Del monasterio de San Pablo de Burgos, dos frailes, que sean hijos naturales de dicha casa; y otros dos del monasterio de San Pablo de Córdoba, donde primeramente fuimos obispo; y otros dos de la ciudad de Cuenca o de su diócesis, donde – desde Córdoba – fuimos trasladado; y otros dos de el monasterio de la ciudad de Palencia, donde agora somos obispo; y otros dos, de el monasterio de San Pablo de esta villa de Valladolid; y de el monasterio de la ciudad de Toro, uno; y de la ciudad de Zamora, otro; y del Monasterio de Medina del Campo, otro; de el monasterio de Segovia, otro; del monasterio de Ávila, otro; y de el monasterio de la ciudad de Toledo, otro; y del Reino de Galicia, otro; y del Extremadura,
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la fundación del colegio de Santo Tomás de Sevilla en el que, además, impuso los estatutos de pureza de sangre el 20 de septiembre de 1520.90 En tan magna acción – como queda dicho – el ilustre prelado estuvo movido por el afán de crear una institución que fuera la antítesis del programa de estudios de la universidad de Alcalá.91 Pocos historiadores se han percatado de la influencia que dicho colegio, convertido después en universidad, ejerció en la ideología y religiosidad de los siglos XVI y XVII, por eso, es preciso señalar que en él estudiaron personajes tan significativos como Agustín de Esbarroya, Alonso de Montúfar, Mancio del Corpus Christi, Domingo de Valtanás, Diego de Chaves, etc.92 El programa de estudios, escrupulosamente revisado por el propio Deza, ordenaba lección de Sagradas Escrituras, lección de Santo Tomás, lección de lógica o Súmulas ‘con condición que no se lea en el dicho nuestro Colegio lección ni doctor de nominales’,93 esto es, se trataba de enseñar el tomismo que había comenzado a renacer a finales del siglo XV en Salamanca con Martínez de Osma y con el propio Diego Deza (ambos profesores en la universidad de dicha ciudad) y que constituyen los antecedentes claros de la segunda escolástica iniciada por Francisco de Vitoria, quien sustituyó los Libros de las Sentencias de Pedro Lombardo, por la Suma teológica del doctor Angélico como libro de texto en la universidad de Salamanca.94 Mucho se ha discutido sobre la grandeza de la construcción teológica de Deza, lo que no resulta pertinente estudiarlo aquí, ahora bien, resulta claro que la interpretación que Deza hizo de Santo Tomás debía mucho a los comentarios de Capreolo:95 esto se confirma al comprobar que los enemigos otro; del Andalucía, otro; del reino de Granada, otro. Así, que cumplidos los dichos veinte frailes, de este número uno ha de ser Rector de dicho colegio y tres Consiliarios’ (G. de Arriaga, Historia del colegio de San Gregorio de Valladolid (Valladolid 1928) vol. I, 103). 90 Domingo de Baltanás, ‘Apología de los Linajes’, Apología sobre ciertas materias morales en que hay opinión (Sevilla 1556). (Edición y estudio de A. Huerga y P. Sáinz Rodríguez (Barcelona 1963) pp. 151-162). 91 La universidad de Alcalá no tuvo facultad de derecho y en filosofía se enseñaban las tres vías, cf. Bataillon, Erasmo y España, 11-22. Antonio de la Torre, ‘La universidad de Alcalá. Datos para su estudio’, Revista de Archivo, Bibliotecas y Museos 20 (1909) 412-423; 21 (1909) 48-71, 261-285 y 405-433. El colegio de Sevilla se fundó a imagen del de San Gregorio de Valladolid, con el fin de restablecer el tomismo (Álvaro Huerga, ‘Introducción’ a Agustín de Esbarroya, Purificador de la conciencia (Madrid 1973) 72). 92 Existe una vieja historia sobre la fundación del colegio y la relación de sus colegiales debida a Fernando A. de Góngora, Historia del colegio, 2Vols. En tiempos actuales ha resaltado la importancia que tuvo dicho colegio, Huerga, ‘Introducción’, 71-91. 93 Góngora, Historia del colegio S. Tomás, I, 94. El subrayado es mío. 94 M. Andrés Martín, La teología española en el Siglo de Oro (Madrid 1976) I, 261-273; II, 331-332. Sobre la espiritualidad que defendían dichos colegiales, resulta orientador, Álvaro Huerga, ‘Domingo de Valtanás, prototipo de las inquietudes espirituales en España al mediar el siglo XVI’, Teología espiritual 2 (1958) 419-466. ID., ‘Análisis de las ‘Apologías’ Valtasianas’, Teología espiritual 3 (1959) 47-96. Horacio Santiago-Otero y Klaus Reinhardt, Pedro Martínez de Osma y el método teológico. Edición de Algunos escritos inéditos (Madrid-Soria 1987). Sobre Osma, J. V. Frias Balsa, ‘Pedro Martínez de Osma: vida y obras’, Burgense 20 (1979), 552-564. ID., ‘Obras de Pedro Martínez de Osma’, Celtiberia 30 (1980) 37-58. 95 M. García, ‘Fray Diego de Deza. Campeón de la doctrina de Santo Tomás’, Ciencia Tomista 26 (1922) 188-198. F. Navajas, ‘La doctrina de la gracia en Diego de Deza’, Archivo Teológico Granadino 20 (1957) 5-153. Menos entusiasmo ofrece A. Pérez Goyena, ‘El IV centenario de la muerte de Mtro. Fr. Diego de Deza’, Razón y Fe, vol. 67, 21-40, para quien el dominico se limitó, poco más, a copiar los
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de Capreolo también fueron los de Deza. Así, en sus comentarios a la Summa theologica, el propio Deza menciona como adversarios de sus doctrinas a Gregorio de Rímini, Guillermo de Ockam, incluso cita, con menor frecuencia, a Alberto Magno y a San Buenaventura.96 Esta corriente teológica fue la que acabó por imponerse como ortodoxa a partir de los años centrales del siglo XVI en la Monarquía hispana,97 gracias al apoyo político que le prestó el ‘partido fernandino’ y, durante el reinado de Carlos V, los epígonos de dicha facción (esto es, el grupo apadrinado por Francisco de los Cobos y Juan Tavera), quienes consiguieron dominar la administración central a partir de 1530. Es preciso señalar, no obstante, que el triunfo de esta corriente espiritual no fue rotundo ni siquiera cuando las facciones políticas que la practicaban habían conseguido establecerse en los cargos principales de la administración central, pues, los miembros de los grupos desplazados consiguieron refugiarse en el servicio de las Casas de la familia imperial (emperatriz Isabel, príncipe Felipe e infantas María y Juana) en las que se practicó dicha espiritualidad. Así, por ejemplo, tras la muerte de Deza, el colegio de Santo Tomás parece que entraron en cierta crisis con el nombramiento del erasmista Alonso Manrique en la mitra, ya que el colegio no consiguió ninguna gracia hasta después de la muerte de este arzobispo, mientras que los acuerdos tomados en el sínodo realizado por Deza en 1515, no se volvieron a desempolvar hasta 1555, siendo ya arzobispo el inquisidor general Fernando de Valdés.98 La vía política y religiosa impulsada por fray Diego Deza fue adoptada por una selecta elite social castellana. Así, el primer duque de Alba, don Fadrique de Toledo, mostró gran afecto por la orden de Santo Domingo, dejando abundante rentas en las alcabalas de la ciudad de Salamanca para sostenimiento del convento de San Esteban; más aún, ‘como era tan grande la devoción que este príncipe tenía al Convento, no se quedaba en él, sino que la heredaban sus hijos como vínculo o mayorazgo del estado. Tuvo uno entre otros sobremanera devoto de la Orden, y muy en particular de esta Casa, el cual tomando el hábito en ella vino a ser por sus virtudes la mayor gloria suya’.99 Fray Juan Álvarez de Toledo tomó el hábito de Santo Domingo en el colegio de San Esteban de Salamanca cuando tenía diecisiete años; en 1525 fue nombrado
comentarios que Capreolo hizo sobre Santo Tomás. Por su parte, G. Arimón, La teología de la fe y fray Diego de Deza (Barcelona-Madrid 1962) 63-66, a pesar de los esfuerzos que hace por mostrar la originalidad del pensamiento del arzobispo de Sevilla, tiene que reconocer que depende esencialmente de Capreolo (66). 96 Arimón, La teologia, 72-73. 97 Karl Hölz, ‘Exégesis bíblica y filología en el humanismo español’, en V. Garcia de la Concha y J. San José Lera, Fray Luis de León. Historia, humanismo, letras (Salamanca 1992)145-159. 98 Sobre las gracias que se aplicaron al Colegio, fue a partir de 1539, cf. Góngora, Historia del colegio, I, 161-175. En cuanto a los acuerdos del sínodo: ‘Y el año de 1555, siendo arzobispo de esta Santa Iglesia el sr. Don Fernando de Valdés, Inquisidor General de España, se mandaron renovar e imprimir de nuevo’ (Ibíd, 52). Las gracias que había concedido el papa León X, en 1518, fueron ratificadas por Paulo III en 1539, mientras tanto no hubo ninguna gracia para el colegio (Cuervo, Historiadores del convento de San Esteban de Salamanca, vol. I, 236). 99 Se refiere a Fray Juan de Toledo, Cuervo, Historiadores, vol. I, 416.
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obispo de Córdoba, de aquí fue promovido a Burgos en 1537 y al año siguiente, Paulo III le dio el título de cardenal., siendo un personaje de gran influencia.100 Este amor y apoyo a la orden continuó con el tercer duque de Alba, don Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, que murió en 1582 y dejó mandado ser enterrado en la capilla del convento de San Esteban, además de dejarle veinte mil ducados. En 1500, tomaba el hábito de Santo Domingo en el convento de San Esteban el padre fray Bernardo Manrique, hijo de los marqueses de Aguilar.101 García de Loaysa llegó a ser general de toda la Orden en 1518 y fue nombrado confesor del emperador Carlos V después de que ayudara a calmar los ánimos de muchos comuneros,102 acompañó al César a Bolonia para ser coronado emperador y durante los tres años que éste estuvo por Europa, Loaysa permaneció en Roma, acompañando a Carlos cuando volvió a la Península. Una vez aquí, le nombró arzobispo de Sevilla y, a la muerte de Tavera (1545), inquisidor general. Cliente de Loaysa fue fray Alberto de las Casas, natural de Sevilla, prior del convento de San Pablo de Sevilla.103 No tuvieron menos fervor por la orden dominicana los condes de Miranda, uno de sus hijos, Gaspar de Zúñiga y Avellaneda, fue nombrado obispo de Segovia por recomendación de Domingo de Soto. Fray Pedro de Sotomayor, natural de Córdoba, fue el noveno catedrático de Prima en San Esteban y era ‘hijo segundo de los señores de Pinto y Caracena, que ahora sin marqueses’,104 etc.
El triunfo de la facción ‘castellana’ en la corte imperial y la imposición de su espiritualidad ‘intelectual’ Una vez aplacadas las revueltas de las Comunidades y Germanías, Carlos V iniciaba una reforma en la administración central y en el servicio de su propia Casa con la que procuró integrar las elites de los reinos hispanos en el gobierno de su Imperio. Ciertamente, para estas fechas, había desapareció la relación tradicional de ‘partido’ que había venido rigiendo en la Corte desde finales del siglo XV y había dado lugar a una nueva composición de fuerzas políticas, que perduró durante todo el reinado de Carlos V. Entre las diversas facciones que habían compuesto el bando imperial en dichos levantamientos, fue surgiendo una, cuyos objetivos políticos era la imposición de los intereses de Castilla sobre el resto de los reinos que componían el Imperio de Carlos V y, en el campo de la religión, establecer la espiritualidad que sus miembros practicaban, llegando incluso a proponer los mismos medios e instituciones que se empleaban en Castilla.
100 101 102 103 104
De Arriaga, Historia del colegio de San Gregorio de Valladolid, vol. I, 250-263. Ibídem, I, 231. Fue rector del colegio de San Gregorio en 1527 y en 1532. Cuervo, Historiadores, I, 101. Arriaga, Historia, I, 264-270. Cuervo, Historiadores, I, 540 y 556.
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Tal grupo dominante, al que denomino ‘castellano’, se formó en torno a dos grandes patronos que se habían iniciado políticamente en el partido ‘fernandino’; a saber, Francisco de los Cobos y Juan Tavera. Cobos comenzó en la administración castellana durante los primeros años del siglo XVI a la sombra del secretario Miguel Pérez de Almazán; durante el reinado de Felipe el Hermoso y la regencia de Cisneros se vio obligado a permanecer en la sombra, pero entre 1523 y 1529, inició un ascenso imparable en el servicio de Carlos V, desplazando a los personajes flamencos que le acompãban, hasta convertirse en el personaje de mayor confianza.105 Por su parte, Juan Tavera era sobrino de Diego Deza,106 bajo cuyo patronazgo fue nombrado consejero de Inquisición (1505), abandonando el prometedor futuro que tenía como profesor en la universidad de Salamanca. Aunque, durante las regencias del cardenal Cisneros, tuvo que dejar sus cargos y refugiarse en Sevilla, donde su tío era arzobispo, tras la revuelta de las Comunidades llegó a ocupar – junto a Francisco de los Cobos – los cargos más altos del gobierno, siendo nombrado inquisidor general, presidente del Consejo de Castilla, arzobispo de Toledo y capellán mayor de la Casa de Castilla.
El triunfo del ‘partido castellano’. Bajo el patronazgo de Francisco de los Cobos y Juan Tavera Entre 1523 y 1529 se produjo el asentamiento del sistema de gobierno de los reinos hispanos, en respuesta tanto a las necesidades impuestas por la compleja herencia política y patrimonial de Carlos V – en el ámbito jurídico, al exigir cada territorio ordenamientos propios y específicos, y también por la diversidad de las materias a resolver –, como a la recomposición de la elite de poder cortesana que tuvo lugar en los comienzos del reinado.107 Así, se implantó un nuevo equilibrio político cortesano en el que la desaparición de Sauvage y Chièvres señaló el comienzo de la pugna de Gattinara frente a determinados secretarios, letrados y oficiales con origen en el antiguo ‘partido fernandino’ y experiencia en la administración castellana. La reorganización había comenzado incluso antes del retorno de Carlos V a la Península. En abril de 1522, se había confirmado la pragmática de creación del Sacro y Real Consejo de Aragón, que institucionalizaba el aparato consultivo que Pedro IV creó en el Ordenamiento de la Casa y Corte de 1344.108 En 1523, el licenciado Fernando de Valdés fue comisionado para inspeccionar el Consejo Real de Navarra109 105 Una completa biografía de Francisco de los Cobos, H. Keniston, Francisco de los Cobos, secretario de Carlos V (Madrid 1980). 106 Góngora, Historia del colegio mayor de Santo Tomás de Sevilla, I, 13-14. A. Cotarelo, Fray Diego Deza, (Madrid 1905) 78-80. 107 J. Martínez Millán y C.J. de Carlos Morales, dirs., Felipe II (1527-1598). La configuración de la monarquía hispana, (Valladolid 1998) 21-33. 108 J. Arrieta Alberdi, El Consejo Supremo de la Corona de Aragón (1494-1707) (Zaragoza 1995). 109 J.J. Salcedo Izu, El Consejo Real de Navarra en el siglo XVI (Pamplona 1964) 64; J.L. Gonzalez Novalin, El Inquisidor General don Fernando de Valdés, 2 vols. (Oviedo 1968-71) I, 35-41.
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al mismo tiempo tuvo lugar la renovación de los miembros que conformaban el Consejo Real de Castilla. La mejora de la eficacia e imparcialidad del Consejo Real de Castilla conllevó que diversos integrantes, con el propósito de evitar la acumulación de oficios, fueran excluidos, al tiempo que se produjo la designación de Juan Pardo de Tavera como presidente en octubre de 1524.110 Juan Pardo de Tavera se convirtió así en un gran patrón castellano. Este ‘fernandino’, tras diversas vicisitudes, en 1523 había sido nombrado presidente de la chancillería de Valladolid y, al año siguiente, resultó elegido no solo presidente del Consejo de Castilla, desde donde extendió su influencia al despacho de los asuntos de la Cámara, sino que también fue nombrado arzobispo de Santiago; de esta manera, como esta prelacía conllevaba la condición de capellán mayor de la Casa real de Castilla, Tavera pudo construir fácilmente una poderosa red clientelar. Quizás como contrapeso, dada la rivalidad que ambos mantuvieron, al efectuarse la reestructuración de la composición y atribuciones del Consejo Supremo de las Indias,111 en 1524 el emperador nombró presidente a quien previamente había tomado por confesor, el dominico García de Loaysa, que también desde el 1 de marzo de 1523 era primer predicador en la capilla de la Casa castellana de Carlos V. Otros letrados, algunos procedentes de la facción ‘felipista’, en este tiempo llegaron a alcanzar gran relevancia en la corte. Es preciso destacar a Francisco de Mendoza y a Fernando de Guevara, aunque el personaje de este grupo político que adquirió mayor influjo y relevancia en la corte durante los primeros años del reinado de Carlos V fue don Alonso Manrique, elegido inquisidor general, que procuró servir de mecenas y protector de aquella corriente de intelectuales hispanos que conectaron con el humanismo erasmista. Precisamente, en el Consejo de Inquisición y en los asuntos que trataba se reflejaba de forma patente la división existente en la corte entre, por un lado, la corriente auspiciada por el erasmista Manrique, que había enlazado con ‘felipistas’ y con servidores de Cisneros como Francisco de Mendoza, miembro de los consejos de Castilla e Inquisición, comisario general de Cruzada y presidente del Consejo de Hacienda desde 1525, y Hernando de Guevara, integrante, asimismo, de diversos consejos; y, por otro, los epígonos ‘fernandinos’que tenían a Tavera y a Cobos
110 Así, entre 1523-1524 desaparecieron del Consejo el doctor micer Antonio Agustín, el doctor Diego Beltrán, el licenciado Francisco de Vargas, el doctor Palacios Rubios, el licenciado Alonso de Castilla, el licenciado Quintanilla y el doctor Tello. Martín de Salinas en carta fechada en Valladolid, el 8 de febrero de 1523 informaba de que ‘al doctor Tello manda que sirva en el Consejo de Órdenes y no en el de Castilla porque era de ambos a dos, y que no lleve quitación más que por uno; al licenciado Quintanilla mandan que sirva en su oficio de contador mayor de cuentas y deje el Consejo; a don Alonso de Castilla que se le hace obispo de Calahorra, asimismo deje el Consejo…’. A. Rodríguez Villa, ed., El Emperador Carlos V y su corte según los cartas de Don Martin de Salinas, embajador del Infante Don Fernando (1522-1539), vol. I (Madrid 1903) 84. Véanse: S. de Dios, El Consejo Real de Castilla (1385-1522) (Madrid 1982) 210-215; P. Gan Gimenéz, El Consejo Real de Carlos V (Granada 1988) 88-100. 111 E. Schafer, El Consejo Real y Supremo de Indias, I. Historia y organización del Consejo y de la Casa de la Contratación de las Indias (Sevilla 1975) 41-44, 350-354; D. Ramos, ‘El problema de la fundación del Real Consejo de Indias’, El Consejo de Indias’ (Valladolid 1970) 11-41; R.J. Dworkoski, The Council of the Indies in Spain, 1524-1558 (Columbia University 1979) (tesis doctoral inédita) 14 ss.
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como principales patronos.112 No obstante, éstos últimos pronto comenzaron a desplazar a aquéllos: Francisco de Herrera, nombrado consejero en tiempos de Cisneros, fue apartado en 1524,113 por su parte, Francisco de Mendoza desaparecía de la Suprema en 1528. En sus puestos entraban Toribio de Saldaña y Jerónimo Suárez Maldonado, conocidos ‘fernandinos’, pertenecientes al círculo de Tavera. Poco tiempo después, se les unía Fernando de Valdés tanto en la solidaridad clientelar como en el Consejo de Inquisición. Este mismo planteamiento se constata en la gestación del Consejo de Hacienda, entre febrero de 1523 y enero de 1525.114 A partir de 1525, quienes en realidad manejaron los asuntos económicos de la Monarquía fueron Francisco de los Cobos y sus ‘hechuras’ Cristóbal Suárez y Sancho de Paz. Con todo, Tavera también intervino en las actividades del Consejo de Hacienda desde 1528, cuando, a propósito de la visita que Carlos realizó a Aragón, dejó como gobernadora de Castilla a la emperatriz al mismo tiempo encargaba de la supervisión de las materias financieras al presidente del Consejo de Castilla.115 En cuanto al Consejo de Guerra, quedó consolidado al asignársele unos oficiales propios y un secretario, Zuazola. Finalmente, el Consejo de Estado recibió en 1526 la recomposición de sus integrantes, después de los frustrados proyectos de Gattinara.116 Ya a comienzos de 1521, el canciller había recomendado la creación de un Consejo Secreto de Estado inspirado en el Consejo Privado que acompañó a Carlos en su primer viaje a Castilla en 1517, con un gran poder tanto en el ámbito interno como externo y con una clara supremacía respecto al resto de los Consejos, que se convirtiera en el eje regulador de todas las decisiones políticas. El proyecto fracasó a pesar de las presiones de Gattinara y no fue, hasta 1526, con la reanudación de la guerra con Francia, cuando se asentó definitivamente un Consejo de Estado castellanizado, encabezado por Francisco de los Cobos, con unas funciones y atribuciones muy distintas a las imaginadas por el canciller. Tras la muerte de Hernando de Vega en 1526, Hugo de Moncada y César Ferramosca fueron enviados a la guerra de Italia; por contra, en este mismo año, Carlos V dio entrada a diversos nobles y prelados castellanos y, finalmente, en 1529 se produjo el nombramiento de Francisco de los Cobos, mientras que Gattinara se había retirado de la corte dos años antes.
112 Cf. J. Martínez Millán, ‘Las elites de poder durante el reinado de Carlos V a través de los miembros del Consejo de Inquisición (1516-1558)’, Hispania 168 (1988), 141-150. 113 F. Ruiz de Vergara y Alava, Historia del Colegio Viejo de San Bartolomé (Madrid 1766) vol. II, 232. AHN, Inq, lib. 247, fol. 7v-8r. 114 Sobre el origen del Consejo véase: C. J. de Carlos Morales, El Consejo de Hacienda de Castilla, 1523-1602. Patronazgo y clientelismo en el gobierno de las finanzas reales durante el siglo XVI (Valladolid 1996) 25-34; E. Hernández Esteve, Creación del Consejo de Hacienda de Castilla (1523-1525) (Madrid 1983). 115 S. de Dios, Fuentes para el estudio del Consejo Real de Castilla (Salamanca 1986) 85-87; AGS. E, legs. 348 y 449-450. 116 Las actas del Consejo de Estado de 1523 pueden verse en K. Brandi, ‘Aus den Kabinettsakten des Kaisers’, Berichte und Studien zur Geschichte Kaiser Karls V., XIX (1941) (Nachrichten der Akademien der Wissenschaften in Göttingen). S. Fernández Conti, Los Consejos de Estado y Guerra de la Monarquía Hispana en tiempos de Felipe II (1548-1598) (Valladolid 1998) 26-28
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Por lo que se refiere a la Cámara, organismo a través del que se repartía la gracia, desde 1523 su composición reunía indiscriminadamente a Gattinara, García de Padilla, el doctor Carvajal y el licenciado Polanco, que actuaban como consejeros juntos o por separado, mientras que la refrendata de los documentos correspondía a Francisco de los Cobos y a Castañeda, sus secretarios. Cuando en 1528 se produjo la partida de la corte rumbo a la Corona de Aragón, el desdoblamiento de la Cámara provocó su primera definición institucional: al lado de la emperatriz ‘el despacho de la expedición de la Cámara’ quedó integrado por los ‘fernandinos’ Tavera, Polanco y el secretario Vázquez de Molina (sobrino de Cobos), mientras que junto a Carlos V, fallecido Carvajal en 1527, actuaban Gattinara, García de Padilla y Cobos.117 Finalmente, el partido ‘castellano’ también se dejó notar en el servicio del emperador y en el de su madre, la reina Juana.118 Incluso la casa de la emperatriz Isabel fue reformada en 1528, bajo la excusa de conformar su estructura con la costumbre castellana del servicio que tenía la Reina Católica, su abuela,119 si bien, las reformas se limitaron a cambiar los principales servidores portugueses (Ruy Téllez de Meneses, Guiomar de Castro, Pedro Álvarez de Acosta y Juan de Saldaña) por otros nobles castellanos clientes de Francisco de los Cobos (la marquesa de Aguilar, la condesa de Osorno, Juan Vázquez de Molina), bajo el pretexto de que aquellos no conocían las tradiciones castellanas del servicio real. La imposición de una religiosidad más formalista e intelectual. Los cambios que se produjeron en las facciones cortesanas después de las Comunidades no se redujeron solamente al ámbito político, sino también en el campo ideológico y religioso hubo gran pugna entre las distintas corrientes, representadas por las facciones políticas cortesanas, como se observa en las numerosas juntas que se celebraron, entre 1525 y 1527, sobre los grandes problemas religiosos e ideológicos que afectaban a la Monarquía: junta sobre los moriscos del reino de Valencia (febrero-marzo de 1525), junta sobre los alumbrados (1525, no se conservan las actas), junta sobre los moriscos de Granada (noviembre de 1526), junta sobre las brujas de Navarra (diciembre de 1526) y junta sobre las obras de Erasmo (en Valladolid, 1527).120 No
117 AGS,
lib. de céd. 83; De Dios, Fuentes, 178-180. J. Martínez Millán y C.J. Carlos Morales, ‘La administración de la gracia real: los miembros de la Cámara de Castilla’, en J. Martínez Millán, ed., Instituciones y elites de poder en la Monarquía Hispana durante el siglo XVI (Universidad Autónoma de Madrid 1992) 25-47. 118 Sobre tales reformas me remito a nuestro trabajo colectivo: La Corte de Carlos V, vols. I y II. 119 Al mismo tiempo que se hacían eco de las quejas que las Cortes de Madrid de 1528 habían realizado este sentido RAH, Col. Salazar, A. 36, fols. 69-76. M. Fernández Álvarez, Corpus Documental Carlos V (Salamanca 1973), I, 109-110. 120 Una relación de tales juntas con las listas de sus componentes y los asuntos que trataron en M. Avilés Fernández, ‘El Santo Oficio en la primera etapa carolina’, en J. Pérez Villaneuva y B. Escandell, dirs., Historia de la Inquisición en España y América (Madrid 1984), vol. I, 450-468. También hace un análisis muy provechoso de las mismas, A. Redondo, Antonio de Guevara (1480?-1545) et l’Espagne de son temps (Genève 1976), cap. 5°.
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considero pertinente desarrollar lo acordado en cada una de estas reuniones – por otra parte ya estudiado en excelentes trabajos – ni las consecuencias que tuvo la inmediata aplicación de los acuerdos adoptados, sino señalar que todas ellas trataron de solucionar problemas políticos-religiosos planteados por el grupo cortesano ‘castellano’. El ascenso del partido ‘castellano’ en los cargos principales del gobierno de Carlos V fue acompañado de una progresiva implantación de la espiritualidad ‘intelectual’ en la corte, al mismo tiempo que consideraban interpretaciones heréticas las derivadas de la observancia franciscanas (como los alumbrados)121 o sospechosas de desviación, a las que había que examinar detenidamente (como los recogidos), al igual que fueron tachadas de heterodoxas las corrientes intelectuales potenciadas por Cisneros (erasmistas). A partir de estas fechas, muy pocos estudiantes de la universidad de Alcalá lograron alcanzar altos cargos en la administración de la Monarquía; por el contrario, sus licenciados optaron por la carrera eclesiástica, ejerciendo una comprometida pastoral que, en buena parte de los casos, les llevó a ser objeto de persecución (o, al menos, de desconfianza) por parte del Santo Oficio. El proceso se impuso de manera paulatina. En primer lugar, se trató de solventar el problema de los alumbrados, que conoció una serie de diferencias internas que en modo alguno se pueden ignorar.122 Los mismos procesos inquisitoriales, realizados en el tribunal de Toledo, indican la evolución cronológica del movimiento: desde 1523 a 1529 se halla la serie de los alumbrados, mientras que de 1529 a 1539 la persecución se dirigió contra los alumbrados, a los que se trató de identificar con luteranos y erasmistas.123 Si durante la primera etapa de persecución por la Inquisición, no existió proceso a ninguna persona que estuviera sirviendo en la Casa Real, en la segunda fase de los procesos, que comenzó con el arresto de Francisca Hernández, los servidores detenidos fueron numerosos.124 Francisca Hernández no solo había conseguido establecer una amplia clientela en Salamanca, donde residía en 1514,125 y en Valladolid, donde vivió hasta 1519, sino 121 Nieto, El Renacimiento y la otra España, 83 ss. La tesis de que los alumbrados surgieron en Castilla antes que Lutero, defendida por Nieto ya en su libro Juan de Valdés y los orígenes de la Reforma en España e Italia (México 1979) no ha podido ser rebatida por ningún historiador que ha tocado el tema a pesar de que todos han mostrado su disconformidad. Si su argumentación está poco fundamentada, como afirma Carlos Gilly, en un excelente artículo, ‘Juan de Valdés traductor de los escritos de Lutero en el diálogo de Doctrina Cristiana’, Los Valdés. Pensamiento y Literatura (Cuenca 1997) 126 (este trabajo había sido publicado anteriormente en alemán, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 74 (1983) 257-305), los argumentos en los que él se basa para rebatirlo tampoco resultan convincentes. La contestación de Nieto al trabajo de Gilly, se encuentra en ‘La imagen cambiente de Juan de Valdés’, Los Valdés. Pensamiento y Literatura, 7-41. 122 Nieto, Juan de Valdés y los orígenes de la Reforma en España e Italia, 106. 123 M. Ortega Costa, Proceso de la Inquisición contra María de Cazalla (Madrid 1978) 15. 124 Para Longhurst, en torno a 1530, hallamos varias personas que pertenecían a ambos grupos (alumbrados y erasmistas) y que (bien ellos o sus parientes) servían en la Casa Real: Juan de Valdés, María de Cazalla, Juan del Castillo, Miguel de Eguía y Bernardino Tovar (J.E. Longhurst, ‘Alumbrados, Erasmistas y Luteranos en el proceso de Juan de Vergara’, Cuadernos de Historia de España 27 (1958) 119 y 123). M. Serrano y Sanz, ‘Juan de Vergara y la Inquisición de Toledo’, Revista de Archivos, Bibliotecas y Museos 5 (1901), 896-912; 6 (1902) 29-42 y 446-486. 125 Sobre el origen del grupo, véase: A. Selke, ‘El caso del bachiller Antonio de Medrano, iluminado epicúreo del siglo XVI’, Bulletin Hispanique 58 (1956) 393-420.
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también por medio de Bernardino Tovar, entre los iluminados erasmistas de Alcalá, tales como el maestro Juan del Castillo, el impresor Eguía y su hermano Diego, el presbítero Diego López de Husillos, el franciscano fray Gil López de Béjar, predicador del emperador etc.126 Junto a la beata, se detuvo también al franciscano Francisco Ortiz, quien denunció la detención de su amiga por la Inquisición en un sermón que predicó en la iglesia del monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes el día 6 de abril 1529. Muchas son las causas que se pueden aducir para explicar la conducta y detención de Ortiz,127 pero lo que resulta sorprendente es que este fraile vivía con tanta naturalidad su religiosidad reformista que no dudó en escribir al Inquisidor General para que remediase su situación y la de su reverenciada Francisca Hernández. El franciscano no sabía que – para esas fechas – estaban cambiando muchas cosas en los órganos centrales del poder y que Alonso Manrique había sido enviado a residir en su archidiócesis de Sevilla por el propio emperador.128 Esto nos indica la naturalidad con que estas personas vivían su espiritualidad como ortodoxa mientras los inquisidores la consideraban herética. La decadencia política de Manrique sirvió para perseguir a los erasmistas, quienes ocupaban altos cargos en la administración de la Monarquía: así, Juan de Vergara, que había sido secretario del cardenal Cisneros, caía en las redes inquisitoriales, 126
A. Selke, El Santo oficio de la Inquisición. Proceso de Fr. Francisco Ortiz (1529-1532) (Madrid 1968) 49-51. 127 En el fondo, existían otras causas que ayudan a explicar mejor la prisión de Ortiz: la envidia que suscitó dentro de los miembros de su propia Orden la gran fama que tenía de buen predicador. Estos sentimientos fueron especialmente intensos por parte de fray Gil López, predicador de cierto renombre y, durante algún tiempo, devoto también de Francisca Hernández. La enemistad con Ortiz llegó a su punto máximo en 1526 cuando se enteró de que el puesto de predicador imperial, que él codiciaba, se lo habían ofrecido a Francisco Ortiz. Entonces, para impedir que lo obtuviera, se lanzó a levantar denuncias, junto con el presbítero Diego López de Husillos, contra su rival y la beata. Ortiz, por consejo de la beata, renunció al puesto y el cargo de predicador imperial fue obtenido por fray Gil López. Gil López [de Béjar] fue uno de los que apoyó a Erasmo en la célebre conferencia de Valladolid de 1527 (Longhurst, ‘Alumbrados, Erasmistas y Luteranos’, 118). Sobre este franciscano, predicador del emperador, Martínez Millán, La Corte de Carlos V, vol. IV, 225. 128 ‘ya sabeis – escribía Carlos V a la emperatriz – cómo el arzobispo de Sevilla tiene cargo de Inquisidor General y, aunque de su persona se tiene la confianza que es razón, todavía es muy necesario que las cosas que se tratan y hazen por aquel de ynquisición fuesen determinadas y acordadas con parescer y acuerdo de los del Consejo della. He sido avisado que el arzobispo habla de querer yr a su casa y aunque pienso que haziéndolo dexaría su poder a los del Consejo y que él en su ausencia dellos no usaría, porque así se hizo en vida del rey Cathólico, nuestro agüelo y señor, que aya gloria, absentándose el cardenal don fray Francisco Ximénez, que tenía el mismo cargo […], porque de otra manera sería grande ynconveniente. Estareis, señora, prevenida para que quando el arçobispo os pida licencia para irse, diga que lo quiere consultar conmigo y le ruegue que, hasta que yo envíe respuesta, se detenga, y así me lo consultareys. Y en caso que todavía él porfíe en quererse yr, sea teniendo manera que por durante su ausencia dexe poder a los del Consejo de la Inquisición para haçer lo que se ofreciere y que él sin ellos no haga cosa alguna tocante al oficçio, como he dicho que se hizo en vida del rey Cathólico con el dicho cardenal. Y aunque, si buenamente lo pudiésedes, señora, haçer sin desabrimiento suyo, querría que todas las cartas que firmásedes de ynquisiçión fuesen señaladas del dicho arçobispo y de los del Consejo y no dél solo, porque quando las cosas pasan por Consejo son mayor myradas. Comunicará lo que a esto toca con el presidente del Consejo y con los que más le paresciere, aunque esto es cosa que se debe tener muy secreto, y hará en ello lo que conviniere, teniendo respeto a la persona del arçobispo y a su condición’. Pocos días después, el propio Manrique enviaba una carta a todos los tribunales inquisitoriales informándoles de su retirada a su archidiócesis en la que pensaba estar durante algún tiempo (carta fechada en agosto de 1529. AHN, Inq, lib. 320, fol. 270r).
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acusado de alumbrado por Francisca Hernández. Vergara era amigo de Erasmo y uno de los que con mayor énfasis defendió sus escritos en la conferencia de Valladolid de 1527. A éste le siguieron como reos, Antonio de Medrano, Miguel de Eguía, Mateo Pascual, Juan del Castillo, Juan de Cazalla (predicador de Carlos V), etc.129 No obstante, para estas fechas (década de 1530), la tendencia a identificar alumbrados y erasmistas comenzó a cambiar por la asimilación de alumbrados y luteranos. En el juicio de María de Cazalla (1532), las opiniones de los alumbrados acerca de la confesión, ayuno, oraciones, imágenes, etc., fueron clasificadas como luteranas por la propia Inquisición,130 lo mismo que las de su hermano Juan de Cazalla, que había sido capellán mayor del cardenal Cisneros, ferviente erasmistas, y que había predicado alguna vez a los seguidores de su hermana María.131
La pervivencia de las corrientes erasmistas y ‘reformistas’ Los personajes que practicaban dicha espiritualidad, no solo fueron perseguidos por herejes y heterodoxos, sino que también fueron apartados de los cargos que ocupaban en el servicio del emperador, por lo que buscaron refugio en las Casas de otros miembros de la familia real, donde ejercieron una función de oposición política al ‘partido castellano’, esperando que se produjera alguna oportunidad para alcanzar el poder, al mismo tiempo que difundían su espiritualidad en su entorno. Así se explica que en la educación del príncipe Felipe intervinieran de manera activa humanistas como Bernabé de Busto, quien le tradujo la Institutio principis christiani de Erasmo, o Juan Cristóbal Calvete de la Estrella (su proveedor de libros), 129
Sobre estos procesos, Bataillon, Erasmo y España, 475 ss. Longhurst, ‘Alumbrados, Erasmistas y Luteranos’, 104 y 112. Los inquisidores le preguntaron: ‘sy sabe quién tenga o aya tenido los libros luteranos reprovados e sospechosos contra nuestra santa fee, dixo que no sabe quién tenga ni aya tenido libros de Leuterio e que quando prendieron al dicho Tovar oyó dezir esta declarante a Gonzalo Paes, clérigo, vezino de Guadalajara, que dezía que aunque no tuviera el dicho Tovar otra cosa syno los libros que le hallaron de Lutero, bastavan para le prender, pero que esta declarante no sabe que tuviese ningún libro el dicho Tovar de Lutero… Preguntada si a loado esta declarante el librillo de la Doctrina christiana, dixo que sí a loado muchas vezes esta declarante el dicho libro de Doctrina christiana aunque le paresçía a esta declarante que avía en él algunas cosas que se pudieran dezir mejor y syn escándalo, ansí como en lo que dize de los diezmos y primiçias como de la confesión’. María de Cazalla intenta aparentar su completa sumisión a la Iglesia y a la Inquisición: ‘… nunca he tenido ni tengo que este Sancto Offiçio de la Inquisiçión se hazía ingratamente porque lo tove por muy nesçesario y sancto’. Asimismo, hay un innegable intento de demostrar que ella sigue las doctrinas de Erasmo, que no están condenadas por la Iglesia: ‘E sy yo hablé algo sobre esta materia [sobre ceremonias religiosas], sería refiriendo a Erasmo, en la quinta regla de su Enchiridon [sic] questá en romance trasladado, según he oydo, con authoridad del Rmo Sr. Cardenal Arçobispo de Sevilla, Ynquisidor Mayor’. Sobre la sumisión que hace a la Iglesia católica. Insiste en declararse seguidora de Erasmo a la hora de contestar a la acusación de un testigo: ‘… de donde resulta que aunque yo dixera lo susodicho, que niego, que en todo aquello que no viere reprovado de Erasmo, lo tengo por bueno hasta que otra cosa dél se declare […] y lo que Erasmo tiene es lo que tiene e crehe la Santa Madre Yglesia, todo lo contrario de lo quel dicho testigo a dicho contra mí’ (M. Ortega Costa, Proceso de Inquisición contra María de Cazalla (Madrid 1978) 140, 217, 224). 131 Bataillon, Erasmo y España, 62-71, 472-476. 130
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a pesar de los intentos de la facción ‘castellana’ por imponer a sus representantes ideológicos,132 así mismo, que cuando alcanzó ‘su mayoría de edad política’ y adoptó para su servicio el estilo de la Casa de Borgoña, se encontraran entre sus capellanes y predicadores personajes tan heterodoxos como Agustín de Cazalla o Constantino Ponce de la Fuente. Mientras que, desde el punto de vista político, se configurase una facción – que ha pasado a la Historia con el nombre de ‘ebolista’ – que asumió la espiritualidad recogida de la incipiente Compañía de Jesús y que discrepó abiertamente de la configuración política que el ‘grupo castellano’ quería darle a la Monarquía y que al final consiguió.133 De la misma manera, las infantas María y Juana se criaron, durante su niñez, con su madre en la corriente de la Observancia como correspondía a las princesas castellanas, casadas con los monarcas portugueses, hijas y nieta de Isabel la Católica. A la muerte de la emperatriz Isabel, tal espiritualidad se pudo mantener gracias al séquito de las damas portuguesas (servidoras de la emperatriz) que permanecieron en Castilla, y que pasaron a formar parte de las Casas de dichas infantas. Esto explica que doña Juana, no solo profesara en la Compañía de Jesús,134 sino que además tuviera entre sus predicadores y confidentes a personajes relaciones con esta espiritualidad135 y que, cuando marchó a Lisboa para contraer matrimonio con el príncipe Juan (1552), se llevara entre sus lecturas espirituales: ‘Los cuatro libros del Cartuxano, los Morales de San Gregorio. Flos Sanctorum, Çaragoça, en enversado. Las cinco partes del abecedario. Contentus mundi. Doctrina Cristiana de Constantino. Libros de Buena Doctrina. Fasciculus myrrae’.136 Todas ellas fueron incluidas en el Catálogo de libros prohibidos, realizado por la Inquisición española en 1559. En conclusión, cuando en este año, Felipe II volvió a la península (después de sus guerras contra los franceses en el norte de Europa), para no salir más durante toda su vida, e inició el proceso de confesionalización de su Monarquía, la espiritualidad ‘intelectualista’ aparecía como la vía más adecuada para implantarlo y la facción ‘castellana’ se presentaba como la más apropiada para ejecutarlo. Ciertamente, la muerte de Juan Tavera (1545) y Francisco de los Cobos (1547) ocasionó
132
Martínez Millán y de Carlos Morales, Felipe II (1527-1598) 35-42. Sobre los personajes que componían la facción ebolista y sus relaciones con la Compañía de Jesús, véase mi trabajo ‘Grupos de poder en la corte durante el reinado de Felipe II: la facción ebolista, 15541573’, Instituciones y elites de poder en la Monarquía Hispana durante el siglo XVI (Universidad Autónoma de Madrid 1992) 137-198. 134 R. García-Villoslada, San Ignacio de Loyola. Nueva biografía (Madrid 1986) 758-766. 135 Como por ejemplo el franciscano Diego de Estella (enemigo acérrimo de su hermano de orden fray Bernardo de Fresneda), quien le dedicó a doña Juana su Libro de la vanidad del mundo. La copia de páginas que hace Diego de Estella en su libro Meditaciones del amor de Dios del libro de Juan de Cazalla, Lumbre del Alma, ha sido puesta de manifiesto por J. Martínez Bujanda, ‘Introducción’ a Juan de Cazalla, Lumbre del alma (Madrid 1974) 74 ss. Sobre Diego de Estella, véase el número monográfico que le dedica la revista Archivo Ibero-americano 22 (1924) y J. Martínez Bujanda, Diego de Estella (1524-1578). Estudio de sus obras castellanas (Roma 1970). 136 AGS. E, leg. 96, fol. 18r. 133
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una crisis en la facción, que fue aprovechada por otros grupos políticos (‘ebolista’) para imponer la ideología política y religiosa que venía siendo perseguida; pero fue el último intento, porque la facción ‘castellana’ resurgió transformada en la persona de Diego de Espinosa y sus clientes, quienes llevaron a cabo la confesionalización filipina.137
137 Esto ya lo hemos estudiado, sobre todo, en dos trabajos colectivos: Martínez Millán, La Corte de Felipe II (Madrid 1999). Martínez Millán y Carlos Morales, Felipe II (1527-1598). La configuración de la Monarquía Hispana. (Junta de Castilla y León 1998).
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Part II Integration of the Regions
Giovanni Muto
A Court without a King. Naples as Capital City in the First Half of the 16th Century
What were the predominant characteristics governing the Mediterranean world at the beginning of the 16th century? When, more than half a century ago, Fernand Braudel sought to answer this question in the first part of La Méditerranée, he identified two aspects: on the one hand nature’s effect on ‘a history which is almost immobile, of man in terms ofhis relations with the environment: a history of slowly unfolding and gradual transformations, frequently turning back on itself with cycles starting up over and over again’1 and, on the other hand, the influence of structure on history where men and social groups respond to the rhythm of the economy and the changing balance of power in the social and political fields. The Mediterranean world was conditioned by its natural features: mountains, plateaux, hills, water, drought and the climate, all these appeared to be insurmountable obstacles, for how could man influence the seasons, change daily life or overcome nature’s barriers. Society was determined by these features of feudal society with its methods of production, social hierarchies and rural dominance was a perfect expression of the widespread acceptance of this. Historians have discussed at length the question of whether the towns and cities were non-feudal islands or, on the contrary, were an integral part of the feudal world. In Italian history, certainly that of Northern and Central Italy, a new model of urban organization of the territory emerged in the second half of the 13th century out of the crisis among the rural landlords. The model took form as the affirmation and control of the city over the contado, the small towns, villages and other human settlements scattered throughout the land. The rural areas were appropriated and subordinated to the requirements of the city, whose inhabitants could provide themselves with produce, invest in and purchase land, and benefit from lower taxation and significant privileges before the law.2 In various parts of Europe during the course of the passage to the early modern era, this process was reinforced and it extended to encompass different forms. The increased standard of living in the towns highlighted
1
F. Braudel, La Mediterranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II, 2nd ed. (Paris 1966, it. tr. (Torino 1976) XXXI. 2 G. Chittolini, ‘Signorie rurali e feudi alla fine del medioevo’, in Comuni e signorie: istituzioni, società e lotte per l’egemonia, Storia d’Italia, UTET, vol. IV (Torino 1981) 611.
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the differences between the urban and rural world. Between May 1517 and February 1518, Cardinal Luigi d’Aragona undertook a journey of some 5,400 kilometers through the countries of Europe, and his account gives many descriptions of the growing urban environment. Augsburg was ‘joyful and attractive with some fine squares… its water tank in the shape of a tower cunningly set up so as to produce great jets over the city’.3 Along the Rhine from Mainz to Cologne, ‘on one side and the other, half a mile apart, there are 235 villages and 15 walled towns, some of which are controlled by the Archbishop of Mainz, others by the Archbishops of Cologne, Trier or Count Palatine and, in addition, a great many small castles built on raised spurs and fortified in the German style, the residences of gentry’.4 The account also gives significant and interesting information about Rotterdam, Malines, Brussels and French cities between Paris and Rouen, as well as Italian cities. All the evidence points to an increasing urban hegemony in the country itself. Further confirmation of the ascendancy of the cities comes from a quantitative analysis: Jan de Vries estimates that at the beginning of the 16th century the number of European cities with a population of over 10,000 was at least 154 with 11 in the Netherlands, 12 in Belgium, 23 in Germany, 32 in France, 20 in Spain, 21 in Northern Italy, 9 in Central Italy and 14 in Southern Italy.5 If one considers the total population of cities of over 5,000 inhabitants in Italy this accounted for 21.6% of the European population. This proportion increases to 38.9% if one looks at cities of over 10,000 inhabitants.6 In this urban reality of the early 16th century ‘the Mediterranean cities were subject to certain regular patterns. As elsewhere, they thrived thanks to their control over physical space exercised through road building and suffered from sudden crises and subsequent adjustments, evolving slowly or in sudden spurts’.7 It becomes possible to draw up an approximate typology on the basis of the urban functions they fulfilled: capital cities, regional and provincial capital towns, royal, imperial or enfeoffed cities, bureaucratic centres, agrarian, commercial or industrial towns, and maritime or military citadels. In this context Italy in the first half of the 16th century – which in reality was merely a network of territorial states governed as republics or dukedoms – emerges as a multipolar system. It showed its inability to start a territorial unification process under the leadership of one of the dynasties in power. However, this was not perceived by the ruling class and other social groups as an element that would penalize the national identity or the political autonomy of the peninsula. This is why such a fragmented political system could survive the ancien régime up to the middle of the
3 A. Chastel, Le Cardinal Louis d’Aragon. Un voyageur princier de la Renaissance (Paris 1986; it. tr. Roma/Bari, 2nd. ed.) 29. 4 Ibidem, 32. 5 J. De Vries, European urbanization, 1500-1800 (London 1984; sp. tr. Barcelona 1987) 46. 6 P. Malanima, La fine del primato. Crisi e riconversione nell’Italia del Seicento (Milano 1998) 213, 215. 7 Braudel, La Mediterranée, 329-30.
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19th century. This is highlighted by ‘the fact that the Italian regional states system’ was used by Italian historians as an explanatory category to cover the early modern age, from the end of the 15th century to the disappearance of the ancien régime. Nowadays, of course, the use of this category is common in the historiography and is used even more than that of the term the ‘Modern State’, although Federico Chabod and other Italian scholars were really interested in it. ‘On the contrary, when speaking about regional states, we must initially set aside the question of their ‘modernity’ or ‘delay’, their ‘bourgeois’ or ‘feudal’ character, and we have to investigate the most common aggregative forms of states in Italy during the centuries we are interested in. We must understand how their structures and social balance were positively studied and determ ined’.8 In this system of regional states, the urban dimension strongly characterizes the political identity of the territories. The urban functions are the same, on a small scale, in every regional state: although the most important city certainly plays a central role it does not exclude smaller towns. These important cities asserted their authority on the rural communities that were subject to them. In the Kingdom of Naples, however, the capital did possibly dominate other towns and did not allow them to create a balanced relationship in their territorial context. In the sixteenth century Italy had a greater urban population than all other European countries in the sixteenth century. On average, a traveler would come across a city of 5,000 inhabitants every 60 km and one with more than 10,000 inhabitants every 70 km.9 This urban density was undoubtedly Italy’s most striking feature. However, there were also many settlements scattered throughout Italy and this meant that the population density was considerable. At the start of the 16th century there were 33 inhabitants per km2 in the North and the Centre and 28 km in the Mezzogiorno area including the islands. This compared with an average throughout Europe of 13.4%.10 These people lived on an area made up as follows:11 – – – –
unproductive land marshlands wood, meadow, fallow land cultivated land
13% 13% 48% 26%
Settlements of these proportions could easily reach saturation point in terms of population and resources, and this is what happened at the end of the century, inaugurating a long period of crisis: ‘it got to the point at which, for 10 million inhabitants, at least 6.5 million hectares of cultivated land were needed; thus for the 13-13.5 million 8
E. Fasano Guarini, ed., Potere e società negli stati regionali italiani del ’500 e ’600 (Bologna 1978) 20. Malanima, La fine del primato, 14. 10 Ibidem, 47, 54. 11 Ibidem, 59. This data refers to the end of the 16th century, but the situation must have been comparable early in the century. 9
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at the beginning of the 17th century, at least 8.5 million hectares would have been necessary… It does seem as though the limit of sustainability had already been reached by the end of the 16th century’.12 The situation was made worse by a series of agricultural crises that affected the Mediterranean basin from the 1580s onwards. In the light of this it is not surprising that this period was marked by social conflict both in rural areas and in the cities. In the system of Italian regional states at the start of the 16th century, power was not centralized. A plurality of forms and groups in society were ruled by a variety of leaders. Each power base sought to control resources and the modes of production. In a single territory there could be different and stratified power networks interacting at a variety of levels: these include the sovereign or territorial overlord, local agencies, the urban authorities who controlled the cities and neighbouring contadi, the prerogatives of the feudal nobility and the other privileged classes, the Catholic Church, local churches and monastic orders and, finally, that myriad of particular rights and powers which constituted the essence of the ancien régime. All this could be found in some measure in the Kingdom of Naples, although here the urban authorities had less impact than in Northern Italy, particularly in the rural areas. However, it is true to say that ‘the feudal structure of the Kingdom prevented the flowering of a civic autonomy and one of its most characteristic manifestations: the formation of the contado with its associated political and economic control’.13 The jurisdiction of urban power in the Spanish Mezzogiorno was normally limited to the area within and just outside the walls. Naples was bounded by the area within the five and a half miles of long walls and to the seven suburbs around the capital: S.Maria di Loreto, S.Antonio, S.Maria delle Vergini, S.Maria della Stella, Gesù e Maria, S.Maria del Monte, Chiaia. This area of the city and suburbs passed through an intense urbanization process between 1500 and 1600, so forming the urban ‘district’ of the kingdom. We must, nevertheless, say that many southern towns had extra-urban territories – the ‘casali’, villages maximum 8-10 miles away from the city – which were sometimes very crowded. They did not have an independent administration but were considered part of the city: Napoli had 37 ‘casali’, Capua 44, Caserta 20, Salerno 10, Cosenza 85. There was fierce competition in the cities among the power holders, each of which asserted its own jurisdictional prerogatives, invariably contested by the competitors, leading to infinite legal wrangles. In Naples alone, 16th and 17th century sources speak of 33 royal tribunals, 5 municipal tribunals, 5 ecclesiastical tribunals, 7 jurisdictions over economic entities and 2 tribunals administered by tax collectors.14 In reality this complex network did not merely administer civil and penal justice: the
12 13 14
Ibidem, 59. M. Berengo, ‘Città e ‘contado’ in Italia dal XV al XVIII secolo’, in Storia della città, 36 (1986) 107. E. Bacco, Nuova descrizione del Regno di Napoli diviso in dodici province (Napoli 1639) 66-71.
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term ‘tribunals’ covered various bodies, some specifically political but others concerned with municipal administration, the ‘grandi uffici’ of medieval times, and guild tribunals. There was extensive duplication of responsibilities leading to disputes which, far from ensuring justice for the citizens, in fact guaranteed the parties resorting to lawsuits for their acquired rights. Definitive verdicts were received only after long delays, and even then the verdict all too often remained a dead letter thanks to infinite special pleadings and quibbles.15 When in 1503 the Kingdom of Naples came under the Crown of Castile, it had to relinquish centuries of sovereign autonomy and accept a position of political dependence, no longer as a kingdom but as a viceroyalty. The city lost its status as capital, and found itself stripped of the attributes associated with being a capital city: the permanent presence of its own monarch, with the accompanying court and a retinue of ambassadors. It was also deprived of political decision-making powers. The most important decisions were taken outside the Kingdom and, indeed, during Charles V’ reign, by a court that roamed Europe in his later years, from one battlefield to the next. Even minor decisions were no longer the responsibility of the capital’s traditional seats of power: sometimes they could be taken promptly by the Viceroy acting on behalf of the Sovereign, but at other times it was necessary to wait for a reply from a court residing pro tempore in Germany or Spain. This situation inevitably gave rise to serious problems, not just problems of ordinary administration but also involving people’s sense of historical identity. How could Neapolitans feel a part of a kingdom and a capital without their king and lord in permanent residence? The same loss of sovereignty affected other Italian territories which came under Spanish imperial rule: Sardinia and Sicily had been incorporated into the Crown of Aragon in the previous century, and the Dukedom of Milan would follow on the death of the last Duke, Francesco II Sforza, in 1535. The problem for Naples, as for these other Italian provinces of the Empire, was whether the absence of the sovereign and his court would cause further conflicts, threatening loyalty to and political consensus with the Crown of Castile. What model of territorial government and organization of consensus did the Catholic Kings and Charles V adopt to ensure the obedience of the Kingdom of Naples to the Habsburg monarchy? The problem had already become apparent in the first years of the conquest, and Ferdinand the Catholic was fully aware of what was at stake. He wisely visited the Kingdom of Naples in 1506 in order to participate in the Parlamento generale held in January 1507. Of the 47 petitions presented to the sovereign, the eleventh recorded that since time immemorial ‘this kingdom has been commonly governed by the Kings, Predecessors of Your Majesty, in person’, while now ‘it may happen that, either to visit other kingdoms of yours, or to attend to other necessary business, you will absent yourself from this Kingdom; nonetheless we trust that Your Majesty will 15
For the last aspect see M. Miletti, Tra equità e dottrina. Il Sacro Regio Consiglio e le ’Decisiones’ di V. De Franchis (Napoli 1995) 98.
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deign to take up permanent residence in this Kingdom’.16 This request, renewed in subsequent years, was never granted, and of the monarchs who followed Ferdinand, only Charles V visited the kingdom and its capital in 1535 and 1536. At the end of Ferdinand’s visit, in June 1507, he appointed two reggenti to assist the Viceroy (the Catalan J. Lonch and the Majorcan T. Malferit). They were to advise him and set up a structure that would liaise with the royal court. Historians have traditionally traced the origins of the Collateral Council to this primitive governing caucus. From 1517, a third reggente was nominated to the Council, and it became the highest instance of political government in the Kingdom of Naples.17 During the reign of Charles V, first as King of Castile from 1516 and then as Emperor from 1519, the Council of Naples grew steadily in size, until in 1530 it comprised 14 members.18 In reality there were two different components: on the one hand the two reggenti di cancelleria, the chancery officers who dealt with matters of justice and the petitions and dispatches that were sent from Naples to the imperial court; and on the other the consiglieri di stato, state counselors who participated in the sessions of the Council with purely political responsibilities. Although this distinction was clear, it was not formalised in written form until Carlo visited the Kingdom in 1536. He then issued, on 18th March, the first constituciones y ordenancas for the Collateral Council19. The figure of the Viceroy was defined as ‘lugarteniente general …y cabeza del dicho Consejo Colateral’ and charged with coordinating the work of the Council and ensuring that each member ‘pueda dezir y diga libre y llanamente su opinion evitando toda impertinencia y razonamento superfluo’. The topics and business dealt with in the Council sessions are divided up into negocios de estado y govierno, patrimonio y hacienda, justicia. In relation to the variety of subjects being considered it is specified that ‘hay en el dicho consejo personas que tienen esperiencia de cosas de guerra y otras de letras’ and that each member must intervene ‘segun qualidades’. It is not clear whether this meant excluding the consiglieri di stato from voting on matters of justice and patrimony. It was laid down that the problems under discussion ‘se resuelvan y concluyan con el mayor numero de votos’, i.e. by majority vote. Furthermore, guidelines were given for the procedures of compiling and enforcing the various measures decided by the Council and in particular those which required the specific and exclusive intervention of the reggenti di cancelleria. The document concludes with an important passage which seems to address the problem of the monarch’s absence from the Kingdom: ‘y aunque tenemos enteramente confianza de las personas del dicho consejo … viendo que por la necesidad de los otros muchos reynos
16 This passage is quoted by A. Cernigliaro, Sovranità e feudo nel regno di Napoli. 1505-1557 (Napoli 1983) 41. 17 On the origins of the Collateral Council and relations with the Cancelleria see G. Muto, ‘Tensioni e aspettative nella società napoletana nei primi decenni del Cinquecento’, in Atti del convegno ‘El tratado de Tordesillas y su epoca (Madrid 1995) 1793-1804. 18 R. Pilati, Officia Principis. Politica e amministrazione a Napoli nel Cinquecento (Napoli 1994) 28. 19 For the text of these instructions see Pilati, Officia principis., app. 9, 389-394.
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tierras y vasallos no podemos estar tan continuamente ny tanto tiempo es este Reyno como deseamos havemos ordenado que de qui adelante el dicho consejo colateral sea visitado de tres en tres anos o en mas breve tiempo …’. The sovereign appears to be presenting himself as a king who, although he absents himself, is nonetheless able to ensure good government and safeguard the rights of his subjects. The instrument for the enactment of royal justice is the visita, which had already been institutionalised in Castile. This entails a representative of the sovereign who is endowed with ample powers of jurisdiction to carry out inspections of all the magistracies or the administrative activity of one of these, and take to court any official deemed guilty of criminal offences.20 A concrete sign of the sovereign’s attention to his Neapolitan subjects was the dispatch, within a few months of Charles’ departure, of Don Pedro Pacheco to carry out the first general visita.21 On the whole, the institution of the Collateral Council was the only obvious innovation in the Neapolitan constitutional status quo: all the other organs of government, whether central or peripheral, remained substantially unchanged. Yet within the ministries there were emerging signs of a quite marked social mobility that manifested itself in two ways. On the one hand, the Crown favoured the urban nobility in the capital; this segment of the aristocracy had acquired a more precise cultural identity during Charles’ reign, and emerged as an elite group capable of furthering the policies of the Crown. On the other hand, the Crown uses also not aristocrats in urban and state administrative roles. These people are employed in the financial offices, in the urban justice administration, in the military cariers. From many points of view Neapolitan patricians – a minority (part) of the Neapolitan aristocracy22 – were very similar to their consorts in the Central and North Italy cities. They had a monopoly in civic offices until the 15th century. It was not until the 16th century, however, that they began to share power with popular representatives. Both in Naples and in many other cities of the Spanish Mezzogiorno, this patriciate retained its own character for a long time, a character different from that of the feudal aristocracy.23 In the capital it was divided in five ‘seggi’: Capuana,
20 On the system of visite generali in the Kingdom of Naples see M. Peytavin, La visite comme moyen de gouvernement dans la monarchie espagnole. Le cas des visites générales du royaume de Naples. XVIe-XVIIe siècles, Thèse de doctorat, 2 vols. (Paris 1996). 21 This instrument was also used for the Dukedom of Milan and the Reign of Sicily, but in these territories the first visita generale did not take place until 1559. In the Kingdom of Naples, following Pacheco, there were visits by Gaspar de Quiroga (1559-64), Lope de Guzman (1581-84), Juan Beltran de Guevara (1606-1612), Francisco Antonio de Alarcon (1628-1631), A. Guillen de la Carrera (1634), J. Ponce de Leon (1645-1648), Danese Casati (1679-1684). 22 The number of the patrician families who were members of the Neapolitan ‘seggi’ fluctuated between 132 (in 1569) and 160 (in 1601). G. Muto, ‘Interessi cetuali e rappresentanza politica: i ‘Seggi’ e il patriziato napoletano nella prima metà del Cinquecento’, in Atti del convegno ‘Progetti, politiche di governo e resistenze all’impero nell’età di Carlo V’ (Roma 2001). 23 For the internal distinctions of the southern society see G. Muto, ‘Problemi di stratificazione nobiliare nell’Italia spagnola’, in A. Musi, ed., Dimenticare Croce? (Napoli 1991); M.A. Visceglia, Identità sociali. La nobiltà napoletana nella prima età moderna (Milano 1998).
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Nido, Montagna, Porto, Portanova24. Only patricians who were members of the ‘seggi’ could apply for appointments in municipal offices. Therefore many people were ineligible to hold civic positions, even if they held several titles. Manyt ‘did not enjoy the status of the ‘seggio’, ‘they were not members of the ‘seggi’’. From the middle of the 16th century the Neapolitan ‘seggi’ – as in other Italian cities – did not admit new families to their fraternity, so producing a tight ‘oligarchic band’. During the time of Charles V, the urban patriciate’s political influence remained strong both in the capital government and in the institutions of the central apparatus. For example, the most important dignitary in the biggest institution of the central government, the ‘Consiglio Collaterale’, was the ‘reggenza di cancelleria’. Of the 18 reggenti di cancelleria created between 1507 and 1558, no fewer than eight were from the Kingdom of Naples and, what is more, were of noble birth and ‘doctores en ambos derechos’. All the magistracies of the Kingdom employed a growing number of people who were not of noble birth: the qualification of Doctor in Law opened the door to appointments as officials for the middle classes from trading or liberal arts backgrounds. In the Kingdom of Naples as in France, Spain and Portugal the monarchy pursued a dual policy: ‘on the one hand, precisely because it recognized and regarded as unchangeable the differences in status, it sought to be seen as compensating for such differences. Hence the crucial role of the judges who…. ensured respect for the sovereign’s concern for equity in the concrete exercise of justice and the resolution of controversies. Freed…. from every form of vested interest, the judges had to make constant reference to the sovereign: in material terms, as an organ of power through which, in devolving a share of the wealth produced by society, society itself recognized and approved their function; in abstract terms, because in the sovereign was embodied that category of justice of which the law is simply the positive expression’.25
It must, however, be said that this project manifested itself more as an ideal than as a concrete strategy of government, inasmuch as distortions and brusque innovations all too often belied the underlying intentions, particularly during the Viceroyalty of Don Pedro de Toledo (1532-53). There are further signs of the sovereign’s intention to keep close to the status quo in the treatment of the wider framework of jurisdiction in the Kingdom. Here too Charles trod with caution, endorsing the corpus of norms established by the Aragonese kings. The ‘pragmatic sanctions’ issued in Naples during his reign chiefly concerned the sphere of feudal property (purchases and transfers of feuds, succession
24 The ‘Seggi’ were similar to clubs, where aristocratic families from a particular area of the city met. From the middle of the XVI century, the clubs were exclusive structures that refused to admit even aristocratic newcomers. The seggi were actually the proper structures of the aristocratic sociability, where Neapolitan patricians discussed political questions and private affairs and where they decided what they would have communicate to the king. 25 D. Bigalli, Immagini del principe. Ricerche su politica e umanesimo nel Portogallo e nella Spagna del Cinquecento (Milano 1985) 116.
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of heirs, administration of justice). In practice, during the first half of the 16th century feudal rights became a sort of signoria giurisdizionale but with strictly regulated powers.26 The subject of citizens’ rights was also regulated27, as were the procedures regarding the complex relations of civil law. Finally we must mention the resistance of the Neapolitans – in 1510 and again in 1547 – to the introduction of the Spanish Inquisition into the Kingdom. There were already two inquisitorial activities in operation: the Tribunal of the archidiocesan curia, inaugurated early in the century, and the Inquisition delegated from Rome, which was active from the mid-century onwards.28 In spite of various jurisdictional conflicts between state and church, ‘the Neapolitan Viceroys in the 16th century…. never called into question the inquisitorial monopoly on questions which directly concerned the safeguarding of orthodoxy’.29 In reality, the crucial issue for jurisdictional relations in the Kingdom concerned the overwhelming power being accrued by officers of the law in general and especially the magistrates: in administering the law they flouted the written codes and had recourse to the ambiguous category of aequitas as ‘an integrative criterion for the written lex, but above all in opposition to it… to emphasize their vocation for a superior justice rather than a banal application of the written prescriptions’.30 Throughout the first half of the 16th century, in spite of the policy of containment of the nobles’ prerogatives pursued by Don Pedro de Toledo, there was a striking increase in the forms of political bargaining that evolved between the imperial court and its Neapolitan interlocutors. The occasion with the greatest political and constitutional resonance was the session of the Parlamento generale in the Kingdom. This assembly met once every two years, did not aspire to represent all social classes, nor was it divided as in Sicily into various bracci; it was largely made up of representatives of the Kingdom’s feudal nobility. The parliament of 1507, held in the presence of Ferdinand the Catholic, comprised the heads of the seven grandi uffici of the Kingdom, the mayor and elected representatives of the capital, 49 members of the titled nobility, 52 representatives of the untitled nobility, and 69 mayors and procurators of cities and domanes.31. The assembly was not an arena for the various groups or factions to confront each other with their political strategies, nor for political debate. In a series of sessions, preceded by great pomp and invested with much symbolic significance, the Viceroy convened the participants and read out a message from the sovereign. The entity of the donativo was then discussed and voted upon, and the members of the Deputazione delle grazie were elected. From 1538 onwards,
26
Cernigliaro, Sovranità e feudo, 157-168. On this see Miletti, Tra equità e dottrina, 177-178. 28 See the remarks which are still largely valid by L. Amabile, Il Santo Officio della Inquisizione a Napoli (Città di Castello 1892) 101 ff. 29 G. Romeo, Aspettando il boia. Condannati a morte, confortatori e inquisitori nella Napoli della Controriforma (Firenze 1991) 79. 30 Miletti, Tra equità e diritto, 153. 31 G. D’Agostino, Parlamento e società nel Regno di Napoli. Secoli XV-XVII (Napoli 1979) 150-151. 27
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this commission had 24 members.32 (6 titled barons, 6 private barons and 12 representatives of the capital) and it oversaw the formulation and approval of the grazie: petitions to be addressed to the sovereign. A separate deputation then conveyed the petitions to court and presented them to the sovereign. If they were approved, they became capitoli which were legally binding. Throughout this process, from the first sessions of parliament up to the approval of the petitions by the sovereign, a dual bargaining process took place, involving alliances and clashes between various groups: on the one hand compromises between protagonists and groups within the parliamentary delegation according to who sided with the Viceroy and who was against him, or again between the representatives of the cities, and the capital, and the barons; while on the other hand the Viceroy sought to aggregate support for the wishes of the Crown and above all for the requests for financial aid which was invariably a conspicuous feature of the process. At the same time the political system afforded other examples of political bargaining, such as the ambascerie, deputations to the sovereign which had to be authorised by the Viceroy. These were made up of representatives of the city and the nobility and were charged with informing the sovereign of the state of a problem or contrast which could involve an institution or indeed the Viceroy himself, or other questions concerning the status of the nobility. A third modality for political bargaining was the concession of privilegi, a discreet way of broadening consensus for the institutions or the Viceroy’s rule. This might involve a franchigia fiscale, with the partial or total reduction of the rate of taxation, accorded to the most prominent officials in the civil service such as the army, many of the clergy and the order of deacons, and heads of families numbering 12 or more children. One sphere in which the concession of privileges was rife, was the granting of permits to export goods and foodstuffs, in particular cereals. The patenti per uso e grassa authorised the holder to ‘convey many things for the provision of the city, without requiring surtax from purchasers’.33 The privileges could also concern the production and consumption of essential goods, such as the jus panizandi, the authorisation granted to monasteries to grind wheat and produce bread in their own ovens, rather than in those of the city.34 Moreover, there were privileges of a personal nature related to the concession of Neapolitan citizenship, a much sought after condition because it carried exemption from a wide range of taxes, notably income tax.35 Finally, I wish to discuss one more sphere in which the model of government of a capital city was reinforced during the period of Charles V: the imago urbis. It is
32
Ibidem, 133. G.C. Capaccio, ‘Napoli descritta ne’ principii del secolo XVII’, in Archivio Storico per le Province Napoletane (Napoli 1882) 544. 34 P. Ventura, ‘Il governo spagnolo e la crescita di Napoli tra XVI e XVII secolo’, essay in course of publication; my thanks to the author for making available the manuscript. 35 P. Ventura, ‘Le ambiguità di un privilegio. La cittadinanza napoletana tra Cinque e Seicento’, in Quaderni Storici, 89 (1995) 385-416. 33
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clear that from the early 1530s, with the arrival of Don Pedro del Toledo as Viceroy, the aristocracy of Southern Italy, or rather the leading families that used to spend much of the year in their feuds and castles, were induced to take up residence in Naples.36 This sizeable influx into the capital may not have brought about a genuine urbanist revolution, but it did have repercussions on the urban layout, encroaching on open spaces, gardens and market gardens. Within a few decades, the city – surrounded by walls 5 miles in circumference and protected by 31 towers on land and 5 towers in the sea – had to accommodate many noblemen and their families, most of whom had hitherto lived in the provinces. This influx obviously had a quantitative and qualitative impact on the market, altering both the level of demand and the scale of prices which, in turn, caused new material resources to flow in the direction of the capital and the increase of the manufacture of goods. The result was a drastic increase in the population not because of increased birth-rate but because of the considerable immigration from the country-side around the city. In fact this is the only way to explain the shift from 150.000 residents (without ‘casali’) at the beginning of the 16th century to 212.000 (without ‘casali’) in 1547.37 The most important problem was to find an acceptable balance between the population and urban space: to accommodate this incredible population increase in the municipal district in such a way as to avoid problems of public order. In April 1537 the Viceroy Pedro de Toledo started the construction of new walls to extend them and to protect the coast. He tried to rationalize the road system, to fortify the defences, to build new barracks for the Spanish soldiers, to reclaim some territories outside the walls. The project required the removal of illegal huts and porticos, increased the number of city gates, assigned a new arrangement to the seats of government, and imposed a set of urban rules of conduct, which had long been neglected.38 Citizens also helped to put the capital townplanning into practice. Many extremely prestigious aristocratic families, attracted by the viceroy’s court, renovated old buildings in the lower part of the city or built new works outside urbanized areas (for example on the Pizzofalcone hill).39 These innovations altered the city image completely from the second half of the sixteenth century. Private and diplomatic letters report this change, while literary documents celebrate it emphatically. One of Giovanni Tarcagnota’s works, written in 1566, describes the Neapolitans’ wonder at these transformations: ‘I see from the Incoronata to the mount a new and wide city. Thirty or forty years ago these spaces were just gardens and meadows… Everyone today knows the great change of the city. The viceroy wanted to beautify it. He ordered many streets to be widened and
36
F. Strazzullo, Edilizia e urbanistica a Napoli tra XVI e XVII secolo (Napoli 1970); G. Labrot, Baroni in città. Residenze e comportamenti dell’aristocrazia napoletana, 1530-1734 (Napoli 1979). K.J. Beloch, Bevölkerungsgeschichte Italiens (Berlin-Leipzig 1937-1961, It. tr., Firenze 1994) 114. 38 For a global estimation of the town-planning changes in the first half of the 16th century see F. Strazzullo, Edilizia e urbanistica a Napoli dal ‘500 al ‘700 (Napoli 1968); C. De Seta, Napoli (Roma-Bari 1981). 39 Labrot, Baroni in città. 37
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straightened, a lot of porticos, staircases and even buildings to be demolished. People who visited it in the past could not recognize it now; however, they would consider it for sure more beautiful and tidy’.40
This literary testimony suggests three considerations. The first one is that the author calls this process ‘the great change’. So, he means something that has totally changed the image of the city. The second remark is the quantitative dimension of the change: ‘a new and wide city’. The city was not just transformed. A new quarter of the city was built where thirty or forty years ago there were ‘just gardens and meadows’, namely beyond the city walls. The third consideration consists in the citizens’ wonder. Because of these changes Naples became quite unrecognizable. Even though the city was not yet the capital of an independent state, it found its role again and Charles’s imperial dream fascinated its ruling class. Maybe the highest point of this season was the imperator’s visit to Naples at the end of 1535. During this long period of reconstruction Charles determined his strategies and the city seems to reclaim its role as capital. Poets and men of letters celebrate this extraordinary period in their works, giving an idea of the court image: ‘…In the sight of their sovereign and for such a solemn occasion in a context rich in Aragonese memories, Neapolitan noblemen, feudal aristocrats and the nobles who were members of the ‘seggi’ propose the typical courtly literature again’.41 When in the following year the emperor left Naples, the city wanted to retain the prominent political position that it had acquired in the last months. This is why Viceroy Toledo’s urban renovation appears functional to the Southern ruling class’s strategy. Likewise, the seggi had to be enabled to construct their social identity, with opportunities for visibility in which both the old and the new nobility and even the ‘togati’ could recognize themselves as players in the political arena. Thus it was that Naples took on the mantle of città fedelissima, distinguished by a special relationship with the Crown, as if ensuring a continuity between the Crown of Aragon and the Crown of Castile. This continuity had to be embodied in symbolic spaces of political communication to guarantee loyalty. The court and its relations network could acquit themselves well in this function. Theoretically the king’s absence was an insurmountable obstacle but the Don Pedro de Toledo’s long viceroyalty (1532-1553) could lay the foundations of the vice-regal court as the royal court substitute. In this period there still existed two structures which tended to have the same function: The first one was the ‘casa particular del virrey’, the household formally having a private dimension. This consisted of people who welcomed the viceroy when he arrived from Spain and who made up his household such as maggiordomo, secretary, agenti, copyists, doctors, confessor, waiters, pages, the kitchen staff and all criados and 40 G. Tarcagnota, Del sito et lodi della città di Napoli …(Napoli 1566); in the reprint edited by Strazzullo, 11. 41 T.R. Toscano, Letterati, corti, accademie. La letteratura a Napoli nella prima metà del Cinquecento (Napoli 2000) 250-251.
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familiars. The second one was the corte viceregia. Public functions of the court were carried out by civil servants (maggiordomo, secretary, chief waiter, gentlemen of the camera, master of ceremonies, master of the hall, chief chaplain, riding master, guard captains, musicians, kitchen staff, porters). The functions were often very similar. However, the functions of the viceroy’s household belonged to the private purse. They were carried out by people designated and paid for by him. People who carried out the public offices were normally appointed by the Madrid court and their salaries were charged to the Neapolitan balance.42 We have lots of evidence demonstrating the function of a vice-regal court under Don Pedro de Toledo. We learn that the viceroy himself gave audience ‘very majestically and solemnly’.43 Every other act and manifestation of the court was made in a prince-like way, trying to imitate the imperial one. In this context, the capital rediscovered a role for itself in which the symbolic value of civic and religious rites was heightened. The entry of Charles V in 1535, the arrival of a new Viceroy who would function as the King’s alter ego (and was therefore obliged to swear in the cathedral to respect the constitutions and the laws of the kingdom) commemorative horse parades through the city on solemn occasions, tournaments, the visits of foreign princes, the celebration of royal weddings or the birth of heirs to the throne, masked balls, funerary procession at the passing of sovereigns, all these events were all exploited to the full. These manifestations have many meanings: in fact, they are moments of cohesion when citizens and the political power recognize and legitimate each other; in other ways these acts tended to reaffirm a form of discipline in the Neapolitan society and to renew its loyalty to the Crown of Spain. Such messages are transmitted not only by means of spectators (oral) traditions but also through chronicles and written memoirs and a rich iconography. All seems to take place in a festive atmosphere that constitutes ‘the most suitable scenery to show the political community’s basic values Theoretically love, harmony, liberality, gaiety, trust and freedom, typical of a ‘douce et honnete’ society rather than strength and violence’.44 As time went on, the court of the Viceroy acquired its own reality and visibility: a rigid protocol governed access according to the status and rank of the local aristocracy. Even without the physical presence of the sovereign – after 1536 no other king set foot in Naples – the capital city was gratified by a political status that was duly celebrated in an abundance of literature produced by devoted citizens.
42 G. Muto, ‘Testimonianze sulla società di corte napoletana del secondo Cinquecento’, in E. Sanchez Garcia, A. Cerbo, C. Borrelli, eds., Spagna e Italia attraverso la letteratura del secondo Cinquecento (Napoli 2001) 67-86. 43 The quotation belongs to the ambassador of Mantua in Naples and I quoted it from C. Hernando Sanchez, Castilla y Napoles en el siglo XVI. El virrey Pedro de Toledo. Linaje, estado, cultura (Salamanca 1994) 467. 44 F. Bouza, ‘El rey a escena. Mirada y lectura de la fiesta en la genesis del efimero moderno’, in Espacio, tiempo y forma. Historia moderna, IV, 10 (1997) 40.
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Giorgio Chittolini
Notes sur la politique fiscale de Charles Quint dans le duché de Milan: le ‘nuovo catasto’ et les rapports entre ville et campagne
Le but de cette contribution est de décrire la politique fiscale de Charles Quint dans le duché de Milan, avec attention spéciale aux rapports entre ville et campagne dans leur évolution au cours du XVIe siècle et dans les décennies immédiatement suivantes. La question des rapports entre ville et campagne est d’un intérêt considérable, certes aussi à cause des modifications que les interventions du gouvernement espagnol y ont greffées. Elle l’est d’un point de vue fiscal parce que, pour le dire succinctement, le ‘fisc de l’état’ pesait, par ses impôts directs, de manière prépondérante sur les habitants des campagnes, les ‘comitatini’.1 Elle l’est également d’un point de vue politique, quand on considère que la distribution du poids fiscal entre les différents groupes sociaux, entre centres urbains et territoire, mettait en jeu des équilibres délicats, particulièrement dans l’Italie centrale et septentrionale.2 1
Voyez maintenant, pour le concept de ‘tax state’: W. Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation de l’‘Etat fiscal’ I. Le XVIe siècle’, in R. Bonney, éd., Systèmes économiques et finances publiques (Paris 1996) 257-276; pour la constatation que les impôts pesaient surtout sur les habitants des campagnes, ibidem, 271; pour ce dernier point, d’ailleurs bien connu, voyez aussi pour les Pays Bas habsbourgeois, J. D. Tracy, Holland under Habsburg Rule, 1506-1566. The Formation of a Body Politic (Berkeley 1990) 7990; pour la Castille: J. Gelabert, ‘Castile, 1504-1808’, in R. Bonney, éd., The Rise of the Fiscal State, ca. 1200-1815 (Oxford 1999) 225; pour la France: J. Dewald, L. Vardi, ‘The Peasantries of France, 1400-1789’, in T. Scott, éd., The Peasantries of Europe from the Fourteenth to the Eighteenth Century (London-New York 1998) 21-40, 40; et pour quelques états italiens: F. Bocchi, Uomini e terra nei borghi ferraresi. Un catasto parcellare del 1494 (Ferrara 1976) 17; M. Berengo, Nobili e mercanti nella Lucca del Cinquecento (Torino 1974) 299-301; L. Pezzolo, L’oro dello stato. Società, finanza e fisco nella Repubblica veneta del secondo ‘500 (Venezia 1990) 211-244; G. Chittolini, ‘‘Fiscalité d’Etat’ et prérogatives urbaines dans le Duché de Milan à la fin du Moyen-Âge’, in L’impôt au Moyen-Âge. L’impôt public et le prélèvement seigneurial en France, fin XIIe début XVIe siècles, colloque tenu à Bercy les 14, 15 et 16 juin 2000, sous la direction scientifique de Ph. Contamine, J. Kerhervé, A. Rigaudière (Paris 2002) 146-176; S.R. Epstein, ‘The Peasantries of Italy, 1350-1750’ in Scott, The Peasantries of Europe, 75-108, 76-78 (aussi pour la remarque que les charges fiscales pesaient différemment dans les différentes régions des territoires assujettis aux villes). 2 G. Chittolini, ‘Städte und Regionalstaaten in Mittel- und Oberitalien zwischen spätem Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit’, in Der Staat, Beiheft 8 (Berlin 1988) 179-200; Id., ‘Poteri urbani e poteri feudali-signorili nelle campagne dell’Italia centro-settentrionale fra tardo Medioevo e prima Età moderna’, in Società e storia, XXI (1998) 473-510; M. Aymard, ‘La fragilità di un’economia avanzata: l’Italia e le trasformazioni dell’economia europea’, Ibid, 5-137, 38 ss., 67 ss.; S.R. Epstein, ‘Town and Country: economy and institutions in late medieval Italy’, in The Economic History Review, XLVI, 3 (1993), 453-477; Id., ‘Regional fairs, institutional innovations and economic growth in late medieval Europe’, in The Economic History Review, XLVII, 869-90 (1994) 459-482; P. Jones, The Italian city-state. From commune to
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Les revenus du duché de Milan La toile de fond est celle, bien connue, des exigences financières croissantes de Charles Quint, qui provoquaient dans tous ses territoires une augmentation de la pression fiscale. Cela ne se produisait pas sans provoquer de vives réactions ainsi que des modifications significatives des rapports sociaux et politiques dans les différents pays.3 Venu en possession de Charles Quint en novembre 1535, le duché de Milan fut également confronté à une croissance continue des exigences financières, surtout en relation avec la reprise des opérations militaires en Lombardie quelques mois après, et jusqu’en 1544. Le duché servait d’abord à faire front à la présence française en Piémont, puis, plus généralement, il remplit la fonction de base militaire et stratégique pour l’empereur, entre les principaux acteurs sur l’échiquier européen. ‘Les montants sautent de plus en plus depuis que le Milanais est appelé à faire fonction de rempart de la péninsule, de chemin de rebours des Pays Bas, de base pour le lancement des offensives en direction de Valtellina, de champ de bataille, enfin, sur lequel se décide le duel séculaire entre la France et l’Espagne.’4 Cela va de pair avec l’obsession continuelle du manque de deniers pour payer les troupes, de fréquentes périodes de mutineries et de pillages par les soldats non payés, de dépenses énormes et de demandes imprévues à cause de la nécessité de construire des fortifications nouvelles et de prendre à solde de nouvelles troupes.5 Dans une série de recherches publiées dans les années 1930 à 1950, Frédéric Chabod a établi une chronique détaillée des sommes imposées graduellement par les autorités gouvernementales, de 1535 à 1558 et au-delà.6 En parallèle, une chronique signoria (Oxford 1997), notamment 360-70, 564-573. Pour une confrontation avec un cadre européen, voyez D. Nicholas, The later medieval city, 1300-1500 (London-New York 1997) 72-107; M. Berengo, L’Europa delle città. Il volto della società urbana europea tra Medioevo ed Età moderna (Torino 1999) 111-170. 3 Pour une synthèse récente, voyez H. Soly, éd., Charles V (1500-1558) and his time (Anvers 1999) en particulier la contribution de W. Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’, 227-283; James D. Tracy, ‘Charles V, his Bankers and their Demands’, in J. Denolf – B. Simons, éds. (Re)constructing the Past. Proceedigs of the Colloquium on History and Legitimisation (Bruxelles 2000) 119-143; L’escarcelle de Charles Quint. Monnaies et finances au XVI siecle (Bruxelles 2000). Pour l’Italie, la contribution la plus récente est celle de G. Felloni, ‘Economie, finances et monnaie dans les possessions italiennes de Charles Quint’, in L‘escarcelle de Charles Quint, 235-263. Pour la situation dans d’autres pays assujettis à Charles Quint, voyez les autres contributions dans le présent colloque ainsi que cfr. W. Blockmans, ‘The Low Countries in the Middle Ages’, in Bonney, The Rise of the Fiscal State, 281-308; E. Aerts, ‘Monnaies, crédits et finances dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux (1500-1550)’, in L’escarcelle, 33-81; J.H. Elliott, Imperial Spain (Harmondswort 1970); M.J. Rodríguez Salgado, The changing Face of Empire. Charles V, Philip II and Habsburg Authority (1551-1559) (London 1988) 86 ss; Gelabert, ‘Castile’. 4 D. Sella, ‘Sotto il dominio della Spagna’, in D. Sella, C. Capra, Il Ducato di Milano dal 1535 al 1796 (Torino 1984) [‘Storia d’Italia’, G. Galasso, éd., vol. XI] 1-149, 49, et, plus en général, F. Chabod, ‘L’epoca di Carlo V (1535-1559)’ [éd. originelle in Storia di Milano, Fondazione Treccani degli Alfieri, vol. IX (Milano 1961); republié comme Storia di Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V (Torino 1971) dont je cite] en particulier 356, 348, 406. 5 M. Rizzo, ‘Centro spagnolo e periferia lombarda nell’impero asburgico tra Cinque e Seicento’, in Rivista storica italiana, CIV (1992), 325-329; S. Leydi, Le cavalcate dell’ingegnero. L’opera di Gianmaria Olgiati, ingegnare militare di Carlo V (Ferrara-Modena 1989). 6 F. Chabod, Lo Stato di Milano nell’impero di Carlo V [éd. orig. (Roma 1934); republié in F. Chabod, Lo stato e la vita religiosa a Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V (Torino 1971) 1-226, dont je cite] en particulier 105-139; Id., La storia di Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V, 238-412. D’autres contributions du même auteur
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tout aussi détaillée retraçait les manières par lesquelles on cherchait à affronter ces pressions. Depuis, de nouvelles recherches n’ont pas modifié substantiellement ce tableau d’ensemble. A l’avènement de Charles Quint, en 1535, la somme des revenus ‘ordinaires’, c’est à dire ceux qu’on présumait pouvoir recevoir chaque année, montait, selon un bilan apparemment fiable, à environ un million de lires impériales milanaises, égales à environ 200.000 scudi milanais.7 Selon les principes fondamentaux du système fiscal,8 les villes étaient soumises presque exclusivement à des impôts indirects, dazi et gabelles, touchant indistinctement les habitants, sans corrélation avec leurs revenus. Une partie substantielle des gabelles, à savoir les gabelles sur les produits de consommation, pesait même plus lourdement sur les couches inférieures.9 Les impôts directs étaient levés presque exclusivement sur les habitants des campagnes: le cens sur le sel, la taxe sur les chevaux, le perticato – ‘sur la perche de terre’, le testatico – la contribution personnelle. Cette structure ‘ordinaire’ ne subissait pas de modifications substantielles au cours de près de vingt ans que nous prenons en considération, à part de l’apport important de la taxe du mensuale dont nous aurons à parler. A ces revenus ordinaires, il faut ajouter différents impôts extraordinaires, montant au cours de cette vingtaine d’années à environ 1.150.000 scudi,10 représentant une moyenne annuelle de plus de 50.000 scudi. En outre, on eut un recours massif à des revenus d’autres genres. Dès le début des années 1540, la pratique de la vente des sources de revenus, déjà appliquée dans le passé, prit des proportions nouvelles. Alors que les autres expédients financiers se révélaient toujours moins adéquats pour satisfaire aux besoins croissants, ‘l’aliénation anticipée des revenus devenait systématique dans le sein de la hacienda lombarde’.11 De 1542 à 1555, on vendit des sources fiscales représentants 412.000 lires courantes, égales à 45.600 scudi, pour une somme encaissée de 4.906.000 lires, ou 450.920 scudi.12 Les disponibilités effectives de la camera furent ainsi sensiblement réduites.13 sur Charles Quint et les finances milanaises au XVIe siècle ont été recueillies dans le volume Carlo V e il suo tempo (Torino 1985). 7 Un scudo milanais correspondait approximativement à un ducat ‘castilian’, à 2 florins du Rhin et à 2,1 florins Carolus ayant cours dans les Pays Bas: Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’, 517 n.29. 8 En outre des volumes de Chabod on peut se référer au travail ancien mais scrupuleux de S. Pugliese, Condizioni economiche e finanziarie della Lombardia nella prima metà del secolo XVIII (Torino 1924) 1-50; G. Vigo, Fisco e società nella Lombardia del Cinquecento (Bologna 1979) 26-30; Id., ‘Finanza pubblica e pressione fiscale nello Stato di Milano durante il secolo XVI’, présentation au Convegno di Studi Istituzioni e attività finanziarie milanesi dal XIV al XVIII secolo, éd. prov. (Milano 1977); A. Zappa, ‘Le lotte e i contrasti per la realizzazione dell’estimo generale dello Stato di Milano’, in Lombardia borromaica, Lombardia spagnola, 1554-1659, P. Pissavino – G. Signorotto, éds. (Roma 1995) 383-403, 385; Sella, Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 49-50. 9 Vigo, Fisco e Società, 28, note 76. 10 Cfr. Felloni, Economie, finances et monnaies, 253-255. 11 Chabod, Storia di Milano, 295-98; G. De Luca, ‘Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese: 1. L’alienazione delle entrate’, in Carlo V e l’Italia, M. Fantoni, éd. (Roma 2000) 219-240, 227. 12 Les taux moyens de capitalisation oscillaient entre 5,8 et 12%, avec une moyenne, pour toute la période, de 8,4%: Ibid., 228, 234. 13 Prenant en considération aussi les aliénations opérées sous les Sforza, les revenus vendus correspondaient à 52% des revenus ordinaires et à 21% des revenus totaux: Ibid., 228.
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On eut également recours aux expédients de la frappe monétaire,14 et, dans la mesure du possible, Milan recevait aussi d’immenses ‘aides’ en argent de la part d’autres provinces de la monarchie, surtout de Naples et de Castille.15 On ne put éviter non plus de recourir à d’importants prêts auprès de grands banquiers, aussi bien des prêts spécifiques pour Milan que ceux destinés à Milan comme une partie des sommes requises pour l’ensemble de l’empire habsbourg.16 C’est peut-être en considération de tous ces revenus divers et disparates que l’ambassadeur vénitien estima que les revenus de l’état de Milan en 1553, y compris les 300.000 scudi de la nouvelle taxe mensuelle, pouvaient être calculés à près de 600.000 scudi par an. Ce chiffre fut peut-être un peu trop optimiste, puisque la documentation milanaise et espagnole contemporaine montre des recettes inférieures.17 Les revenus se maintenaient toutefois à un niveau relativement élevé, pris en considération les vicissitudes politiques et militaires, ainsi que la taille modeste du duché de Milan. Le secrétaire vénitien Antonio Mazza parlait d’un ‘petit circuit pour un Pays’.18. En effet, vers le milieu du XVIe siècle, il comprenait un peu plus de 16.000 kilomètres carrés, avec environ 770.000 habitants.19 Dans la même période, le Royaume de Naples (y compris la Sicile mais exceptée la Sardaigne) qui avait une superficie de 100.000 kilomètres carrés environ et une population estimée à 3.200.000 habitants, payait annuellement près de 520.000 ducats d’impôts. Le ‘bilan’ de Venise était nettement supérieur avec plus de 1.590.000 ducats. La République recevait la plus grande partie de cette somme de la ville même de Venise, des revenus des territoires au Levant et surtout des ‘assises’ (dazi) sur le commerce. Les territoires de la Terre Ferme, d’une superficie de 25.000 kilomètres carrés et avec un peu moins de 1.600.000 habitants, livraient des sommes inférieures. Au début du siècle sa part ne dépassait pas un tiers des revenus totaux, et au milieu sa part devait être assez limitée encore.20 14 E. Garcia Guerra, ‘Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese: 2. Le coniazioni monetarie’, in Carlo V e l’Italia, 241-255. 15 Bien qu’on n’ait pas toujours la certitude que les sommes destinées au duché lombard arrivaient effectivement dans la trésorerie milanaise: Chabod, Lo stato di Milano, 134. 16 Pour tout ceci: ibid., 295-8 (ventes ou hypothèques de revenus), 344-56 (transactions financières avec des banquiers, surtout génois et allemands). Voyez aussi, en outre des études classiques de Carande, Ruiz Martin and Artola, Tracy, ‘Charles V, his Bankers and their Demands’ dans ce volume, et G. Muto, ‘Le système espagnol: centre et périphérie’ in Bonney, Systèmes économiques, 225-255. 17 Chabod, Lo stato di Milano, 133, note. Il faut toutefois noter qu’à partir des années 1540, les revenus des assises (dazi) augmentaient sensiblement, grâce à la tendance expansionniste des manufactures et du commerce: De Luca, Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese, 227. 18 G. De Luca, ‘Strutture e dinamiche delle attività finanziarie milanesi tra Cinque e Seicento’, in La Lombardia spagnola. Nuovi indirizzi di ricerca, E. Brambilla – G. Muto, éds. (Milano 1997) 31-76, 51. 19 Ces données, comme celles qui suivent pour Naples et Venise, sont prêtées à Felloni, ‘Economie, finances et monnaies’, 237; en ce qui concerne la superficie et la population des états, l’auteur renvoie à K.J. Beloch, Bevölkerungsgeschichte Italiens, 3 vols. (Berlin-Leipzig 1937-1965) avec l’intégration de quelques données d’études plus récentes. 20 M. Knapton, ‘Tra dominante e dominio (1517-1630)’, in G. Cozzi – M. Knapton – G. Scarabello, éds., La Repubblica di Venezia nell’età moderna. Dal 1517 alla fine della Repubblica (Torino 1992) 221, pour les revenus en 1550; Bilanci generali della Repubblica di Venezia, I (Venezia 1912) [‘Documenti finanziari della repubblica di Venezia’, s. II, vol. I, tome I], introduit et éd. par F. Besta, 171-173; G. Del Torre, Venezia e la Terraferma dopo la guerra di Cambrai. Fiscalità e amministrazione (15151530) (Milano 1986), pour les divers moyens mis en œuvre afin de faire augmenter les revenus, imposant de nouvelles contributions à la Terre Ferme).
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Le système fiscal hérité de Charles Quint De quelle manière les contribuables milanais faisaient-ils front à cette lourde charge fiscale? Cette charge n’était pas du tout légère parce qu’elle comprenait aussi bien les contributions directes levées par l’état que celles des contributions aliénées. Ces dernières étaient recueillies par ceux qui avaient acquis les droits de levée selon des méthodes et par des instruments parfois peu contrôlables.21 En particulier, quelles furent les modifications dans l’ordre fiscal établi par l’état, provoquées par l’introduction de la nouvelle taxe mensuelle qui, comme nous venons de l’indiquer, fit augmenter de 60 à 70% les revenus ordinaires de l’état, et donc, en proportion, les charges pesantes sur les sujets? Le problème trouvait son origine surtout dans l’existence de très lourdes inégalités, qui epargnaient les ressources les plus riches et faisant retomber le poids de ces taxes de manière écrasante sur une partie seulement de la population. D’où la nécessité, directement perçue, non seulement de lancer une politique fiscale différente, mais aussi de recouvrer la taxe nouvellement introduite sur la base de l’établissement d’un nouveau cadastre des ressources des habitants du duché afin de pouvoir répartir le poids plus équitablement que dans le passé. L’ancien système des impôts ordinaires, auquel nous venons de faire référence, fonctionnait dans ses grandes lignes comme suit. Le montant total des contributions était réparti parmi les neuf provinces de l’état ‘à base de critères de plus en plus compliqués, soit par l’accumulation de taxes imposées en des périodes successives, soit par les nombreuses rectifications apportées par les autorités centrales afin d’apaiser le plus possible le mécontentement des sujets.’22 Le caractère approximatif et inductif des critères appliqués dans la distribution du montant total d’une contribution parmi les différentes provinces, menait parfois à de fortes disproportions. Ensuite, on répartit la quote-part fixée pour chaque province entre villes et contado, selon des paramètres dans la détermination desquels les ‘cives’ avaient, ou avaient eu, la possibilité de faire valoir leurs anciennes prérogatives. ‘Le plus odieux de ces privilèges consistait dans le traitement différent des terres possédées par des citadins, inscrites dans les rôles d’impôts comme perticato civile, “perches civiles”, et les terres en possession des habitants du contado, inscrites comme perticato rurale, “perches rurales”.’23 Dans la province de Cremona, par exemple, les citadins possédaient quatre fois autant de terres que les comitatini, mais la ville et le contado payaient la même quote-part des impôts.24 On a estimé que dans les campagnes milanaises, une ‘perche rurale’ fut chargée jusqu’à sept ou huit fois autant qu’une ‘arpente civile’ de la même qualité de terre. On a calculé, qu’une ‘arpente civile’ dans la province de Pavie, fut taxée en moyenne à 1 sou et 7 deniers, contre 9 sous 21
De Luca, Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese, 224-27. Vigo, Fisco e Società, 27. 23 Ibidem. 24 U. Meroni, ‘Cremona fedelissima’, tome II, in Annali della Biblioteca Governativa e Libreria Civica di Cremona, X (1957), 28-29. 22
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et 6 deniers pour une ‘arpente rurale’, soit six fois moins. Dans les autres provinces du duché, les choses ne se passaient pas très différemment.25 Les ‘inégalités’ furent encore accrues par les méthodes assez différentes par lesquelles les villes et les contadi procédaient pour payer les sommes imposées, une fois que la répartition était faite entre ville et campagne. Les villes recueillaient leurs contribution surtout par des impôts indirects, sous forme d’‘assises’ et de gabelles levées sur les marchandises, principalement les biens de grande consommation. ‘La taxation directe avait une fonction subsidiaire; elle pesait sur les revenus fonciers et laissait exempte les marchands, sauf pour les contributions extraordinaires’; on décidait d’imposer une ‘taxe civile’ directe seulement lorsqu’il était necessaire de recouvrir la quote-part non fournie par les revenus des assises ou d’autres ressources. Il n’était pas rare que les gouvernements municipaux obtenaient du gouverneur la permission d’augmenter les assises ou d’engager des emprunts afin d’alléger la ‘taxe civile’, ce qui revenait à un transfert de l’impôt direct à l’indirect. Nobles et marchands intervenaient tout au plus dans les années difficiles en offrant des prêts. Ceci n’eut lieu que lorsque les impôts avaient accru en des proportions tellement énormes qu’il n’était plus possible de presser encore de l’argent des sources traditionnelles.26 Les principaux impôts pesaient toutefois sous une forme directe sur les habitants du contado: – le cens du sel, qui avait remplacé en 1535 la ‘levée forcée’ sur le sel; il comportait le payement d’une somme fixe pour la quantité sur laquelle était taxée la communauté rurale, indépendamment de la consommation effective; – la taxe des chevaux, correspondant théoriquement à l’hébergement auquel étaient tenu les localités rurales bien que son payement n’exclût pas, en cas de nécessité, l’hébergement effectif de gens d’armes; – le soi-disant perticato, comme nous l’avons vu, sur la possession de terres, selon leur valeur; – le testatico, un impôt personnel pesant sur chaque habitant du contado, à payer par le chef de famille pour soi-même et pour les membres de sa famille. Ce ne fut qu’exceptionnellement qu’aucun des ces impôts ne fût levé en une ville; ce fut le cas, pour la taxe des chevaux, pour les villes mineures d’Alessandrie et de Tortona. Le montant total de chaque type de contribution était réparti parmi les différentes communautés de chaque province. Il faut noter que les possessions des citadins échappaient à ces impôts, comme ils étaient inscrits dans ‘l’estimation civile’ et 25
Vigo, Fisco e Società, 27 note 75; aussi Sella Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 50-51; B. Caizzi, ‘La ville et la campagne dans le systeme fiscal de la Lombardie sous la domination espagnole’, in Eventail de l’histoire vivante. Hommage à Lucien Febvre (Paris 1953) vol. 2, 363-369. En 1547, les ‘Présidents’ de Novara soutenaient qu’un citadin de Novara avec un revenu de cent scudi payait autant qu’un citadin milanais avec quatre mille: Archives Générales de Simancas, Estado, l. 1194, c. 64, en date du 9 mars 1547 (je remercie A. Zappa pour cette information). 26 Vigo, Fisco e Società, 28-29.
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non dans ‘l’estimation rurale’ des différentes provinces et communautés, comme nous l’avons déjà indiqué. De plus, les biens ruraux acquis par les citadins n’étaient plus tenus à payer avec les ‘terres rurales’, mais aucune déduction correspondante n’était portée à la quote-part globale des contribuables ruraux’.27 Lorsqu’on considère les privilèges de types divers, par exemple en faveur de certaines familles comme les membres de la vaste parenté des Visconti, en faveur de certains territoires ou de communautés particulières, on se rend compte de graves déséquilibres, d’inégalités (inequalanze) profondes que comportait un tel système, avant tout entre citadins et campagnards.28
La nouvelle taxe du ‘mensuel’ Dans cette situation fut introduit, en 1536, un impôt supplémentaire, présenté initialement comme extraordinaire, appelé le ‘mensuel’ parce qu’il fut perçu chaque mois. Au cours des trois ou quatre premières années, le revenu du mensuel oscillait, soit par son rapport, variant de 12.000 à 20.000 scudi, soit par le nombre des mensualités. Il assurait des revenus annuels variants entre 96.000 et 190.000 scudi. Puis, pendant quelques années les revenus annuels montaient à 144.000 scudi, pour être fixés définitivement à 300.000 par an, divisés en 12 mensualités de 25.000.29 Au début, il fallait collecter les nouvelles contributions par les instruments disponibles, ce qui revenait à des enchérissements nécessaires du système complexe des assises, taxes civiles, prélèvements sur la terre, taxes personnelles, cens et tout ce qui était déjà en vigueur. Chaque ville devait contribuer avec son contado proportionnellement à l’ancienne répartition des impôts.30 Un observateur déçu notait: ‘Extraordinairement: cette expression est utilisée pour consoler le peuple’.31 La manière inattendue et précipitée par laquelle le nouvel impôt fut introduit, la notoriété qu’il avait maintenu un caractère ‘ordinaire’, le trouble causé par sa grave incidence basé sur un mécanisme fiscal déréglé et inéquitable: tout cela provoqua auprès des contribuables un effet de hurlement. Il suscita un flot de protestations et de lamentations dans tous les coins de l’état et souleva l’exigence
27 On continuait à établir ces estimations particulières pour les différentes provinces du duché, même dans les années – qui étaient nombreuses, comme nous le verrons – dans lesquelles on préparait le recensement nouveau: Vigo, Fisco e Società, 36 n. 6. 28 Une analyse célèbre du disfonctionnement du système fiscal milanais avant l’arrivée des Espagnols, toute imprégnée de l’esprit des Lumières et inspirée par les principes de la ‘Nature’ et de la ‘Raison’, peut se lire chez P. Neri, Relazione dello stato in cui si trova l’opera del censimento universale del Ducato di Milano nel mese di maggio dell’anno 1750, récemment republié par F. Saba, éd. (Milano 1985). 29 Chabod, Lo Stato di Milano, 108-111; Vigo, Fisco e Società, 30-31; Sella, Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 49; Felloni, ‘Economie, finances et monnaie’, 249-253. A. Zappa, L’estimo di Carlo V. Il ‘negotio censuario’ nello Stato di Milano (1543-1599) (Milano 2001). 30 Sella, Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 51. 31 Vigo, Fisco e Società nella Lombardia del Cinquecento 31.
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d’un nouveau système de taxation, basé sur des critères plus équitables.32 Du reste, le même problème se posait dans les autres provinces de l’empire de Charles Quint où la nécessité de trouver des instruments plus efficaces mit en marche un travail intense bien que pas toujours bien ordonné, misant sur l’invention de nouvelles méthodes de taxation.33 L’opération fut lancée en 1543. Parmi les diverses mesures prises par le gouverneur de l’état, le marquis del Vasto, il décréta le 7 septembre 1543 ‘la composition d’une estimation générale dans tout l’état de Milan’, ou bien de ‘réformer l’estimation générale dans tout l’état’ afin de pouvoir répartir mieux les charges que Sa Majesté avait en vue d’imposer.34 La décision de réaliser l’estimation générale provenait plutôt de la force des choses qu’il ne fût un projet consciemment conçu.35 Son objectif fut élevé et ambitieux. Le gouverneur Ferrante Gonzaga proclama dans son ordonnance du 1er octobre 1548 qu’il devait mettre en œuvre les principes de justice fiscale que l’ancien système ne réussit pas à réaliser. En vérité, une importante tentative d’innovation, bien que partielle, avait déjà été élaborée au temps de François II, le dernier duc Sforza. Cette tentative comprenait le mesurage précis des terrains et le recensement des contribuables et de leurs familles. La chute de la dynastie entraîna toutefois la disparition rapide de ce projet.36 Au contraire des arrangements antérieurs, on se proposa essentiellement l’objectif d’une ‘péréquation’, qui devait consister en l’augmentation des revenus dérivés de l’impôt direct, toutefois sans alourdir les charges au détriment de ceux qui étaient déjà assujettis à des impositions trop lourdes. On s’appliqua justement à mettre en place une plus grande justice fiscale. On voulut en fait parvenir à déterminer, selon des critères uniformes, le poids fiscal de chaque individu imposable et à assigner directement à chacun sa quote-part respective. On éliminerait ainsi les répartitions initiales entre les provinces et les estimations successives pour répartir la charge entre citadins et campagnards, et entre habitants des différentes communes. Ces estimations avaient toujours été conditionnées par les privilèges de droit ou de fait que les différents corps de contribuables savaient faire valoir. Par contre, on voulut établir un contact direct entre le fisc et le contribuable individuel.37 La conséquence eut été l’élimination du privilège des citadins d’avoir des estimations séparées, et de ne pas contribuer avec les commues dans le territoire dont ils possédaient des biens, en 32
Ibidem, 35-36; Sella, Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 51; Zappa, Le lotte. Un aperçu des différentes initiatives, ou des différentes ‘politiques fiscales’ chez Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’ et dans les chapitres dédiés aux Pays habsbourgeois dans Bonney, The Rise of the Fiscal State. 34 Zappa Il catasto di Carlo V, chap. I. 35 ‘L’estimation générale de l’état de Milan ne trouvait pas son origine dans un dessein souverainement préétabli pour réorganiser le système fiscal, mais elle fut plutôt une décision de circonstance par laquelle le gouvernement espagnol se vit contraint pour apaiser le mécontentement diffus des sujets qui ne supportaient plus la désespérante iniquité’: Zappa, Le lotte e i contrasti, 385. 36 Cfr. E. Besta, ‘I censimenti milanesi di Francesco II Sforza e di Carlo V’, in Atti del congresso internazionale per gli studi sulla popolazione (Roma 1933) vol. I, 576, 580; Meroni, Cremona fedelissima, II, 26 ss. 37 Zappa, Il catasto di Carlo V, chap. I; Vigo, Fisco e Società, 252 ss. 33
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application stricte du principe ‘les biens ont à payer là où ils sont situés’. Il devint en effet rapidement clair que la volonté du souverain fut de séparer l’administration fiscale des villes de celle des contadi, en soutirant ces derniers au contrôle des citadins. En outre, on mis sur pied une vaste opération de mesurage de toutes les terres dans l’état. Elle fut confiée à un personnel de techniciens et de ‘forestiers’, dépendants des ‘Préfets de l’Estimation’, l’administration centrale chargée de la supervision du recensement. On se proposa non seulement de recenser les terrains, mais également d’évaluer et de taxer les maisons, les ateliers, les moulins. On songeait même à taxer aussi les ‘trafics et marchandises’: le soi-disant mercimonio, c’est à dire les capitaux impliqués dans les activités mercantiles et dans la production manufacturière, en d’autres mots l’énorme richesse mobilière qui avait échappé jusqu’alors à tout type de taxation directe. Le projet de Charles Quint visait donc à être une innovation profonde dans le sens de l’introduction d’un impôt ordinaire direct qui pourrait être levé régulièrement.38 Mais c’est justement pour cette raison qu’il provoqua immédiatement une série de réactions. Le principe de la taxation directe du contribuable par l’état, proportionnellement aux biens qu’il possédait, a dû être abandonné presque immédiatement. Cette taxation directe aurait été basée sur une ‘estimation générale’ qui exclurait des ‘quotisations’ par territoires et par corps sociaux.39 Les réactions et les controverses entre le gouvernement et les représentants de l’ensemble des cités de l’état se sont prolongées pendant des décennies. Il en allait de même avec les différends du gouvernement avec certaines villes en particulier et entre ces centres eux-mêmes. Des affrontements interminables et âpres se sont surtout produits entre les divers ‘corps’ du Duché. Pendant toute la période, l’opposition restait constante entre, d’une part, Milan, et d’autre part les autres villes, en particulier la ville la plus riche et la plus peuplée, Crémone. Milan fut résolue de défendre ses privilèges de capitale et les richesses de ses marchants, les autres villes exigeaient un traitement paritaire.40 Une autre opposition constante était celle des villes, parfois toutes unies, parfois ayant des positions diverses, contre les critères les plus innovateurs qu’on voulait introduire pour le mesurage, l’évaluation et la taxation des biens que possédaient les citadins à la campagne. Le front urbain était particulièrement compacte et solidaire au sujet d’une éventuelle égalisation des charges foncières des citadins et des ‘rustiques’.41 38 Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 259-264. En ce qui concerne la tendence à introduire des impôts directs réguliers dans les états italiens, voyez Del Torre, Venezia e la Terraferma dopo la guerra di Cambrai., 59-83; E. Fasano Guarini, ‘Gli stati dell’Italia centro-settentrionale tra Quattro e Cinquecento: continuità e trasformazioni’, in Società e storia, VI (1983) 617-639, 635-36; E. Stumpo, Finanza e stato moderno nel Piemonte del seicento (Roma 1979) 75-78. 39 Zappa, Il catasto di Carlo V, I. 40 Milan pouvait faire valoir les très anciens revenus que fournissaient au trésor les assises et gabelles levées en ville sur les trafics et sur le passage de marchandises. Cfr. Chabod, La storia di Milano, 316, 338, passim; Vigo, Fisco e Società, 41 ss.; Zappa, Il catasto di Carlo V, en particulier I et II. Milan a d’ailleurs profité d’une position particulièrement privilégiée depuis l’époque des Visconti et des Sforza: Chittolini, ‘‘Fiscalité d’état’ et prérogatives urbaines’. 41 Ce point était brûlant non seulement à cause de l’ancienne tradition de privilèges des citadins en cette matière, mais aussi parce que la propriété foncière des bourgeois se trouvait le plus largement diffusée dans les territoires les plus fertiles des différentes provinces, à Milan aussi bien que dans le reste de
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La longue lutte autour du nouvel impôt Ceci n’est pas la place où on retracera le développement de ce dialogue intense, car il a déjà été reconstruit en détail par G. Vigo en ce qui concerne la lutte interne autour du ‘mercimonio’, et par A. Zappa en ce qui concerne le problème du mesurage et de l’évaluation des terrains et de l’immobilier, jusqu’au début du XVIIe siècle. Mais c’est bien le lieu pour s’arrêter en détail sur les résultats de cette longue controverse qui a duré jusqu’à la fin du siècle et qui a eu d’importantes conséquences ultérieurement. Il suffira de dire que pour la taxation des propriétés foncières, toutes les villes et tous les districts ruraux se virent toujours assignés leur quote-part de la charge totale. A partir des années 1570, la subdivision successive parmi les contribuables individuels fut attribuée à de nouvelles magistratures, et graduellement d’autres occurrences provenant des contentieux et de la levée des contributions aussi. Ces magistratures furent composées soit de citadins ou de ruraux, mais elles furent toujours dominées par les propriétaires les plus riches. En ce qui concerne le ‘mercimonio’, finalement les marchands et commerçants furent soumis à l’impôt direct vers 1600. Les corporations respectives furent rendues responsables pour procéder solidairement à la perception. Les intéressés toutefois avaient réussi à réduire substantiellement la taxe par rapport au niveau prévu initialement, de manière à ce qu’elle restât bien inférieure à leurs ressources.42 Les objectifs nouveaux pour les déterminations de valeur furent en fin de compte modifiés sensiblement par rapport à ceux proposés initialement pour l’estimation nouvelle.43 Dans la réalisation du projet, le gouvernement espagnol de Charles Quint, et en particulier celui de Philippe II en plus, ont maintenu au cours des confrontations avec le duché, et surtout avec les villes en particulier, une attitude somme toute compréhensive et conciliante. l’Italie septentrionale et centrale. Cfr G. Cherubini, ‘La proprietà fondiaria nei secoli XV-XVI nella storiografia italiana’, in Società e storia, I (1978), 9-33; F. Cazzola, ‘Il ritorno alla terra’, in Il tramonto del Rinascimento (Milano 1987) 103-168, 110-122; pour la campagne milanaise cfr. G. Coppola, ‘L’agricoltura di alcune pievi della pianura irrigua milanese nei dati catastali della metà del sec. XVI’, in Contributi dell’Istituto di Storia economica e sociale dell’Università Cattolica del S.Cuore, I (Milano 1973) 185-286, 217; pour la campagne crémonaise, Meroni, Cremona fedelissima, 38. Pour confronter la situation d’autres aires européenes cfr. Y. Barel, La ville médiévale. Système social, système urbain (Grenoble 1977), en particulier 304 ss.; R. Kiessling, ‘Herrschaft-Markt-Landesbesitz. Aspekte der Zentralität und der Stadt-Land-Beziehungen spätmittelalterlicher Städte an ostschwäbischen Beispielen’, in E. Meynen, éd., Zentralität als Problem der mittelalterlichen Stadtgeschichtsforschung (Köln 1979) 180-218; K. Schulze, éd, Städtisches Um- und Hinterland in vorindustrieller Zeit (Köln 1985); E. Isenmann Die deutsche Stadt im Spätmittelälter, 1250-1500 (Stuttgart 1988) 236-43; T. Scott, Freiburg and the Breisgau: Town – Country relations in the age of Reformation and the Peasant war (Oxford 1986) 1-11 & Id., The Peasantries of Europe; D. Nicholas, Town and Countryside: social, economic and political tensions in fourteenth-century Flanders (Bruges 1971); Id., The Later Medieval City, 72-107. 42 Sella, Sotto il dominio della Spagna, 51, 56-59; et surtout Zappa, L’estimo di Carlo V, III, V; et aussi, ‘La catastazione del territorio pavese da Carlo V a Maria Teresa’, in Annali di storia pavese, 27 (1999). 43 En outre des jugements négatifs mentionnés antérieurement de Neri, Relazione dello stato in cui si trova l‘opera del censimento; voyez aussi les considérations de Pugliese, Condizioni economiche e finanziarie della Lombardia, et de S. Zaninelli, Il nuovo censo dello Stato di Milano dall’editto del 1718 al 1733 (Milano 1963).
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Dès le début des opérations, on a cherché à maintenir le principe de l’exclusion des aristocraties locales des travaux de réalisation de l’estimation. Par exemple, les préfets ou les commissaires du recensement ne provenaient pas de l’oligarchie de la ville dominante – malgré les revendications milanaises – ni des autres villes; ils furent recrutés en dehors du territoire du duché. ‘Indubitablement, on avait l’intention de créer un organisme ‘au-dessus des partis’ qui puisse rebuter les abus de pouvoir des puissants et assurer un traitement égal aussi à celui qui disposait de moyens limités et de peu de relations politiques.’ 44 Mais cette intention fut frustrée par les fonctionnaires nommés pour l’estimation. Malgré les pleins pouvoirs que le gouverneur leur avait conférés en théorie, ils n’avaient concrètement ‘aucune autonomie ni autorité relatives aux choix et résultats de l’entreprise, de sorte qu’ils durent négocier sur n’importe quelle initiative, même sur le plus insignifiant détail technique. Il ne s’agissait pas tellement d’incapacité ou d’une docilité excessive de leur part, mais d’obstination des opposants qui fit tellement monter le ton des confrontations que la seule issue pour débloquer les différentes situations semblait être de réconcilier, de contraindre, de conclure des accords, de chercher des solutions de compromis individualisées, incohérentes et peu aptes à résoudre les problèmes.’ La clé de toutes ces longues tractations fut en effet la prudence ou l’incapacité des souverains, Charles Quint dans la dernière décennie de son règne, et puis, dans une situation modifiée, Philippe II, de faire front, surtout au patriciat milanais chaque fois ‘que Milan levait sa voix et que des personnages haut placés s’appliquaient à marquer leur désaccord ou demander la révocation d’ordonnances qui leur étaient désagréables.’45 Ce déroulement n’est pas exceptionnel, car il se place dans une ensemble de tentatives de Charles et de Philippe de tirer des différentes provinces de leur empire un meilleur rendement fiscal. Non seulement n’atteignirent-elles pas les résultats espérés, mais il s’avéra surtout très difficile à transformer la grande diversité des situations et des circonstances en des systèmes de prélèvement réguliers et permanents. De tels systèmes se heurtaient à l’opposition de riches marchands, contrariant la taxation des trafics, aussi bien que celle de la noblesse, défendant ses propres privilèges, surtout fonciers.46 Dans la pratique, pour éluder l’opposition contre un impôt généralisé et régulier, les souverains eurent recours dans les régions les plus urbanisées à la multiplication des ‘aides et subsides’, même si cela leur coûtait des tractations épuisantes avec chaque province séparément, dans les assemblées d’états ou de villes.47 De plus 44
Zappa, Le lotte, 401. Ibidem. 46 Pour la Castille, voyez Gelabert, ‘Castile 1504-1808’, 205 suiv.; pour les Pays-Bas habsbourgeois: cfr. H. De Schepper, ‘The Burgundian-Habsburg Netherlands’, in Th. A. Brady jr. – H. A. Oberman – J. D. Tracy, éds., Handbook of European History, 1400-1600. Late Middle Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, I, Structures and Assertions (Leiden-New York-Köln 1994) 499-534, 511-512. 47 Blockmans, ‘The Low Countries in the Middle Ages’, in Bonney, The Rise of the Fiscal State, 280308, 288: ‘The initial aim of achieving greater effectiveness by asking for aids from all territories at the same time proved unrealistic: negotiations continued to be conducted on a province-by-province basis. After 1532, indeed, the proposed granting of aids were rarely suggested to the States General, and attempts at unification were largely abandoned. The pressing of fiscal needs of the government forced it 45
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en plus souvent, il fallait recourir à d’onéreux emprunts basés sur des rentes et juros alimentés par le marché extensif du crédit contrôlé d’abord par les banquiers de l’Italie méridionale, puis, après les ‘banqueroutes’ de Philippe II en 1557 et d’Henri II en 1558, par les banquiers génois – d’ailleurs non sans une participation de capitaux milanais.48 Les souverains n’hésitaient pas à recourir à tous les expédients pour encaisser de l’argent: aliénations de biens patrimoniaux, de juridictions, de revenus, vente d’offices et de charges publiques, dont on augmentait artificiellement le nombre et le prix, etc.49 L’état de Milan ne faisait pas exception, bien au contraire, on y appliquait presque tous ces remèdes. En Lombardie, les rapports avec la Couronne espagnole ne se sont toutefois pas aussi grièvement détériorés qu’en d’autres pays, ni n’arrivait-on à des révoltes ou des insurrections, comme ailleurs.50 Pendant que se déroulaient les luttes autour de l’estimation, les Milanais payaient les contributions qu’on a vues. Elles n’étaient pas du tout négligeables en comparaison avec ce que payaient les autres sujets de Charles Quint, bien que les Milanais fussent encore favorisés relativement. Ces impôts augmentaient dans les années centrales et à nouveau dans les dernières décennies du siècle, comme il se produisit dans les autres pays d’Europe dans cette période.51 L’introduction du mensuel avait comme effet que les revenus passaient de 200.000 scudi en 1535 a une moyenne d’environ 350.000 scudi pendant les cinq premières années du gouvernement espagnol 1536-40, et à une moyenne de 450.000 à 500.000 scudi environ, ou même plus, pendant les dernières années du règne de Charles Quint, de 1550 à 1554.52 Même si les chiffres de to yield to sectional demands from the various territories and from interest groups within the provinces’ (cfr. aussi 308-309). Sur la diversité des systèmes fiscaux dans les régions urbanisées et les zones à prédominance agraire, voyez Ch. Tilly, Coercion, Capital and European States, A.D. 990-1990 (Oxford 1990) 6-28, 74-90. 48 H. Van der Wee, ‘Monetary, Credit and Banking Systems’, in E.E. Rich – Ch. Wilson, éds., Cambridge Economic History of Europe, V (Cambridge 1977) 299-393, 375-376; J.D. Tracy, A Financial Revolution in the Habsburg Netherlands: Renten and Renteniers in the County of Holland, (BerkeleyLos Angeles 1985); A.J. Munro, ‘Patterns of Trade, Money and Credit’, in Brady jr. – Oberman – Tracy, éds., Handbook of European History, I, 147-196, 173-175. Sur la participation d’opérateurs milanais, cfr. G. De Luca, ‘Strutture e dinamiche delle attività finanziarie milanesi tra Cinque e Seicento’, in La Lombardia spagnola. Nuovi indirizzi di ricerca, E. Brambilla – G. Muto, éds. (Milano 1997) 31-76, en particulier 70-72 (avec réf. bibl.). Cette participation avait l’effet, observé par le gouverneur Ferrante Gonzaga, de lier des représentants significatifs de la citoyenneté milanaise au sort du gouvernement espagnol, augmentant ainsi de fait l’adhésion au nouveau régime. 49 De Schepper, ‘The Burgundian-Habsburg Netherlands’, 521; J. Gelabert, ‘La charge fiscale’, in Bonney, Systèmes économiques, 549-587, 575; Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 260-270; Muto, ‘Le système espagnol’, 240; ainsi que Aerts, ‘Monnaies, crédits et finances’, 70-73; B. Yun Casalilla, ‘Stéréotypes et réalités. Les royaumes ibériques sous l’Empire de Charles Quint’, in L’escarcelle de Charles Quint, 300-309; Rodríguez Salgado, The Changing Face of Empire, 86 ss. 50 Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’, 258-274; Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 273-276; De Schepper, ‘The Burgundian-Habsburg Netherlands’. 51 Blockmans, ‘The Emperor‘s Subjects’, 247-49; Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 270-273. Il faut toutefois appliquer une déflation sur les chiffres, vu la perte de valeur de l’argent: Gelabert, ‘Castile 1504-1808’, 206. 52 Felloni, ‘Economie, finances et monnaies’, 253; A. Cova, Il Banco di S. Ambrogio nell’economia milanese dei secoli XVII e XVIII (Milano 1972) 151. Cfr. F.Chabod, Lo stato di Milano, 316 ss., pour le jeu des ventes et hypothèques sur les revenus futurs, qui réduisit drastiquement les disponibilités effectives.
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800.000 à un million scudi pour les années 1580 et ’90 sont à corriger, en tenant compte de la dépréciation de la monnaie, ils témoignent certainement d’une reprise générale de l’économie.53 Pendant des décennies, les élites politiques des villes ont accepté cette situation dans laquelle le duché était obligé à payer des sommes immenses selon des critères fiscaux inégaux et mal proportionnés, mais qui assuraient à cette même aristocratie la participation au gouvernement de l’état.54 Enfin, l’aristocratie savait arriver à une solution de compromis que le gouvernement espagnol a dû accepter. Les cités lombardes montraient ainsi leurs capacités de négociation, dérivées de la force d’une tradition ancienne; elles permettaient de décharger une grande partie des charges fiscales sur le contado. Leur succès final dépendait également de l’attitude espagnole au cours de la longue période de tractations exténuantes, attitude caractérisée par la volonté de négocier, de patienter, de retarder. La position stratégique particulière de Milan, nœud central des territoires de l’empereur, à mi-chemin entre l’Espagne, l’Allemagne et les Pays-Bas,55 et longtemps directement impliquée dans les actes de guerre, aide à comprendre le traitement indulgent que lui réservait Madrid. C’était l’orgueilleux sentiment de possession de Charles Quint qui faisait qu’il avait conquis Milan et l’avait ajouté au patrimoine de ses aïeux.56 Certes, en termes financiers, la possession de Milan devenait cher pour l’empereur, beaucoup plus d’argent que le duché ne payât lui-même. Ce poids retombait en particulier sur la Castille57: à maintes reprises on se référait à Milan au Consejo de Hacienda, et surtout de la part du cardinal de Tolède, comme la cause de tous les maux, la source du gaspillage d’argent; les lamentations des Castillans n’en finissaient pas.58 Toutefois, il était impensable de renoncer à Milan; elle fut donc 53
Sur les finances de l’état dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle, voyez Cova, Il Banco di S. Ambrogio, 11-23, pour les chiffres indiqués: 19-20; sur la conjoncture économique des décennies centrales et finales du XVIe s., G. Aleati – C. Cipolla, ‘Aspetti e problemi dell’economia milanese nei secoli XVI e XVII’, in Storia di Milano, Fondazione Treccani degli Alfieri, XI (Milano 1959) 377 ss.; De Luca, Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese. 54 Ibidem, 228 ss, et passim. 55 Sur la présence massive et continuelle de troupes habsbourgeoises, en transit vers les principaux théâtres de guerre, voyez cfr. M. Rizzo, ‘Centro spagnolo e periferia lombarda nell’impero asburgico tra Cinque e Seicento’, in Rivista storica italiana, CIV (1992) 325-329; L. Ribot Garcia, ‘Milano, piazza d’armi della monarchia spagnola’, in ‘Millain the Great’. Milano nelle brume del Seicento (Milano 1989) 349-350. 56 Chabod, Storia di Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V, 401-402, 411; Id., ¿Milan o los Paises Bajos? Las discusiones en Espana sobre la ‘alternativa’ de 1554’, in Carlos V (1550-1558), Homenaje de la Universidad de Granada (Granada 1958). Les propositions réitérées en 1540 et en février 1545 par Charles de donner Milan en dot à une fille de Ferdinand si elle épousait un fils cadet de François Ier, ne furent jamais réalisées: G. Parker, ‘The political world of Charles V’, in Soly, Charles V, 181. 57 Selon les calculs de Carande, de 1523 à 1556, l’Italie coûtait à la Castille près de 1.755.000 ducats et 5.158.000 scudi pour prêts banquiers; environ 4 millions de ducats et 438.000 scudi d’or au soleil pour transferts d’or et d’argent: Chabod, Storia di Milano, 407, avec référence à Carande, ‘Aportaciones de Espana a la economia italiana hasta 1556’, in Id., En el Mediterraneo durante el siglo XVI (Madrid 1957) 87, 112, et passim. Cfr. aussi Muto, ‘Le système espagnol’. 58 Chabod, Storia di Milano, 402, 411: Les Castillans exigeaient aussi une plus grande influence dans l’administration interne de l’état milanais, et un contrôle plus vigilant, à effectuer par des espagnols, les
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aidée largement de l’extérieur si ses propres ressources prouvaient être inadéquates. On ne voulait pas susciter des sentiments trop hostiles parmi les sujets lombards qui se trouvaient déjà sous la ‘discipline’ de la présence constante de troupes impériales et espagnoles. En fait, ni à l’époque de Charles Quint, ni à celle de Philippe II, d’ailleurs caractérisée par une forte reprise économique,59 la Castille ne connut de révolte fiscale, ni des situations dans lesquelles l’hégémonie espagnole fût mise en doute;60 tout cela à la différence de ce qui se passait dans divers territoires espagnols, et en Italie au cours des années 1530 et à la fin du siècle.61
Quelques conséquences fiscales et politiques Tout ceci ne signifie pas que l’opération lancée par Charles Quint restât entièrement sans effets, malgré la prudence et les retards avec lesquels elle fût menée. L’ancien cadastre avait été compilé en 1531, la ‘description du perticato’, sur la base de déclarations des propriétaires sur le nombre de perches dans leur propriété et mises en culture, auxquelles s’ajoutaient des informations des consuls et des personnes âgées de la communauté. Le nouveau mesurage des terres faisait considérablement augmenter la superficie des terrains imposables, de 8 à 16 millions de perches.62 Il contribuait ainsi à une meilleure évaluation beaucoup de leur capacité de production et permettait ‘une distribution des charges parmi les biens fonciers en proportion à la capacité productive des différentes provinces; en tout cas, elle ne fut plus calculée sur une estimation hypothétique de leur richesse mais sur des données sûres pour la majeure
seuls et vrais fidèles vassaux de Sa Majesté. Les Italiens s’occupaient seulement de leurs propres affaires, et dans les choses financières, ‘la plus grande partie d’eux sont des escrocs’ 59 De Luca, Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese, 227 e passim. 60 Paradoxalement, quelques villes lombardes comme Crémone, Lodi et Crema avaient considéré Venise comme une ville ‘patronne’ plus douce et condescendante que ne furent les Sforza au XVe siècle, pendant le seconde moitié du XVIe Padoue pensait à se soustraire à l’hégémonie de Venise pour s’offrir à l’Espagne: cfr. M. Berengo, ‘Padova e Venezia alla vigilia di Lepanto’, in Tra latino e volgare. Per Carlo Dionisotti I (Padova 1974) 27-65. Cela fut une impulsion née de l’esprit d’autonomie des patriciens padouans dans leurs confrontations avec la Sérénissime, plutôt qu’une intolérance généralisée provoquée par la pression fiscale. En effet, le climat des rapports de Milan avec les souverains Habsbourg était certainement favorisé par une profonde compréhension pour eux au sein des élites dirigentes milanaises, hégémonisées par le patriciat. Ces élites différaient considérablement de celles qu’avaient à affronter Charles Quint et Philippe II dans les Pays-Bas, par exemple. 61 Soly, Charles V and his time, 18-19; Blockmans, ‘The Emperor’s Subjects’. On peut noter toutefois que les révoltes sont plus nombreuses pendant les premières années du règne de Charles, en combinaison avec une conjoncture économique moins favorable et en relation avec les effets plus âpres de la politique du nouveau souverain, dans les Pays-Bas aussi bien que dans la péninsule ibérique. Pour le reste, le mouvement anti-habsbourg se manifestait également à Milan en 1526, quand la ville était encore sous la domination des Sforza: cfr. G. Franceschini, ‘Le dominazioni francesi e le restaurazioni sforzesche’, in Storia di Milano VIII (Milano 1957), 325. Plus en generale sur le sense et la chronologie des révoltes antifiscales au XVe siècle: cfr. Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 270-276. 62 Zappa, Le lotte, qui renvoit, vue la date du 1531, à M. Formentini, Il ducato di Milano 41 (Milano 1877) doc. 41, 691; pour le recensement de Charles Quint, le Sommario del perticato generale dello Stato di Milano, d’après une impression datant du début du XVIIe siècle.
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partie, déduites du recensement complet.’ Puis, on ne négligera pas le fait que ‘les effets mobiliers, marchandises et trafics, qui restaient traditionnellement tout à fait exempts, furent soumis à l’impôt direct’,63 même si la mesure restait quelque peu limitée. Ceci fut la conséquence d’une transformation importante, bien que partielle et obtenue avec grande peine et lenteur; conséquence d’une ‘reconsidération et modification des équilibres politiques sur lesquels reposait ce système’, et cela par ‘la mise en discussion de toute la série d’exemptions et de privilèges fiscaux’, caractéristiques pour la Lombardie du début du XVIe siècle. On mit en marche ‘un vaste et radical processus de transformation des rapports de force à l’intérieur de la société, d’une part entre Milan et les villes subalternes, et d’autre part entre les élites urbaines et les campagnes.’64 Ce dernier point me semble en effet de grande importance, le commencement d’un processus de réarrangement de l’équilibre séculaire entre villes et campagnes caractéristique pour la Lombardie et une grande partie de l’Italie septentrionale et centrale. En ces régions, ce rapport fut primordial et fondamental, aussi à cause de l’absence d’un troisième interlocuteur du dialogue qu’était en d’autres pays européens le seigneur ou suzerain qui revendiquait à son tour des droits d’imposition non légers.65 Le commencement d’un processus important donc, même si la route fût longue et tout autre que légère à parcourir. Ce fut précisément au cours des opérations pour le nouveau recensement que les communautés rurales comprises dans les diverses provinces de l’état se sont organisées dans leurs propres ‘corps territoriaux’, capables de faire front aux prétentions des centres urbains. Ces derniers avaient en effet constitué un organe représentatif à eux, par peur que leurs privilèges risquaient d’être lésés. Cette ‘Congrégation de l’Etat’ réunissait les ‘orateurs’ des diverse villes de l’état. D’autre part, les communautés rurales des différentes provinces, fortes de l’appui des autorités espagnoles, surent créer en peu de temps, dans les années 1560 et 1570, des organes représentatifs des communautés au niveau de la province, correspondant à l’ancien ‘contado’ de chaque ville, appelé ‘Corps du Contado’.66 Grâce à leurs ‘Contadi’, les habitants des 63
Zappa, Le lotte, 402-3, avec référence au tableau de l’estimation de l’immobilier publié en 1599 et imprimé par Neri, Relazione generale, 18-19. Voyez aussi les données publiées par Vigo, Fisco e Società, 265-6 et l’appréciation qu’il exprime de l’opération du recensement, même s’il fût limité et incomplet. Zappa parle d’une ‘victoire des promoteurs du réarrangement des contributions’. 64 Zappa, Le lotte, 402-3, 388. 65 G. Chittolini, ‘Feudalherren und landliche Gesellschaften in Nord- und Mittelitalien’, in A. M∏czak éd., Klientelsysteme im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit (München 1988) 143-259; Id., ‘Poteri urbani e poteri feudali-signorili nelle campagne dell’Italia centro-settentrionale fra tardo Medioevo e prima Età moderna’, in Società e storia, XXI (1998) 473-510, 496-501; Schulze, ‘Emergence et consolidation’, 271. Voyez aussi les actes du colloque L’impôt au Moyen-Age (cfr. note 1 supra). 66 Pour une vue d’ensemble sur les ‘Contadi’ lombards, voyez le numéro spécial de Studi bresciani, n.s., IV (1983) 33-147, et en particulier B. Molteni, ‘I Contadi nello stato di Milano fra XVI e XVII secolo: note sulla formazione delle ‘amministrazioni provinciali’ in età spagnola’, 115-135 (et aussi, I ‘Contadi’ dello Stato di Milano, 1580-1620. Alle origini delle ‘Amministrazioni’ provinciali, ‘tesi di laurea’, Università di Milano (1981-82) 50-60); G. Chittolini, Poteri urbani e poteri feudali-signorili
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campagnes se montraient dorénavant très actifs, prêts à d’âpres affrontements et à des controverses interminables. Lentement, surtout vers la fin du XVIe siècle et pendant la seconde décennie du XVIIe, ils réalisaient toutefois d’importants objectifs. Ils obtinrent le pouvoir d’intervenir dans la répartition des contributions entre villes et campagnes, réalisant ainsi une réduction progressive et sensible de la quote-part des territoires ruraux. Ils acquirent des compétences précises dans la levée de ces impôts, par le moyen de ‘sindaci’, ‘ministri’ et ‘massari’ élus par leurs propres conseils. Ils s’approprièrent donc différentes prérogatives fonctionnelles liées à la gestion du système fiscal, qui avaient auparavant appartenu au monopole des élites urbaines. En plus, ils mirent un frein au phénomène de l’octroi des droits de la bourgeoisie à des campagnards. Dans le passé, cette bourgeoisie foraine avait donné lieu à maints abus. Maintenant, ils obtinrent une réglementation plus rigide et une réduction des exemptions fiscales des cives forenses. Avant tout, ils réussirent à mettre en pratique le principe que les biens passés de propriété rurale en propriété urbaine, resteraient soumis aux mêmes conditions fiscales que les propriétés rurales et que les bourgeois payeraient dorénavant les mêmes impôts que ceux qui pesaient sur ces terrains auparavant. On étendait également aux bourgeois au moins une partie des charges pesantes sur les propriétés rurales, en particulier les charges relatives aux logements de troupes. Max Weber avait déjà observé que l’allégement des prérogatives urbaines sur leur territoire est une tendance commune à divers pays européens au début de la période moderne.67 Pourtant, dans le duché de Milan ainsi que dans les provinces limitrophes dans la vallée du Pô, appartenantes à la République de Venise, ce processus eut des effets plus incisifs et une plus grande signification, étant donné l’ampleur des privilèges dont les villes avaient joui auparavant. Il n’est peut-être pas hasardeux de mettre cette évolution du système fiscal en relation avec certaines transformations profondes dans l’économie lombarde et vénitienne dans ces mêmes décennies. La
nelle campagne dell’Italia centro-settentrionale, 501-510; Id., Città, comunità e feudi negli stati dell‘Italia centrosettentrionale (XIV-XVI secolo) (Milano 1996) 211-226. Voyez aussi C. Porqueddu, ‘Le origini delle ‘istituzioni provinciali’ nel Principato di Pavia’, in Annali di storia pavese, 2-3 (1980) 9-35; Vigo, Fisco e Società, 155-190. Un processus analogue, la création d’organes fédératifs groupant toutes ou presque toutes les communes rurales d’une province dans le but de freiner le pouvoir des villes, les soi-disant ‘Territoires’, se produisait dans l’autre état hautement urbanisé de l’Italie septentrionale et centrale, la Terre Ferme de la République de Venise. Là aussi, la puissance des centres urbains avait jusqu’alors prohibé toute forme d’organisation des communautés rurales et avait maintenu de solides privilèges fiscaux dans les campagnes: Cfr. M. Knapton, Il fisco nello stato veneziano di Terraferma, 26-27; Id., ‘Il Territorio vicentino nello stato veneto del ‘500 e primo ‘600; nuovi equilibri politici e fiscali’, in Dentro lo ‘Stado italico’. Venezia e la Terraferma fra Quattro e Cinquecento, G. Cracco – M. Knapton (Trento 1984) 33-115; Id., ‘Tra Dominante e Dominio (1517-1630)’, in Cozzi – Knapton – Scarabello, La Repubblica di Venezia nell’età moderna, 203-549, 484-524; S. Zamperetti, ‘I ‘sinedri dolosi’. La formazione e lo sviluppo dei corpi territoriali nello Stato regionale veneto tra ‘500 e ‘600’, in Rivista storica italiana, XCIC (1987) 269-320; Pezzolo, L’oro dello Stato, 220-236. 67 Une vue d’ensemble sur la ‘perte des contadi’ de la part des villes en Europe, est offerte par Berengo, L’Europa delle città, 131 ss.
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promotion des activités manufacturières et mercantiles, plus intenses et plus répandues maintenant que dans le passé, laissait voir, dans la société rurale, des hommes nouveaux comme des marchands, des fermiers, des propriétaires, des notaires. Tout cela suggère l’impression, dans le contexte déjà très différent de l’économie plus avancée que celle d’autres campagnes européennes, d’une vitalité ne pas encore suffoquée par la crise du XVIIe siècle, ni par la ‘perte de la primauté’.68
68
D. Sella, Crisis and Continuity. The Economy of Spanish Lombardy in the Sevententh Century (Cambridge (Mass.)-London 1979); A. De Maddalena, Dalla città al borgo: avvio di una metamorfosi economica e sociale nella Lombardia spagnola (Milano 1982); G. Vigo, Uno stato nell’impero. La difficile transizione al moderno nella Milano di età spagnola (Milano 1994); V. Beonio Brocchieri, ‘Piazza universale di tutte le professioni del mondo’. Famiglie e mestieri nel Ducato di Milano in età spagnola (Milano 2000). Pour une vue d’ensemble de l’économie italienne du XVIIe siècle: cfr. P. Malanima, La fine del primato. Crisi e riconversione nell’Italia del Seicento (Milano 1998).
Je remercie Letizia Arcangeli, Giuseppe De Luca et Anita Zappa d’avoir eu la gentillesse de lire ce manuscrit et pour leurs commentaires et suggestions.
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Arturo Pacini
Genoa and Charles V
An Example of Historiographical Dissociation This paper1 on the relations between Genoa and Charles V, or, better, between Genoa and the Spanish Hapsburg imperial system, has two aims: to furnish new data on the development of those relations and to propose a interpretative framework, which will, we hope, prove useful in approaching Italy’s controversial vicissitudes in the crucial phase of its insertion into the Spanish monarchy’s area of influence. This is not the place to reconstruct in detail the path of the interpretation of Italian history in the age of Charles V, and even less of what is often called ‘Spanish Italy’ in general. It will be enough to give an outline of it, pointing out continuities and breaks.2 With a happy expression, P. Fernández Albaladejo has spoken of ‘demonios domesticos’ [household devils] of the various historiographies, engaged in searching for the characteristics of their respective national cultural and political identities, or rather in inventing those identities.3 For Italy, from the 19th century on, the ‘demonio doméstico’ has been incarnated in the question of national unity and building a unified state, 1
In this paper we take up again and amplify some aspects of a previous paper entitled ‘I mercantibanchieri genovesi tra la repubblica di San Giorgio e il sistema imperiale ispano-asburgico’, in F. Cantù, M.A. Visceglia, eds., L’Italia di Carlo V. Guerra, religione e politica nel primo Cinquecento (Rome 2003) 581-595. 2 See D. Ligresti, ‘L’antimito della dominazione spagnola nella storiografia italiana dell’Ottocento’, in J. Martínez Millán, C. Reyero, eds., El siglo de Carlos V y Felipe II. La construcción de los mitos en el siglo XIX (Madrid 2000) I, 437-457, G. Signorotto, ‘Aperture e pregiudizi nella storiografia italiana del XIX secolo. Interpretazioni della Lombardia ‘spagnola’’, ibidem, II, 365-382, and G. Galasso, ‘La storiografia italiana e Carlo V da G. De Leva a F. Chabod’, in Carlos V. Europeísmo y Universalidad. Actas del Congreso Internacional celebrado en Granada (Madrid 2001) I, 145-157, A. Musi, ed., Alle origini di una nazione. Antispagnolismo e identità italiana (Milan 2003). For Spain, see the overview provided by J. Martínez Millán, ‘La historiografía sobre Carlos V’, in J. Martínez Millán, ed., La corte de Carlos V, 5 vols. (Madrid 2000) I, I, 17-41, and the contributions of G. Pasmar Alzuría, ‘La rehabilitación de los primeros Austrias entre los historiadores de la Restauración’, in El siglo de Carlos V y Felipe II, II, 121-151, I. Peiró Martín, ‘La fortuna del emperador: la imagen de Carlos V entre los españoles del siglo XIX’, ibidem, 153-194, and R. López Vela, ‘Carlos V y España en la obra de Modesto Lafuente. La interpretación liberal de la nación española dentro del imperio de los Austrias’, in J. Martínez Millán, ed., Carlos V y la quiebra del humanismo político en Europa (1530-1558) (Madrid 2001) II, 153-259. 3 P. Fernández Albaladejo, Fragmentos de Monarquía (Madrid 1992) 17.
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that is, with the problem of the ‘delay’ with which those processes appeared in the Italian peninsula. From this complex of problems derive, on the one hand, the exaltation of the economic, cultural and civic flowering of the communal age, on the other, the drastically negative view of the first centuries of the modern period. This evaluation has been consolidated into a key concept of Italian historiography: that of ‘decadence’, which has been used differently by different historians in the 19th and the 20th centuries, according to their personal sensitivities and political orientations, but always directly connected with the end of freedom and the beginning of foreign (i.e. Spanish) dominion. Only in the 1920s, with Benedetto Croce’s Storia del Regno di Napoli 4, did it become possible to hear, if not a voice of dissent, at least a different and more articulated judgement on the period of Spanish predominance in Italy. In order to understand to what a degree, and for how long, these reference points weighed on the national historiography, it is sufficient to look at the nearly contemporary statements of two of the most important Italian historians of the period following World War II. In the context of a conference on Italian-Spanish relations held in 1977, R. Villari started by denouncing the ‘lente deformante’ [deforming lens] through which Spanish Italy had long been observed. A lens made of ‘vecchie e anacronistiche polemiche’ [old and anachronistic polemics] about the end of liberty, foreign domination and the resulting decadence. To free us from this 19th-century heritage, Villari affirmed, there was the new sensitivity towards the problem ‘dello sviluppo dello Stato moderno e del rapporto tra Stato e forze sociali’ [of the development of the modern State and the relationship between the State and social forces]. In this perspective, Villari, putting his finger on the essence of the question, urged overcoming all ‘esitazioni ad assimilare senza riserve la tematica della storia italiana a quella della storia europea dello stesso periodo’ [hesitations towards assimilating without reservations the themes of Italian history to those of European history of the same period].5 A few years before, analysing the results of twenty years of historiography on the 16th century, Marino Berengo affirmed, with words weighty with civic passion, that the first decades of the 16th century opened for Italy ‘quella che fu la più certa e la più lunga età di decadenza della storia moderna’ [that which was the most certain and the longest age of decadence in modern history]. A decadence which was fruit of the defeat of the ‘forma di vita politica’ [form of political life] typical of the centuries when the communes flourished, that is, the city-republic. With a periodisation similar to that used by Sismondi, Berengo saw in Charles V he who ‘contro l’inquieto e mobile stato repubblicano… volgeva la sua imperiale condanna’ [against the restless and mobile republican state… turned his imperial condemnation].6 4
B. Croce, Storia del Regno di Napoli, G. Galasso, ed., (Milan 1992). R. Villari, ‘La Spagna, l’Italia e l’assolutismo’, in Annuario dell’Istituto storico italiano per l’età moderna e contemporanea, XXIX-XXX, 1977-1978 (Rome 1979) 55-77, especially 55, 60. 6 M. Berengo, Il Cinquecento, in La storiografia italiana negli ultimi vent’anni (Milan 1970) 483-585, especially 485, 495. 5
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It is therefore evident how the ‘demonios domésticos’, according to Fernández Albaladejo’s definition, have conditioned Italian historiography very deeply and up until quite recently, and how historians continue to resuscitate them in order to condemn them or to rehabilitate them. There is no doubt that the path indicated by Villari has been taken by most historians, with an ever increasing degree of awareness. Cultivating the history of the state has proved to be a way of removing the traditional indication of the crisis of the first decades of the 16th century as the beginning of an irreversible decline.7 But, as G. Signorotto correctly observes, the time for indulging in the ‘facili gratificazioni’ [easy gratifications] offered by the revision of the so-called ‘leggenda nera’ [black legend] of Spanish dominion is over.8 Rather, it is necessary now to measure ourselves with the evident limits that the state-centred approach, prevalent since the 1970s, has begun to reveal clearly. What we have said above (overcoming the idea of decadence from a perspective of the history of the state) is valid for the main regional historiographies and for Italian historiography in general. Not however for that on Genoa. Here the stimulus to revise the old parameters of judgement has come above all from historians of European economy and finance. We refer of course, first of all, to Fernand Braudel and Felipe Ruiz Martín, and to their fertile ‘invention’ of the ‘century of the Genoese’.9 Indeed, the different sources and methodologies have led to a curious separation between an economic history of Genoa, more and more markedly European and even, worldwide – because of the dimensions and the characteristics of its projection outside of the city – and a political, institutional and social history of the city and its state which is still anchored to a local perspective. To this separation of different spheres corresponds an un-nerving divergence of evaluations: on one hand we find the economic historians’ awe for the ability of Genoa – ‘ville capitaliste par excellence’, in the words of Braudel – to launch itself into the conquest of European
7
This is what was already announced programmatically by E. Fasano, ‘Gli stati dell’Italia centro-settentrionale tra Quattro e Cinquecento: continuità e trasformazioni’, Società e storia, VI (1983) n. 21, 617-639. But see M. Berengo, ‘Stato moderno e corpi intermedi’, in Annali dell’Istituto storico italogermanico in Trento, XX (1994) 233-237. Here Berengo, confirming his position of twenty years before, gave his evaluation of the historiographical season which, from its beginning at the time of Villari’s exhortation, and centered on the problem of the state, in his view largely characterised Italian historiography on the 16th and 17th centuries: the age of triumph of the ‘stati principeschi regionali’ [princely regional states] remained for Berengo ‘una fase di lunga, profonda decadenza’ [a phase of long deep decadence], and he launched a warning (disturbing for a few, unheard by the majority) against the tendency to immolate as a ‘vittima sacrificale’ [sacrificial victim] on the altar of centralisation ‘le autonomie, che in Italia sono essenzialmente cittadine’ [the autonomies, that in Italy essentially pertain to cities]. 8 G. Signorotto, ‘Aperture e pregiudizi nella storiografia italiana’, 365. 9 It is sufficient to refer to F. Braudel, La Méditerranée et le Monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II (Paris 1966), Civilisation matérielle, économie et capitalisme, XVe-XVIIIe siècle, III, Le temps du monde (Paris 1979) and the introduction by F. Ruiz Martín to Lettres marchandes échangées entre Florence et Medina del Campo (Paris 1965) republished in Pequeño capitalismo, gran capitalismo. Simón Ruiz y sus negocios en Florencia (Barcelona 1990).
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finance in order to become the ‘centre de l’économie-monde’10 – on the other, a heavily negative judgement, which has penetrated into historiographical common sense, on the backwardness and archaism of Genoa’s political life and of the organisation of its state.11 It is hard to believe that they refer to the same city. Overcoming this contradiction constitutes both a necessity and a challenge which can yield fertile stimuli for reflection12 and not for Ligurian history alone. Placing these seemingly contradictory elements in a single picture does not mean that we do not recognise the specificity of the developments which characterise the different realms of the life of the city, maybe claiming, on the basis of the primacy of economic factors, that Genoa had an unavoidable and luminous ‘Spanish destiny’. On the contrary, it is necessary to integrate the various planes avoiding putting them in a hierarchical order other than that, mobile and dependent on the changing vicissitudes, discerned by the contemporaries.
Between France, Spain and the Empire: Politics and Events France-Spain-Empire: this is the dangerous triangle in which Genoa was moving at the beginning of the 16th century. And the corners of that triangle were not just the main reference points for the foreign policy of the tiny Ligurian state. In the context of the crisis of the peninsular equilibria opened by the Italian Wars, different options on the international level were connected with different political-constitutional possibilities on the internal level and different prospects for development on the economic level. The economic implications of choosing between an alliance with France or with Spain (then with the Empire) were grave because of the strong and deeply rooted Genoese interests in both areas. At the beginning of the 16th century, the Venetian diarist Marino Sanuto stated that ‘il terzo di Zenoa è in Spagna, e vi sono 300 caxe’ [one third of Genoa is in Spain, and there are 300 houses],13 and today we know a 10
Braudel, Civilisation matérielle, III, Le temps du monde,130, 131 and 144. These judgements – at the same time shared and criticised because of their ‘state-centred’ origin – along with new methodological and research orientations, particularly against the concept of regional state, are to be found in E. Grendi, Il Cervo e la repubblica. Il modello ligure di antico regime (Turin 1993) and O. Raggio, Faide e parentele. Lo stato genovese visto dalla Fontanabuona (Turin 1990). On these two works, see the discussion by several historians in Società e storia, 67, 1995. See also C. Costantini, La Repubblica di Genova nell’età moderna (Turin 1978) the most recent praiseworthy overview of Genoese history. 12 See C. Bitossi, ‘Genova, Spagna e Mediterraneo nel secondo Cinquecento: bilanci e prospettive’, in B. Anatra – F. Manconi, eds., Sardegna, Spagna e Stati italiani nell’età di Filippo II (Cagliari 1999) 163-188, especially 171, and M. Herrero Sánchez, ‘Una républica mercantil en la órbita de la monarquía católica (1528-1684). Hegemonía y decadencia del agregado hispano-genovés’, in B. Anatra – F. Manconi, eds., Sardegna, Spagna e Stati italiani nell’età di Carlo V (Rome 2001) 183-200. 13 For this reason in 1503 the city, although subject to the king of France Louis XII, refused to help him in the war against Ferdinand of Aragon, because the Catholic king, in case of conflict, from those ‘300 caxe … li toria il suo’ [from those 300 houses would take what they have], M. Sanuto, I diarii, V, F. Stefani, ed. (Venice 1881) col. 113. 11
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great deal about their capillary penetration in the Iberian kingdoms.14 Nonetheless, we must not underestimate the importance of commercial relations with France, which, through Lyon, absorbed a large part of the production of Genoa’s silk manufacture: ‘l’unica vera e potente industria ligure del secolo XVI’, as Gioffrè defines it, ‘con un imponente concentramento di capitali e di manodopera’ [the only true and powerful Ligurian industry of the 16th century, with an imposing concentration of capital and labour]15 and hence the source of wealth for many families and individuals and of sustenance for a large part of the population. Equally fundamental were the political consequences of being in one or the other camp. Because of the vicissitudes of the conflicts, in the first three decades of the 16th century Genoa knew two long periods of direct subjection to the French monarchy (1499-1512 and 1515-1522; to which was added a shorter one from August 1527 to September 1528), and she tried to protect her interests in the Iberian peninsula with pacts of submission to France containing formulas excluding the participation in military operations against the Spanish monarchs.16 As a free republic, on the other 14 See first of all E. Otte, ‘Il ruolo dei Genovesi nella Spagna del XV e XVI secolo, in A. De Maddalena – H. Kellenbenz, eds., La repubblica internazionale del denaro (Bologna 1986) 17-56. This line of research has been amply developed in recent years: see, for example, B. Garí, R. Salicrú, ‘Las ciudades del triángulo Granada, Málaga, Almería y el comercio mediterráneo de la Edad Media’, in D. Abulafia – B. Garí, eds., En las costas del Mediterráneo occidental (Barcelona 1996) 171-211, D. Igual Luis – G. Navarro Espinach, ‘Los genoveses en España en el tránsito del siglo XV al siglo XVI’, in Historia, Instituciones, Documentos, 24 (1997) 261-332, D. Igual Luis, Valencia e Italia en el siglo XV. Rutas, mercados y hombres de negocios en el espacio económico del Mediterráneo medieval (Castellón 1998), F. Andújar Castillo, ‘Los genoveses en el reino de Granada. Comercio y estrategias mercantiles’, in E. Belenguer Cebrià, ed., Felipe II y el Mediterráneo. Los recursos humanos y materiales (Madrid 1999) 357-375. 15 D. Gioffrè, ‘Il commercio d’importazione genovese alla luce dei registri del dazio (1495-1537)’, in Studi in onore di Amintore Fanfani, V (Milano 1962) 113-242, especially 183. See P. Massa, ‘L’arte genovese della seta nella normativa del XV e XVI secolo’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n. s. X\1 (1970), Eadem, Un’impresa serica genovese della prima metà del Cinquecento (Milan 1974) and G. Sivori, ‘Il tramonto dell’industria serica genovese’, Rivista Storica Italiana, LXXXIV\4 (1972) 893-944. For the role of the Genoese in Lyon see R. Gascon, Grand commerce et vie urbaine al XVIe siècle. Lyon et ses marchands (Paris-La Haye 1971). 16 See for example article XXXII of the act of submission of Genoa to Louis XII on 26 October 1499, entitled ‘Quod non coget nos ad guerram’ [That he not force us into war], in which the request to the monarch was general, regarding conflicts ‘cum aliquo rege, principe, dominio, vel communitate’ [with any king, prince, dominion or community], and motivated by the fact that ‘cum Januenses cives suos et suas negociationes mari et terra in omnibus mundi partibus dispersas habeant, non possunt, sine maxima jactura, detrimento et damno, ad similia bella trahi’ [since the Genoese have their citizens and business on sea and on land in all parts of the world, they cannot, without very great mishap, detriment and damage, be drawn into such wars]. The answer of Louis XII was that the Genoese had to be ‘amici amicorum et inimici inimicorum’ [friends of the friends and enemies of the enemies] of their new lord and make their ships available in case of war, but he guaranteed ‘quod non compellantur facere guerram contra reges Hispaniae et Angliae et comitem Flandriae pro se nomine comunitatis’ [that they will not be forced to make war against the kings of Spain and England and the count of Flanders in the name of the community], L.G. Pélissier, ‘Documents pour l’histoire de l’établissement de la domination française à Gênes (1499-1500)’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, XXIV (1892) 333-554, especially 496 f. This article was eliminated in the privileges unilaterally granted by the king after the repression of the revolt of 1506, see E. Pandiani, ‘Un anno di storia genovese (Giugno 1506-1507) con Diario e documenti inediti’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, XXXVII (1905) 275-277, 406, 407, 533 ff.
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hand, Genoa was an ally of Charles V for the five years during which Antoniotto Adorno was Doge (1522-1527): a prelude to the definitive entry of the city, as an independent state, into the Spanish-Imperial orbit from September 1528 on. From a juridical and political point of view the rights claimed by the French monarchy weighed heavily; rights on which were based the dominion of the dukes of Milan over Genoa, in the second half of the 15th century, because Louis XI had given the city to the Sforza as a fief.17 There were the potentialities necessary to build an alternative system of political legitimacy in relation to Imperial authority, but these did not become concrete until the 1520s. At the beginning of the 16th century the bond with the Empire subsisted on the juridical plane, but it was obscured in the shadows of the remote past, so much so that even the Genoese Chancellor and annalist Bartolomeo Senarega confessed that he did not know what the ancient formulas meant. When in 1502, in preparation for a visit by Louis XII, the French governor had the Imperial eagle removed from the door of the great hall of the Genoese public palace and had it substituted with the French lily, Senarega asked himself why the imperial symbol was there; certainly, he thought, it attributed some sort of ‘iurisdictionem Caesaribus Imperatoribus in populum genuensem’ [imperial jurisdiction over the Genoese people], but as to what that meant in concrete terms, he stated, ‘nec ego scio, nec multi etiam, quorum opinionem sciscitatus sum, noverunt’ [neither I, nor the many whose opinion I asked, knew], nor did anyone have anything to offer except that ‘vulgarem famam… Genuam esse Imperii Cameram’ [the popular idea is that Genoa is Chamber of the Empire]. In any case the governor’s decision was not taken well. Those insignia in fact ‘in quacumque antiquissimorum temporum mutatione, semper involatae intactaeque remanserunt, solaeque, aliis deletis, inviolabiles extiterunt’ [in all the political upheavals from the most remote times, always remained inviolate and intact, and alone, when the others were deleted, they remained inviolable].18 17 See A. Sorbelli, Francesco Sforza a Genova (1458-1466). Saggio sulla politica italiana di Luigi XI (Bologna 1901), V. Ilardi, ‘France and Milan: the uneasy alliance, 1452-1466’, in Gli Sforza a Milano e in Lombardia e i loro rapporti con gli stati italiani ed europei (1450-1535) (Milan 1982) 415-447, R. Musso, ‘Il dominio sforzesco in Corsica (1464-1481), Nuova Rivista Storica, LXXVIII/III (1994), 531-588, and LXXIX/I (1995), 27-76. 18 B. Senarega, De rebus genuensibus Commentaria ab anno MCDLXXXVIII usque ad annum MDXIV, E. Pandiani, ed., R[erum] I[talicarum] S[criptores]2 (Bologna 1929-1932) XXIV, 87 f. Burckhardt quotes the passage from Senarega to show how in the 16th century the juridical links between Italy and the Empire no longer had meaning; for this reason in his view the latter acted purely according to criteria of power politics, J. Burckhardt, La civiltà del Rinascimento in Italia (Florence 1876, 1980) 21. See also R. Ciasca, ‘La Repubblica di Genova ‘testa coronata’’, in Studi in onore di Amintore Fanfani, IV, Evo moderno (Milan 1962) 287-319, spec. 293-294. More recent historiography leads in the opposite direction respect to Burckhardt, that is, towards the rediscovery and the valorisation of the role of the Empire in the so-called ‘Reichsitalien’ during the modern period. See F. Edelmayer, ‘Carlo V, Ferdinando I e l’Italia imperiale’, in Anatra – Manconi, Sardegna, Spagna e Stati italiani nell’età di Carlo V, 17-23, Idem, ‘El Sacro Imperio a comienzos de la Edad Moderna’, in C. Huidobro, ed., Durero y la Edad de Oro del Grabado Alemán (Madrid 1997) 19-33. For a specific case, regarding the territory of the republic of Genoa, Idem, Maximilian II., Philipp II. und Reichsitalien. Die Auseinandersetzungen um das Reichslehen Finale in Ligurien (Stuttgart 1988).
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More than any other Italian city, the annalist Agostino Giustiniani wrote some decades later, Genoa had received from the emperors ‘doni, gratie et privilegi’ [gifts, concessions and privileges].19 Thus an unconscious sliding of meaning had incorporated the sign of a link with the empire into the patrimony of the collective identity of autonomy and liberty. And its juridical and political significance, in Genoa as in other Italian cities, was rediscovered and reinvented when the election of Charles I of Spain as king of the Romans provided the imperial dignity with concrete tools of power.20 And in 1528 the republic turned to the emperor, against France, as the protector ‘de tuto il christian stolo, et particularmenti de tutte le cità che desiderano manchare delle suggettioni alliene, essendo propria et peculiare virtù di Cesare redurre et mantenere le cità in la libertà loro’ [of all Christianity, and particularly of all the cities that want to avoid being subject to others, insofar as it is the peculiar virtue of Caesar to place and maintain cities in their liberty].21 As we have said, this result came after thirty years in which the Genoese had experienced the direct dominion of the French monarchy, the alliance with Spain (and then with the emperor).22 To these two situations corresponded two different institutional configurations. According to the 15th-century Regulae, the city was organised under a popular regime in which the Nobles had access to half the places in the magistratures – except for that of Doge, who had to be ‘de populo et gremio populi civitatis Ianue’ [of the people and from the bosom of the people of the city of Genoa].23 When the king of France was the lord of Genoa, the figure of the Doge 19
A. Giustiniani, Castigatissimi Annali […] della […] Republica di Genova […], Genoa, Antonio Bellono, 1537 (ed. Bologna 1981) c. CCLVIIv. 20 For the case of Lucca, in some respects similar to that of Genoa, see M. Berengo, Nobili e mercanti nella Lucca del Cinquecento (Turin 1965) 11-19, K.O. von Aretin, ‘L’ordinamento feudale in Italia nel secolo XVI e XVII e le sue ripercussioni sulla politica europea. Un contributo alla storia del tardo feudalesimo in Europa’, Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, IV (1978) 51-94, G. Galasso, ‘L’Italia una e diversa nel sistema degli stati europei (1450-1750)’, in G. Galasso – L. Mascilli Migliorini, L’Italia moderna e l’unità nazionale (Turin 1998) 100 f., S. Adorni Braccesi – G. Simonetti, ‘Lucca, repubblica e città imperiale da Carlo IV di Boemia a Carlo V’, in S. Adorni Braccesi – M. Ascheri, eds., Politica e cultura nelle repubbliche italiane dal Medioevo all’età moderna (Rome 2002) 267-308, and more in general S. Leydi, Sub umbra imperialis aquileae: immagini del potere e consenso politico nella Milano di Carlo V (Florence 1999). 21 Letter, 15 September 1528, Archivio di Stato di Genova (from now on: ASG), Sala Senarega 398. For the context, see A. Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria nell’Impero di Carlo V (Florence 1999) 49 ff. 22 For an acute mapping of the problem see V. Piergiovanni, ‘Il sistema europeo e le istituzioni repubblicane di Genova nel Quattrocento’, Materiali per una storia della cultura giuridica, XIII\1 (1983), 3-46. 23 See the Regulae of 1363 (Historiae Patriae Monumenta, XVIII, col. 257) and of 1413 (ASG, Manoscritti tornati da Parigi 19, c. 39). On the history of Genoese statutes, see the fundamental works of V. Piergiovanni, Gli statuti civili e criminali di Genova nel Medioevo. La tradizione manoscritta e le edizioni (Genoa 1980), Idem, Lezioni di storia giuridica genovese. Il Medioevo (Genoa 1983), R. Savelli, ‘‘Capitula’, ‘regulae’ e pratiche del diritto a Genova tra XIV e XV secolo’, in G. Chittolini – D. Willoweit, eds., Statuti città territori in Italia e Germania tra Medioevo ed Età moderna (Bologna 1991) 447-502, Idem, Gli statuti della Liguria. Problemi e prospettive di ricerca, Società e Storia, XXI (1999), pp. 3-33, Idem, ‘Scrivere lo Statuto, amministrare la giustizia, organizzare il territorio’, in Repertorio degli Statuti della Liguria, (secc. XII-XVIII) (Genoa 2003) 1-191. From the perspective of political history, see A. Pacini, ‘La tirannia delle fazioni e la repubblica dei ceti. Vita politica e istituzioni a Genova tra Quattro e Cinquecento’, Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, XVIII (1992) 57-119.
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was substituted by a governor designated by the king. In either case however there was an equal presence of members of the estates of the nobles and of the people in the pyramid of the city magistratures, whose summit – along with the Doge or the governor – was constituted by the Anziani or Elders. The difference between being subject to France or part of the Habsburg imperial alliance (which corresponds to the alternative between Governor and Doge) is meaningful in itself and will be discussed further below, but certainly does not exhaust the questions bearing on the fact that Genoa finally chose the Habsburgs and a republican form of government in 1528. In order to understand the meaning of that choice it is necessary to examine briefly the deep constitutional crisis that Genoa experienced in the first decades of the 16th century. Observers of the time offer us a strong political characterization of the Ligurian city; their voices are so numerous, authoritative and of such diverse origin (as well as being in agreement) that we can say that there was a true tradition of judgement on Genoese political life, often uncritically taken up by 19th- and 20th-century historiography. In 1432 Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini defined Genoa a city ‘cuius similem non habet orbis universus’ [the like of which does not exist in the entire world]; such was the ‘hominum inter se dissentio, ut pararet alteri quilibet insidias, necem instruere, esse reliquis detrimento studio vigilaret; omnibus huiuscemodi cura, alius alium ledere, trucidare, spoliari, patriaque pellere’ [dissent between men, that they are intent on preparing traps for each other, organising murders, and harming the remaining; therefore everyone is engaged in damaging, killing, despoiling and exiling the others from the city].24 When he became pope Pius II, Piccolomini completed this analysis in his greatest work, underlining that the inevitable consequence of those civil conflicts was a paroxysmic instability, which had no equal in Europe: ‘Incredibilis tanta regiminum mutatio posteritati videbitur, nec nobis fidem fecisset historia, nisi nostra aetas praebuisset experimentum. Saepe una die tempestate nostra bis terve gubernatio civitatis mutata est. Nec tota Europa urbem esse accepimus in qua tot principum mutationes aevo nostro intervenerint’ [such mutability of the form of government would seem incredible to posterity, nor would we believe it as history, if our age had not experienced it. Often in our time in a single day the government of the city has changed twice or three times. Nor is there a city in all of Europe in which so many changes of princes occurred].25 Such instability, which is the dominant characteristic of the late middle ages in Genoa, continued well into the 16th century, as the manifestation of a political life of extraordinary complexity. It was expressed in the multiplicity of social-political aggregates in conflict; as Guicciardini underlined with amazement: not a single division ‘come molte dell’altre [città] d’Italia’ [as in many of the other cities of Italy],
24 Piccolomini’s letter, sent to the Sienese Andreozzo Petrucci, has been republished by G. Petti Balbi, Genova medievale vista dai contemporanei (Genoa 1978) 112-119. 25 Pio II, Commentarii, I (Milan 1984) 896.
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but nobles against the people (in their turn divided between merchants and artisans), guelphs against ghibellines, Adorni against Fregosi (these were the two families of popular origin that from the 15th century on competed for the office of Doge, more or less without other contenders). And thus, says Guicciardini, a city by its nature destined to rule the sea, had wasted ‘tanta opportunità’ [such an opportunity] for the ‘pestifero veleno delle discordie civili’ [for the pestiferous poison of civil discord].26 The verdict of the first permanent imperial orator, Lope de Soria (present in Genoa from 1523 to 1527) also was harsh. In his words we find not only the echo of a consolidated tradition, but also the summary of dramatic events he had experienced personally: ‘ciudad … madre de las pasiones y parcialidades y rrebuluciones’ [city… mother of passions and partialities and revolutions], such was in his eyes the Ligurian city, an infernal place in which ‘de contino se platican tractados los unos contra los otros’ [plots are being hatched continuously by some against the others]; the Genoese seemed to him ‘gente del diablo’ [people of the Devil], insatiable ‘amigos de novedades’ [friends of upheavals], for whom ‘poca escusa … abastaría para fazer alguna revolución’ [a small excuse would be enough to make a revolution].27 This structural trait of the political life of the city, which had been tolerable in the context of the Italian balance of power in the 15th century, turned into an unsustainable threat to the very existence of the Genoese state with the beginning of the struggle between France and Spain for hegemony in the peninsula. Its internal instability could place Genoa under the dominion of ‘principi potentissimi’ [very powerful princes] with whom the formulas of the traditional pacts would carry no weight: as Oberto Foglietta said, the city would be reduced ‘con fortezze e con altri infiniti presidii, in uno stato di servitù, la quale Dio proibisca da noi’ [with fortresses and other innumerable garrisons, to a state of servitude, which God forbid].28 More than three decades (with phases of more intense elaboration followed by long periods about which the sources are silent) were necessary for the ancient ideal of a ‘unione’ [union] of all the politically active groups of the citizenry to be transformed into a concrete legislative measure. With the Reformationes Novae of 1528 26 F. Guicciardini, Storia d’Italia (Turin 1971) II, 654 f. Equally well known is Machiavelli’s evaluation: Genoa constituted an ‘esemplo veramente raro e dai filosofi in tante loro immaginate e vedute republiche mai non trovato, vedere dentro a uno medesimo cerchio, infra i medesimi cittadini, la libertà et la tirannide, la vita civile e la corrotta, la giustizia e la licenza’ [a truly rare example, and in the many republics that philosophers have immagined and seen but never found, inside the same walls, among the same citizens, liberty and tyranny, corrupt and civil political life, justice and licence] where the negative pole is represented by the Commune (‘cosa tiranneggiata’ [a thing tyrannised]) and the positive pole is the Casa di San Giorgio (‘parte bene e ugualmente amministrata’ [the part adminstered well and with equality), N. Machiavelli, Istorie fiorentine, Libro VIII, cap. XXIX (Milan 1962) 560-562. 27 Letters to Charles V, 7 March, 1 December 1524, 26 May 1527, Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid, Colección de don Luis Salazar y Castro (from now on RAHM, CSC), ms. A-30, ff. 393-394, ms. A-33, ff. 1-5 and 13-14, ms. A-40, ff. 420-424 and 432-433. On the figure of Lope de Soria, one of the principle executors of the Italian policy of Charles V, see H. Pizarro Llorente, ‘Un embajador de Carlos V en Italia: don Lope de Soria (1528-1532)’, in Martínez Millán, Carlos V y la quiebra del humanismo político, IV, 119-155. 28 O. Foglietta, Delle cose della Republica di Genova, Roma, Antonio Baldo, 1559 (Milan 1865) 111.
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all the internal political divisions were abolished and an ‘unicus ordo’ [single order] of citizens admitted to the government, which the legislators hoped would pursue the republic’s welfare compactly, was formed.29 The long phase of elaboration of the new constitutional organisation coincided with the experimentation of the relationship with the French and the Spanish monarchies, and only by intertwining the internal and the international aspects can we put into focus the many political pressures which converged to determine the choice for the Habsburgs of 1528. (We will discuss the economic aspects and motivations of this process later). Overall, if we observe the relations between Genoa and the two most important European powers in the first half of the 16th century, some facts are evident. The Genoese, in submitting to Louis XII and to Francis I and recognising them as ‘lords’, renounced, at least in part, to their ‘liberty’, accepting a governor chosen by the king as the fulcrum of the governing apparatus. As a guarantee of relative autonomy (inevitably residual), the pacts of surrender and the privileges turned out to be in part not effective in limiting the attempts of the French monarchs at intervening in the various sectors of the life of the city, starting with civil justice. In 1507 the Genoese created a specific organ, the ‘conservatori dei privilegi’ [conservers of privileges], which had the mandate of defending the exclusive competence of the city’s magistratures in the area of civil law against the attempts of the royal officials to arrogate lawsuits, and allow appeals to the French courts. This was a symptom of a widespread malaise which had other causes as well.30 29 See V. Piergiovanni, ‘Il senato della Repubblica di Genova nella ‘riforma’ di Andrea Doria’, Annali della Facoltà di Giurisprudenza, University of Genoa, IV/1 (1965), 230-275, and A. Pacini, ‘I presupposti politici del ‘secolo dei genovesi’: la riforma del 1528’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s., XXX (1990). 30 See A. Pacini, ‘Tra economia e politica: la giustizia civile e mercantile a Genova nei primi decenni del Cinquecento’, in G. Petti Balbi, ed., Strutture del potere ed élites economiche nelle città europee dei secoli XII-XVI (Napoli 1995) 41-71. On the problem of justice in late medieval and early modern Genoa, see V. Piergiovanni, ‘Banchieri e falliti nelle ‘decisiones de mercatura’ della Rota civile di Genova’, in K. Nehlsen-Von Stryk – D. Nörr, eds., Diritto comune, diritto commerciale, diritto veneziano, Centro tedesco di studi veneziani, Quaderni, 31 (Venice 1985) 17-38, Idem, ‘The Rise of the Genoese Civil Rota in the XVth Century: The ‘Decisiones de Mercatura’ Concerning Insurance’, in V. Piergiovanni, ed., The Courts and Development of Commercial Law (Berlin 1987) 23-38, Idem, ‘Una raccolta di sentenze della Rota civile di Genova nel XVI secolo’, in M. Sbriccoli – A. Bettoni, eds., Grandi tribunali e rote nell’Italia di antico regime (Milan 1993) 79-91, Idem, ‘Diritto e giustizia mercantile a Genova nel XV secolo: i consilia di Bartolomeo Bosco’, in I. Baumgärtner, ed., Consilia im späten Mittelalter. Zum historischen Aussagewert einer Quellengattung (Sigmaringen 1995) 65-78, R. Savelli, ‘Potere e giustizia. Documenti per la storia della rota criminale a Genova alla fine del ‘500’, Materiali per una storia della cultura giuridica, V (1975), pp. 29-172, Idem, ‘‘Mestiere legale’ e amministrazione della giustizia a Genova: un progetto di metà Seicento’, in Scritti di storia del diritto offerti dagli allievi a Domenico Maffei (Padua 1991) 435-453, Idem, ‘Una ‘rota di dottori cittadini’. Discussioni e progetti di metà Seicento a Genova’, in Grandi tribunali e rote, 93-129, Idem, ‘Il problema della giustizia a Genova nella legislazione di primo Cinquecento’, in Studi in onore di Franca De Marini Avonzo (Turin 1999) 329350, Idem, ‘Statuti e amministrazione della giustizia a Genova nel Cinquecento’, Quaderni storici, XXXVII (2002), 347- 377, C. Bitossi, ‘Il reclutamento dei giudici delle Rote genovesi nel Seicento’, in Sbriccoli and Bettoni, Grandi tribunali e rote, 491-514, and M. Fortunati, ‘I giudici della Rota genovese nel XVI secolo: schedatura e problemi di fonti’, ibidem, 515-527. On the introduction of the ‘rota’
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Conflicts over jurisdictional questions arose after an anti-noble revolt which Louis XII had put down with arms. The revolt certainly had not been a disorganised uprising of marginal elements of society. The admittedly difficult alliance between the rich and influential popular elite and the urban plebs was based on a specific programme, which led to the reform of the representation by estates in the government organs, with a division of the places in the magistratures no longer in two equal parts between nobles and people, but rather in thirds, one third each to nobles, merchants and artisans.31 The analysis of Guicciardini, who attributed the popular revolt to the ‘inclinatione che hanno comunemente i franciosi al nome de’ gentiluomini’ [inclination that the French commonly have for the name of gentlemen],32 was not far from the truth. That inclination already for some time had been transformed into concrete political acts having the aim of establishing a direct and privileged link between the sovereign and the most important Ligurian feudal lords, and in particular with Gian Luigi Fieschi, appointed governor of the eastern Riviera. That had meant, de facto, taking that area away from the intermediate sovereignty of Genoa and to the direct sovereignty of the king, because Fieschi ‘haveva reducto tuto l’imperio sotto de sì … senza ricongoscere alcuno superiore, in maniera che dire se poteva che la regia maestà non fusse né cognosciuta né nominata in la metà de la jurisdictione genuese, … governandola come da signore’ [had placed all the power of command under himself… without recognising any superior, in such a way that it could be said the his royal Majesty was neither known nor named in half the Genoese jurusdiction,… governing it as a lord].33 To that was added the royal policy of awarding fiefs to the great families of the Ligurian and Lombard nobility, sometimes these were strategically important localities such as Gavi, Ovada and Serravalle, located on the vital arteries of communication with the state of Milan.34 Each of these facts was a blow to the role of Genoa as a dominant city. But the hardest blow came when, starting in the mid-1520s, it became clear that the French planned to use Savona to build an alternate economic and strategic pole for the courts in Italy at the beginning of the 16th century, A. K. Isaacs, ‘Politica e giustizia agli inizi del Cinquecento: l’istituzione delle prime Rote’, ibidem, 341-385. 31 See Pandiani, Un anno di storia genovese, 10 ff., 63 ff., A. Pacini, ‘I presupposti politici del ‘secolo dei genovesi’’, 146 ff. 32 U. Guicciardini, Storia d’Italia, II, 657. Agostino Giustiniani too, in recounting the various opinions on the motivations and on the responsibilities of the revolt of 1506, states that ‘alcuni altri danno la causa ai nobili, e dicono che doppo che la città fu sotto il dominio di Francesi, i nobili si alzorono assai contra i populari, perché i Francesi di lor natura favoriscono la nobiltà, e perciò la gioventù nobile diventò molto insolente’ [some others attribute the cause to the nobles and say that after the city was under French rule, the nobles raised up against the populari, because the French by their nature favour the nobility, and therefore the youths of the nobility became very insolent], A. Giustiniani, Castigatissimi Annali, c. 258v. 33 Instruction of 12 Novermber 1506 of the popular government to the ambassadors in France, in Pandiani, Un anno di storia genovese, 460 f. 34 Pacini, ‘I presupposti politici del ‘secolo dei genovesi’’, 51 ff., 80 ff.
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control of the western part of Liguria. It was a clear threat to the territorial integrity of the state, which was essential for the economic primacy of Genoa.35 The experimentation of the alliance with Charles V from 1522 to 1527 had very different characteristics. Entering the Spanish-imperial orbit, the city preserved its republican government. Certainly the renewed vigour of the Empire after the election of Charles encouraged the Genoese to resuscitate the bonds of dependency from the highest authority of the Christian world, but that was useful on the one hand to avoid the dynastic rights that the kings of France vaunted over Liguria, on the other, to consolidate the positive economic and political links without renouncing sovereignty. Even though it was opened by the dramatic episode of the sack of Genoa carried out by the imperial troops under Prospero Colonna and the Marquess of Pescara (a stain that the pro-Habsburg government of the Adornos tried more than once to remove) in this period there were no heavy interventions of Charles V in the internal political life, whereas a treaty (capitulatio) negotiated in 1519 between Genoa and Spain represented a valid base for resolving the commercial and jurisdictional questions that the tight economic relations between the two parts inevitably posed.36 These structural differences between the two models, French and Spanish-Imperial, are important, but they are not sufficient to explain the double change of route of 1528 (reform and choice of the Habsburg alliance). The complexity of the events is such as to discourage any teleological explanation. In fact it was a matter precisely of events; and hence subject to the variability of the military and political situations. It is however in the relationship between international and internal politics that we find one of the fundamental explanantions. The need to limit the internal political instability – which had reached extreme levels in the most uncertain phases of the Italian Wars (four changes of government and of alliances in less than one year between 1512 and 1513)37 – had created a climate of widespread disaffection particularly towards the dogal factions of the Adorni and of the Fregosi. They were the tools with which the great powers tried to dominate the city. After the failed attempt of Louis XII to govern Genoa thanks to a privileged relationship with the nobility, both Francis I (with Ottaviano Fregoso as governor) and Charles V (with Antoniotto Adorno as Doge) had returned to the traditional scheme of an alliance with one of the two dogal families. This in a climate of increasing political ferment, in which there was growing consensus around the proposals for constitutional reform that aimed at cutting the knot of factionalism. 35
Ibidem, 237 ff. Ibidem, 101 ff. 37 Oberto Foglietta commented thus that difficult period of the history of the city: ‘Quando io vo considerando, che nel corso d’un anno la nostra città mutò quattro volte Rettori, e Prencipi, mi vien vergogna dell’instabilità nostra’ [When I consider that in the course of a year our city changed four times Rectors and Princes, I am ashamed of our instability]; indicating the cause of those upheavals in the ‘pazzia delle abbominevoli parti … penetrata dentro a gli animi de cittadini’ [madness of the abominable parts… penetrated inside the citizens’ minds], O. Foglietta, Dell’istorie di Genova (Genoa, Heredi di Girolamo Bartoli, 1597) 638. 36
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The resonance of the ideal of a ‘union’ of the politically active citizenry which would eliminate the party loyalties in the name of the public good became more intense when the international turbulence threatened new changes at the summit of the city’s power structure, made even more frightening by the traumatic precedent of the sack of 1522. It is necessary however in this case too to escape determinism, avoiding the idea that Genoa had a ‘Spanish destiny’. A first version of the institutional reform was instituted in fact in April 1528, during the last brief period of French dominion over the city.38 And that version was not very different from the definitive text approved in October of the same year, after the French had been driven out thanks to Andrea Doria and at the same time that the republic chose the Empire. In both contexts, it was possible to translate into constitutional norms the ideal of a union of citizens which could erase the factional past. Concrete and contingent political decisions determined the course of events: the fact that Francis I, faced with the constant Genoese political fibrillations, hesitated to give his consent to the reform project; that he persevered too long in his refusal to reintegrate Savona into the Genoese dominions; that, without understanding the strategic role of Andrea Doria’s fleet of galleys, he lost the admiral’s services by irritating him with continuous abuse of power, and by not abiding by his part of the contract.39 Certainly it can be said that these contingent political decisions were manifestations of the inadequacy of the formula of direct dominion practiced by the French monarchy in its relations with the Ligurian city; inadequacy which, in a different political context, was already clear in Louis XII’s time because of his pro-noble political orientation. It could equally well be said that the flexible context of the Spanish-Imperial alliance was more favourable. Charles V’s ambassador in Genoa necessarily had to adapt to the coordinates, in evolution in the third decade of the 16th century, of the city’s political life. This was not an easy task, which required a long and demanding apprenticeship, and a change of personnel could always be made to avoid situations of incompatibility. In this sense we can interpret the substitution of Lope de Soria with Gómez Suárez de Figueroa. Soria carried out his embassy in the period in which Antoniotto Adorno was Doge, and he had a hard time finding the right way to regulate his actions. The fact that at the beginning he cultivated friendships outside the ruling faction irritated the Doge. A quick change of route made it possible to overcome the conflict: ‘le certifico – wrote the imperial orator to the Grand Chancellor Mercurino di Gattinara – que en todo y por todo soy Adorno, y poso entre ellos, y toda mi conversación está con ellos, y yá está bien satisfecho desto el duque de Génova’ [I assure you that I am an Adorno in everything and for everything, and I stay with them, and I talk only with them and already the Doge of Genoa is well satisfied by this].40 38
Pacini, ‘I presupposti politici del ‘secolo dei genovesi’’, 280 ff. Ibidem. 40 Letter, 10 April 1524, RAHM, CSC, ms. A-31, cc. 52-54. See Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 209 f. 39
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So much zeal in adapting to the factionary scheme of Genoese politics contributed perhaps to making Soria slow to realise that the situation was evolving in the direction of eliminating that scheme. He always expressed scepticism and hostility towards the negotiations leading to union and towards the projects of reform. He was convinced that a factionary regime was the only form of government which could guarantee the republic’s fidelity to the imperial alliance. And when the reform was actually carried out, Soria was refused as ambassador: times had changed, the Genoese had now implemented the ‘modo di vivere di republica di novo istituita’ [form of republican government newly instituted] and the return as imperial ambassador of a man who in the past had had close relations with the Adorno faction was not judged ‘al proposito’ [à propos].41 After a few months, in April 1529 Charles V sent his new representative, Figueroa, who had no preceding connection with the Genoese, and who entered that new political context with intelligence and ability, and covered the delicate charge of ambassador for more than forty years. Behind the ‘republica di novo istituita’ there is a fact which can be considered in the category of ‘histoire événementielle’ to all effects: that is, the so-called ‘voltafaccia’ [change of alliance] of Andrea Doria, who with his fleet of twelve galleys left the service of France for that of Charles V. With a brilliant coup de main he took Genoa on 13 September 1528. Publicly renouncing the prospect of personal dominion, refusing election as Doge, he gave full support to the work of the commission of twelve reformers who had the task of drawing up the new laws. Even before undertaking military action to free the city from French dominion, Doria had laid solid foundations for the future relationship between the republic and the Spanish monarchy. We have spoken of the necessity of putting together the two paths of economic and political history, and it is not by chance that the substance of the political pact between Genoa and Charles V is not to be found in a treaty or a bilateral convention between states, but is already contained entirely in an economic document: in the first article of the private asiento between the admiral and the emperor signed on 11 August 1528: Primo domanda [Andrea Doria] a sua cesarea maestà che sempre che gli sia concesso gratia da Dio di levare Genova da lo soggieto de soi inimici, sia posta in libertà soa, et remessa a vivere in forma de republica et reintegrata de tutto il suo dominio et specialmente della terra de Savona, della quale conservatione, senza altro pagamento né graveza di quella che la cità vorrà cortesemente dare, ne permetta la protetione, et ordini et comandi a tutti li soi capitanei in Italia che la conserveno et deffendano da ogni forzo et violentia de chi la volesse perturbare [First he (Andrea Doria) asks his Imperial Majesty – if indeed God gives him the grace to remove Genoa from subjection of her enemies – 41 The quotations are taken from the instructions to Vincenzo Pallavicino, charged with inviting the at that time ex-imperial ambassador to leave the territory of the republic as fast as possible, ASG, Archivio segreto 2707/C. This way of inaugurating the alliance with Charles V shows that the Genoese considered the liberty that they had just reacquired to be substantial. See G. Oreste, ‘Genova e Andrea Doria nella fase critica del conflitto franco-asburgico’, in Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria’, LXXII\3 (1950), 2-71, especially 49 ff., and Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 52 ff.
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that she be placed again in her liberty and returned to having a republican form of government and that all her dominions and especially the town of Savona be given back to her, of which the preservation be, without payment or taxes except what the city courteously wishes to give; he promise the protection, and order and command all his captains in Italy to preserve her and defend her from every attack and violence of whoever might wish to perturb her].42
By signing this contract, Charles V promised to favour Genoa’s return to her ancient liberty, to reconstitute her territorial dominion and to protect her from her enemies. It is with these premises that the strong and reciprocally useful bond was created between the city and the emperor. A bond which, as is well known, passed on in heredity to Charles’ successors among the Spanish Hapsburgs, and which produced an eminently political exchange: loyalty for protection, the loyalty of Genoa towards the Imperial alliance in the great struggle with France, protection and safeguard of the city’s freedom on Charles V’s side. And the guarantee of loyalty of Genoa towards Charles V meant principally making available to him the services of two key sectors of its economy: ships and credit. We can say that the republican choice that Doria made was in the long term the winning card in his political strategy. Until then not involved in the reform projects, the admiral understood that only by putting on one side of the scale, in the relation with Charles V, the stable adhesion of Genoa in the imperial alliance would he have made significant progress: that is, he used Genoa to multiply his contractual power with respect to Charles V; and he rightly guessed that the republican form of government was the only one which could guarantee what Genoa had never had in the last two centuries of its history: a degree of internal cohesion and stability that allowed her to avoid the continuous upheavals caused by the changing international situations or by the changing balance between the aggregations based on factions. To bet on the republic meant at the end of the 1520s to bet on the reform. Doria did it without reserve, but it was a risky bet. It was hard to believe that an operation
42
Charles V’s answer was: ‘Sobre este primer capítulo plaze a su magestad que así se haga, en buena, ampla y segura forma, con la reservación de la auctoridad imperial’ [on this first article it pleases his Majesty that it be done, in good, ample and sure form, reserving imperial authority]. The contract is published in V. de Cadenas y Vincent, El protectorado de Carlos V en Génova. La ‘condotta’ de Andrea Doria (Madrid 1977) 85-88, and in F. De Laiglesia, Estudios históricos (1515-1555) I (Madrid 1918) 148-151. In C. Bornate, ‘I negoziati per attirare Andrea D’Oria al servizio di Carlo V’, Giornale storico e letterario della Liguria, XVIII/2 (1942), 74 f., we find the preceding draft agreement between Doria and the Vicerroy of Naples, Philibert de Châlon, prince of Orange. See, furthermore, Oreste, Genova e Andrea Doria. For the diffusion of the news that the asiento between Doria and Charles V had been signed and the reactions of the contemporaries, see Sanuto, I diarii, XLVIII, coll. 187, 223, 263, 281, 282, 295, 299, 301-303, 322, 353, 369, 370, 374, 387, 392, 402, 457, and XLIX, coll. 10, 20 (Charles had ‘sotoscrito a li capitoli… senza difficoltà alcuna’ [signed the contract… without the slightest difficulty], and the Admiral had ‘restato satisfatissimo’ [remained very satisfied] with the benefits received), 22 (on the manifestations of ‘granda alegreza’ [great happiness] of Antonio de Leyva, ‘digando che niun instrumento poteva esser più a proposito de essa Cesarea Maestà che esso Andrea Doria’ [saying that no tool could be more appropriate for the Imperial Majesty than Andrea Doria]) and 121.
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of institutional engineering would have made it possible to make a change of route, that a law could calm the city of revolutions. Lope de Soria had from the beginning confessed that he was sceptical: ‘no me parece que sería buena la dicha unión – he wrote to Charles V in April 1525 – porque en la bertad no lo será en el efecto unión, porque sólo Dios abasta hazer que no sean divisos y apassionados los desta ciudad en sus parcialidades’ [it does not seem to me that the said union will be good because in truth it will not be union because only God would be sufficient to keep those of this city, in their factional divisions, from being divided and full of passion].43 Common sense and experience validated the reflections of the Imperial ambassador. With the consent of Andrea Doria, liberator of the patria from French dominion, the magistrature of the reformers started work again in mid-September 1528 to finish drawing up the laws that came into effect in October: all political divisions were forbidden, and the politically active citizenry was reshaped into an ‘unicus … omnium civium rempublicam administrantium ordo’ [a single order of citizens to administer the republic];44 the declared aim of avoiding an involution in the direction of the factions or a tyranny or lordship was pursued by transforming the office of Doge from lifelong to biennial, distinguishing different powers, imposing the principle of collegiality in decision-making and establishing a tightly woven network of reciprocal checks between the magistratures. But all this was on paper. Nothing guaranteed the success of the political operation to which Andrea Doria had given his consent. The ‘union’ was little more than a noble enunciation of principle. In saying this we are assuming the viewpoint of those who lived at the time: the realisation of the reform under the protective wing of the Empire was made possible by a very complex chain of ‘events’, complex to the point that it almost seems that if even one of its causal links had been lacking the final result would have been compromised. Nothing yet tells us that Genoa would take a stable place in the Spanish imperial system. That problem cannot be separated from that of the conditions which allowed the new internal political-constitutional system to take hold. What we must explain in reference to the history of Genoa in the central part of the 16th century, and to the relationship between Charles V and the city, is the combination of two processes: the first of (relative) political stabilisation and the second of strong economic growth. This forces us to abandon the level of the ‘events’ in order to deal with that of the economic and political factors which in the longer term operated in the direction of a symbiosis between Genoa and the Spanish monarchy. Once again without foregone conclusions. 43
Letter of Charles V, 5 April 1525, RAHM, CSC, ms. A-34, cc. 220-226. Manoscritti tornati da Parigi 8, cc. 3-4. This is without doubt the oldest among the manuscripts of the Latin text of the laws of 1528, subsequently published in Italian translation in the second half of the 16th century: Le leggi et riforme della eccelsa republica di Genova, fatte da dodici prestantissimi cittadini di quella, l’anno M.D.XXVIII (Pavia, Girolamo Bartoli, 1575). On this edition, see R. Savelli, ‘La pubblicistica genovese durante le guerre civili del 1575’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n. s., XX\2 (1980), 82-105, especially 87-88, Idem, La repubblica oligarchica. Legislazione, istituzioni e ceti a Genova nel Cinquecento (Milan 1981) 258-266.
44 ASG,
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Between France and Spain: Economy and Structures The bond between the Ligurian city and Spain had some contradictory aspects. On the one hand, it seemed obvious. As Lope de Soria wrote to Charles V in the mid1520s, ‘podrán dezir algunos que teniendo los ginoveses tantos bienes en los reynos y señorías de vuestra magestad, no osarían hazerle ningún desservicio, pues podría castigarlos con mucho daño dellos’ [Some can say that since the Genoese have so many properties in the kingdoms and lordships of your majesty, they will not dare to do you any disservice, because you could punish them with much damage to them]. It was a way of reasoning based on common sense: the asymmetry of military power between the two states was evident to say the least, and the quantity of goods possessed by the Genoese in Spanish lands was such that Charles V seemed to have an enormous power over them. But to those, continued Soria, ‘yo respondo que toda Génova no vale tanto como sería el daño que vuestra magestad podría recebir en caso que ellos se reboltassen para desservirlo’ [I answer that all Genoa is not worth as much as the damage that your Majesty could receive if they were to revolt against you]. And it would be useless to take it out on the Genoese ‘haziendas’ settled in Spain, because ‘el daño no se podría escusar’ [the damage could not be excused].45 It was enough hence to change one’s point of view, and the relationship appeared turned upside down, so great was the contribution that Genoa made to the Spanish imperial system. This fact was particularly clear during the last period of French domination (from August 1527 to September 1528). The imperial successes in Italy until the battle of Pavia and beyond were achieved in part thanks to the credit of the Genoese merchant-bankers. When the city passed under the control of Francis I, the financial network that had guaranteed the transfer of resources to the theatre of the war operations registered violent repercussions. The mechanism, agile and functional as long as Genoa constituted its fulcrum, now became complicated and untrustworthy, and finally stopped working. To have fresh money in Italy became ‘el mayor travajo del mundo’ [the biggest problem in the world]. Soria had foreseen that this would happen and considered that the liberation of Genoa was the first priority for imperial policy: ‘porque es la puerta y llave de Italia, y por donde se da forma de aver dineros, y avisos, y fuerças de armada de mar’ [because it is the door and the key to Italy and the place where it is possible to have money, information, and forces for sea warfare].46
45
Letter, 5 April 1525, RAHM, CSC, ms. A-34, cc. 220-226. That for the king of Spain Genoa was indispensable in order to preserve his Italian dominions became a commonplace, see A. Pacini, ‘El ‘padre’ y la ‘república perfecta’: Génova y la monarquía española en 1575’, in J. Bravo, ed., Espacios de Poder: Cortes, Ciudades y Villas (s. XVI-XVIII) (Madrid 2002) 119-132. 46 Letter to Mercurino di Gattinara, 17 June 1528 (RAHM, CSC, ms. A-42, c. 425), and to Charles V of 17 September 1527, Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid, ms. 2021462, n. 15. On the idea, widespread in the late middle ages and the early modern period, that Genoa was the ‘porta d’Italia’ [door of Italy], see A. Borlandi, ‘‘Janua, janua Italiae’: uno sguardo al Quattrocento genovese’, Archivio Storico Italiano, CXLIII\1 (1985) 15-37, and Pacini, ‘I presupposti politici’, 49. For the financial difficulties that the loss of Genoa caused to the emperor, Idem, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 266 ff.
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It was Andrea Doria who, by passing into Charles’s service and driving the French out of Genoa, reversed a situation which was nearly desperate for the emperor. Andrea Doria’s ‘voltafaccia’ [sudden switch of alliance] condemned Lautrec’s expedition in the kingdom of Naples. The liberation of Genoa had the consequence of immediately reactivating the flow of credit towards the emperor. All this reinforces Soria’s lucid analysis: the strategic location, the great financial resources and the willingness to use them for credit operations (cambi), the abundance of that most precious commodity, information (guaranteed by a commercial network without equal in Europe), the capacity to build and equip galleys: these were the characteristics of Genoa which determined for better and for worse her history in the first centuries of the modern period, which on the one hand placed her in the centre of the competition for supremacy in Italy and in Europe, and on the other made her fortune. What the Ligurian city had to offer made an alliance with her extremely useful for Charles V and stimulated Francis I’s desire to conquer her. The alternative between a French Genoa, capital of a Ligurian ‘province’ and an autonomous republic inserted in the Spanish-Habsburg imperial system, was not yet decided even on the economic plane at the beginning of the 1530s. The outcome depended both on the international political-military balance and on the dialectics and the confrontation within the city itself. And in this latter respect the situation could have gone either way, and as the events of 1527-1528 show, the result would be relevant in determining the evolution of the international scene. Either of the powers would have been able to satisfy the basic need of the city: Provençal grain (and then Turkish, after the link between the French king and the sultan had been established) could have been substituted for Sicilian grain to provision the city; the French market offered prospects for expansion as favourable as those offered by Spain. Everything depended on the kind of balance that would be created between the aggregations of political and economic interests inside the city walls. Let us see what these aggregations, different for structure and social composition, but of equal strength politically, were. When in 1531 at the court of Charles V an explicit statement of subjection of Genoa to the Empire was being negotiated (asked for by the emperor and courteously but tenaciously refused by the government of the republic), the orator, Troilo Negrone, stated to the Genoese Signoria that ‘molti de nostri cittadini vorrebbeno prima essere sudditi de francesi che d’altri, e con bone ragioni si provarebbe essere manco male’ [many of our citizens would rather be subjects of the French than of others, and with good reasons it could be proved that it would be better].47 His statement contradicts the traditional thesis that the economic interests which then linked the city to Spain had absolute pre-eminence. What the reasons for preferring France were was explained in a letter from the imperial ambassador two months later: ‘la mayor contratación de aquí – wrote Figueroa – es ésta [de la seda] y la de los cambios. Pero esta de las sedas es mas general, porque da de 47
Letter of 2-7 September 1531,
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ASG,
Archivio Segreto 2518.
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comer a mucha gente’ [the most important business here is silk and money changing. However the silk trade is more general because it provides a livelihood for many people].48 The manufacture of velvets, which had in France by far its most important market, had a value which today we would define socially ‘strategic’; the productive process distributed income to the broad part of the population, creating widespread wealth, in contrast to the great financial operations with the Spanish monarchy which were handled by a small elite. Deciding between France and Spain hence meant deciding between two different configurations and prospects for the development of the city: between a Genoa prevalently engaged in manufacturing (and, from a political point of view ‘popular’), and another dedicated to shipping and finance (with a pre-eminent role of the noble component of the governing group). Neither of these configurations was to exclude totally the other. But nothing had yet been decided in the 1530s and 1540s. The long tradition of political upheavals, the threat of popular-plebeian tumults, in which the textile workers, and first of all the weavers, had always had an important role, the threat of an alliance between these social and productive sectors and the popular component of the nobility, which was almost the only protagonist of the strong development of the Ligurian silk manufacture: all this made the future of the city extremely uncertain. Would a political solution, balanced so as to satisfy everyone, be found? Or as on so many other occasions would the question be decided by the clash of arms and civil conflict, both social and factionary? The answer to this dilemma, progressive and never final, came from the way in which Genoa succeeded in placing herself in the Spanish imperial system, and in this respect we propose reading the situation in terms of imperatives and opportunities. We have already spoken of the imperatives. They were in the first place political and regarded internal stability, the principle aim of the reform of 1528. The opportunities regarded particularly the economic field. Whether or not they were taken would determine the city’s position, advantageous or unfavourable, powerful or subordinate, in the new international context. And here the response of the Genoese was extremely effective. In considering it, we will refer prevalently the growing role, and in the end the near monopoly, that the Ligurian merchant-bankers had in the Spanish finances.49
48 Letter to Charles V of 14 November 1531, Archivo General de Simancas (from now on AGS), Estado 1363, ff. 70 and 71. See Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 462 ff. 49 For the age of Charles V, on this theme, aside from the still fundamental work of R. Carande, Carlos V y sus banqueros, 3 vols. (Madrid 1943-1967) and the contributions by H. Kellenbenz, Los Fugger en España y Portugal hasta 1560 (Valladolid 2000) and Otte, Il ruolo dei Genovesi (and see below note 69), particularly innovative and useful are the recent studies by C. J. de Carlos Morales, Carlos V y el crédito de Castilla. El tesorero general Francisco de Vargas y la hacienda real entre 1516 y 1524 (Madrid 2000) Idem, ‘Carlos V en una encrucijada financiera: las relaciones entre mercaderes-banqueros alemanes, genoveses y españoles en los asientos de 1529-1533’, in Martínez Millán, Carlos V y la quiebra del humanismo político, 405-429.
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Genoa in the Spanish Imperial System Two elements in the recent historiographical debate appear relevant in connection with this theme. First of all the notion of imperial system. The ‘pendolo storiografico’ [historiographical pendulum] of the interpretations of Spanish monarchy, in G. Galasso’s definition, appears to have reached a position of equilibrium or at least to have reduced the ‘period’ of its oscillations. The equilibrium between the consideration of the centrifugal elements (or objective elements of internal differentiation) and unifying factors has become concrete in Galasso’s perspective with the notion of ‘imperial system’ (further articulated by A. Musi, according to whom ‘negli anni Quaranta del Cinquecento va costruendosi un vero e proprio ‘sottosistema’ Italia nel quadro del sistema imperiale spagnolo’ [in the 1540s a true ‘subsystem’ Italy in the framework of the Spanish imperial system is being built].50 ‘System’ is a complex category, which is used, Galasso states, ‘anche sulla base di ciò che le scienze politiche e la sociologia contemporanee presentano di interessante’ [also on the basis of the elements of interest presented by the political sciences and sociology],51 and there is no doubt that from a non rigid application of the systemic approach – centred around interrelations and interdependences, in a structured whole, among its various parts – political history, and in particular that of the Spanish monarchy, can profit. The problem rather is to single out the substance of those interrelations and interdependences, and that brings us to another already consolidated element in historiography: attention towards ‘power elites’.52 The court as the fundamental nucleus of the construction of political processes has been for years at the centre of the interests of J. Martínez Millán and of his group, and to them we owe, in this perspective, the most important work carried out in recent years on the age of Charles V.53 Obviously it is not just a matter of the internal dynamics of the narrow circle of the sovereign’s closest advisors.54 The court is in reality a ‘political place’, large and open, where the power strategies and impulses
50 See G. Galasso, ‘Il sistema imperiale spagnolo da Filippo II a Filippo IV’, in P. Pissavino and G. Signorotto, eds., Lombardia borromaica, Lombardia spagnola, 1554-1659 (Rome 1995) I, 13-40, Idem, ‘Introduzione’, in A. Musi, ed., Nel sistema imperiale. L’Italia spagnola (Naples 1994) 9-47, Idem, Alla periferia dell’impero. Il regno di Napoli nel periodo spagnolo (secoli XVI-XVII) (Turin 1994) 5 ff., and of A. Musi, ‘L’Italia nel sistema imperiale spagnolo’, in Musi, Nel sistema imperiale, 51-66, especially 59, Idem, L’Italia dei viceré. Integrazione e resistenza nel sistema imperiale spagnolo (Cava de’ Tirreni 2000) and Idem, ‘L’impero spagnolo’, Filosofia politica, XVI/1 (2002) 37-61. 51 Galasso, ‘Il sistema imperiale spagnolo’, 13. 52 See the considerations of M. A. Visceglia, Identità sociali. La nobiltà napoletana nella prima età moderna (Milan 1998) 40-50. 53 J. Martínez Millán, ed., La corte de Carlos V, 5 vols. (Madrid 2000). This work is a solar demonstration of how themes of such amplitude can only be dealt with effectively by an équipe. In the vast and unequal production linked to the centennial of Charles V’s birth, sure reference points are W. Blockmans, Emperor Charles V 1500-1558 (London 2001) and E. Belenguer, El imperio de Carlos V. Las coronas y sus territorios (Barcelona 2002). 54 See Martínez Millán, La corte de Carlos V, I, 32 ff.
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arriving from the various components of the imperial system flow together. The rearticulation, in part we might say the fragmentation, of the dualism between centre and periphery leads in this case too to underlining the factors of interdependence, the relational elements.55 These are useful ideas which can help to calibrate in a new way the discourse on the role of the Genoese merchant-bankers – to which we must add a careful evaluation of the political and economic implications of their relations with the local territorial context to which they refer, starting with the realisation, so obvious that it is usually ignored, that a phenomenon like the ‘century of the Genoese’, cannot be imagined without considering Genoa (and perhaps the republican form of the city’s government as well). Speaking metaphorically, we intend here to propose an image of the Genoese financial elite as a being with two faces: one that looks towards the broad horizons of the Spanish empire, and the other fixed on the microcosm of its place of origin, in the awareness that the decisive game it is playing has to be won, with different tools, on both sides, against stubborn rivals. The Ligurian merchant-bankers, who already in the times of Charles V made themselves protagonists in the financial affairs with the monarchy, were in a double sense, and in two different spatial and political dimensions, a power elite. In this way they must be considered in the framework of the Empire not only and not so much because they were able, opening or closing the flow of credit, to condition the emperor’s initiatives, but insofar as they participated in that fundamental aspect of ancien regime politics that was the management of the royal bounty. What appeared to be exclusively economic relationships (opening credit, but the same is true of the availability of the fleet for military purposes and its vast spin-off) were in reality conceived of in more complex ways. In the ‘asientos’ obviously the terms of the exchange operations were minutely specified (the dates and manner of payment and repayment) but the fact that the bankers frequently described as a ‘merced’ the repayment of that their credits is not just an expression of courtesy towards their imperial client. If the contract established a fixed remuneration, from the relationship with Charles V they expected further compensation, monetary and non monetary (‘no sólo quieren la ganancia, pero las gracias del servicio que hacen’ [they ask not only for their gain, but also benefits for the service which they perform].56 The ‘merced’, the ‘grazia’, did not depend on a formal written contract, but on Charles’ ‘liberalidad’, on his munificence, which everyone was interested in considering large, almost unlimited. To have business dealings with the emperor was a source of prestige (at least as long as he was able to honour his debts), it had a value of its own insofar as it contributed to increase and consolidate a financier’s ‘credit’. And even greater prestige was given by the non-contractual remunerations, the true ‘mercedes’, which made
55
See Espacios de poder: Corte, Ciudades y Villas. Letter of Gómez Suárez de Figueroa to Francisco de Los Cobos, 6 May 1536, AGS, Estado 1367, f. 167. 56
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public and evident the sovereign’s gratitude and ‘confiança’. One might therefore carry out a financial operation with Charles V because a bishopric in a faraway diocese in Aragon or the kingdom of Naples was free, aiming at an ecclesiastical benefice, the appointment to an office or a pension. The banker or ship-owner always had a relative, a friend or a client to recommend, and if the request was successful there was an immediate economic and political advantage. It is essential to understand the importance in the struggle for primacy in the city of being able to boast of imperial favour. That favour was at the same time a source of wealth and of prestige, both indispensable for the power elites if they were to consolidate their status. In this connection, Andrea Doria offers a significant variation on the theme of the relationship between service and ‘merced’ which characterised his bond, and that of others, with Charles V.57 Referring to a promise made by the emperor which had not yet been kept, Doria said that the benefits gave advantages which were not just material, but rather, above all, ‘crédito y reputación’ [credit and reputation], that is, honour. To promise them publicly and then not grant them produced the opposite effect. What was dangerous was not so much the loss of anticipated or expected income, but rather ‘vergüença’ [shame] – that is, the demonstration of a loss of favour with the sovereign, or worse, that one was not taken seriously into consideration. That weakened the position of the unlucky man, undermining the foundations of his power.58 Seen from Genoa, the mechanisms which made Charles’ Empire work appear to form a gigantic ‘system’, tightly interconnected. What kept it in motion were forms of stable relations and circuits which to a certain extent unified its various parts and dictated similar models of behaviour. The lymph in those circuits was constituted by resources (economic, political and of prestige) which moved, even before they were concretely available, inside what Giorgio Doria has defined as the principal resource of the Genoese, the fundamental tool of their success: their information system.59 News of the concession of a ‘servicio’ or a ‘donativo’ [contributions to the royal budget] from the Castilian cortes or from the Neapolitan parliament, circulated first 57 On this theme a work by A. Álvarez-Ossorio Alvarino, Las Tres Gracias. Dar, recebir y devolver beneficios. La ética del servicio-merced, forthcoming, regards the Spanish culture of the 17th century. The work is announced in Idem, La república de las parentelas. El Estado de Milán en la monarquía de Carlos II (Mantua 2002) 45. On the benefices granted by the Spanish monarchy as ‘strumenti di governo’ [tools of government] and ‘risorse politiche di primaria importanza’ [political resources of prime importance] in 16th- and 17th-century Italy, see A. Spagnoletti, Prìncipi italiani e Spagna nell’età barocca (Milan 1996) 46, 90 and passim. 58 Letter of Figueroa (in which he describes talks with the Admiral) to Charles V, 14 March and 1 June 1531, AGS, Estado 1363, ff. 15-19 and 24-26. Doria wrote to the emperor on 31 May, stating that ‘quanto al fatto mio particolare’ [as to my personal affairs], the requests were not dictated by ‘interesse o altra cupidità di guadagno’ [interest or greediness for gain], but by ‘honore’ [honour], accompanied by the ‘desiderio che tengo di essere conosciuto da ciascuno per quel servitore ch’io sono di vostra maestà’ [desire that I have to be known by everyone for that servant that I am of your Majesty], ibidem, f. 118; in the same terms in another of 20 June, ibidem, ff. 131-134. 59 G. Doria, ‘Conoscenza del mercato e sistema informativo: il know-how dei mercanti-finanzieri genovesi nei secoli XVI e XVII’, in De Maddalena – Kellenbenz, La repubblica internazionale del denaro (v. supra n. 14), 57-123.
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of all in commercial correspondence. But in the same way news about the vacancy of an office, a benefice or a bishopric – or maybe only about an illness of the present incumbent – spread. Whoever had the best observation point, and received the news first, could exploit it best, being the first to put into action the ‘servicio-merced’ mechanism before the others, hoping to obtain the desired reward.60 The objective in general terms, for the Genoese power elites as for those of other states and dominions linked to Charles V or dependent on him, consisted in intercepting the largest possible part of the resources that moved in the circuits of the system. Obviously, the operational details and the Genoese strategies as we have described them were calibrated according to the kind of interlocutor they had in front of them. Relations with Charles had ups and downs. Phases of great reciprocal confidence would be followed by moments of even grave uncertainty. Overall, however, he proved trustworthy. With him, the merchants dealt ‘llanamente como hazen entrellos’ [smoothly, as they do among themselves].61 Naturally, in some cases they were singed. Lateness in reimbursing the asientos could have disastrous consequences and lead to bankruptcy. But the emperor’s reputation as ‘mejor pagador que ningún otro príncipe’ [a better payer than any other prince]62 survived even in critical times. And this permitted him to maintain the trust of the city’s financial market.
60 For example, in 1529, Andrea Doria tried to obtain the favour of Charles V for his cousin cardinal Gerolamo thus: ‘io particolarmente li racordo et suplico si degni anche havere in memoria la promissione che gli è piaciuto farme sopra la intrata de beneficii in quessi suoi regni, sempre che accadarà la occasione, et perché intendo el cardinale Cortona essere di poca complexione et in termine che si può giudicare debba durare poco, s’el piacesse a vostra maestà, in caso ch’el mancasse prima che la mi havesse d’altro provisto, farmi mercede del vescovato di Barzelona, lo recevarei in singulare gratia, el qual havendo poi da pervenire nel prefato reverendissimo mio cugino, ambi, se più servitori et schiavi di quello siamo a vostra maestà è possibile farsi, più li restariamo’ [I particularly remind you and supplicate that you deign to remember the promise that you were pleased to make to me on the income of the benefices of these kingdoms of yours, if there should be the occasion, and because I understand that the cardinal of Cortona is not in good health and is in such a condition that it can be thought that he will not last long, if it were to please your Majesty, in case he were to succumb before your Majesty have provided me with something else, to grant me the bishopric of Barcelona, I would receive it as a particular demonstration of your munificence, which as it will have then to go to my aforesaid most reverend cousin, if it is possible to be more servants and slaves of your Majesty than we already are, both of us will be such], letter, 31 January 1529, AGS, Estado 1553, ff. 300-302 (Cardinal Silvio Passerini died in April 1529, and the diocese of Barcelona went to Luis Cardona, but, as we will see, Charles V did not lack ways of remunerating Gerolamo Doria). Thus Figueroa wrote in the course of an important financial negotiation with Ansaldo Grimaldi, that indirectly involved Grimaldi’s nephew, cardinal Gerolamo: ‘todo su deseo (of Ansaldo) no es otro sino ver al cardenal que pueda bivir sin necessidad, que siendo de mano de vuestra magestad lo ternía en más, y que la merced del obispado piensa no avrá lugar, porque no deve ser muerto’ [all his desire (of Ansaldo) is nothing else but to see that the cardinal can live without economic problems, and that if it comes from the hand of your Majesty he will value it more, and that he thinks that the gratification of the bishopric will not come to pass, because (the present bishop) must not be dead], letter to Charles V, 28 September 1529, AGS, Estado 1362, f. 55. Below we will discuss further the competition between the two powerful patrons in favour of their respective family cardinals. On the importance of having a good information system in order to compete successfully in obtaining both lay and ecclesiastical benefices, see R. Ago, Carriere e clientele nella Roma barocca (Rome-Bari 1990) 82, and Spagnoletti, Prìncipi italiani e Spagna, 76. 61 Letter of Figueroa to Charles V, 26 November 1532, AGS, Estado 1365, f. 100. 62 Letter of Figueroa to Charles, 10 August 1534, AGS, Estado 1367, ff. 24-26.
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In this connection we cannot ignore the substantial difference in attitude between Charles V and his great rival, Francis I. Every time the reimbursement mechanism did not function properly, the emperor turned directly to his creditors, expressing his sorrow that he was not able to repay his debts, and he would spend his ‘palabra real’ [royal word], promising to provide as fast as possible. His orator in Genoa, Gómez Suárez de Figueroa, who acted as a financial agent, did not spare any effort to tranquillise the bankers, to offer credible guarantees, in substance to defend his Majesty’s shaky credit. All this is in striking contrast to the brusque orders which the French court sent in 1536-37 to Cardinal Tournon, governor of Lyon, busy trying to find the funds necessary to finance the war in Piedmont. Tournon had obtained money from the consulate of Lyon and from the communities of Italian merchants (Florentine and Lucchese particularly) who resided in Lyon, and in vain he asked the king to respect punctually the agreements made, fearing his sovereign’s and his own loss of credit. The answers of the court are completely out of tune with the rules of the commercial and banking world – rules which determined the trust of the financiers towards anyone who requested their services, even if he were a powerful king. So much so that the Florentines, exasperated, threatened to abandon Lyon, and ‘s’en… aller et retyrer à Besançon’ [to leave and go to Besançon], which would have meant entering in the orbit of the Genoese bank, and thus passing to the emperor’s side.63 Another example is the attempt by Francis I in 1543 to gain stable access to the Genoese financial market. In trying to achieve his aim, the king made a very significant logical non-sequitur: he turned, that is, to the republic, to the Genoese government, asking them to induce ‘particulari cittadini’ [private citizens] to do for him what they were already doing for the emperor: provide credit. The incongruous request was followed by the obvious answer: the government of the republic had no powers of coercion towards the merchant-bankers in order to guide their activities, nor did it intend to. The Genoese ‘nunca prestaron dineros al emperador por parte de común, mas de los particulares le davan a cambio con gruessos interesses’ [never loan money to the emperor through the government, but private citizens provide it with ample interest], referred the Spanish ambassador, Figueroa. On this ground Francis I would have to compete with his rival.64 Certainly Charles V himself did not always succeed in respecting the rules of the game, and his credit in various moments suffered on that account, but he was always aware of the problem and this sensitivity over the long run allowed him to benefit from the financial support of the great German and the Genoese houses. And there is no doubt that the success of the struggle between the French and the Spanish 63 Letter of Tournon to Francis I, 27 December 1536, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Fonds Français 5125, cc. 205v-206. See P. Hamon, L’argent du roy. Les finances sous François Ier (Paris 1994) 172, and Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 475 ff., especially 487. 64 Letter of Figueroa to prince Philip of 23 May 1544, AGS, Estado 1376, f. 104. See Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 502 ff.
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monarchies for the supremacy in Italy and in Europe was determined – along with other factors – by the ability to establish an organic link with the international financial elites. In this connection two circumstances are evident and must be underlined. First, Charles V’s ability to speak the same language as the merchant-bankers, to understand their requirements and to maintain, even in difficult moments, the trust which was necessary in order to overcome those moments. The second consideration is that overall the composite and apparently almost fragmented complex of imperial dominions had a capacity to mobilise resources and to attract the interest of the mercantile and financial elites that the compact French monarchy and the precocious absolutism of its kings did not have.
The World of the Genoese: Finance, Trade and Office The Genoese merchant-bankers were able to exploit the opportunities offered by the Spanish monarchy (whose fundamental needs they satisfied). In doing this they became full members of what F. Chabod65 called an ‘International’, of men of letters, politicians, military men, administrators and bankers (and we could add, men of the church) who, in serving the Spanish sovereigns tried to satisfy their individual, family or group ambitions, and at the same time they managed (and in some cases, invented) the mechanisms by which the imperial system worked. And in the same way as other elites, the financial elite was linked to the sovereign by a servicio-merced logic which integrated the economic criterion of profit, correcting its meaning. This was, in fact the only way of gaining access to the infinite forms of exploitation of the royal patronage, which guaranteed the optimisation of strategies necessarily planned on the double register of politics and finance. But beyond sharing a culture of personal fidelity (and of rewards), another element characterised the modus operandi of the Genoese, and that is, recourse to what we can consider a networking strategy. Another element which should be considered is that the range of action of the financial elite went well beyond the sphere of the relations with the emperor and with the Castilian central administration. The credit extended to Charles V and to the Habsburg kings was certainly important, nonetheless it was a product of a much broader phenomenon: the complex projection of the Genoese economy in the dominions of the monarchy. And this is an unquestionable result of some of the approaches which economic historians have developed to deal with the now classical theme of the ‘century of the Genoese’, it too subject, to borrow Galasso’s metaphor, to a kind of ‘historiographical pendulum’: on one hand the enthusiasms of the heirs of Braudel’s first formulation, on the other the nearly 65
F. Chabod, ‘Esiste uno stato del Rinascimento?’, now in Scritti sul Rinascimento (Turin 1967) 592-623, especially 600 and 610.
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complete indifference of Italian scholars. In answer to the ‘exclusivist’ vulgate that exalts only the Genoese part in phenomena which always had many protagonists, ideological reasons have led to a kind of reductionism.66 In order to understand the link between the financial and the commercial dimensions, between the handful of hombres de negocios who acted in the market of credit to the monarchy and the crowd of economically active individuals of the so-called Ligurian ‘diaspora’, we must observe first of all the interpretation of the success of the Genoese in terms of the global information system, aimed at the elaboration of basic strategies, articulated in sub-global strategies, proposed by G. Doria.67 Information, indispensable ‘per un’analisi accurata e precisa dei “dati ambientali”’ [for an accurate and precise analysis of ‘environmental data’], was more or less useful according to how dependable and exclusive it were. That is, it had to come from strategic points in the political-commercial-financial system (from ‘privileged observers’ who made it possible to gather the news and to formulate a forecast before and better than the others) and be provided by correspondents well qualified as to experience, professionality and close relations with the area where they operated. From this point of view, G. Doria states, the Genoese enjoyed at the beginning of the modern age ‘di una situazione di netta superiorità sui loro concorrenti europei’ [a situation of sharp superiority to their European rivals].68 E. Otte’s idea of an ‘imperio génoves’ [Genoese empire] leads in the same direction. In his view the empire coincided with the age of Charles V and was founded on a capillary presence of the Ligurians in the Iberian area, and particularly in the Sevillian pole;69 M. Montacutelli’s thesis accentuates this idea, treating the re-orientation of the Genoese economy in the 17th century: an interpretation based on the relations and interdependencies between the different investment sectors.70 The Genoese merchant bankers, hence, exploited and increased from the beginning of the 16th century an already tightly meshed network of settlements that enclosed and connected all the dominions of the monarchy. The network did not have a single theme or dimension: it was not a matter of mercantile presences alone. The objective of control of information and the optimisation of dealings on the markets was followed through settlement in the articulations of the political-administrative-financial
66
See R. Romano, Introduzione a Storia dell’economia italiana, I (Turin 1990), XXVI-XXVII. G. Doria, ‘Conoscenza del mercato e sistema informativo’. 68 Ibidem, 75-78. 69 See E. Otte, ‘Sevilla, plaza bancaria europea en el siglo XVI’, in E. Otazu, ed., Dinero y crédito (siglos XVI-XIX) (Madrid 1978) 89-112, Idem, ‘Sevilla y las ferias genovesas: Lyon y Besançon (15031560)’, in V.R. Belvederi, ed., Atti del Congresso internazionale di studi storici. Rapporti GenovaMediterraneo-Atlantico nell’età moderna (Genoa 1983) 249-277, Idem, ‘Il ruolo dei Genovesi’, 17-56, P. Marzahl – E. Otte, ‘El imperio genovés 1522-1556’, in Banchi pubblici, banchi privati e monti di pietà nell’Europa preindustriale. Amministrazione, tecniche operative e ruoli economici, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s., XXXI\1 (1991) 247-263. 70 M. Montacutelli, ‘Un teatro per ‘dar direttione a cose infinite e grandi’. Ipotesi di ricerca sui genovesi a Roma’, in G. Signorotto – M.A. Visceglia, eds., La corte di Roma tra Cinque e Seicento ‘teatro’ della politica europea (Rome 1998) 376-391. 67
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apparatus of the various kingdoms. The quality of the news was influenced by the closeness of those who provided them to the ‘stanze dei bottoni’ [the rooms with the buttons];71 all the better if they were actually in positions of command. Another fact characteristic ab origine of the Genoese presence in the mechanisms of the Spanish empire is in fact the interchangeableness of roles which could even overlap entirely. It is sufficient to mention, for the times of Charles V, the careers of personalities like Tommaso de Fornari and Domenico Sauli, both merchant-bankers in the 1520s and then public functionaries in the service of the emperor. Fornari became the general treasurer of the imperial army in Italy and in this role was a financial agent of the emperor, in continuous movement between Genoa and Milan72. Sauli reached the important office of president of the Magistrature of the ordinary income of the duchy of Milan, an area which had always been vital for Genoese interests. His participation, sometimes unscrupulous, in financial and commercial speculations has been demonstrated, and there are indications which lead us to believe that he was part of one of the two groups who in the 1530s and 1540s competed, using credit, to gain a privileged relationship with Charles V: on the one hand the Doria-Centurione group, on the other Ansaldo Grimaldi, for many years the most accredited and powerful of the operators on the Genoese ‘piazza’. It had been Grimaldi himself, thanks to a loan of 50000 scudi to Francesco Sforza, then duke of Milan, to take away before the end of the contract the salt-farm from Domenico Sauli in 1530 (five years before the end of the contract). And when, in 1542 and then again in 1546, Sauli found himself embroiled in the investigations of fraud against the Milanese fisc, it was Andrea Doria himself who supported him, saying ‘io amo detto messer Dominico et la casa sua singularmente’ [I love the said messer Domenico and his house exceptionally well], a love which must have been growing with Adamo Centurione’s investments in the Milanese public debt.73 71
G. Doria, ‘Conoscenza del mercato e sistema informativo’, 78. See G. Nuti, ‘De Fornari, Tommaso’, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, XXXVI (Rome 1988) 16-17, F. Chabod, Storia di Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V (Turin 1961) ad indicem, Idem, Lo stato e la vita religiosa a Milano nell’epoca di Carlo V (Turin 1971) ad indicem, R. Carande, Carlos V y sus banqueros, III, Los caminos del oro y de la plata (Madrid 1967) ad indicem, Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, ad indicem. 73 Letters of Doria to Francisco de Los Cobos, 10 March, 6 June 1542 (AGS, Estado 1375, ff. 78 and 151) and to Charles V, 8 May, 28 August, 22 November 1546 (ibidem, Estado 1378, ff. 16, 140 and 133). Doria’s defensive strategy is curious: in Sauli’s account books there was evidence of a payment of 10,000 scudi to the Camera which had not been made, in relation to the salt farm between 1527 and 1530, for which he had been condemned to pay 40,000 between ‘capital’ and ‘fine’. Since the early interruption of the contract had caused him a loss of 6000 scudi a year, Sauli had ‘con conscienza et giustamente possuto rettenere presso di sé detta summa’ [with (clear) conscience and justly been able to retain himself the said sum] (ibidem, f. 140). On Domenico Sauli see Chabod, Storia di Milano, ad indicem, Idem, Lo stato e la vita religiosa, ad indicem, Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, ad indicem, and the laurea dissertation A. Terreni, Domenico Sauli (1490-1570). Finanza, politica, possessioni fondiarie nella Milano sforzesca e spagnola, Università degli Studi di Milano, academic year 2001-2002. On the Milanese finances we now have the works of G. De Luca, Commercio del denaro e crescita economica a Milano tra Cinque e Seicento (Milan 1996), Idem, ‘Strutture e dinamiche delle attività finanziarie milanesi tra cinque e Seicento’, in E. Brambilla – G. Muto, eds., La Lombardia spagnola. Nuovi indirizzi di ricerca (Milan 1997) 31-75, Idem, ‘Carlo V e il sistema finanziario milanese’, in M. Fantoni, ed., Carlo V e l’Italia (Rome 2000) 219-240. 72
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To stay in Lombardy, the stories of the brothers Giovanni and Tommaso Marino are equally significant: the roles of provider of credit and public functionaries often overlap in their ‘multiforme rapporto con il governo spagnolo’ [multifarious relationship with the Spanish government] and with the Milanese treasury.74 But the Genoese presence in the financial management apparatus of the Habsburg dominions in Italy is a generalised phenomenon: in Sicily their strategies, linked in the first place to the grain and silk trades, had led them to conquer ‘funzioni di primo piano nella vita politica e amministrativa dell’isola’ [a primary role in the political and adminstrative life of the island],75 and the same can be said for the kingdom of Naples, where ‘riuscirono a formare un legame quasi simbiotico con l’amministrazione’ [they succeeded in forming a nearly symbolic link with the administration].76 Extreme cases of this symbiosis, already in Charles V’s times not uncommon, are to be found, when both contracting parties in the financial negotiation (on one side whoever represented the monarchy, on the other the merchant-banker) came from the same group. This was the case for example in 1536 when the emperor, after the triumph of Tunis, had to undertake a war with Francis I, who had occupied a large part of Piedmont. With the German and Italian troops from Lombardy ready to mutiny because they had not been paid, the negotiations with Ansaldo Grimaldi were entrusted entirely to Tommaso Fornari. The ambassador Figueroa, abdicating from his usual function, decided to stay out of the negotiation, so that the two Genoese ‘se pudiesen alargar da una parte a la otra, sin respecto de ninguna persona’ [could discuss freely without having to take into account other persons].77 The result was a loan, an asiento, of 150,000 ducats which made it possible for Charles to deal with the emergency.78 The link between Grimaldi and Fornari was old, and perhaps it is not by chance that Fornari was, with Lope de Soria and Juan de Figueroa, author of the investigation that in 1542 led to suspending Domenico Sauli from his office. 74 See L. Ceriotti, ‘Forme antidorali di costruzione del potere nella Milano di Carlo V. L’esperienza dei fratelli Marino’, in Fantoni, Carlo V e l’Italia, 167-196, especially 179. 75 S. Laudani, La Sicilia della seta. Economia, società e politica (Rome 1996) 122 f. See Trasselli, Los genoveses en Sicilia y en Calabria desde el reinado de Carlos V hasta la guerra de los Treinta Años, in Dinero y Crédito, 197-205, M. Aymard, ‘I genovesi e la Sicilia durante la guerra dei trent’anni. Bilancio di una lunga crisi finanziaria’, Rivista Storica Italiana, LXXXIV\4 (1972), 988-1021. 76 A. Calabria, ‘Finanzieri genovesi nel regno di Napoli nel Cinquecento’, Rivista Storica Italiana, CI/3 (1989), 578-613, especially 584, Idem, The Cost of Empire. The Finances of the Kingdom of Naples in the Time of Spanish Rule (Cambridge 1991). For a stimulating overview of the presence of the Genoese in the Italian and Iberian dominions of the Habsburgs, see Doria, ‘Conoscenza del mercato e sistema informativo’. For southern Italy the information is dispersed in a vast bibliography. The necessary reference points are R. Colapietra, ‘I genovesi a Napoli nel primo Cinquecento’, in Idem, Dal Magnanimo a Masaniello. Studi di storia meridionale nell’età moderna (Salerno 1973) 23-65, A. Musi, ‘Stranieri a Napoli’, in Idem, Mezzogiorno spagnolo. La via napoletana allo stato moderno (Naples 1991) 133-173, Idem, Mercanti genovesi nel regno di Napoli (Naples 1996). On the kingdom of Naples in the first half of the 16th century today there are available two splendid books by C. J. Hernando Sánchez, Castilla y Nápoles en el siglo XVI. El virrey Pedro de Toledo. Linaje, estado y cultura (Salamanca 1994) and El reyno de Nápoles en el Imperio de Carlos V. La consolidación de la conquista (Madrid 2001). 77 Letter of Figueroa to Charles V of 13 April 1536, AGS, Estado 1369, f. 147. 78 See Carande, Carlos V y sus banqueros, III, Los caminos, 228; Chabod, Storia di Milano, 388-389, Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 359 ff.
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This mixture and overlapping of roles was a strategic factor for the Genoese economic operators, and it is not surprising that the Spanish political authorities sometimes did not deal directly with the merchant-bankers. This was one of the consequences of the fundamental thesis of Carande’s work, today largely accepted, and that is the impossibility of dividing public finance and credit market at the beginning of the modern age (or, from another point of view, of the ‘complicado marco del agregado público-privado en que se movieron los sistemas del crédito de la Europa moderna’ [in the complicated framework of the public-private aggregate in which the credit systems of modern Europe moved].79 The penetration of the Genoese in the financial administration of the Habsburg domains, both in the central and the peripheral organisms of the Castilian Hacienda, is a long process, which still awaits being reconstructed in its rhythms, its pauses and, above all, in its effects, and which certainly did not come to a stop at the symbolic date, 1627. Instead, after that year we see some of its most evident manifestations, such as the designation of Bartolomeo Spinola as Factor General of Philip IV and his entrance into the Consejo de Hacienda; but equally significant are the carreers of Ottaviano Centurione, Andrea Pichenotti and Gian Luca Pallavicini, to whom C. Álvarez Nogal most recently has drawn our attention.80 The nature and the logic itself, economic and political at the same time, of the relationship between Genoa and the Habsburg monarchy make evident the systemic aspect of the Spanish empire: the functional specialisation of the different parts underlined by A. Musi is one of its characteristics81, as is the fact that enormous resources were put into circulation in a way that generated competition. And positioning oneself in a competitive way in order to intercept those resources required ample networking strategies in order to increase and reinforce the capacity to intervene on the political and financial decision-making processes at all levels. Only in a system of this kind would a strategy like that of the Genoese make sense.
79 B. Hernández, ‘Finanzas y Hacienda en los territorios de la monarquía hispánica. Revista de una década historiográfica, 1988-1998’, Revista electrónica de historia (http://historia.fcs.ucr.ac.cr/articulos/fin-es.htm), I/1 (1999). 80 C. Álvarez Nogal, Los banqueros de Felipe IV y los metales preciosos americanos (1621-1665) (Madrid 1997) 23-26 and 51-85, Idem, El crédito de la monarquía hispánica en el reinado de Felipe IV (Valladolid 1997) 152 ff., 185 ff., 235 ff., 320 ff., Idem, ‘I Genovesi e la monarchia spagnola tra Cinque e Seicento’, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s. XLI/2 (2001) 107-123, Idem, ‘Estrategias de negociación de los agentes financieros en torno a la moneda de vellón’, in M. Rizzo, J.J. Ibanáñez, G. Sabatini, eds., Le forze del principe. Recursos, instrumentos y límites en la prática del poder soberano en los territorios de la Monarquía hispanica (Murcia 2004) I 71-98. See A. Domínguez Ortiz, Política y hacienda de Felipe IV (Madrid 1960) 109-126. The indication of the year 1627 as the beginning of the ‘dégagement’ of the Genoese and the reduction of their international role has now been questioned by Montacutelli, ‘Un teatro per ‘dar direttione a cose infinite e grandi’’, 374 ff.; other reference points are, as is obvious, F. Braudel, ‘Le siècle des génois s’achève-t-il en 1627?’, in Idem, Autour de la Méditerranée (Paris 1996) 433-446, and G. Felloni, Gli investimenti genovesi in Europa tra il Seicento e la Restaurazione (Milan 1971). 81 Musi, L’impero spagnolo, 44 ef.
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And it is not by chance that all this is very evident if we observe it from a Ligurian point of view. G. Signorotto has stated that ‘la concentrazione esclusiva sul problema dello stato moderno, sino alle soglie degli anni Ottanta, ha reso miope gran parte della storiografia italiana’ [the exclusive concentration on the problem of the modern state, until the beginning of the 1980s, has made a large part of Italian historiography nearsighted]82. Whether or not one agrees with this drastic verdict, it is clear that the scarcity of teleological temptations which the Genoese state organisation offers, according to a formulation by E. Grendi83, along with the contributions of Braudel, have made Ligurian history a favourable context for exploring the mechanisms and the circuits that regulated the functioning of the Spanish monarchy and made it possible to achieve hegemony in Europe. At this point it is necessary to return to Genoa in order to underline another essential piece of information on the way the city and its power elites approached Charles V and his Empire.
A Free Republic in the Imperial System If we consider the role of the merchant-bankers as a power elite within the city we obviously change scale, but there is no logical discontinuity. That they were a relevant political force is unquestionable. It is obvious that wealth was a necessary condition, and above a certain level, a sufficient condition, for entry into the order of the ruling citizens, that is, the Genoese nobility. So far access to political office on the basis of profession has not been studied statistically but fortunes in financial affairs corresponded almost automatically to brilliant political careers. Ansaldo Grimaldi for example, headed the embassy sent to Charles V and Clement VII on the occasion of the meeting in Bologna in 1533,84 and elected to the magistrate of governors in 1535 (which guaranteed that he would be in the highest institutional office in the republic, for two years as a ‘governatore’ and for two more years as a ‘procuratore’).85 And it is not necessary to insist on the power of Adamo Centurione, ‘il quale havia il govverno de tutte le chose di Andrea’ [who governed all Andrea (Doria’s) affairs]86, and at the end of the 1540s was considered the grey eminence of the regime: according to some, he had been able to ‘enseñorirse del príncipe Doria de tal manera que no
82
Signorotto, ‘Aperture e pregiudizi’, 367. Grendi, Il Cervo e la Repubblica. On the same line Raggio, Faide e parentele. See in this connection the acute observations of G. Muto, ‘Una vicenda secolare: il radicamento socio economico genovese nella Spagna de ‘Los Austrias’’, in Nicolò Doria. Itinerari economici, culturali, religiosi nei secoli XV-XVII tra Spagna, Genova e l’Europa, S. Giordano – C. Paolucci, eds., Quaderni Franzoniani, XII/2 (1996), 7-23. 84 G. Salvago, Historie di Genova, ms. in Archivio Doria, at the Faculty of Economics and Commerce of the University of Genoa, scat. 417, n. 1912, c. 52. See Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 290 ff. 85 The electoral procedure is registered in AGS, Archivio Segreto 757, cc. 144-147. 86 Salvago, Historie di Genova, c. 70r. 83
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tiene libertad para poder hazer ninguna cosa que no sea por mano de micer Adán’ [make himself master of prince Doria in such a way that he is not free to do anything except through messer Adamo].87 This does not mean however that the financial lobby was able to control the republic by itself: a conclusion Braudel reached in his enthusiasm for the discovery of the ‘century of the Genoese’.88 The question must be placed in its theoretical framework even before it is examined from a historical-documentary point of view. Taking into account the results of some of the principle debates that have marked the historiography of the modern age in recent decades (the reduction of importance of the linked concepts of modern state and absolutism, the revision of reading in terms of dominion and resistance of the relationship between centre and periphery, the problem of consent as a key to that relationship, the role of clientele and patronage links and networks, and so forth) F. Benigno proposes the idea that the mid 17th-century crisis was a phase of ‘popolarizzazione della politica’ [popularisation of politics] in the framework of a public sphere of articulation of the power struggle].89 This is, according to F. Schaub, an invitation to build an ‘histoire sociale de la politisation sous l’Ancien Régime’.90 Beyond the obvious peculiarities of the 17th-century phase,91 the fundamental characteristics of Benigno’s interpretation are also valid for some urban contexts in the 16th century, and in particular for Genoa, whose political system (with its continual tensions, latent and open) cannot be read and understood, if not in terms of seeking and aggregating consent. A consent which had to be won inside a public arena in which political discourses, at the same time, were built through techniques of manipulation and expressed the struggle for hegemony of contrasting views of the history and the future of the city, and in any case involved, in different ways and with different functions, all the social strata. Genoa was both large and small, at the same time: an ‘sismographe ultra-sensible qui s’agite où que le vaste monde remue’,92 according to F. Braudel, but also a microcosm in which ‘tutti sapevano tutto di tutti’ [everybody knew everything about everybody].93 To the exclusiveness and secrecy of the economic information
87 Letter to Gómez Suárez de Figueroa to Charles V, 30 August 1547, AGS, Estado 1379, f. 252 (published in ‘Documenti ispano-genovesi dell’Archivio di Simancas’, Atti della società Ligure di Storia Patria, VIII (1868) 15-288, especially 178 ff.). 88 Braudel, La Méditerranée, I, 314. 89 F. Benigno, Specchi della rivoluzione. Conflitto e identità politica nell’Europa moderna (Rome 1999) 137 ff. 90 F. Schaub, ‘Révolutions sans révolutionnaires? Acteurs ordinaires et crises politiques sous l’Ancien Régime (note critique)’, Annales. Histoires, Sciences Sociales, 55 (2000), 645-653 especially 646. 91 But see M. Olivari, Fra trono e opinione. La vita politica castigliana nel Cinque e Seicento (Venice 2002) who clears the field of the remaining reluctance to use for the first centuries of the modern period the concept of public opinion. 92 Braudel, Civilisation matérielle, III, Le temps du monde, 135. 93 R. Savelli, ‘La legge dell’‘ostracismo’ a Genova agli inizi del Seicento’, in A. Tagliaferri, ed., I ceti dirigenti in Italia in età moderna e contemporanea (Udine 1984) 199-215, especially 204.
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useful to beat the competition, corresponded the amazing speed with which information – economic or not, true or false, to be used in local politics – spread. The contrasting networks of alliances in the field of business as well as in politics made the city market an amplifier that sent out a continuous flow of news in every direction. A small delay in repaying the asientos, or rumours of conflicts with high members of the court were enough to place even the most highly regarded and powerful citizens ‘su le bilanze’ [on the scales]94: the uncomfortable position of those who were subjected to the constant examination by their fellow citizens as to their trustworthiness, both in the economic and in the political sphere. If a sign of weakness could be very expensive for an individual (but also for a family or a group), manipulating both internal and international information was a way to trigger the frightening mechanism of factionary mobilisation. Rumours of positive signals from the king of France and accusations of ingratitude of the Spanish monarchy (recurring, and usually referring to the city’s grain provisioning problem) were used to this end, and in the background there always lay the threat of a popular-plebeian uprising, which in Genoa traditionally represented the peak and the resolution of the strongest conflicts. Starting in the 1530s the republic experienced a long period what we can define as ‘conflictual stabilization’: an equilibrium was created, fruit of the overall settling of the Italian situation and of the opportunities offered by the alliance with Charles V, but the intensity of the internal political conflict remained high. Overall, the Genoese nobility gained strength, but the divisions remained deep and in some cases increased. The basic fact is therefore that the Genoese elites did not present a united, compact front at the appointment with those opportunities. In order to intercept the resources that moved in the circuits of the imperial system, competing networks based on factions and clienteles engaged in a hard struggle. The coordinates were in part provided by the long-established parties in a city which had been until a few years before turbulent and unstable to the extreme. Genoa was still ‘ciudad madre de las passiones’ [city mother of passions], the place par excellence of ‘parcialidades’ [partialities, that is, factionary struggle] as Lope de Soria stated in the 1520s, but it no longer had revolutions; strong contrasts were born, and factionary alliances were built, but the objectives were new, firmly placed within the horizons of the imperial system. In this respect, the contrast, which we have mentioned, between Andrea Doria and Ansaldo Grimaldi is a prime example. The first of the two was an owner of galleys, the ‘pater patriae’, the liberator of the city in 1528 and restorer of the republic; the second, Ansaldo Grimaldi, a great merchant banker, financer of the Habsburg emperor since the beginning of the 1520s, when Doria was still Charles’ main enemy
94 Andrea Doria used that expression in reference to his closest collaborator, Adamo Centurione, who was in financial difficulty because of the accumulation of credits which Charles V had not repaid, letter to the emperor, 28 May 1539, AGS, Estado 1372, f. 84.
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in the Mediterranean. Ansaldo was considered the richest man in Italy and above all the ‘más… seguro’, that is, financially the most trustworthy.95 As we said above, Doria established from the beginning of the 1530s a strong link with another emerging merchant-banker, Adamo Centurione, indispensable both for managing Doria’s main business (the galleys) and for broadening the range of services offered to the emperor, including credit. The two did not succeed however in getting rid of Grimaldi in his consolidated role in the city’s financial market. He was a sort of thermometer of the faith in the emperor’s financial solvency. His decisions were carefully scrutinised and influenced those of the other economic operators. Entering into conflict with him meant making it very difficult to obtain credit form the others as well.96 Thus Doria and Grimaldi were engaged in a strenuous struggle – economic, political and in prestige – to be the most favoured by the emperor, using surprisingly similar strategies: for example, both put a great deal of effort into favouring the careers of their respective family cardinals. Gerolamo Doria, thanks to Andrea’s intercession with Charles V, accumulated a rich harvest of benefices and was propelled upwards from the bishoprics of Elne and Huesca to the rich archdiocese of Taragona. Gerolamo Grimaldi, thanks to the good offices of Ansaldo, received the archdiocese of Bari and a variety of other benefices, among which a pension of 4,000 ducats a year granted by Charles V to his uncle for having signed an asiento of 100,000 scudi at a time of grave necessity.97 The two sponsors kept a sharp eye on the concessions coming from the imperial court to their rival. For Charles, favouring one or the other of the two cardinals meant creating trouble either in the management of the naval fleet or in finding credit. The emperor found a Solomonic solution in April 1530, when he made a large redistribution of benefices: he then granted, at the same time, ‘ducati 1.000 per uno de pension a li cardinali zenoesi Grimaldo e Doria’ [1000 ducats of pension to each of the Genoese cardinals Grimaldi and Doria].98 Another example of the competition which took place within the Genoese elites is the tenacious opposition to Andrea Doria maintained by some of the principal members of the powerful family-’albergo’ of the Spinola, who possessed imperial fiefs 95 Letter of Martín de Salinas to King Ferdinand, 10 June 1536, published by A. Rodríguez Villa, ‘El emperador Carlos V y su corte, según las cartas de Martín de Salinas (1522-1539)’, Boletín de la Real Academia de la Historia, XLIII-XLIV (1903-1905) 729. 96 In a complicated matter of payments in the autumn of 1529, Figueroa advised Charles V not to ‘desdeñar Ansaldo, pues no puede aver dicta más cierta que la suya ni que mejor lo pueda cumplir, y tambien sacando al dicho Ansaldo de los negocios de vuestra magestad, no ternían autoridad, ni avría quien entrasse en ellos’ [offend Ansaldo because there could be a surer enterprise than his nor which could carry it out better, and also taking Ansaldo out of the business arrangements with your Majesty, they would have no authority and there would be no one to enter into them], letter of 4 October 1529, AGS, Estado 1362, f. 45. 97 The vicissitudes of the two cardinals are reconstructed in Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, ad indicem. 98 Letter of the Venetian orator to Bologna Antonio Surian, 30 April 1530, in M. Sanuto, I diarii, LIII, col. 103.
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and had supported Charles V from the beginning of the 1520s. It was above all the feudal-military component of this extremely large consortium, in this case on a more specifically political plane, that acted against the Admiral. The colonel and lord of Tassarolo Agostino Spinola wrote to Charles that ‘Genova non si conserva in libertà né è governata per unione come forsi vogliono persuadere a vostra maestà’ [Genoa is not living in freedom nor in union as perhaps they want your Majesty to believe], that ‘anzi non è mai stata così tiramnigiata come è al presente’ [on the contrary she has never been so tyrannically ruled as at present]. But Genoa’s freedom was only a pretext. In reality, Spinola did not want to accept being ‘sottoposto a quelli che son sempre stati inimici a tutta casa nostra, et a me particolarmente, et a li quali in ogni tempo son stato sempre uguale, et più presto superiore che altramente’ [placed under those who have always been enemies to all our house and to me particularly, and to whom I have always been equal, and if anything more often superior than not].99 And it is easy to identity Andrea Doria as the target of those protests. Thus the shadows of the old factions of the Adornos and the Fregosos reappeared, since the Spinolas in former times had supported the former whereas the Dorias supported the latter – but in a new form, less destabilising for the republic. Agostino Spinola’s complaints aimed at obtaining tangible signs of consideration and esteem from the emperor, which could balance the implicit damage to his family’s honour that Doria’s primacy produced. Charles was to be generous with such signs, towards Agostino and his descendants. The connection between the many levels on which personalities of the calibre of Andrea Doria or Ansaldo Grimaldi, or Agostino Spinola played their game and wove their power strategies is evident: the imperial court, the regional political environment of their place of origin, the whole of the elites of the imperial system constituted the power arenas on which necessarily they must fight. And the outcome of each sectorial battle was reflected in and affected the chances of the contenders on the other battlegrounds. For Andrea Doria, being able to show Charles V’s favour increased his prestige and his ability to influence Genoese politics. Demonstrating that ability was in its turn essential for the Admiral in order to convince the emperor that he was indispensable – that Charles could not do without him – both on the naval-military side and on the financial side, in order to continue to receive benefits and favours. It was indispensable for Andrea to present himself as the recognised guiding force behind Genoese politics, and hence invested with the full favour and trust of the emperor, in order to cut out a leading role in the mobile, conflict-filled world of the international imperial elites. All were aiming at the same objective, intercepting the resources of the system, and thus consolidating and increasing their own positions of power.
99
Letter, 21 November 1530, in two copies, AGS, Estado 1173, f. 170, and 1174, f. 396.
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From the beginning, hence, competing networks arose within the Genoese financial-military-shipowning elite, which reproduced the old factionary system – now however no longer virulent in the same way as previously within the city because they were connected with the competition to receive favours from just one interlocutor, Charles V (and from those who had influence with him inside and outside of the court). But it is even more important that, even though it was rapidly increasing its power, that elite was not in command in the city, and could not avoid dealing with the other social and political aggregates, in particular with the complex universe of silk manufacture, formed of noble, popular and plebeian components, connected among themselves in an instable but permanent way. The identification of the interests of the two principal sectors of the city’s economy (credit and silk) with those of the traditional groups of the nobles and the popolari (after 1528 of old and new nobles) gave new vigour to the old conflict between the two ‘estates’ which became the central axis of Genoa’s political and constitutional life during the 16th century, to the point of leading to civil war in 1575.100 The fundamental problem for a long time was that of the access of the velvets made in Genoa to the French market. After the expulsion of the Ligurians in 1530, illegal importation, that is, smuggling, practiced particularly by Florentines and Lucchese, was the main way that the precious velvets reached Lyon. But it was a risky route; a single confiscation could ruin a merchant. In Genoa, the pressure to re-establish good relations with France was always strong, in the first place obviously on the part of the rich ‘setaioli’ (silk merchants), who however ‘tirano con loro molti altri, come manufatturieri, tessitori e altre persone che vi hanno grandissimo interesse’ [bring with them many others, manufacturers, weavers and other persons who have very great interest in this matter].101 No one, neither Andrea Doria (who did not want to expose himself that much on such a delicate point), nor the small elite of the bankers, decidedly in the pro-Habsburg camp, could keep the Signoria from taking action in that direction. Showing that ‘se impide la contrattación de Francia’ [negotiations with France are impeded], held Figueroa, was the same thing as handing the city to Francis I on a silver tray; ‘el pueblo es grande’ [the people is great], in this case it was necessary to follow the will of the majority,102 and there is no doubt that the overwhelming majority of the Genoese wanted the reestablishment and the safeguard of commercial relations with neighbouring France. After years of unsuccessful attempts, the re-admission of Genoese velvets (even though they were object of high tariffs) on the Lyonese market in 1537 was an important step in the direction of an 100 See Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria, 457 ff., and for 1575 Savelli, La repubblica oligarchica, Idem, ‘Tra Machiavelli e S. Giorgio. Cultura giuspolitica e dibattito istituzionale a Genova nel CinqueSeicento’, in A. De Maddalena – H. Kellenbenz, eds., Finanze e ragion di Stato in Italia e in Germania nella prima Età moderna (Bologna 1984) 249-321. 101 Report in AGS, Estado 1457, f. 245. 102 See the letters by Figueroa to Charles V, 7, 20 and 29 October, 6, 23 and 27 November 1541, and to Cobos, 6 and 13 November, and 19 December (AGS, Estado 1374, ff. 227, 229, 230, 232, 261, 262263, 181-183, 202 and 216), and of Adamo Centurione to Charles V, 3 December, ibidem, f. 95.
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acceptable balance between the interests of the manufacturers and the bankers belonging to the city’s governing groups. It is amazing to see the difference in the amount of power expressed by the financial elite on the two levels, international and internal, on which necessarily it had to develop its strategies. In the horizons of the Spanish monarchy it increased without stopping its capacity to control the credit mechanisms, in the urban sphere it was forced to stoop to defending its positions and mediating (sometimes even entering into direct conflict) with other interlocutors, to use the arms it possessed in the logic of building consent, which is par excellence the logic of the republican system.
Economic Success and the Republican Form of Government What we have said brings us back to the relationship between the political and the economic spheres in the construction of Genoa’s destiny in the 16th and 17th centuries. A problem which until now has been eluded or resolved with hurried conclusions. The republic is an oligarchy from the point of view of social history,103 it is a peripheral relic, the medieval remains of a city-state in an institutional perspective,104 it is a Spanish protectorate if seen in the framework of a study of international relations,105 it is a ‘useful banking state’ when S. Shama calls it to the impossible comparison with the glorious republic of the United Provinces, born in the titanic struggle with the Spanish monarchy.106 It seems almost impossible to avoid an interpretation of Genoa in the early modern period as an economic giant and a political dwarf. For G. Doria the political dimension only serves to exalt the abilities of an entrepreneurship able to emerge victorious notwithstanding the limits of the state structure it pertains to: ‘un piccolo stato regionale di circa 250.000 abitanti, privo di terre fertili, praticamente sprovvisto di un esercito, in condizione di sudditanza effettiva verso la Spagna, non poteva certo rappresentare un efficace strumento di sostegno’ [a small regional state of about 250,000 inhabitants, without fertile lands, practically without an army, in a condition of subjection towards Spain, certainly could not be a efficacious tool of support].107 The list of the presumed defects of the republic could continue with respect to any model of a state (modern – with the bizarre current distinction between the ‘strong’ and the ‘weak’ valence of the term – of the ancien regime or regional) without 103 For some time this has been the most widely used definition. See for example Savelli, La repubblica oligarchica, and C. Bitossi, Il Governo dei Magnifici. Patriziato e politica a Genova tra Cinque e Seicento (Genoa 1990). 104 See E. Fasano Guarini, ‘Centro e periferia, accentramento e particolarismi: dicotomia o sostanza degli Stati in età moderna?’, in G. Chittolini – A. Molho – P. Schiera, eds., Origini dello Stato. Processi di formazione statale in Italia fra medioevo ed età moderna (Bologna 1994) 147-176, especially 170. 105 Costantini, La Repubblica di Genova nell’età moderna, 52. 106 S. Schama, La cultura olandese del secolo d’oro (Milan 1988) 279. 107 Doria, ‘Conoscenza del mercato e sistema informativo’, 75.
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succeeding in explaining why, even in difficult moments, when the factionary struggles flared up, when the divisions were deep and serious, the perspective of direct dominion by Spain was always blocked by a realisation which constituted a threat for the Habsburgs: ‘aunque sean divisos entre ellos, en este caso serían unidos para conservar su libertad’ [even if they are divided amongst themselves, in that case they would be united to preserve their freedom].108 This is not the place to dwell on the strong role and the ambiguous meaning that the theme of liberty (and obviously that of ‘union’) had in Genoese politics in the 16th century.109 The functionality of the relation between the republican form of government and the international projection of the hombres de negocios has in any case complex reasons, which go beyond the convenience for the great families of a weak state as a guarantee that the public powers will not enter into their activities (and their patrimonies). The republic in the first place was the clearing house for the contrasts between the social and economic forces in competition: the ‘political place’ where the divergent impulses that came from a vital and dynamic society were, laboriously, mediated. The other fundamental aspect derives from the interpretation of the Genoese success in terms of an ‘information system’. Behind that system, as we have seen, there was in the first place the fine-meshed merchant network: a powerful structure (necessarily centralised) which was of benefit to the entire economy of the city, from the credit operations, to manufacture, to trade, sectors organically linked between themselves. In reality, in this we find a factor of unity of the system which counterbalances effectively the political divisions. The resilience of the republican form of government depended on the fact that the forces which were politically antagonistic were economically complementary, and all of them would have been damaged by a change in the rules of the game. All this made the weak, defenceless republic of Genoa an unconquerable bastion for the Spanish monarchy. The duke of Alba (who certainly cannot be accused of having republican sympathies) recognised it in 1575, when the Ligurian city was overcome by revolutionary convulsions which threatened to detach her after half a century from the alliance with the Habsburgs. In a meeting of the Council of State Alba expressed a first obvious truth, saying ‘que los negocios de estado tenían unas máximas y principios como otras sciencias, los quales no se ponían jamás en disputa, y que assí en este negocio de Génova, desde que él tratava negocios, era una, admitida de todos los que les avían tratado en su tiempo: aver menester su magestad tener a Génova para conservar los estados de Italia’ [that affairs of state have axioms and principles like other sciences, which are never disputed, and that thus in this question of Genoa, for as long as he had dealt with affairs of state, there was one, accepted by
108
Letter by Gómez Suárez de Figueroa to Charles V, 10 February 1547, AGS, Estado 1379, ff. 196-199 (Documenti ispano genovesi, 112 ff.). 109 Some elements in Pacini, ‘Ideali repubblicani, lotta politica e gestione del potere a Genova nella prima metà del Cinquecento’, in Politica e cultura nelle repubbliche italiane, 189-236.
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all those who had dealt with such questions in their turn: that it is necessary for his Majesty to hold Genoa in order to preserve the other states of Italy].110 If this could have been considered a maxim of science of the state, a sort of unquestioned assumption, the same can be said by now of another statement by Alba, regarding how Spain could reach the objective of ‘tener a Génova’. On another occasion, in a meeting of the same Council, he held ‘que si Génova fuesse de Francia, sería lo peor por las muchas causas que se dexan entender, que si de vuestra magestad, no lo ternía por lo mejor,… que lo que él ternía por mejor para vuestra magestad sería que fuesse república estando en el estado passado’ [if Genoa belonged to France, it would be the worst thing for the many reasons which can be easily understood; that if it belonged to your Majesty it would not be the best thing; that what he considers the best for your Majesty would be that it be a republic, as in the past].111 No member of the Council of State had anything to object. Genoa was a free republic, and that she should remain so, that is, allied and at the same time an independent republic, was a vital requirement of the Spanish monarchy.
The Genoese Case and Spanish Italy How much in the trajectory we have described is peculiar to the Genoese case, and how much instead can be validly applied to other situations? Is it possible to substitute the name of Andrea Doria (and obviously of Genoa) with that of other protagonists of the age of Charles V: of Ferrante Gonzaga, of Ferdinando d’Avalos, of Cosimo de’ Medici? We hold that, making the necessary distinctions on the basis of regional context and hence of the concrete articulation of the relationship with Charles V, the overall strategies of the Italian power elites had a common logic and a common structure. Both the political stabilisation and the economic take-off of 16th-century Genoa can in my view be interpreted as the product of the opportunities offered to the city by the mechanisms of the Spanish Habsburg imperial system, and by the capacity of the power elites of the city to take those opportunities and to build new political and social equilibria on them. Perhaps this kind of reading is not unsuitable to other Italian regional realities. That would have consequences of relevance for the conceptual outillage with which the history of so-called Spanish Italy could be approached.
110 AGS, Estado 1408, f. 227, Minutes of the 111 Ibidem, Estado 1405, f. 94, Minutes of
meeting of the Council of State, 19 December 1575. the meeting of the Council of State, 12 April 1575. The Inquisitor General Gaspar de Quiroga followed Alba in this opinion in another meeting of that body, 20 April: ‘El inquisidor… dixo… que por todo esto no ay duda sino que el estado passado de aquella república es el mejor para el servicio de vuestra magestad, como lo enseña claramente la experiencia’ [The Inquisitor said that for all these reasons there is no doubt that the state that the republic has had in the past is the best for the service of your Majesty, as experience clearly teaches], ibidem, f. 97.
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For example, one of the conceptual keys with which the historiography on the state has removed the old interpretations of Italian history in terms of decadence has been the category of ‘autonomismo’ [autonomism]. That is, it has been held that the different Italian state realities enjoyed broad possibilities of autonomous development on the political, economic and social plane, within the framework of a monarchy of a composite kind. A view which has historical bases, but which risks hiding an essential circumstance, which goes in the opposite direction on an interpretative level. And that is the deep and I would say structural insertion of the Italian power elites in the mechanisms of a strongly interconnected imperial system. Pushing outward the study of the power elites of Charles V’s court to the entire system appears to be absolutely necessary. Reading the realities of the 16th century in rigid terms of centre and periphery risks in this case too to lead to erroneous conclusions, ignoring and leaving aside essential elements in the construction of the overall equilibria of power. In overcoming such views we are helped by today’s increased sensitivity, for evident reasons, towards the abilities of individuals and groups to act in supranational contexts, building at the same time relevant power bases on a national, regional or local scale.
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Erik Aerts
Économie, monnaie et société dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux de Charles Quint
Introduction Voilà qui paraît bien difficile à concilier! Il y a d’un côté l’empereur qui, par ses guerres menées durant de longues années, causa énormément de douleur, soumit ses sujets à une pression fiscale colossale et laissa une montagne de dettes sans pareil, le souverain inaccessible qui, sans remords, fit poursuivre dans les Pays-Bas comme au dehors des milliers de personnes uniquement parce qu’elles avaient embrassé une autre foi, le personnage brutal qui n’hésita pas à humilier profondément sa propre ville natale. Mais à côté de cet homme d’État sans cœur, la mémoire collective a conservé l’image d’un autre personnage.1 Celle de Charles le populaire, le bon vivant, un souverain avec un véritable caractère flamand qui aimait la plaisanterie, une table bien garnie et bien arrosée. Cette figure du père recevant d’un habitant d’Olen pas très malin une choppe à trois anses et mangeant chez un charbonnier de la forêt de Soignes dans le bol du chien.2 L’empereur est, selon cette tradition, un ‘souverain chéri: mélange de majesté et d’héroïsme populaire’ au ‘bon cœur’.3 Mais où donc pouvait se dissimuler l’explication d’un paradoxe aussi étonnant entre la mémoire collective et les faits? Charles Quint disposait-il d’une bonne et efficace machine de propagande qui aurait habilement masqué les multiples échecs et les déboires? L’empereur a-t-il eu la chance d’être suivi par un fils qui, infiniment plus que lui, fut chargé de tous les péchés d’Israël? En d’autres termes, la popularité de Charles s’est-elle bâtie de la même manière que la mémoire collective avait rapidement tourné les pages sombres du gouvernement de son trisaïeul Philippe le Bon sous l’accès réformiste et les désirs de guerre de son fils et successeur Charles le Je remercie mes collègues aux Archives générales du Royaume à Bruxelles, M. René Laurent et surtout M. Claude de Moreau de Gerbehaye, qui ont bien voulu revoir le texte français. 1
Le catalogue édité sous la direction de R. Hoozee, J. Tollebeek et T. Verschaffel, éds., Mise-en-scène. Keizer Karel en de verbeelding van de negentiende eeuw (Anvers–Gand 1999) expose brillamment comment Charles Quint a été perçu. 2 H. Lox, Van Stropdragers en de pot van Olen: verhalen over Keizer Karel (Louvain 1999, 2e impr.). 3 Traduction d’après quelques citations dans le roman de J. Van Rooy, Egmont (Davidsfonds Volksreeks, 303; Louvain 1942) 8, 62.
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Téméraire? Naturellement, l’illustre Habsbourg pouvait mobiliser des moyens considérables de propagande.4 Chaque succès militaire constituait une occasion propice d’exalter le défenseur de la chrétienté par des relations imprimées, des poèmes, des pamphlets, des inscriptions, des portraits, des peintures murales, des médailles commémoratives, des processions, des arcs de triomphe, des tableaux vivants, des statues, des sculptures et même des tapisseries. Aussi il va de soi que la postérité a en effet excusé chez le père ce qu’elle a très sévèrement reproché au fils. Bien que Philippe II, par beaucoup d’aspects de sa politique, prolongea de manière strictement rectiligne la tendance initiée par son père, il récolta en grande partie et logiquement ce qui avait déjà été semé en grande partie avant son accession au trône. En outre, Charles Quint n’a pas peu profité de la création d’une image en quête d’‘identité nationale aux XVIIème et XVIIIème siècles, exaltant la politique d’unification géographique qu’il avait réalisée. Dans les opuscules hagiographiques, le souverain fut, dès après son abdication, présenté comme un homme qui non seulement était né dans les Pays-Bas, mais qui y séjourna à de nombreuses reprises, et volontiers, et enfin qui était attentif aux traditions locales.5 Dans l’historiographie belgiciste postérieure, l’empereur était en outre loué parce qu’il avait déjoué tous les plans français visant à ravir le pouvoir sur les Pays-Bas. Ensuite, beaucoup d’auteurs grand-néerlandais en firent l’éloge pour la promulgation de la fameuse Pragmatique Sanction du 4 novembre 1549.6 Charles Quint avait non seulement réuni politiquement les XVII Provinces des Pays-Bas (avec la Gueldre comme 17e province en 1543), il voulut également les maintenir ensemble à titre permanent.7 Les dispositions de 1549 visaient en effet à créer des Pays-Bas unis et indivisibles pour toujours, un rêve caressé par beaucoup, mais qui se briserait brutalement moins d’un demi-siècle plus tard. Peut-être l’image de Charles a-t-elle pu également bénéficier d’autres éléments qu’il pouvait partiellement inscrire à son actif, mais qui étaient aussi en partie le résultat de forces profondes, actives dans l’Europe de son temps, et sur lesquelles l’empereur, pas davantage que nul autre mortel, n’avait de prise. Car il eut aussi la chance que son règne coïncidât entièrement avec un des cycles de croissance les plus brillants de l’histoire économique des Pays-Bas. L’accroissement démographique était, à proprement parler, stupéfiant, la hausse de la production agricole et industrielle plus forte que jamais auparavant, le port d’Anvers vivait son âge d’or et représentait la plus importante plaque tournante commerciale du nord-ouest de l’Europe. Cette haute conjoncture était la conséquence du renouveau dans le commerce transcontinental, 4 P. Burke, ‘L’image de Charles Quint: construction et interprétations’, dans H. Soly, éd., Charles Quint 1500-1558 et son temps (Anvers 1999) 393-449. 5 Dans ce contexte, voir le livre d’ailleurs très connu du Bruxellois Joan de Grieck sur ‘De heerelycke ende vrolycke daeden van keyser Carel den V’ (‘Les gestes magnifiques et joyeux de l’empereur Charles Quint’) de 1674: J. Decavele, ’Karel V in de geschiedschrijving’, dans Hoozee, Tollebeek, Verschaffel, Mise-en-scène, 71. 6 Archives générales du Royaume à Bruxelles, Chambres des Comptes, registres, n° 672, f° 267. 7 G. Janssens, ‘Fuentes flamencas para el reinado de Carlos V en los Países Bajos’, dans Carlos V. Europeísmo y universalidad. La figura de Carlos V, Vol. I (Madrid 2001) 195.
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déjà entamé aux alentours du milieu du siècle précédent, mais il ne connaîtrait son apogée que durant la première moitié du XVIème siècle. Il était patent que les nouvelles routes commerciales entre l’Allemagne méridionale, l’Italie septentrionale, le Brabant et la Castille traversant ses possessions constituaient une aubaine extraordinaire pour le souverain habsbourgeois. Les centres économiques les plus considérables (Anvers, Augsbourg, Florence, Gênes, Medina del Campo, Milan, Séville…) se trouvaient entre ses mains. Quoique cette expansion économique était tout sauf l’œuvre de l’empereur ou de son entourage, l’empire facilita néanmoins le transport et la communication, les contacts commerciaux et les transactions financières. Dans l’œuvre des historiographes postérieurs ainsi que dans la tradition populaire, l’éclat de la prospérité habsbourgeoise allait rejaillir sur l’empereur lui-même. Cette contribution portera précisément sur ce côté doré. Quelles sont les modifications intervenues dans les modules économiques les plus importants et comment ces développements peuvent-ils s’expliquer?
L’évolution démographique comme révélatrice L’importance et l’évolution d’une population constituent de bons sismographes du développement économique dans une économie primitive. Il existe toujours une forte corrélation positive entre la croissance d’une population et l’augmentation du produit national brut. A cet égard tous les indicateurs démographiques importants révèlent une forte expansion. A la naissance du prince Charles le 24 février 1500 au Prinsenhof de Gand, environ 1.126.000 personnes vivaient dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux ou Pays d’embas. Lorsque le prince abdiqua, le 25 octobre 1555, devant les États Généraux réunis, ils étaient plus de 1.500.000. En un demi-siècle, 400.000 personnes étaient donc venues s’y ajouter, soit une augmentation de pas moins de 34%. Cette croissance doit être imputée presque totalement à un surplus du nombre des naissances par rapport au nombre de décès car l’unification territoriale des Pays-Bas méridionaux avait déjà été réalisée sous les ancêtres de Charles – à l’exception de Tournai et de l’Artois qui furent annexés respectivement en 1521 et 1529. L’expansion démographique qui coïncida avec le règne de Charles Quint fut tout simplement stupéfiante. Entre 1500 et 1550, la croissance annuelle moyenne s’éleva à presque 0,6%. Si l’on divise le règne en deux parties, on constate que la période entre 1500 et 1525 est la plus frappante puisqu’elle a connu une croissance annuelle de 0,7%. Une telle augmentation impressionnante ne s’était encore jamais produite aux PaysBas et ne sera plus égalée pendant l’Ancien Régime, pas même au cours de la seconde moitié du XVIIIème siècle lorsque la révolution industrielle commença en Wallonie. Les périodes de 1525-1550 et 1550-1565 réalisèrent également une solide croissance d’un peu plus de 0,4%. Naturellement, l’explosion démographique du premier quart de siècle doit être relativisée. En partie, il s’agissait en effet d’une récupération des pertes subies durant le dernier quart du XVème siècle, période durant
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laquelle la population avait chuté sous l’influence de la conjoncture défavorable, d’une pression fiscale lourde et, surtout, de la guerre civile dévastatrice sous Maximilien. Malgré cette réserve, l’essor démographique dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux sous le règne de Charles Quint reste un fait remarquable. Ce million et demi d’habitants étaient répartis très inégalement. Le comté de Flandre ainsi que le duché de Brabant étaient les régions les plus riches au sein des Pays-Bas méridionaux et étaient aussi de loin les plus peuplées. Environ 70% de tous les habitants vivaient en Flandre ou dans le Brabant. Entre 1500 et 1550 le comté de Flandre (sans la Flandre gallicante) vit sa population augmenter de 464.000 à 642.000 habitants et resta largement la région la plus importante du point de vue démographique. Le Brabant arrivait en deuxième position en passant de 316.000 à 425.000 habitants (voir le graphique 1.). Les deux provinces possédaient donc une densité de population élevée pour l’époque. En Flandre, cette densité passa d’environ 70 à 83 habitants par km2 entre 1525 et 1565; dans le Brabant, la croissance fut encore plus importante: en 1526, la densité atteignait 61 personnes par km2, mais en 1565 elle avait déjà atteint 76 habitants par km2. Des territoires peu peuplés comme le Tyrol, la Suisse et la péninsule ibérique avaient à l’époque une densité d’à peine 15 habitants par km2. Les chiffres flamands et brabançons élevés ne peuvent cependant être généralisés car ils n’étaient pas vraiment représentatifs des Pays-Bas habsbourgeois. Les provinces moins peuplées des Pays-Bas méridionaux telles que Namur et Luxembourg comptaient probablement 70.000 habitants à peine et la densité démographique n’atteignait guère plus de 10 individus par km2. Graphique 1. La population des Pays-Bas méridionaux (1500-1565)
Source: les données démographiques ont été empruntées à Klep (1991), 502 et 505, tableaux 12 et 15 (voyez les références en annexe).
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Les provinces les plus riches ne se caractérisaient pas seulement par leur supériorité démographique, la croissance la plus forte et la densité la plus élevée, mais elles comptaient également la plupart des villes les plus grandes sur leur territoire. Si, par souci de simplification, toutes les communautés de plus de 5.000 habitants avaient été promues au rang d’agglomérations urbaines, 44% de tous les Brabançons auraient vécu dans une ville vers 1500 et ils auraient même été 48% aux environs de 1565. Ainsi considéré, le Brabant était la région la plus urbanisée dans la première moitié du XVIème siècle car, en Flandre, il apparaît que le pourcentage de citadins dans la population totale avait légèrement diminué entre 1500 et 1565 de 27 à 25%. Ailleurs, les pourcentages d’urbanisation étaient naturellement plus faibles. En Hainaut, il variait entre 20 et 25%, à Namur aux environs de 20% et, dans le Limbourg environ 15%. Les économistes et les démographes partent du principe qu’une société préindustrielle aux possibilités économiques limitées pouvait supporter sans trop de problèmes un taux de croissance démographique annuel de 0,3% en moyenne à 0,4% au maximum. Des chiffres de croissance plus élevés conduisaient à un appauvrissement, une sous-alimentation, des épidémies et une mortalité croissante (comme par exemple au XIVème siècle), ou supposaient d’excellents résultats de la croissance économique pour pouvoir nourrir le nombre de bouches supplémentaires. Le seul fait que l’expansion démographique exceptionnelle – avec des taux de croissance dépassant facilement les 0,4% – n’ait entraîné aucune catastrophe signifie que le développement économique dans les Pays-Bas habsbourgeois durant la première moitié du XVIème siècle doit avoir été particulièrement intense. Les estimations prudentes démontrent en effet qu’entre 1510 et 1560, l’indice de la production agricole augmentait chaque année de 0,44% en Flandre et en Brabant, celui de la production industrielle (surtout les textiles, l’alimentation, la construction et le transport) de 0,92%. L’indice total du produit physique (en d’autres termes la production dans les secteurs primaire et secondaire) aurait donc augmenté chaque année de 0,66% pendant un demi-siècle.8 Ce serait dès lors le taux de croissance le plus impressionant des Pays-Bas méridionaux sous l’Ancien Régime. S’il subsiste des doutes sur la précision de ces estimations, il est clair comme le jour que l’agriculture et l’industrie ont propulsé le produit intérieur brut d’une manière inconnue jusqu’alors.
8
Les premières estimations, dès lors encore audacieuses, de la production agricole et industrielle figurent dans la contribution de J. Blomme – H. Van der Wee, ‘The Belgian Economy in a Long-Term Historical Perspective: Economic Development in Flanders and Brabant, 1500-1812’, dans A. Maddison – H. Van der Wee, éds., Economic Growth and Structural Change. Comparative Approaches over the Long Run. Croissance économique et mutation structurelle. Comparaisons dans le long terme (session B13 – Proceedings Eleventh International Economic History Congress, Milan, September 1994) (Milan 1994) 91, tableau 5.
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Croissance de la production et productivité agraires Dans le secteur agricole, la forte augmentation des baux, des rentes foncières et des prix de vente indique une croissance constante de la production, des transactions et des chiffres d’affaires. Les récoltes étant abondantes, les rendements et les profits considérables, les champs étaient négociés à des prix de plus en plus élevés, tandis que les droits de jouissance et d’exploitation augmentaient aussi systématiquement. Ce phénomène s’explique certainement en partie aussi par un mouvement de récupération après les difficultés du XVème siècle.9 Dans certaines régions, le niveau de production ou de productivité du milieu du XIVème siècle – donc bien antérieur à la grande dépression agricole du bas moyen âge – ne fut atteint qu’aux environs de 1550. De nombreux indices suggèrent toutefois que la croissance agricole se soit développée durant la première moitié du XVIème siècle. Sur les terrains de l’infirmerie du Grand Béguinage de Louvain, l’expansion fut si forte qu’il faut en conclure une nette amélioration de l’exploitation.10 A Meldert, près de Tirlemont, les fermiers respectaient leurs obligations avec une régularité inconnue jusqu’alors.11 L’examen détaillé des terres agricoles du chapitre de Sainte-Gertrude à Nivelles révèle que l’augmentation de la productivité céréalière était si remarquable qu’elle ne pouvait être imputée exclusivement à un redressement mais qu’elle résultait bien au contraire d’une croissance supplémentaire.12 Dans les campagnes du Brabant occidental, les paysans parvinrent à réagir de manière créative aux potentialités ouvertes par le marché mondial d’Anvers tout proche.13 Les innovations, qui s’étaient montrées 9 J.M. Cauchies, ‘Les Pays-Bas en 1492: l’aube d’un nouveau monde?’, Cahiers de Clio, 109 (1992) 39-41; F.G. Scheelings, ‘Pachtprijzen in midden- en zuidwest-Brabant in de zestiende eeuw. Enkele methodologische beschouwingen bij het schetsen van een landbouwconjunctuur’, Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis, 65, 1-2 (1982) 53; R. Van Uytven, ‘Politiek en economie: de crisis der late XVe eeuw in de Nederlanden’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire, 53, 4 (1975) 1097-1149. Sur les possibilités d’un tel redressement: E. Thoen, ‘Oorlogen en platteland. Sociale en ekonomische aspekten van militaire destructie in Vlaanderen tijdens de late middeleeuwen en vroege moderne tijden’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 91 (1978) 368. Traduction anglaise: Thoen, ’Warfare and the Countryside. Social and Economic Aspects of the Military Destruction in Flanders during the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period’, Acta Historiae Nederlandicae. Studies on the History of the Netherlands, 13 (1980) 30. 10 M.-J. Tits-Dieuaide, ’Cereal Yields around Louvain, 1404-1729’, dans H. Van der Wee – E. Van Cauwenberghe, éds., Productivity of Land and Agricultural Innovation in the Low Countries (12501800) (Louvain 1978) 101, 104. 11 M.-J. Tits-Dieuaide, ‘Peasant Dues in Brabant. The Example of the Meldert Farm near Tirlemont 1380-1797’, dans H. Van der Wee – E. Van Cauwenberghe, éds., Productivity of Land and Agricultural Innovation in the Low Countries (1250-1800) (Louvain 1978) 114. 12 F. Daelemans, ‘De tienden van het Sint-Gertrudekapittel van Nijvel (15e-18e eeuw): een eerste benadering. Bijdrage tot de conjunctuurstudie’, dans A. Verhulst – Chr. Vandenbroeke, éds., Productivité agricole en Flandre et en Brabant XIVe-XIXe siècle (Centre belge d’études rurales, 56; Gand 1979) 213, 218. Voir aussi la remarque de M.-J. Tits-Dieuaide, ‘L’évolution des techniques agricoles en Flandre et en Brabant du XIVe au XVIe siècle’, Annales, Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 36, 3 (1981) 365, 378, note 11. 13 M. Limberger, ‘Merchant capitalism and the countryside. Antwerp and the west of the duchy of Brabant (XVth-XVIth centuries)’, dans P. Hoppenbrouwers – J.L. van Zanden, éds. From Peasants to Farmers? The Transformation of the Rural Economy and Society in the Coastal Areas of the Low Countries (Middle Ages-19th Century) (Corn publication series, 4; Turnhout 2001) 170-173 et 174.
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hésitantes au cours des siècles précédents, se généralisèrent à un rythme accéléré. Dans le système de rotation des cultures, c.-à-d. l’assolement triennal, la jachère, qui représentait depuis des siècles un tiers de la superficie, fut définitivement abandonnée en cultivant sur les parcelles qui n’étaient pas destinées aux céréales d’hiver (froment, seigle) ou aux céréales d’été (orge ou avoine) des plantes légumineuses, fourragères ou tinctoriales (guède, garance, gaude) pour l’industrie. Ainsi, une lente évolution déjà entamée au XIIIème siècle,14 fut finalement plus ou moins achevée. Dans la lourde charrue qui remontait à la carucca carolingienne, le châssis à double essieu (à deux roues) fut remplacé par une petite roue et les deux bras par un seul afin que l’outil fût non seulement plus léger et plus maniable, mais aussi d’une utilisation beaucoup plus souple et donc facile.15 Cependant, ces innovations, pas plus que le taux de fumage élevé ou l’agriculture intensive et soignée, n’étaient les principaux responsables de la prospérité agricole. Ce sont surtout les nombreuses villes à la population dense et aux marchés hebdomadaires où les fermiers pouvaient venir vendre leurs produits, qui ont stimulé, comme aux XIIIème-XVème siècles, le développement agricole.16 Les marchés encouragaient les agriculteurs à produire plus qu’ils ne pouvaient eux-mêmes consommer. Les revenus supplémentaires pouvaient alors être affectés à l’acquisition de meilleurs outils en ville ou au recours à des services qui allaient améliorer la productivité agraire (par exemple, des réparations de l’outillage, le fermage de la collecte du fumage, etc.). En d’autres termes, l’agriculture prit un caractère commercial prononcé, dépassa le niveau de l’autosuffisance et fut intégrée à l’expansion urbaine. Toutefois, le soleil de la prospérité habsbourgeoise ne brillait pas autant dans toutes les régions. Durant cette même période, les Hanséatiques et surtout les Hollandais expédiaient par bateau de grandes quantités de céréales à bon marché de la région de la mer Baltique vers les Pays-Bas. Les régions présentant une monoculture céréalière, telles que, par exemple, le Brabant wallon, la Flandre gallicante et la Hesbaye eurent beaucoup à souffrir de ces importations. Même au milieu du XVIème siècle, par exemple, la vie rurale dans la châtellenie de Furnes montre une image fort traditionelle, avec peu de nouveautés.17 Heureusement, de nombreuses régions possédaient
14 R. Van Uytven, ‘Vroege inbreuken op de braak in Brabant en de intensieve landbouw in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden tijdens de dertiende eeuw’, Bulletin de la Société Belge d’Etudes Géographiques, 53, 1 (1984) 63-72. 15 P. Lindemans, Geschiedenis van de landbouw in België, vol. I (Anvers 1994, 2e éd.) 173-175; J.A. Van Houtte, Economische en sociale geschiedenis van de Lage Landen (Zeist–Anvers 1964) 175. 16 J. Materné, ‘Modificazioni del paesaggio agrario nei Paesi Bassi (X-XV secolo)’, dans R. Villari, éd., Studi sul paesaggio agrario in Europa (Istituto A. Cervi, Annali, 10; Rome 1989) 99; H. Van der Wee, ‘Conjunctuur en economische groei in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden tijdens de 14e, 15e en 16e eeuw’, Mededelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren, 27, 8 (1965) 11-13. 17 P. Vandewalle, ‘Stabilité et perfection d’un système agricole: la châtellenie de Furnes’, Annales, Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 36, 3 (1981) 388.
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une certaine tradition en matière de diversification. Dans ces dernières, la population se consacra de plus en plus à l’élevage du bétail (comme au Pays de Herve) ou à la culture de plantes industrielles.18
Industrie rurale et urbaine Les plantes industrielles? En effet, la situation favorable et même prospère dans les campagnes n’était pas seulement imputable à l’agriculture, mais elle était en grande partie déterminée par la présence d’activités industrielles. La ‘saison morte’ dans l’exploitation agricole s’y prêtait parfaitement et la proximité des nombreux marchés urbains assurait la vente rapide des produits finis. L’industrie rurale du XVIème siècle se caractérisait non pas tant par l’apparition de nouveaux noyaux de production, mais bien par l’expansion considérable des noyaux existants. Durant le deuxième quart du XVIème siècle, il se produisit probablement une véritable vague d’industrialisation, l’industrie rurale n’assurant plus seulement un revenu supplémentaire mais devenant une activité principale dans laquelle des milliers d’agriculteurs se transformèrent en véritables ouvriers industriels. Aux environs de nombreuses villes se développa alors une industrie prospère du houblon comme dans le pays de Asse et le Pajottenland, le pays d’Enghien, le pays d’Alost, le pays de Termonde, la région de Poperinge et la circonscription judiciaire de Bois-le-Duc; les brasseries rurales florissaient partout comme en témoigne l’exemple le plus frappant de Hoegaarden, une enclave liégeoise en Brabant. Aux alentours de Namur et à différents endroits en Hainaut, dans la vallée de la Vesdre, le bassin du Hoyoux, le pays de Durbuy et le pays de Chimay, on se consacrait à la fabrication de clous et d’autres petits produits en fer. Si, dans de nombreux villages et aux environs d’un grand nombre de fermes de l’actuelle Wallonie, la sidérurgie était présente intensivement sous la forme de forges et de fours, c’était le secteur textile qui donnait le ton dans la campagne flamande. En l’occurrence, il s’agissait de produits de ce que l’on appelle la ‘nouvelle draperie’ qui, comme l’ancienne draperie des grandes villes des XIème-XIIIème siècles, était une draperie ointe, mais qui fabriquait aussi une grande diversité de pièces en laine meilleur marché et de moindre qualité (par exemple laine espagnole).19 Il faut surtout mentionner les serges (fins tissus de laine dont les fils n’étaient guère graissés ou huilés) aux environs de Malines (Duffel, Kontich, Rumst, Walem), les graulakens ou draps gris bruts dans l’actuel Limbourg du Nord (aux environs de Maastricht, 18 H. Van der Wee, ‘The Agricultural Development of the Low Countries as Revealed by the Tithe and Rent Statistics, 1250-1800’, dans H. Van der Wee – E. Van Cauwenberghe, éds., Productivity of Land and Agricultural Innovation in the Low Countries (1250-1800) (Louvain 1978) 11 et 12. A d’autres endroits comme aux environs d’Anvers, il y avait une spécialisation dans la culture céréalière. Voir la thèse de doctorat (Université d’Anvers, 2000) non publiée de M. Limberger. 19 J.H. Munro, ‘Patterns of Trade, Money, and Credit’, dans Th.A. Brady – H.A. Oberman – J.D. Tracy, éds., Handbook of European History 1400-1600. Late Middle Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, vol. I (Leyde–New York–Cologne 1994) 176.
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de Maaseik et à Weert), dans la Campine anversoise (Geel, Mol) et aux environs de Tilburg, les coutils grossiers dans quelques villages des environs de Turnhout et les tapisseries (verdures) dans la région de Grammont et d’Audenarde. En outre, les tissus légers (sajettes) aux couleurs vives souvent non foulés ou graissés (d’où l’appellation lichte draperie ou ‘draperie légère’) de la région d’Armentières, Eecke, Dranouter, Meteren, Nieuwkerke et surtout Hondschoote se vendaient en masse en dehors des Pays-Bas. Sous le nom de hundskutt, escot, ascot et scotto, on ne rencontrait pas seulement les étoffes de Hondschoote dans toute l’Europe mais également au Moyen-Orient et dans le Nouveau Monde. Ce n’est pas tant la qualité de ces matières que leur bas prix et leur caractère bariolé qui étaient un atout de la vente: ‘de couleur doet’t say vercopen ende niet de duecht’ (la couleur fait vendre la saie et non la qualité) (1540).20 Pourtant la plus forte croissance au cours du XVIème siècle fut probablement enregistrée dans l’industrie rurale du lin. Celle-ci existait déjà au XIIIème siècle et avait pris un grand essor au XVème siècle. Au XVIème siècle, elle diminua en Hainaut (à l’exception de la région d’Ath) mais conquit de nombreux villages dans le sud-ouest du Brabant et surtout en Flandre où les marchés au lin de Courtrai, Eeklo et Audenarde virent augmenter leur chiffre d’affaires d’une année à l’autre (voir graphique 2.). Il n’est donc pas étonnant que le travail du lin ait été déclaré à ce moment chez les contemporains comme ‘’t principaelste onderhoud van eenighe quartieren van Vlaenderen’ (la principale Graphique 2. Accises sur la valeur du lin sur les marchés de Flandre (1448-1580)
Source: produits des accises sur la valeur du lin négocié sur les marchés de Courtai, Audenarde et Eeklo (en livres) dans Van Uytven (1975), 74, tableau 2 (voyez les références en annexe).
20 Cité d’après R. Van Uytven, ‘What is New Socially and Economically in the Sixteenth Century Netherlands’, Acta Historiae Neerlandicae. Studies on the History of the Netherlands, 7 (1974) 34.
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occupation de plusieurs quartiers de Flandre). De cette manière, la prospérité d’une série d’industries rurales fut une compensation du déclin de l’ancienne draperie urbaine qui, au cours du XVIème siècle, céda complètement le pas devant le triomphe des exportations de draps anglais et la concurrence des centres de production rurales.21 L’industrie de la laine créait toujours de l’emploi, mais les ouvriers de ce secteur étaient en permanence confrontés au chômage conjoncturel et aux salaires inférieurs. En revanche, tout le secteur de l’artisanat d’art, des industries de transformation ou de perfectionnement ainsi que des industries du luxe, connaissait en général une conjoncture très favorable. Les meubles, horloges, clavecins et épinettes, peintures, gravures, médailles, retables, broderies, tapisseries, livres, cristaux, miroirs, verres fins, soies, etc. produisaient des bénéfices considérables qui, cependant, étaient détournés par les riches marchands ou profitaient seulement aux maîtres artisans les plus compétents ou les plus doués. L’augmentation du pouvoir d’achat dans un certain nombre de couches sociales (voir plus loin) n’était pas la seule responsable du grand succès de ces industries spécialisées. Le train de vie luxueux de la famille de l’empereur, des membres de la cour et des hauts fonctionnaires dans les résidences de la cour de Bruxelles et de Malines provoquait un véritable phénomène de mimétisme sur la noblesse, les marchands et les représentants fortunés de la classe moyenne. De cette manière, la demande interne en produits de luxe fut stimulée. La prospérité d’Anvers favorisait également les exportations car tous ces produits atteignaient sans problème, par le port mondial d’Anvers, les marchés les plus éloignés. Un quart ou même un tiers de la production industrielle aurait probablement été exporté. Selon Van der Wee la vraie croissance économique doit être associée à ces industries d’exportation; d’après Lis et Soly l’impact du marché intérieur était plus important que celui du marché international.22 Les deux points de vue ne sont pas nécessairement contradictoires.
Le commerce dominé par Anvers La croissance du produit physique ne comprend pas tout le processus économique. Pour compléter le tableau, il convient de ne pas omettre d’évoquer le commerce qui, au cours du XVIème siècle, revendiquait expressément une part plus grande et plus internationale dans l’économie. La vie de Charles Quint coïncide précisément avec ce que l’on considère communément comme ‘le siècle d’or d’Anvers’, bien que cette 21 Dans beaucoup de villes drapières anciennes, il fallut interdire aux tisserands de s’en aller à la campagne (R. Van Uytven, ‘De sociale krisis der XVIe eeuw te Leuven’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire, 36, 2 (1958) 357-358). 22 H. Van der Wee, ‘Trade in the Southern Netherlands, 1493-1587’, dans H. Van der Wee, The Low Countries in the Early Modern World (Aldershot-Hampshire 1993) 108; C. Lis – H. Soly, ‘Different Paths of Development. Capitalism in the Northern and Southern Netherlands during the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period’, Review. A Journal of the Fernand Braudel Center for the Study of Economics, Historical Systems, and Civilizations, 20, 2 (1997) 221-222.
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période n’ait en réalité duré que trois quarts de siècle. Entre 1495 et 1565, la ville scaldienne fut en effet la grande métropole commerciale de l’Occident.23 Anvers paraissait être un aimant pour les nouveaux groupes de marchands qui, après la crise de la fin du moyen âge, accédaient au marché européen: les exportateurs de drap anglais, les fournisseurs de céréales et producteurs laitiers hollandais, les industriels et les banquiers d’Allemagne du sud et les importateurs portugais de sucre et d’épices. Les contemporains attentifs de cette époque recensèrent au moins 1100 à 1200 marchands étrangers dans l’enceinte de la ville, auxquels il faut probablement ajouter 400 ou 500 marchands originaires des Pays-Bas.24 Si les spécialistes conjecturent sur la question de savoir si Bruges était un marché national ou international à la fin du moyen âge,25 personne n’ose mettre en doute qu’Anvers fut la principale plaque tournante du commerce international en Europe pendant la première moitié du XVIème siècle.26 Outre les draps anglais, les épices portugaises, les céréales de la région baltique et le cuivre et l’argent d’Allemagne du sud déjà cités, on négociait aussi à Anvers des produits que l’on avait déjà rencontrés précédemment sur le marché brugeois, comme la soie italienne, la laine espagnole, les vins français, rhénans et méditerranéens (voir graphique 3.). A la fin du XVème siècle, la ville comptait environ 30.000 habitants, environ 50.000 en 1525, pour culminer à 100.000 âmes en 1566. Ce chiffre représentait en effet l’apogée démographique puisque la population allait ensuite commencer à diminuer.27 L’activité économique fébrile sur les rives de l’Escaut est si frappante que, selon le grand historien belge Henri Pirenne, le reste des Pays-Bas n’était finalement qu’une banlieue d’Anvers. Naturellement, Pirenne exagérait et négligeait les différences régionales 23
La conjoncture économique anversoise du XVIème siècle joue un rôle central dans les nombreuses études de H. Van der Wee. Une synthèse claire de ses principales idées figure dans Van der Wee, ‘Handel in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden’, dans Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, vol. VI (Haarlem 1979) 75-97 (traduction en anglais: Van der Wee, ‘Trade in the Southern Netherlands’, 87-114). 24 W. Brulez, ‘De Handel’, dans Antwerpen in de XVIde eeuw (Genootschap voor Antwerpse Geschiedenis; Anvers 1975) 128. 25 J.A. Van Houtte, ‘Bruges et Anvers, marchés ‘nationaux’ ou ‘internationaux’ du XIVe au XVIe siècle’, Revue du Nord, 34 (1952) 89-108; W. Brulez, ‘Brugge en Antwerpen in de 15e en 16e eeuw: een tegenstelling?’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 83, 1 (1970) 19 (traduction en anglais: Brulez, ‘Bruges and Antwerp in the 15th and 16th Centuries: an Antithesis?’, Acta Historiae Nederlandicae. Studies on the History of the Netherlands, 6 (1973) 5-6). Voir en dernier ressort les observations de R. Van Uytven, ‘Stages of Economic Decline: Late Medieval Bruges’, dans J.-M. Duvosquel – E. Thoen, éds., Peasants & Townsmen in Medieval Europe. Studia in honorem Adriaan Verhulst (Gand 1995) 261. 26 H. Van der Wee – J. Materné, ‘Antwerp as a World Market in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, dans J. Van der Stock, éd., Antwerp, Story of a Metropolis. Sixteenth-Seventeenth Centuries (Gand 1993) 19-31 (traduction en allemand: Van der Wee – Materné, ‘Antwerpen als internationaler Markt im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, dans W. Feldenkirchen – F. Schönert-Röhlk – G. Schulz, éds., WirtschaftGesellschaft-Unternehmen. Festschrift für Hans Pohl zum 60. Geburtstag (Vierteljahrschrift für Sozialund Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 120; Stuttgart 1995) 470-499); H. Van der Wee, ‘Opkomst van een wereldstad: handel en nijverheid te Antwerpen van de veertiende tot de achttiende eeuw’, Academiae Analecta. Mededelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren, 49 (1987) 8-13. 27 W. Brulez, ‘Anvers de 1585 à 1650’, Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 54, 1 (1967) 75.
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Graphique 3. Importations aux Pays-Bas (vers 1540)
Source: chiffres provenant de Lodovico Guicciardini dans Descrittione di tutti i Paesi Bassi de 1567 corrigés et complétés par: Brulez (1968), 1205-1221 et Brulez (1970), 20-48. Le segment ‘divers’ comprend des postes de moindre importance tels que le sucre portugais, le sel français et espagnol, l’alun espagnol et italien, la futaine allemande, etc (voyez les références en annexe).
dans le développement économique. Hors d’Anvers, on pratiquait également le commerce. Il serait par exemple erroné d’assimiler la Bruges du XVIème siècle avec Bruges-la-Morte du XIXème siècle romantique. Bruges resta par exemple le plus grand marché de la laine des Pays-Bas et entretenait des contacts intensifs avec la péninsule ibérique.28 Certes, la quantité et la valeur des marchandises négociées à Anvers étaient en mesure de déterminer la ligne fondamentale de la vie économique aux Pays-Bas et de rectifier sensiblement les caprices conjoncturels. La première phase d’expansion importante de l’économie (vers 1495-1520) fut même presque complètement soutenue par la fonction de transit du port d’Anvers. Toutefois, cette fonction avait une portée limitée et s’avéra extrêmement vulnérable aux guerres et aux embargos. Au cours de la deuxième grande phase d’expansion (vers 1535/401565/70),29 les industries rurales et urbaines d’exportation prirent le relais du commerce anversois de transit même si le port d’Anvers restait un élément essentiel pour 28 W.D. Phillips, ‘Merchants of the Fleece: Castilians in Bruges and the Wool Trade’, dans P. Stabel – B. Blondé – A. Greve, éds., International Trade in the Low Countries (14th-16th Centuries). Merchants, Organisation, Infrastructure. Proceedings of the International Conference Ghent-Antwerp, 12th-13th January 1997 (Studies in Urban Social, Economic and Political History of the Medieval and Early Modern Low Countries, 10 (Louvain–Apeldoorn 2000) 78-79; R. Fagel, ‘Spanish Merchants in the Low Countries: Stabilitas Loci or Peregrinatio?’, Ibidem, 88-95. 29 Selon la théorie de Van der Wee, ‘Trade in the Southern Netherlands’, 87, 91-98, 101-108, repris par e.a. H. Soly, ‘Le grand essor du capitalisme commercial: villes et campagnes’, dans E. Witte, éd., Histoire de Flandre: des origines à nos jours (Bruxelles 1983) 111.
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les exportations. Ces exportations n’étaient d’ailleurs pas équivalentes pour les différentes destinations. Au XVIème siècle, la balance commerciale des Pays-Bas méridionaux présentait certainement un excédent en faveur de l’Espagne, du Portugal, de l’Angleterre, de la France et de l’Allemagne mais un net déficit pour la région baltique et l’Italie. La balance totale était probablement légèrement déficitaire, le solde négatif devant être compensé vis-à-vis de l’étranger notamment par des emprunts sur le marché monétaire anversois.
La monnaie et le pouvoir d’achat Pendant la minorité de Charles ainsi que durant les premières années de son règne, on se contenta en grande partie de poursuivre la politique monétaire de son père Philippe le Beau. Cela impliquait que des pièces identiques étaient frappées et que celles-ci recevaient la même valeur: toisons d’or et florins Philippus comme pièces d’or; doubles patards, patards, gros, demi-gros, quarts de gros (de 6 mites), pièces de huit, deux et une mite et mailles de 2/3 de mite comme pièces d’argent et de billon.30 Cependant, il y avait deux différences remarquables. Tout d’abord le volume de la frappe était nettement inférieur à celui de la dernière décennie du siècle précédent; en outre, la production de la toison d’argent que Philippe avait instaurée en 1496 avait été interrompue sous le règne de Charles. Des forces commerciales et spéculatives sur le marché des métaux précieux en furent la cause. Depuis 1499, le gouvernement avait largement sous-évalué l’argent, si bien que le métal blanc était pour ainsi dire à la recherche d’un prix plus élevé à l’étranger. Les marchands exportaient l’argent vers les pays où les ateliers monétaires et les particuliers (changeurs, orfèvres, commerçants) étaient disposés à proposer un prix supérieur. C’était nettement le cas en Espagne et au Portugal où l’abondance relative d’or avait poussé les prix de l’argent à la hausse.31 De plus, l’argent s’avérait constituer un moyen de paiement recherché dans le commerce des épices avec l’Extrême-Orient. L’exportation d’argent eut plusieurs conséquences fondamentales. Tout d’abord, on assista à une pénurie accrue du métal blanc au point que la frappe de grosses pièces d’argent fut mise en péril. Les vieilles pièces d’argent usées ou même interdites conquirent rapidement une place dans la circulation interne des Pays-Bas méridionaux avec, comme effet, que la monnaie de compte qui était basée sur ces monnaies de moindre valeur perdit également sa valeur. Cette dévaluation de la monnaie de compte entraîna des augmentations de prix des produits quotidiens qui étaient achetés surtout par l’homme de la rue. Les tentatives de contrôle de la situation échouèrent en 1515, 1517 et 1519. 30
Pour une description des dénominations: H. Enno van Gelder – M. Hoc, Les monnaies des Pays-Bas bourguignons et espagnols (Amsterdam 1960) 78-95. 31 V. Magalhães-Godinho, L’économie de l’empire portugais aux XVe et XVIe siècles (École Pratique des Hautes Études – VIe section. Centre de Recherches Historiques. Ports-Routes-Trafics, 26; Paris 1969).
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Le 4 février 1521, Charles Quint, proclamé empereur quelques mois plus tôt, promulgua une ordonnance monétaire dans laquelle il ordonna la frappe des florins Carolus d’or et d’autres nouvelles pièces.32 Dans les cercles d’experts monétaires, l’idée avait déjà germé quelques années plus tôt mais le plan était à présent mis à exécution. La nouvelle pièce ne contenait ‘que’ 1,70 g d’or. C’était nettement moins que les anciennes pièces d’or ou que les réaux ou demi-réaux d’or (pesant respectivement 5,27 et 2,62 grammes d’or) qui étaient frappés à la même époque. Le florin Carolus ne reçut donc qu’un cours plutôt modeste de 20 patards (ou 40 gros de Flandre et 60 gros de Brabant) qui le rendait peu attractif pour le commerce international. En fait, la nouvelle pièce était destinée pour la circulation monétaire interne dans laquelle elle figurait comme étalon.33 Les réaux, en revanche, valaient 60 et 30 patards. Bien que l’empereur ait émis pour la première fois son propre type de pièce, il n’était certainement pas question d’une rupture radicale avec le passé. La véritable innovation n’apparut qu’avec l’ordonnance du 10 décembre 1526 lorsque tant le patard que le florin Carolus furent promus comme base, comme ‘monnaie de soudure’ (ou monnaie de référence, en anglais link money) de la monnaie de compte. A ce moment, le patard pesait 0,945 g d’argent pur. Par comparaison avec sa teneur en argent aux environs de 1500 – 0,977 g d’argent pur – le patard n’avait guère dévalué au cours des années précédentes, ce qui indique que Charles Quint, comme la plupart de ses prédécesseurs, donnait la préférence à une monnaie stable.34 La mesure de 1526 était destinée à rétablir la paix sur le marché des métaux précieux. On espérait y parvenir en adoptant un double étalon pour l’or et l’argent dans une parité fixe. Pour la première fois dans l’histoire des Pays-Bas (sans tenir compte de la tentative avortée de Maximilien en 1487), l’or et l’argent allaient tous deux déterminer la valeur de la monnaie de compte courante. Celle-ci n’allait plus se composer de livres, sous et deniers imaginaires mais de florins et de patards: des pièces d’argent et d’or sonnantes et trébuchantes qui allaient recevoir en tant que métal précieux une proportion fixe de 1 g d’or contre 11,1 g d’argent et qui allaient également servir comme monnaie de compte avec une proportion réciproque, fixe également, d’un florin contre 20 patards. A partir du 1er mars 1527, les nouvelles monnaies de compte devaient remplacer partout les anciens livres, sous et deniers. Malgré les bonnes intentions, la réforme monétaire de 1526 déboucha sur un échec. Deux facteurs en furent responsables. Certes, l’empereur pouvait fixer la parité officielle entre l’or et l’argent mais il avait peu, voire pas de prise sur le marché libre où les cours de l’or continuaient obstinément à augmenter.35 Vu que l’empereur et son 32 Pour l’histoire monétaire, il y a surtout l’ancienne étude de G. Pusch, Staatliche Münz- und Geldpolitik in den Niederlanden unter den Burgundischen und Habsburgischen Herrschern, besonders unter Kaiser Karl V (Munich 1932) qui reste valable. 33 M. Van der Beek, ‘Le monnayage dans les Pays de par deçà’, dans L’escarcelle de Charles Quint. Monnaies et finances au XVIe siècle (Bruxelles 2000) 162. 34 D. Coenen, ‘Une vaine tentative de stabilisation monétaire dans les Pays-Bas (1541-1555)’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire, 68, 4 (1990) 817, 846. 35 Ibidem, 830-832.
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entourage (surtout les gouvernantes Marguerite d’Autriche et Marie de Hongrie qui suivaient la politique monétaire de près) refusaient d’adapter la parité officielle or/argent à la parité réelle, ils sous-évaluèrent les nouveaux florins. Officiellement, ceux-ci valaient seulement 20 patards d’argent mais, sur le marché libre, on pouvait facilement en obtenir à un meilleur prix. Les florins Carolus disparurent par conséquent de la circulation, souvent vers l’étranger où ils étaient éventuellement refondus en types de moindre aloi. La réforme n’échoua cependant pas uniquement parce que de nombreux florins Carolus avaient disparu de la circulation. Le grand public qui s’était habitué depuis des siècles à un étalon-argent s’opposa lui aussi au double étalon ou à la double base de la monnaie de compte. Certes, très progressivement et surtout jamais complètement, le nouveau système de monnaie de compte des florins et patards allait supplanter celui des livres, sous et deniers. L’inertie de la tradition eut toutefois pour effet que le florin reçut le même statut que celui de la livre imaginaire supprimée. Si la livre était un multiple comptable d’un gros d’argent, le florin évolua rapidement en une notion tout aussi abstraite, vingt fois un patard d’argent ou un double gros. Le florin Carolus n’était pas accepté comme base de la monnaie de compte. Aux yeux du public, seul le patard remplissait ce rôle. Sur le marché libre, le cours de l’or augmentait sensiblement au-delà du cours officiel. Des mesures contre la hausse des monnaies d’or restèrent sans succès.36 Des années plus tard, l’empereur essaiera une dernière fois de stabiliser la parité de l’or et l’argent. En février 1543, il émit un florin Carolus d’argent qui contenait 19,04 g d’argent. En attribuant un cours de 20 patards au nouveau florin d’argent, l’empereur espérait garantir une convertibilité parfaite des florins Carolus d’or et d’argent. Toutefois, ce fut ne pas le cas et, en juillet 1548, l’empereur avoua son échec.37 Pour la première fois, les cours officiels de l’or furent relevés. Du même coup, le florin Carolus d’or fut officiellement détaché de son homonyme d’argent. Le florin d’argent resta tarifé à 20 patards, le florin d’or valant à présent 21 patards. Les rectifications de cours ne furent toutefois pas suffisantes et de nouvelles adaptations furent apportées en 1551 et 1553. En fait, le régime monétaire de l’empereur, tout comme celui de ses prédécesseurs, resta caractérisée par un étalon-argent. Au moment où l’empereur Charles admettait l’échec de sa politique monétaire, quelques événements banals à première vue provoquèrent une énième onde de choc dans l’histoire monétaire européenne. En 1545, quelques Indiens avaient trouvé par hasard la mine d’argent incroyablement riche de Potosí, au Pérou (aujourd’hui située en Bolivie). A peine avait-on commencé l’exploitation du Cerro Ricco que l’on découvrit les filons ou veines d’argent, fabuleux eux aussi, de Zacatecas au Nord du Mexique.38 La véritable pluie d’argent qui allait commencer à déferler sur l’Europe
36
Ibidem, 832, 841. Ibidem, 844-845. 38 G. Baudot, La vie quotidienne dans l’Amérique espagnole de Philippe II (Paris 1981) 167-169; P. Chaunu, Séville et l’Amérique aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles (Paris 1977) 152, 208. 37
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à partir du milieu du siècle fut longtemps tenue pour responsable de la fameuse révolution des prix du XVIème siècle. Pourtant, de nombreux prix dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux avaient déjà commencé à augmenter à partir de 1500 environ pour prendre un rythme plus accéléré à partir de 1515, donc bien longtemps avant que les premiers galions de la flotte d’argent espagnole ne jettent l’ancre à Séville. A l’origine, la hausse des prix dans les Pays-Bas fut la conséquence de l’augmentation de la masse monétaire qui était principalement composée de l’argent d’Europe centrale,39 de l’or d’Afrique occidentale et de l’or du Nouveau Monde. A partir du deuxième quart du XVIème siècle, la forte croissance de la population et la multiplication des formes de crédit continua à exercer une pression sur la vitesse de circulation monétaire et donc à pousser les prix à la hausse.40 Il est significatif que les prix des denrées alimentaires aient augmenté beaucoup plus que les prix des produits industriels qui, à certains moments, n’augmentaient guère (par exemple, les produits textiles), voire baissaient (par exemple, les produits de luxe). C’est seulement après le milieu du siècle que l’argent d’Amérique latine fit également valoir son influence inflationniste. A la lumière des connaissances actuelles, ladite révolution des prix du XVIème siècle doit par ailleurs être relativisé. Chaque année, les prix augmentaient en moyenne de 6%, de sorte que plusieurs produits coûtaient six à sept fois plus cher à la fin du siècle qu’au début. Cependant, cette inflation modérée en soi eut des conséquences sociales dramatiques.41 Les adaptations des salaires pour compenser l’augmentation du coût de la vie se produisaient en effet avec beaucoup de retard. Bien que de telles adaptations aient varié par catégories professionnelles et par localité, on constate qu’à l’exception de quelques grandes villes comme par exemple Bruxelles, Malines et évidemment Anvers, les salaires n’ont pas été augmentés jusqu’en 1540 environ, voire 1550 (voir tableau I). Ce décalage entre prix et salaires a causé une perte réelle du pouvoir d’achat. Au moment où Charles Quint décidait d’abdiquer, le pouvoir d’achat exprimé en quantité de seigle et froment est tombé à moins de 50% du début du siècle.42 Quelques années plus tard, les ambassadeurs vénétiens remarquaient que la Fiandra était une région riche et peuplée, mais aussi extrêment chère: ‘ce qui vaut deux en Italie, trois en Germanie, vaut quatre et cinq en Flandre’.43 Après 1555-1560, les salaires ont sensiblement augmenté. Dans les
39 J.H. Munro, ‘The Central European Silver Mining Boom, Mint Outputs, and Prices in the Low Countries and England. 1450-1550’, dans E.H.G. Van Cauwenberghe, éd., Money, Coins, and Commerce: Essays in the Monetary History of Asia and Europe (From Antiquity to Modern Times) (Studies in Social and Economic History, 22; Louvain 1991) 136, 145, 153). 40 Munro, ‘Patterns of Trade’, 173. 41 Les conséquences de la révolution des prix sont étudiées dans de nombreuses études mais sont au centre de l’ancienne synthèse (une réédition traduite de 1955) de Ch. Verlinden – J. Craeybeckx – E. Scholliers, ‘Price and Wage Movements in Belgium in the Sixteenth Century’, dans P. Burke, éd., Economy and Society in Early Modern Europe. Essays from ‘Annales’ (Londres 1972) 55-84. 42 E. Scholliers, ‘Le pouvoir d’achat dans les Pays-Bas au XVIe siècle’, dans Album offert à Charles Verlinden à l’occasion de ses trente ans de professorat (Gand 1975) 318-330, graphiques 1, 3, 5, 11 et 13. 43 Cité par F. Braudel, La Méditerranée et le Monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II (Paris 1949) 520.
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Tableau 1. Salaires journaliers d’été des maîtres-maçons (1500-1560) Villes
Alost
Anvers
1500-1510
15
12,5
1511-1520
15
1521-1530
15
1531-1540
Bruges
Bruxelles
Diest
Louvain
Lierre
Malines
16
15
12
12
12
12
14,5
15
15
12
12
12
13
16
18
16
12
12
12
15
15
17
16,5
18
12
12
12
15
1541-1550
15
22
15
18
15
12
16
17
1551-1560
17
25
18
21
16
14
18
20
Années
Source: moyennes arithmétiques décennales en gros de Brabant selon: Coeckelberghs (1975), 172; Goffin et Scholliers (1972), 199-200; Scholliers (1965), 105-106; Van de Mosselaer (1968), tableau XV; Van der Eycken (1973), annexe 18; Van der Wee (1963), vol. I, 460-461 et 466-467; Van Uytven (1961), 578 (voyez les références en annexe).
environs d’Anvers ou dans les lieux influencées par l’économie anversoise, la hausse des salaires était même plus forte que l’évolution des prix.
L’inégalité économique et sociale Les pages précédentes sur la situation de la population, de l’agriculture, de l’industrie, du commerce et de la monnaie ne laissent subsister aucun doute sur le fait que les Pays-Bas habsbourgeois ont traversé une croissance économique extraordinaire pendant la première moitié du XVIème siècle. Pratiquement dans toutes les activités économiques, la production augmentait; dans de nombreux secteurs la productivité augmentait elle aussi. Tant le produit intérieur brut que le revenu national se situaient aux environs de 1550 à un niveau nettement supérieur à celui qui prévalait un demisiècle plus tôt. Sous le règne de Charles Quint, on gagnait beaucoup d’argent, il y avait plus de gens aisés mais, surtout, de nombreux riches devenaient encore plus riches. Sans doute ces constatations s’appliquaient à pratiquement toutes les régions d’Europe mais, dans le sud des Pays-Bas, elles prenaient une signification particulière. Plus que les autres régions de ce grand empire où le soleil ne se couchait jamais, les Pays-Bas profitaient de la croissance économique. C’était là en effet que battait le cœur économique de l’Europe. En ce sens, Wim Blockmans a raison lorsqu’il soutient qu’en comparaison avec les autres pays, le bilan du gouvernement de Charles Quint fut beaucoup moins négatif pour les Pays-Bas.44 Cette situation 44 W. Blockmans, Keizer Karel V 1500-1558. De utopie van het keizerschap (Louvain 2000) 251; traduction: Emperor Charles V, 1500-1558 (Londres 2002) 183.
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explique que durant le règne de l’Empereur les Pays-Bas furent tenus à l’écart des troubles sociaux. Bien que le processus de prospérité y ait également été perturbé régulièrement et qu’il fut loin d’être général, on ne connut aucun grand soulèvement de paysans comme en Souabe, en Franconie, au Tyrol, à Salzbourg, en Alsace et en Thuringe dans les années 1524 et 1525. Les révoltes sociales violentes telles que celles des métiers et des couches plus modestes de la population en Aragon (1521) étaient inconnues aux Pays-Bas. Même l’opposition héroïque de Gand n’eut que peu de points de comparaison avec les actions des comuneros dans les villes castillanes (1520-1521). Nulle part ailleurs en Europe la qualité de l’enseignement et le niveau d’alphabétisation n’étaient supérieurs à ceux des Pays-Bas méridionaux. Jamais auparavant on n’avait employé autant d’universitaires dans les cadres administratifs. Les ambassadeurs, les militaires, les humanistes érudits et les célèbres artistes de la Renaissance de la riche Fiandra apportèrent une impressionnante contribution à l’art, à la culture et aux sciences en Europe.45 Mais pas plus qu’aujourd’hui, la croissance économique au XVIème siècle n’impliqua le bien-être social pour tous, car l’inégalité des revenus restait désespérément élevée, la répartition des richesses étant très inégale. Les très riches, tels que l’industriel et spéculateur anversois Gilbert van Schoonbeke ou les membres des familles de marchands della Faille, De Smit, Schetz et Van Breusegem, possédaient un patrimoine qui représentait facilement mille, voire deux mille fois la rémunération annuelle d’un ouvrier qualifié. Cette répartition inégale des revenus était naturellement déterminée en premier lieu par des critères socioprofessionnels.46 En effet, tout une série de catégories sociales se portait bien pendant une expansion conjoncturelle. Les grands et moyens commerçants recueillaient en masse les fruits du développement exceptionnel du commerce et du crédit, les nombreux représentants de la classe moyenne – des souffleurs de verre, brodeurs, tailleurs de diamant et horlogers aux brasseurs, boulangers et bouchers – profitaient de l’augmentation de la demande et de la hausse du pouvoir d’achat de leur clientèle tandis que les gros et moyens agriculteurs profitaient des prix élevés des céréales qu’ils vendaient. D’autres catégories sociales payaient les pots cassés. Parmi eux, les nombreux travailleurs salariés qui se tuaient à la tâche dans les exploitations des grands fermiers pour un salaire de misère, mais aussi un grand nombre de gens de métier dans les villes. Surtout dans les secteurs en déclin (comme l’ancienne industrie drapière), ceux-ci éprouvaient toutes les peines du monde à joindre les deux bouts en raison des adaptations trop lentes et insuffisantes de leurs rémunérations à l’augmentation du coût de la vie et en raison du chômage conjoncturel.
45 Voir p. ex. les catalogues récents par F. Maes, éd., De klanken van de keizer. Karel V en de polyfonie (Louvain 1999); E. Schreurs, éd., De schatkamer van Alamire. Muziek en miniaturen uit keizer Karels tijd (1500-1535) (Louvain 1999); G. Vanpaemel – T. Padmos, (éds.) Wereldwijs. Wetenschappers rond Keizer Karel (Louvain 2000). 46 Soly, ‘Le grand essor’, 112-120.
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Mais le bien-être n’était pas non plus réparti uniformément sur le plan géographique. Ainsi, dans le paysage économique des Pays-Bas méridionaux, la Flandre et le Brabant étaient beaucoup plus riches que les autres principautés.47 Dans le duché de Brabant, la splendeur d’Anvers était en partie assombrie par des zones d’ombre. Dans ces régions la vie économique se dégradait sous la concurrence agressive de la ville scaldienne et les ouvriers les plus qualifiés s’en allaient. Le Hageland avec des villes comme Aarschot, Diest, Léau, Tirlemont et, en partie, Louvain en fournissaient un exemple éloquent. Mais ailleurs aussi, même dans les petites villes de Campine (Lierre, Herentals, Turnhout) et du Brabant septentrional (Bois-le-Duc, Bergen op Zoom), la vie était beaucoup moins rose que dans la métropole.48 En plus, la question peut se poser: l’essor éclatant d’Anvers n’a-t-il pas drainé des capitaux vers le secteur du commerce international, des capitaux qui étaient indispensables pour des secteurs moins progressistes et développés?49 La pauvreté existait déjà au XVème siècle mais elle restait en grande partie absente des scènes bienheureuses des Primitifs flamands. Au cours du XVIème siècle, les mendiants et pauvres allaient devenir une constante trop frappante dans la vie sociale pour être encore ignorés. Avec Pierre Breughel et Jérôme Bosch, ils acquirent leur place légitime dans le décor.50
Tradition et modernité Le XVIème siècle fait partie des temps modernes et est désigné dans l’histoire anglosaxonne comme la période early modern. Aujourd’hui la majorité des historiens est convaincue du fait que les césures brutales et les ruptures brusques sont rares en histoire économique et sociale. Ainsi la transition du moyen âge aux temps modernes était-elle aussi dominée par la continuité. Celle-ci dissimule la coexistence des éléments traditionnels, autrement dit médiévaux, avec des éléments de caractère ‘nouveau’ ou ‘moderne’ qui représentent la créativité et l’originalité du XVIème siècle.51 47 D’après les comptes du centième denier, la Flandre et le Brabant contribuaient pour 60%, un pourcentage qui correspond plus ou moins à leur quote-part dans les aides (P. Stabel – F. Vermeylen, Het fiscale vermogen in Brabant, Vlaanderen en de heerlijkheid Mechelen: de Honderdste Penning van de hertog van Alva (1569-1572) (Bruxelles 1997) 11, 28). 48 R. Van Uytven, ‘In de schaduwen van de Antwerpse groei: het Hageland in de zestiende eeuw’, Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis, 57, 3-4 (1974) 171-188; Stabel – Vermeylen, Het fiscale vermogen, 51; B. Blondé, ‘The ‘Reconquista’ and the Structural Transformations in the Economy of the Southern Netherlands’, dans Las sociedades ibéricas y el mar a finales del siglo XVI (s.l., 1998) vol. V, 193-194; E. Aerts, Het bier van Lier. De economische ontwikkeling van de bierindustrie in een middelgrote Brabantse stad (eind 14de-begin 19de eeuw) (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren, 58, 161; Bruxelles 1996) 178. 49 R. Van Uytven, ‘Antwerpen: Steuerungszentrum des europäischen Handels und Metropole der Niederlande im 16. Jahrhundert’, dans B. Sicken, éd., Herrschaft und Verfassungsstrukturen im Nordwesten des Reiches. Beiträge zum Zeitalter Karls V. Franz Petri zum Gedächtnis (1903-1993) (Cologne–Weimar–Vienne 1994) 15 et 16. 50 Voir aussi Van Uytven, ‘De sociale krisis’, 387. 51 C’est l’une des thèses importantes de H. Van der Wee, The Growth of the Antwerp Market and the European Economy (Fourteenth-Sixteenth Centuries), 3 vols. (Paris–La Haye 1963).
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L’évolution démographique montrait des taux de croissance qui dépassaient largement les chiffres médiévaux. Mais comme dans les siècles précédents, le Brabant et la Flandre restaient de loin les principautés les plus importantes, surpassant les autres comtés et duchés en ce qui concerne l’urbanisation et la croissance et densité démographique. Certaines caractéristiques qui étaient déjà essentielles pour l’agriculture dès le XIIIème siècle se sont manifestées d’une façon plus générale et plus accélérée comme la commercialisation de la production, la diversification des cultures, la spécialisation régionale. Au XVIème siècle, l’accroissement de la productivité du sol et du travail était aussi due à la culture du lin, de la navette et du navet qui précisément vers le milieu du siècle réalisèrent une grande expansion.52 Dans l’industrie, on observe une plus grande standardisation, une production de masse et une ruralisation. Plus qu’auparavant l’industrie rurale était liée aux vicissitudes du commerce d’exportation. Le rythme de travail fut accéléré, les gens durent travailler plus longtemps et plus dur, de préférence dans des ateliers de production plus grands, indépendamment du carcan corporatif.53 Cette tendance était surtout marquée dans les nouvelles industries du XVIème siècle, à forte présence de capital, comme l’imprimerie, le tissage de la soie, la raffinerie de sucre, le soufflage du verre et autres. Évidemment, il s’agit des premiers pas d’un développement extrêmement lent qui n’allait se terminer que dans les manufactures du XVIIIème siècle. Comme au moyen âge, le commerce continuait à dominer l’industrie. De nombreux marchands mettaient au travail une armée d’ouvriers industriels pour un salaire à la pièce. Les premiers fournissaient les matières premières et assuraient les ventes du produit fini. Par son prolongement colonial, le commerce devenait plus international, voire un peu plus mondial mais, en même temps, il devenait également plus démocratique puisque les petits et moyens commerçants osaient désormais tenter leur chance dans le commerce international de gros. Le commerce de commission et de participation fit apparaître sur la scène de nombreux marchands des Pays-Bas, alors qu’aux siècles précédents, ils avaient dû presque complètement céder la place à des firmes et des holdings de la haute finance italienne.54 52 E. Thoen, ‘Technique agricole, cultures nouvelles et économie rurale en Flandre au bas moyen âge’, dans Plantes et cultures nouvelles en Europe occidentale, au Moyen Age et à l’époque moderne (Centre belge d’histoire rurale, 107; Gand 1993) 54, 58; A. Verhulst, Précis d’histoire rurale de la Belgique (Bruxelles 1990) 121, 142. Pour l’expansion linière voir aussi H. Van der Wee, ‘Industrial Dynamics and the Process of Urbanization and De-Urbanization in the Low Countries from the Late Middle Ages to the Eighteenth Century. A Synthesis’, dans H. Van der Wee, éd., The Rise and Decline of Urban Industries in Italy and in the Low Countries (Late Middle Ages-Early Modern Times) (Studies in Social and Economic History, 1; Louvain 1988) 346; H. Van der Wee – E. Van Cauwenberghe, ‘Histoire agraire et finances publiques en Flandre du XIVe au XVIIe siècle’, Annales, Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 28, 4 (1973) 1059. 53 Van Uytven, ‘What is New Socially and Economically’, 32. 54 W. Brulez, De firma della Faille en de internationale handel van Vlaamse firma’s in de 16e eeuw (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren, 35; Bruxelles 1959) 366-370; Brulez, ‘De Handel’, 130; H. Van der Wee, ‘Monetary, Credit and Banking Systems’, dans E.E. Rich et C.H. Wilson, éds., The Cambridge Economic History of Europe, vol. V, Cambridge - Londres - New York - Melbourne, 1977, 324.
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Sur le plan monétaire, Charles Quint poursuivit la politique chryshédonistique de ses prédécesseurs.55 Cette politique visait principalement à attirer ou garder dans ses frontières l’or et l’argent par toute une série de mesures divergentes et souvent incohérentes. Dans la lignée des ducs de Bourgogne, la préoccupation sociale de l’empereur était également de ne pas toucher aux pièces d’argent (‘sans dommage du pauvre peuple’).56 Il y parvint en grande partie, mais ses tentatives pour stabiliser le rapport entre l’or et l’argent et, à l’instar de son grand-père, introduire un double étalon échouèrent. Cependant, vers la fin de son règne, l’empereur eut tout de même l’occasion de constater que l’on commençait à utiliser partout le système de monnaie de compte de florins et patards qu’il avait lui-même instauré. Les éléments les plus ‘modernes’ du marché monétaire du XVIème siècle sont probablement l’élargissement de la masse monétaire et l’augmentation de la vitesse de circulation des espèces. Le premier phénomène fut provoqué par l’apport massif d’or et d’argent, le deuxième par l’introduction et la généralisation des nouvelles techniques de crédit.57 Ces deux facteurs avaient rendu l’argent très bon marché, si bien que les taux d’intérêt chutèrent et que les autorités purent emprunter à meilleur marché (graphique 4.). Graphique 4. Taux d’intérêt à court et à moyen terme sur le marché anversois (1513-1555)
Source: moyennes arithmétiques annuelles des quatre foires dans Van der Wee (1963), vol. I, 527, annexe 45/2 ainsi que Van der Wee et Blanchard (1992), 40, 41 et 55, tableaux 1.1-1.3 (voyez les références en annexe). 55
Van Uytven, ‘What is New’, 19. A. Henne, Histoire de la Belgique sous le règne de Charles-Quint, 4 vols. (Bruxelles–Paris 1865) vol. IV, 262. 57 H. Van der Wee a exposé en détail les innovations financières du XVIème siècle: Van der Wee, ‘Anvers et les innovations de la technique financière au XVIe et XVIIe siècles’, Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 22, 5 (1967) 1067-1089, ainsi que dans ‘Monetary, Credit and Banking Systems’, 322-332. Les formes de crédit ont également attiré l’attention, avec beaucoup moins de détails, de Brulez, ‘De Handel’, 132-135 qui minimise l’apport créatif anversois dans le processus. 56
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On peut toutefois se demander si l’augmentation de la masse monétaire était vraiment une bénédiction. L’abondance d’argent en circulation avait une influence stimulante sur les prix qui étaient déjà à la hausse à la suite de la forte augmentation de la demande. Cette inflation assombrit pendant des décennies la vie quotidienne de centaines de milliers de personnes. Les autorités elles-mêmes furent en partie victimes de la politique des emprunts à bon marché. Le développement excessif de la dette publique conduisit en 1557 à la faillite retentissante de l’Espagne, en fait un moratoire, le premier d’une longue série. Pour le vieil empereur et son fils Philippe, restait la piètre consolation de voir l’ennemi juré français faire banqueroute presqu’au même moment.58 L’influence sociale des nouvelles pièces de monnaie et des nouvelles techniques de crédit doit aussi être relativisée. L’homme du peuple ne mit naturellement jamais un pied dans la nouvelle bourse anversoise créée en 1531 et inaugurée un an plus tard,59 et il ne savait même pas comment se présentait précisément une lettre de change, moins encore comment l’endosser. On peut même se demander s’il avait jamais vu une pièce d’or ou une lourde pièce d’argent. Quand on sait que même un maître artisan qualifié devait travailler facilement trois à cinq jours pour un florin Carolus d’or ou d’argent, on comprend que ces pièces de monnaie se trouvaient probablement plutôt dans les bas de laine que dans les bourses comme moyen de paiement.
Évaluation et conclusion Évidemment, il serait erroné de considérer l’empire de Charles Quint comme un simple système politique. C’était en réalité un cadre économique dans lequel les communications, les contacts commerciaux, les transports et les transactions financières étaient plus faciles et dans lequel une élite capitaliste pouvait financer, à une échelle jamais vue auparavant, des expéditions outre-mer et des investissements industriels grâce à la monopolisation, la concentration et la mobilisation des fortunes. L’économie des Pays-Bas méridionaux avait toujours eu un caractère ouvert mais elle était devenue réellement internationale au XVIème siècle lorsque le marché monétaire anversois devint un maillon important des paiements interrégionaux entre les foires espagnoles et les marchés monétaires italiens. Les métaux précieux (monnayés ou en barres et lingots) partaient de Séville vers les marchés monétaires de Gênes, Florence, Milan et Venise pour être ensuite envoyés en Extrême-Orient en échange de produits et d’or. Une partie de cet or était envoyée à Anvers par les marchés monétaires de ‘Bisenzone’, en espèces mais surtout sous la forme de lettres de change qui étaient
58
Van der Wee, ‘Monetary, Credit and Banking Systems’, 366. J. Materné, ‘Belle et utile pour le rassemblement des marchands. La bourse d’Anvers au cours du siècle d’or’, dans G. De Clercq, éd., À la bourse. Histoire du marché des valeurs en Belgique de 1300 à 1990 (Paris–Louvain-la-Neuve 1992) 56-60. 59
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tirées sur le marché monétaire anversois – parfois par l’intermédiaire de Lyon et Francfort. A Anvers ces lettres étaient alors encaissées. Avec la monnaie obtenue, on achetait dans la ville des contrats asiento. Ces asientos étaient des créances sur la couronne espagnole, comparables dans une certaine mesure aux lettres de change. Par l’achat d’un asiento, un particulier promettait de mettre à divers endroits (à Anvers, Lyon, Milan, Paris, etc.) une certaine somme d’argent à la disposition des autorités espagnoles. Ces dernières remboursaient par la suite l’emprunt sur les foires de Medina del Campo à l’aide des recettes fiscales et, après 1545, de plus en plus sur la base des galions d’argent qui arrivaient à Séville.60 De cette manière, le monde financier anversois était étroitement imbriqué dans les transactions financières sur les foires de ‘Bisenzone’, dans la fiscalité castillane et dans l’argent du Nouveau Monde. Le grand chancelier Mercurino Arborio di Gattinara devait certainement s’être rendu compte des possibilités d’intégration financière lorsqu’en 1520, il proposa de fixer les cours du change des Pays-Bas, du Saint-Empire romain et de la Bourgogne sur la base du ducat espagnol. Mais il est tout aussi significatif que cela ne fut jamais le cas.61 Il ne faut pas surestimer l’intégration de l’empire mondial habsbourgeois et son importance pour le développement économique. La croissance économique s’était déjà amorcée en Europe un demi-siècle avant la naissance de Charles sans qu’elle n’ait jamais été limitée vraiment par les frontières des États aux siècles précédents. Au sein du conglomérat politique de Charles Quint se développèrent certes plusieurs réseaux régionaux avec une ville importante comme noyau. Mais chacun de ces réseaux conservait ses propres caractéristiques. L’empire immense manquait de cohésion et d’uniformité et au fond il ne dépassa jamais le stade d’une union personnelle. Celle-ci était appelée à disparaître avec le prince lui-même qui, en fait, était resté un étranger dans tous les États de son empire jamais unifié. L’empereur ou ses collaborateurs ne menaient pas une véritable politique économique, mais ils se limitaient plutôt à des mesures à court terme, dictées par des situations de crise, des besoins financiers et des exigences fiscales. Finalement, ces fondements économiques furent trop fragiles. L’expansion agricole, commerciale, industrielle et financière dans son ensemble n’était pas en mesure de développer une suprématie économique durable, tel que ce fut le cas plus tard dans la République des Provinces-Unies et en Angleterre. L’éclat exceptionnel de la feuille d’or se ternit après six décennies, puis en quelques années à peine une crise sévère redessina une économie internationale en une économie régionale. Un certain nombre d’historiens ont remarqué qu’il serait inexact d’invoquer comme seule cause du déclin la Guerre de Quatre-vingts ans, entamée par le fils et successeur de Charles Quint. Sans cette guerre le centre de gravité économique se serait quand même 60 De nombreuses informations sur les réseaux financiers internationaux sont présentées dans M. Th. BoyerXambeu, G. Deleplace – L. Gillard, Monnaie privée et pouvoir des princes. L’économie des relations monétaires à la Renaissance (Paris 1986). 61 L.V.G. Gorter-Van Royen, Maria van Hongarije, regentes der Nederlanden. Een politieke analyse op basis van haar regentschapsordonnanties en haar correspondentie met Karel V (Hilversum 1995) 44.
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déplacé des Pays-Bas du sud vers les ports prospères de Hollande et de Zélande. Le marché d’Anvers semble avoir trop lié son destin à une part importante de l’économie méditerranéenne.62 Quelle que soit l’importance des troubles politiques et religieux,63 le rêve d’une monarchie universelle, chrétienne et impériale64 avait un prix économique qui, vers le milieu du XVIème siècle déjà, devait être payé. Quel prix? Charles Quint pouvait disposer de ressources énormes pour financer ses aspirations politiques et il a utilisé ses moyens sans hésitation. Malgré les efforts fiscaux considérables de ses sujets,65 l’empereur était de plus en plus préoccupé par des problèmes financiers. La cause principale de ces soucis était naturellement le fléau de la guerre. Durant les 41 années du règne de Charles Quint, la guerre fut présente durant 23 ans.66 En 1522, alors que la guerre avec la France était entrée dans une phase critique, les dépenses militaires absorbaient plus de 70% des dépenses totales du gouvernement.67 Vingt ans plus tard, le gouvernement estimait les efforts de guerre pour les mois à venir à la somme énorme de 2.400.000 florins (le maçon le mieux payé à l’époque gagnait 0,3 florin par jour!). La guerre fut une ligne de force au cours du long règne de l’empereur et celui-ci en était parfaitement conscient. A plusieures reprises, il éprouva le besoin de justifier la violente belligérance qui marqua son règne, argumentant que les nombreuses guerres étaient nécessaires et basées sur le droit de légitime défense.68 Les conséquences de ces guerres continuelles étaient catastrophiques pour les finances de l’État. Des déficits d’un million
62 R. Baetens, De nazomer van Antwerpens welvaart. De diaspora en het handelshuis De Groote tijdens de eerste helft der 17de eeuw (Gemeentekrediet van België. Historische Uitgaven, reeks in-8°, 45; Bruxelles 1976) vol. I, 61-65; E. Scholliers, ‘De eerste gevolgen van de scheiding. De sociaal-economische conjunctuur 1558-1609’, dans J. Craeybeckx – F. Daelemans – F.G. Scheelings, éds., ’1585: op gescheiden wegen…’. Handelingen van het colloquium over de scheiding der Nederlanden, gehouden op 22-23 november 1985, te Brussel (Colloquia Europalia, 6, Centrum voor Sociale Structuren en Economische Conjunctuur Vrije Universiteit Brussel; Bruxelles 1988) 50. 63 En dernier lieu et pour le Brabant: P.M.M. Klep, ‘Religious War in the Low Countries. Some Observations on Long-Term Effects of Boundary Drawing (16th-17th Centuries)’, dans J.M. Usunáriz Garayoa, éd., Historia y Humanismo. Estudios en honor del professor Dr. D. Valentín Vázquez de Prada, vol. I (Pamplona 2000) 131-146. Pour C. Lesger, Handel in Amsterdam ten tijde van de Opstand. Kooplieden, commerciële expansie en verandering in de ruimtelijke economie van de Nederlanden ca 1550-ca 1630 (Hilversum, 2001), chapitres II et III le déclin d’Anvers était également lié à la Révolte et non au déplacement du commerce maritime. 64 D. Maland, Europe in the Sixteenth Century (Londres 1975, 2e impr.) 206, 245. 65 Blockmans, ‘Les sujets de l’empereur’, dans H. Soly, éd., Charles Quint 1500-1558 et son temps (Anvers 1999) 249. 66 Blockmans, Keizer Karel, 193; Emperor Charles V, 139. 67 E. Van Cauwenberghe, Het vorstelijk domein en de overheidsfinanciën in de Nederlanden (15de en 16de eeuw). Een kwantitatieve analyse van Vlaamse en Brabantse domeinrekeningen (Gemeentekrediet van België. Historische Uitgaven, reeks in-8°, 61; Bruxelles 1982) 345. 68 Par exemple dans son testament politique à son fils en 1548 ou dans son discours d’adieu devant les États Généraux en 1555 (R. Laurent – M. Soenen, Charles Quint et Bruxelles. Exposition organisée aux Archives Générales du Royaume à l’occasion du 500e anniversaire de la naissance de Charles Quint (Service éducatif, catalogues, 165; Bruxelles 2000) 89, n° 76). Déjà à l’occasion des négociations diplomatiques à Calais en août 1521, le grand chancelier fait remarquer que l’empereur ‘a tousioures desiré paix’ et n’a voulu que ‘vanger les dommaiges et offences que par armes l’on luy a fait’ (Archives générales du Royaume à Bruxelles, Manuscrits divers, n° 302, f° 7 et 19).
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ou d’un million et demi de livres sur le budget annuel n’étaient pas exceptionnels.69 La dette flottante (la dette à court terme) se gonfla jusqu’au montant astronomique de 7 millions en 1556.70 Le seul remboursement des intérêts sur cette masse de la dette s’élevait déjà à 1,4 millions de florins chaque année. Compte tenu de la banqueroute de l’été de 1557 et le début de la Révolte quelques années plus tard, l’abdication de Charles Quint arriva pour lui au bon moment, bien que le monarque vieilli prématurément ait su moins bien que nous quel héritage il imposait à son fils.
ANNEXE
Références bibliographiques Graphique 1 – Klep, P.M.M., ‘Population Estimates of Belgium, by Province (1375-1831)’, dans Historiens et populations. Liber amicorum Étienne Hélin (Société belge de démographie ; Louvain-la-Neuve, 1991). Graphique 2 – Van Uytven, R., ‘Die ländliche Industrie während des Spätmittelalters in den südlichen Niederlanden’, dans H. Kellenbenz (éd.), Agrarisches Nebengewerbe und Formen der Reagrarisierung im Spätmittelalter und 19./20. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1975). Graphique 3 – Brulez, W., ‘Le commerce international des Pays-Bas au XVIe siècle : essai d’appréciation quantitative’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire, 46, 4 (1968). – Brulez, W., ‘The Balance of Trade of the Netherlands in the Middle of the 16th Century’, Acta Historiae Neerlandica, 4 (1970). Graphique 4 – Van der Wee, H., The Growth of the Antwerp Market and the European Economy (Fourteenth-Sixteenth Centuries), 3 vols. (Paris-La Haye, 1963). – Van der Wee, H. et Blanchard, I., ‘The Habsburgs and the Antwerp Money Market: the Exchange Crises of 1521 and 1522-3’, dans I. Blanchard, A. Goodman et J. Newman (éds.), Industry and Finance in Early Modern History. Essays Presented to George Hammersley to the Occasion of his 74th Birthday (Stuttgart, 1992).
69 M. Baelde, De domeingoederen van de vorst in de Nederlanden omstreeks het midden van de zestiende eeuw (1551-1559) (Bruxelles 1971) 45, 46. 70 Blockmans, ‘The Low Countries in the Middle Ages’, dans R. Bonney, éd., The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, ca. 1200-1815 (Oxford 1999) 305; Van Cauwenberghe, Het vorstelijk domein, 349, note 153; Van der Wee, ‘Monetary, Credit and Banking Systems’, 370.
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Tableau 1 – Coeckelberghs, H., ‘Lonen en levensstandaard te Brussel in de 16e eeuw’, Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis, 58, 3-4 (1975). – Goffin, B. et Scholliers, E., Prijzen en lonen te Aalst (16e eeuw)’, dans C. Verlinden et al., Dokumenten voor de geschiedenis van prijzen en lonen in Vlaanderen en Brabant, vol. III (Bruges, 1972). – Scholliers, E., ‘Lonen te Brugge en in het Brugse Vrije (XVe-XVIIe eeuw)’, dans C. Verlinden et al., Dokumenten voor de geschiedenis van prijzen en lonen in Vlaanderen en Brabant, vol. II (Bruges, 1965). – Van de Mosselaer, M., ‘De levensstandaard van de arbeiders in de XVIe eeuw. Een lonenstudie voor Mechelen’(Mémoire de licence inédit K.U. Leuven, 1968). – Van der Eycken, M., ‘Stadseconomie en conjunctuur te Diest (1490-1580)’ (Mémoire de licence inédit K.U. Leuven, 1973). – Van der Wee, H., The Growth of the Antwerp Market and the European Economy (Fourteenth-Sixteenth Centuries), 3 vols. (Paris-La Haye, 1963). – Van Uytven, R., Stadsfinanciën en Stadsekonomie te Leuven van de XIIe tot het einde der XVIe eeuw (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren, 23, 44; Bruxelles, 1961).
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Aline Goosens
Mourir pour sa foi au temps des réformes dans les Pays-Bas meridionaux
De nombreux auteurs, dans le contexte troublé des guerres de religion, servirent la cause idéologico-politique de la Réforme au moyen de martyrologes ou d’œuvres polémiques diverses. Ces écrits avaient pour but de dénoncer les atrocités et les abus de la politique religieuse des souverains des Pays-Bas, mais aussi de soutenir le combat des protestants des ‘Eglises sous la Croix’, voire même la révolte nobiliaire. Bien que parfois sujets à caution, ces œuvres pamphlétaires reflètent de manière plus ou moins fidèle le système inquisitorial qui fut mis en place par l’empereur Charles Quint en vue d’unifier la foi dans ses royaumes. Force est de constater que les anciens Pays-Bas ne se prêtèrent pas à la mise sur pied d’une Inquisition ‘à la mode espagnole’, mais contraignirent leur souverain à adopter un système particulier, construit à l’intérieur-même de la structure judiciaire criminelle alors en usage. Les victimes de cette Inquisition moderne peuvent être rangées dans trois catégories. Tout d’abord, ceux dont nous retrouvons trace dans les documents archivistiques, sur base desquels une tentative de traitement statistique a été faite. Ensuite s’est posée la question du martyr et de son statut. Enfin, il faut prendre en compte ceux qui choisirent de se dissimuler pour mieux faire croire à leur conformité religieuse. Nous les examinerons successivement dans le présent article. Enfin, il semble essentiel de conclure sur le changement sociétal fondamental qui s’est opéré parallèlement à la centralisation générale des institutions et à la constitution de l’Etat moderne.
Le système inquisitorial de Charles Quint1 Il faut d’emblée faire remarquer que dans les anciens Pays-Bas, une première centralisation se fit sous les ducs de Bourgogne, qui permit à chaque tribunal de conserver ses prérogatives, car dans chaque ville et chaque seigneurie, il y avait un banc échevinal. Pour les affaires criminelles était compétent le banc de l’endroit où le méfait 1
Voir A. Goossens, Les Inquisitions dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux à la Renaissance (1519-1633). Première partie: législation, 7 (Bruxelles 1997); Les Inquisitions dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux à la Renaissance (1519-1633). Seconde partie: Les Victimes, 8 (Bruxelles 1998).
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avait été commis (‘locum delicti’), pour peu que les acteurs du délit soient tous laïcs. Certains cas particuliers relevaient uniquement des conseils provinciaux: ceux à connaissance royale (‘cas réservés’), ceux qui concernaient la transgression des ordonnances et les troubles de l’ordre public. Ces conseils, principales institutions administratives et judiciaires provinciales, voyaient leur sentences susceptibles d’appel au Grand Conseil de Malines, et étaient la juridiction d’appel de tous le tribunaux inférieurs. Ils étaient constitués du procureur général, de l’avocat fiscal et d’un certain nombre de conseillers. Le procureur général veillait aux intérêts du prince en contrôlant l’activité des baillis, des écoutêtes, des échevins. Il était aussi chargé de poursuivre les hérétiques et les contrevenants aux placards. Il remplissait le rôle de ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui le ministère public. Quant à l’avocat fiscal, il plaidait les causes du procureur général. En réunion avec les conseillers, ils délibéraient et faisaient les enquêtes. L’hérésie relevait donc théoriquement d’eux, mais il ne semble pas pourtant que la compétence en ce domaine des justiciers locaux fut le moins du monde restreinte. Enfin, le Grand Conseil de Malines était la juridiction judiciaire la plus haute du pays, avec le Conseil Privé. Il semble bien cependant que le Grand Conseil exerçait l’appel pour les causes d’hérésie et non le Conseil privé. Or, dans les Pays-Bas du XVIe siècle, l’hérésie fut considérée comme un cas réservé. Nous constatons alors que l’hérétique était jugé non par les tribunaux d’Inquisition mais par la justice laïque, les inquisiteurs ne jouant généralement que le rôle d’informateurs. Ainsi, dans nos régions, nous aurions eu un système inquisitorial tout à fait original. Dans les premières décennies du XVIe siècle, Charles-Quint régla définitivement les prérogatives du droit public, notamment en luttant contre certaines libertés appartenant à l’Eglise et aux officialités. La frontière entre les droits du prince et les juridictions déterminées des ecclésiastiques devint source de conflits et de contestations compliquées et de longues durées. En effet, l’officialité était en principe compétente pour le jugement de nombreuses affaires religieuses et également intervenait dans les affaires où un ecclésiastique était impliqué. Avec la limitation précise par l’empereur de domaines de justice bien déterminés, des frictions se créèrent inévitablement, non pas tout d’abord avec l’autorité centrale mais bien avec les puissances régionales, c’est à dire les villes. Or on constate généralement que l’officialité s’ingérait sans vergogne dans les affaires profanes au détriment de la justice échevinale et qu’elle punissait beaucoup plus sévèrement. Remarquons également que la plupart des personnes qui étaient entraînées devant ce tribunal religieux étaient de simple condition et ne connaissaient donc pas le latin, en usage dans ce tribunal; ainsi, les ecclésiastiques empochaient la plupart des confiscations de biens et des amendes. L’attention royale était donc attirée sur ce problème, mais pour les cas d’hérésie, il dut convaincre toutes les officialités et les tribunaux civils à coopérer. La première pensée de Charles-Quint était de diriger lui-même les persécutions et il songeait à donner à l’Inquisition dans les Pays-Bas la même organisation qu’en Espagne. Il en fut dissuadé dès les années 1520 par son entourage, notamment parce
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qu’il n’y avait pas de juifs dans les Pays-Bas. Dès 1521, le licencié espagnol Ludovic Coronel et Jean Quintana, le confesseur de la Cour Jean Glapion et le conseiller Vander Hulst s’occupèrent de l’hérésie. Puis, afin de donner un dirigeant à cette structure, il nomma le premier inquisiteur général, François Vander Hulst, conseiller au Conseil de Brabant, qui fut institué en 1523 par le pape Adrien VI. Lui et ses deux aides, le docteur Vanden Wyngaert et le théologien Jean de Valenciennes, agirent principalement en Hollande, où ils furent immédiatement haïs. La gouvernante Marguerite d’Autriche dut le renvoyer l’année suivante. L’empereur, surpris par cette résistance, songea à faire réserver l’hérésie aux seuls évêques, mais il craignait leur avidité de pouvoir. Il décida alors de laisser telle la structure, et nomma trois nouveaux inquisiteurs au lieu d’un seul – il s’agit d’Olivier Buedens, de Nicolas Houseau et de Nicolas Coppin. Le pape se voyant forcé de ratifier les décisions de Charles-Quint sans avoir son mot à dire, exprima à cette occasion son profond mécontentement (1525). Le 28 février 1546, Charles-Quint réorganisa l’Inquisition dans les Pays-Bas par une instruction qui resta en vigueur jusqu’en 1576, sans jamais subir de corrections essentielles. Les inquisiteurs et leurs délégués, accompagnés d’un notaire, devaient visiter la province qui leur était respectivement assignée et s’y enquérir des hérétiques. Les dénonciations anonymes ne pouvaient seules servir de base aux procédures mais les inquisiteurs devaient enquêter à charge et à décharge. Ils devaient appréhender et détenir sous bonne garde ceux reconnus hérétiques ou d’avoir contrevenu aux édits sur la religion. Pour les premiers, ils procédaient seuls, quant aux seconds, ils les déféraient devant la justice civile. Remarquons que cette clause est très habile puisqu’elle permit aux tribunaux séculiers de réclamer quasi toutes les affaires d’hérésie. Les conseils de justice devaient faire immédiatement exécuter la sentence des condamnés que l’Eglise abandonnait au bras séculier. Défense leur était faite d’entraver les inquisiteurs dans l’exercice de leurs fonctions. Une surveillance particulière à l’égard des libraires, des imprimeurs, des maîtres et maîtresses d’école et des curés était également mise sur pied. Enfin, il était recommandé aux inquisiteurs de ne pas se livrer à des abus. Dans cet acte, les tendances césaro-papistes de Charles-Quint sont clairement apparentes. A sa montée sur le trône des Pays-Bas, Philippe II trouva donc toute une organisation inquisitoriale; il ne chercha pas à la modifier mais à la fortifier, notamment en luttant ouvertement contre l’autorité pontificale en matière de foi. Sur le terrain, l’Inquisition ne pouvait pas fonctionner si les magistrats lui marchandaient leur concours et refusaient de mettre la force publique à son service. Aussi le monarque insista-t-il sur son intention que les magistrats fassent leur devoir, c’est à dire mettre les hérétiques dans une prison bien gardée, ne leur permettre aucune communication avec l’extérieur. Mais l’opposition des conseils provinciaux était très forte, particulièrement dans le Brabant et en Hainaut. Lors de son départ définitif pour l’Espagne, Philippe II laissa la question en suspens, et le système inquisitorial continua à fonctionner comme du temps de Charles Quint.
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La Révolte des Pays-Bas et les événements de l’été 1566 changèrent la donne. Philippe II chargea alors le duc d’Albe d’une mission de remise au pas. Le 22 août 1567, à peine arrivé dans la ville, Albe réunit les membres du Conseil d’Etat ainsi que d’autres seigneurs. Il exposa longuement sa mission et déclara créer un conseil extraordinaire appelé à sévir contre les auteurs des désordres passés: le Conseil des Troubles. Son rôle fut clairement défini dès le départ. Il devait châtier sans exception tous les responsables des troubles religieux de 1566-1567, les contrevenants aux ordonnances sur l’hérésie, mais aussi gérer les biens confisqués, ratifier les éventuels pardons, etc. On voit par exemple que tout ce qui concernait la littérature hérétique se situait hors de sa compétence, et ce rôle fut confié à des commissions spéciales désignées par les évêques. Au sein du Conseil, les différentes tâches étaient réparties entre les membres. Jusqu’à la fin 1567, on constate que la répression s’effectua assez lentement. Albe s’en étant rendu compte, remania le Conseil. Au lieu de distribuer les rôles par compétence territoriale, les dossiers des prisonniers et des suspects furent répartis entre quatre membres, les autres s’occupant plus particulièrement des personnages de haut rang, comme Egmont, Hornes, Orange, Bréderode, etc. Au niveau local, le duc conserva les commissaires nommés par Marguerite de Parme et chargés de réprimer les troubles iconoclastes. Il en augmenta simplement le nombre. Leur rôle était d’enquêter auprès des notables les noms des responsables des troubles, de ceux qui avaient assisté aux prêches, déterminer la part de responsabilité du magistrat, dresser le rapport exact des dévastations. Quant à la procédure, elle était conforme à celle établie par la duchesse de Parme, mais sur un rythme accéléré. Fin février 1569, Philippe II demanda à Albe d’accorder le pardon général, mais le duc n’appliqua pas sa volonté. Le roi insista et le pardon fut enfin publié le 16 juillet 1570. En même temps, Albe demanda son rappel, affirmant que la situation était calme. Mais les conseillers étaient d’un autre avis, constatant que l’hérésie était toujours présente, et que la seule solution raisonnable était le pardon. Le duc d’Albe fut rappelé fin 1573, après que sa mission fut considérée comme une grave faute politique. Requesens prit sa place pour trois années. En juin 1574, il accorda une amnistie complète; les délibérations prirent tant de temps que tout n’était pas fini à son décès, en 1576. Durant ce temps, le Conseil des Troubles continua à fonctionner pour le Brabant et la Flandre, mais sans rendre de sentences de mort. Don Juan le remplaça. Sa première mesure fut de faire abolir le Conseil des Troubles, le 10 juin 1576. Les pourparlers en vue d’un pardon définitif pouvaient débuter. La Pacification de Gand fut signée le 8 novembre 1576 par les députés des Etats-Généraux. Cependant, les deux parties étaient insatisfaites: l’une sacrifiait la tentative de rétablissement de la religion catholique en Hollande et en Zélande, tandis que l’autre partie ne parvenait pas à imposer la coexistence des cultes. Pourtant cet accord fut ratifié par les théologiens de Louvain et Don Juan lui-même (Edit de Marche ou Edit Perpétuel, 17 février 1577). Un article de cette Pacification autorisait le retour dans les villes des Pays-Bas des individus qui avaient été autrefois expulsés
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pour cause politique et religieuse. Mais elle ne proclamait pas la liberté du calvinisme. Quant à la législation pénale contre les hérétiques, suspendue en 1566 par Marguerite de Parme, remise en vigueur par le Conseil des Troubles, puis suspendue à nouveau par l’article 5 de la Pacification de Gand, elle fut définitivement abolie. Elle était devenue inutile puisque la hiérarchie épiscopale avait été convenablement renforcée par la Contre-Réforme. Ainsi, les ordonnances royales disparurent des tribunaux. Celles de la fin du XVIe siècle réglèrent simplement les moyens d’empêcher la réintroduction du protestantisme, par une législation de tolérance tacite, qui ne fut définitivement fixée qu’en 1609 par un édit des Archiducs Albert et Isabelle à la suite de la Trêve de Douze Ans, ôtant définitivement la compétence d’hérésie aux juges civils. Dans cette Trêve, on ajouta pour tolérer l’exercice de la religion réformée trois articles qui, pour ne heurter aucune susceptibilité, passèrent pour secrets: les protestants des Pays-Bas du Sud ne furent pas forcés de fréquenter les églises mais s’ils les visitaient ils devaient se conformer au rituel catholique. Chez eux, ils avaient entière liberté de conscience. Ces mesures furent édictées car il y avait encore beaucoup de protestants notamment dans les campagnes du Hainaut.
La définition de l’hérésie Or, pour bien comprendre les enjeux, il est important de définir le concept d’hérésie, qui sous-tend le système juridique des Inquisitions médiévale et moderne. Dans la théologie et le droit canon est hérétique celui qui se révolte contre le magistère de l’Eglise, niant une vérité objectivement révélée. Mais dans le droit inquisitorial, il y a extension de cette notion. Ainsi, on ne peut être hérétique que si l’on est baptisé; or la papauté ordonnera de poursuivre les Juifs et les Arabes. Même si l’on nie une vérité proposée par l’Eglise sans qu’elle soit révélée, on devient hérétique (liturgie, signe de croix, écrits des Pères de l’Eglise). L’extension donnée au concept d’hérésie a souvent consisté à y substituer la notion de foi divine à celle de foi catholique car elle avait besoin d’un concept pratique. Charles-Quint établit alors une nouvelle définition de l’hérésie, qui s’écarte de la définition canonique, ainsi que de celle définie durant le Moyen Age par l’Inquisition. Par la législation adoptée entre 1521 et 1585, les hérétiques deviennent les ennemis intérieurs de l’Etat. Or, la peur à l’encontre de l’hérésie est récurrente depuis le Moyen Age, particulièrement depuis les XIVe et XVe siècles, qui vécurent des phénomènes traumatisants comme la Peste Noire, le Grand Schisme et les conquêtes ottomanes. C’est toute une société, basée sur le christianisme, qui se sentit menacée de toutes parts. La cassure brutale entre les catholiques et les protestants dans la seconde décennie du XVIe siècle constitua l’avènement visible d’une crise religieuse et spirituelle préexistante, mais qui s’exprime aussi sur le terrain politique. Les dirigeants de l’Eglise et des Etats tentèrent tout d’abord de préciser les nouveaux ‘ennemis’ et ensuite de les détruire.
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Quand on compulse les archives concernant la répression de l’hérésie au XVIe siècle, on ne peut manquer d’être frappé par la diversité des termes employés pour qualifier les hérétiques. A côté des appellations classiques issues des hérésiarques (luthériens, calvinistes, martiniens, muntzériens, etc.), d’autres sont inspirées des différences dogmatiques ou comportementales (anabaptistes, évangéliques, sacramentaires, spiritualistes, trinitaires, libertins, etc.) ou d’autres se veulent carrément injurieuses (gueux). Dans ce contexte, l’image de Satan est également omniprésente. Les autorités gouvernementales des Pays-Bas éprouvèrent d’ailleurs beaucoup difficultés pour définir et désigner avec précision les différentes hérésies. Une analyse des sentences anversoises montre également cette diversité, tout en permettant de replacer chronologiquement l’apparition des différents types d’hérésie. Ainsi, les principales accusations concernent les luthériens (1521), la possession ou la vente de livres interdits (1521), les ‘dogmatiseurs’ (1522), l’iconoclasme (1525), les blasphèmes luthériens (1525), les fauteurs (1525), l’appellation générale d’hérésie (1529), l’apostasie (1530), le marranisme (1531) et enfin l’anabaptisme (1534). C’est à partir de cette terminologie qu’une nouvelle notion d’hérésie fut construite. Dès la promulgation de l’édit de Worms, en 1521, l’hérésie fut associée au crime de lèse-majesté divine et humaine, et les hérétiques qualifiés de rebelles à l’autorité royale. Dès la nomination de François Vander Hulst, le gouvernement établit clairement la distinction radicale entre l’hérésie selon la définition canonique et le crime de transgression aux ordonnances. On assimilait à ces crimes des comportements qui étaient souvent révélateurs d’hérésie mais pas forcément, comme le scandale public et la sédition. La notion de fauteur des hérétiques, dans le sens canonique, apparaît pour la première fois dans l’ordonnance de 1529. On décide aussi pour la première fois dans cette législation qu’un hérétique n’est pas une personne honorable et qu’il ne peut en ce cas exercer des charges publiques. A partir de l’acte du 4 octobre 1540 apparaît définitivement dans les textes législatifs le rôle dominant que veut assumer Charles-Quint dans la répression de l’hérésie qui, à ses yeux, met en danger à la fois l’unité de la foi et la paix civile, dont il est le garant. Cette assimilation entre les crimes d’hérésie et de transgression des ordonnances se fait évidemment en faveur du souverain, dont elle assure la prédominance. Ces notions étaient déjà perceptibles dans l’acte du 10 juin 1535 contre les anabaptistes et le seront encore le 16 décembre 1540 dans l’ordonnance expulsant les nouveaux chrétiens des Pays-Bas. La notion de crime de lèse-majesté constitue une étape ultime de cette évolution, en laïcisant le crime d’hérésie et en considérant comme hérétiques des criminels de droit civil; dans les actes des 14 et 17 décembre 1541, les hérétiques sont assimilés absolument à des vagabonds, des meurtriers et des incendiaires. Cette attitude est confirmée par l’ordonnance générale du 29 septembre 1550; suivant une nouvelle formulation, les hétérodoxes sont des perturbateurs du repos public et de l’Etat. Une autre terminologie apparaît dans cette ordonnance: le délit scandaleux et/ou séditieux, dont la distinction devient fondamentale à partir des années 1580.
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Depuis la fin du XVIe siècle même, la question de l’ampleur de la répression suscita les estimations les plus invraisemblables. Notre étude a permis, malgré les difficultés documentaires, d’établir plusieurs faits marquants. Tout d’abord, il faut souligner que l’ampleur des poursuites et des exécutions ne fut pas constante durant toute la période considérée. Globalement, c’est à partir de 1545 que la répression s’intensifia, pour culminer une première fois vers 1561-1562 et une seconde fois entre 1568 et 1572. Après l’abolition du Conseil des Troubles et après la reconquête par Alexandre Farnèse, les hérétiques continuèrent à être poursuivis, globalement dans de moindres proportions, jusqu’en 1633. En effet, la répression ne s’arrêta pas dans les années 1590, mais au contraire se poursuivit régulièrement durant l’ensemble du règne des archiducs et constituait toujours une de leurs principales préoccupations. Nous avons pu constater une évolution des pénalités appliquées aux coupables de délits liés à l’hérésie. Contrairement aux prescriptions des édits impériaux, l’application de la peine de mort ne fut jamais généralisée, ni durant le règne de Charles Quint, ni pendant la dure répression exercée par le conseil des Troubles. Nos estimations montrent qu’entre 1521 et 1555, environ 11% des condamnations prescrivaient la mort, et que la peine capitale ne fut prononcée que pour 9,5% des personnes citées devant le Conseil des Troubles. Sous le Conseil des Troubles, on remarque que la peine de mort la plus fréquente fut la décapitation et la pendaison, la peine du feu étant rare (6%). Les calvinistes fournissent le plus grand nombre des victimes (82,6%), ensuite les iconoclastes (14,8%) et les anabaptistes (2,6%). Quant au nombre total des personnes poursuivies par les Inquisitions sous le règne de Charles Quint, il s’élèverait selon nos calculs entre 4.000 et 8.000 personnes, soit une fourchette comprise entre 0,2 et 0,8% de la population totale des Pays-Bas méridionaux. Les estimations s’avérant impossible dans l’état actuel des recherches pour la période entre 1556 et 1633, nous nous sommes basée sur les sentences prononcées par le Conseil des Troubles, qui nous montrent une répression qui aurait concerné 0,77% de la population. Ces statistiques, qui ne traduisent qu’une tendance générale, semblent cependant indiquer que les répressions exercées par les tribunaux d’abord sous le règne de Charles-Quint et par le Conseil des Troubles sont d’une ampleur équivalente, mais avec une très grande différence de durée, trente-quatre ans pour l’une, cinq ans pour l’autre. Ces constatations nous permettent de comprendre pourquoi le Conseil des Troubles apparut comme un tribunal sanguinaire aux yeux de ses contemporains, tandis que les procédures du système inquisitorial de Charles Quint, paraissant moins nombreuses, étaient plus facilement acceptées. Les études chiffrées nous ont également permis de relativiser quelque peu l’importance du nombre des condamnés anabaptistes. Si, effectivement, ils furent majoritairement poursuivis en Flandre, l’analyse des exécutions en Brabant, en Hainaut et en Artois montre qu’ils étaient minoritaires face aux calvinistes et aux luthériens dans ces régions. Les données socio-professionnelles ont été difficiles à établir en raison du manque de renseignements dans les archives. La tendance globale que nous avons pu néanmoins dégager montre la primauté de la classe des artisans et des commerçants.
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La religion, phénomène public ou privé? Incidemment, l’une des questions fondamentales posées par la question religieuse de la Renaissance est celle de la place de la religion dans la vie de l’individu, c’est-à-dire de savoir si elle fait partie du domaine public ou bien si elle ne relève que de la vie privée. Ceci nous mène tout naturellement à se questionner sur la manière de mesurer la piété. On peut bien entendu se baser sur les aspects extérieurs de la pratique religieuse: achats et dons de bougies pour les saints et les grandes fêtes, fondations pieuses, dons offerts aux églises, processions, rosaires, expressions artistiques privées ou publiques témoignant d’une certaine forme de dévotion, etc. D’autres indications peuvent également nous renseigner: les références à Dieu et les formules pieuses dans les textes écrits privés, publics ou testamentaires, les messes dites lors des décès, l’extrême-onction et la confession avant la mort, les legs. Ph. Ariès et G. Duby soulignent d’ailleurs combien la rédaction du testament peut être considérée comme une véritable pratique de dévotion. Les Réformes catholique et protestante insistèrent toutes deux à la fois sur les dévotions communautaires et la piété personnelle.2 A côté de cela, l’impiété n’était pas inexistante. Des hommes et des femmes doutaient de l’existence de la divinité ou pratiquaient une religiosité de façade, mais sans pour autant ôter la dimension spirituelle de leur vie. S. Reynolds3 prit ainsi la peine de mettre en évidence, pour la période médiévale, la prévalence de la piété conventionnelle. Tout en participant à toutes les formes extérieures de la dévotion, il n’y avait pas d’attachement à la foi et donc pas d’intégration de la symbolique dans la vie quotidienne. Quantifier ces différentes catégories, que l’on pourrait sommairement établir en foi conventionnelle et dévotion, est impossible. En effet, la foi s’exprime de manière variée, chaque communauté disposant de ses codes expressifs et d’une hiérarchisation rituelle et symbolique. Le point commun fondamental est la conviction intime de l’existence des forces surnaturelles. Au XVIe siècle, la croyance était donc une raison sociale4 et non pas seulement une affaire personnelle. Les rituels religieux étaient une expression de la solidarité 2
Ce type de recherche a pris son essor, particulièrement à partir de l’étude des ouvrages de dévotion, des éditions bibliques et de la prédication. Voir les ouvrages récents de F. M. Higman, Piety and the people. Religious printing in French, 1511-1551 (St. Andrews 1996) et de F. Chevalier, Prêcher sous l’Edit de Nantes (Paris 1994); G. Rupp, ‘Protestant spirituality in the First Age of the Reformation’, in G. J. Cuming – D. Baker, éds., Popular belief and practice (Cambridge 1972) 155-170; B. B. Diefendorf, ‘The Huguenot psalter and the Faith of French Protestants in the Sixteenth Century’, in Culture and identity in Early Modern Europe (1500-1800). Essays in honor of Natalie Zemon Davis (Michigan 1993) 41-63; P. A. Russel, Lay theology in the Reformation. Popular pamphleeters in Southwest Germany, 1521-1525 (Cambridge 1986); M. Sluhovsky, Patroness of Paris. Rituals of devotion in early Modern France (Leiden 1998); J. Martin, ‘Spiritual journeys and the fashioning of religious identity in Renaissance Venice’, in Renaissance studies, 10/3, 358-370; J. Craig – C. Litzenberger, ‘Wills as religious propaganda: the testament of William Tracy’, in Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 44/3, 415-431. Ph. Ariès – G. Duby, éds., Histoire de la vie privée 3 (Paris 1980) 73-97. 3 S. Reynolds, ‘Social mentalities and the case of medieval scepticism’, in Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6, 1 (1991) 17. 4 Voir J. Bossy, ‘The mass as a social institution, 1200-1700’, in Past and Present, 100 (1983) 29-61.
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commune, les moyens de garantir le bien-être de la communauté. La symbolique, claire aux yeux des populations de cette époque, était le moyen de communication et d’éducation le plus efficace. L’art la reprenait de manière systématique et en illustrait toutes les étapes de la vie contemporaine, de la naissance à la mort. L’enseignement christique et patristique était ainsi largement dispensé. Dans les législations ‘caroline’ et ‘philippine’ du XVIe siècle, ce sont effectivement principalement les instigateurs et les propagateurs de la foi qui furent poursuivis avec acharnement et sévérité, ceux que les textes répressifs du XVIe siècle nomment les ‘dogmatiseurs’. Il va sans dire que des personnes jugées d’importance secondaire dans les milieux religieux militants furent également condamnées et exécutées, et furent donc entraînées malgré elles dans la tourmente. On peut donc avancer l’hypothèse que ce fut particulièrement l’exemplarité de leur mort qui fut la plus parlante pour l’homme de la rue. L’on trouve ainsi, à côté des personnages les plus importants des mouvements protestants, un certain nombre de presque anonymes, hommes et femmes, jeunes et vieux. L’aspect propagandiste du texte martyrologique5 s’y exprime alors clairement. Et l’impact n’en est que plus grand quand ils prennent la parole et citent des textes bibliques lors de leur martyr, attitude qui était inconcevable dans leur vie quotidienne. Le rapprochement avec les martyrs chrétiens des premiers siècles est ici assez évident. L’importance du contenu théologique augmente encore l’intérêt d’une étude sur la portée de l’Ecriture, dans la mesure où les protestants prônaient notamment un retour à l’Eglise primitive, des premiers siècles. En effet, durant cette période, une persécution contre les chrétiens s’était mise en place, et les protestants vont y puiser l’exemplarité.6 Cependant, on assiste ici à un choix déterminé des témoins car il n’est pas question de se servir des martyrologes comme bases et justifications d’un culte nouveau, pas plus que de créer un nouveau culte des reliques. Les textes sont publiés pour soutenir le courage des protestants et les inciter à calquer leur attitude sur celle des martyrs. 5
Les plus connus sont ceux de Luther, Die recht warhafft und gründtlich Hystori oder geschicht von bruder Hainrich inn Diethmar verprent (1525) et de W. Tyndale, The Obedience of a Christian Man (1528). L. Halkin, ‘Les martyrologes et la critique. Contribution à l’étude du Martyrologe protestant des Pays-Bas’, in Mélanges historiques offerts à Jean Meyhoffer (Lausanne 1952) 53-57; E. Mahieu, ‘Les martyrs montois dans les martyrologes’, in Sources de l’histoire religieuse de la Belgique (Louvain 1968) 389-402; G. Moreau, ‘Contribution à l’Histoire du Livre des Martyrs’, in Bulletin historique et littéraire de la société du protestantisme français 103 (Paris 1957) 173-199; H. T. Oberman, ‘De betrouwbaarheid der martelaarsboeken van Crespin en Van Haemstede’, in Archief voor Nederlandse Kerkgeschiedenis 4 (1907) 74-110; A. L. E. Verheyden, ‘De Martyrologia in de optiek van de hedendaagse Martelaarslijsten’, in Sources de l’histoire religieuse de la Belgique, 355-375; T. AlberdaVan Der Zijp, ‘‘Het Offer des Heeren’, geloof en getuigenis van de martelaren’, in S. Groenveld – J. P. Jacobszoon – S. L. Verheus, Wederdopers, menisten, doopsgezinden in Nederland, 1530-1980 (Zutphen 1980) 47-61. 6 P. Maraval, Les persécutions des chrétiens durant les quatre premiers siècles (Paris 1992); Les martyrs de Lyon, 177 (Paris 1978); Ch. Munier, L’Eglise dans l’empire romain, IIe-IIIe siècles (Paris 1979); M. Gregoire, Persécutions dans l’Empire romain (Paris 1951; rééd. 1964); E. Griffe, Les Persécutions (Paris 1967); R. Lane-Fox, Pagans and Christians (New York 1987); P. Brown, Power and persuasion in Late Antiquity, towards a Christian Empire (New York 1992); F. Thélamon, Païens et Chrétiens au IVe siècle (Paris 1981). H. R. Boudin, ‘Les martyrologes protestants de la Réforme. Instruments de propagande ou documents de témoignage?’, in Sainteté et martyre dans les Religions du Livre (Bruxelles 1989) 69.
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Le concept de martyr a toujours présenté un problème, tant pour l’Eglise chrétienne des premiers siècles que pour les Réformes protestantes des XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Au-delà de l’exemplarité de l’imitatio Christi, le sacrifié s’assure de cette manière son paradis et obtient l’assurance que son âme sera sauve pour l’éternité. La recherche délibérée de cette sécurité spirituelle par des méthodes, peut-on dire, aussi radicales, a été largement découragée par le fait que le ‘vrai’ martyr doit le devenir par la volonté divine et non par son propre désir. En conséquence, la justification de la persécution d’un groupe de chrétiens par un autre se fonde sur le rejet de ce concept, attribuant à ce groupe le qualificatif de fanatiques désespérés ou de suicidaires, par le fait qu’ils s’opposent à l’autorité publique et à l’ordre social voulu par Dieu. La mort qui leur est dévolue prend donc ici le sens de châtiment plutôt que celui de sacrifice. Les protestants qui meurent héroïquement au milieu des flammes témoignent qu’ils surpassent les appréhensions de la mort et leurs souffrances. Avoir une telle attitude lors de son supplice, c’est affirmer implicitement qu’on n’est pas rejeté par Dieu, et que ce sont les persécuteurs qui se sont écartés de Dieu. Cet argument sera très généralement développé dans toute la littérature martyrologique, en montrant que le courage dont font preuve les adeptes face à la mort atroce qui leur est réservée, loin de produire sur le peuple une terreur salutaire, le conduit à les considérer comme des martyrs. Et l’autorité qui a ordonné ou permis ce châtiment est contestable puisque, selon les arguments développés notamment par Sébastien Castellion, celui-ci conduit soit à la mort corporelle des martyres et à la future damnation de l’âme des persécuteurs, soit à leur conversion forcée et donc à la mort de leur âme.7 Dans le même ordre d’idées, Théodore de Bèze, dans ses Icones ou vrais portraits des hommes illustres (1581), montra combien la mort physique sur le bûcher du martyr protestant importait moins que le témoignage verbal qui en résultait.8 L’adjonction plus tardive d’illustrations montrant les supplices dans les martyrologes n’avait d’ailleurs pour but que de dramatiser la situation et d’apporter une caution supplémentaire au texte. Ce qui est fondamental également dans les martyrologes, ce n’est pas le récit même des persécutions subies, mais le fait que dans chaque histoire, c’est le choix que doit faire le chrétien entre ce que sa foi lui indique et ce que l’institution sociale ou religieuse veut lui imposer. Cette question est partout sous-jacente, et la diversité des récits permet des mises en situation totalement différentes. Le supplice et la mort ne sont que des éléments contextuels, pas une finalité, mais ils sont indispensables car garantissent la rédemption.9 Le rôle de l’apologiste devient dès lors essentiel, car 7
‘Premierement, si ceux que vous contraignez sont forts et constants, et aiment mieux mourir que de blesser leurs consciences, vous les faites mourir, en quoi vous êtes meurtriers de leurs corps, dont il faudra que vous en rendiez compte à Dieu. Secondement s’ils sont si faibles qu’ils aiment mieux se dedire et blesser leurs consciences, que d’endurer vos tourments et geines importables, vous faites perir leurs ames, ce qui est encore pis…’ S. Castellion, Conseil à la France désolée, l (1562) 42. 8 C. Randall Coats, ‘Reactivating textual traces: martyrs, memory and the Self, in Theodore Beza’s ‘Icones’ (1581)’, in W. F. Graham, Later Calvinism: international perspectives (Kirksville 1994) 19-28. 9 W. Haller, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. The elect Nation (Londres 1963) 198.
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de lui dépend le succès de cette cause et de la reconnaissance de sa validité. Il est également nécessaire d’avoir des ‘héros’ qui la symbolise, et dont le martyre nourrit également la signification historique, si bien que ces deux éléments s’interpénètrent entièrement. Pour les Pays-Bas, on peut y rattacher les deux textes de Luther sur le martyre, écrits en 1523 et en 1525, après les exécutions des frères mineurs anversois. Le fidèle condamné à mort pour sa foi doit remettre son sort entre les mains de Dieu; on peut voir à ce propos le message de réconfort adressé à Léonard Kaiser, exécuté en 1527.10 Dans la théorie calviniste de la prédestination, le martyr ne peut échapper à son sort et doit se réjouir de son sort. L’exécution est une marque de la faveur divine, signe qu’ils ont reçu sur terre une mission particulière. Calvin accorde par ailleurs une valeur prophétique aux écrits et aux paroles des martyrs. Si l’on regarde le contenu global des notices martyrologiques, tant chez Crespin qu’Haemstede, on constate rapidement qu’il s’agit de gens jeunes, ayant eu un enseignement religieux minimal et qui étaient prêts, au moment de leur arrestation, à s’investir dans le mouvement. La majorité n’appartiennent pas à l’élite culturelle des lisants-écrivants, ce sont des travailleurs dans l’une ou l’autre branche artisanale et industrielle, intéressés par la Bible, pris d’une pulsion irrésistible de faire partager aux autres le sens des Ecritures. La plupart, dénoncés par leurs voisins et les officiers locaux pour avoir lu la Bible ou parlé trop ouvertement, étaient absent depuis trop longtemps de la messe aux yeux du prêtre, ou avaient commis toute autre manifestation imprudente. Parmi eux, quelques femmes, pour lesquelles il est intéressant de noter que Foxe leur attribuait une attitude jugée masculine pour l’époque (le prêche public), et que Crespin particulièrement le suivra dans cette voie.11 La force de frappe du texte consiste en un mélange savamment dosé de confessions des condamnés et de citations bibliques ou patristiques. Comme le postulat de départ est que le martyr héroïque mérite le salut, l’auteur accorde toute son attention aux sentiments et attitudes des victimes de la répression religieuse: charité, patience et piété, mais aussi joie et courage, ainsi qu’exaltation des vertus. Il est urgent et fondamental d’encourager le sacrifice de soi pour la foi, et de la maintenir pure face aux agresseurs. D’autre part, l’auteur se complaît à décrire les exécutions, qu’elles soient par le feu, la décapitation, la pendaison ou la noyade. Le pathos des situations apparaît clairement, notamment lors des confrontations entre les persécuteurs et les persécutés. L’enthousiasme des condamnés se rendant au bûcher est mis en exergue, entrecoupé de citations bibliques et de professions de foi. Il faut encore y adjoindre la dimension de l’image12. Soulignons que les écrits favorables au camp catholique, d’ailleurs, useront des mêmes référents; on peut citer par exemple l’Enchiridion (1541) de Johannes Eck ou l’Adversus omnes hereses (1534) d’Alfonso de Castro. 10
J. Lortz, La Réforme de Luther, 1 (Paris 1970) 488. Haller, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, 214-215; voir aussi D. Loades, ‘John Foxe and the traitors: the politics of the Marian persecution’, in Martyrs and martyrologies (Oxford 1993) 231-244. 12 R. Kolb, For all the saints. Changing perceptions of martyrdom and sainthood in the Lutheran Reformation (Mâcon 1987). 11
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Pourtant, il convient de se demander si toutes les personnes qui souffrirent des persécutions au cours du XVIe siècle doivent être considérées aussi comme des martyrs. Que penser de ceux qui moururent en prison, des exilés, de tous ceux qui y perdirent honneur et situation sociale, soit les hommes et les femmes qui ne versèrent pas leur sang de manière exemplaire pour leur cause? Ils furent récupérés plus tard, dans les chroniques et les mémoires rédigés dès la seconde moitié du siècle, dans une logique de résistance à la tyrannie et de défense héroïque de la patrie initiée par ces martyrologes. Ils permirent l’internationalisation de la question de la Réforme et de sa persécution. Et il était clair que pour le lecteur, la persécution ne négligeait personne, quelle que soit sa position sociale ou sa nationalité.13 D’autre part, il est indéniable que la dissimulation en matière de foi revêt une extrême importance dans le cadre des guerres de religion et des persécutions qui ensanglantèrent l’Europe du XVIe siècle. En l’associant à la clandestinité, il faut la considérer comme un phénomène historique qui permit à des milliers de personnes de survivre dans un difficile climat politique et spirituel. Cette dissimulation fut donc largement employée et défendue par des gens de métiers divers (philosophes chrétiens non orthodoxes, théologiens, canonistes, penseurs de tout ordre), tout en plongeant ses racines dans la tradition biblique de libre discussion des Ecritures. Soulignons cependant qu’il ne faut pas la confondre avec la simulation, qui inclut les notions d’insincérité, voire de mensonge ou d’hypocrisie, mais bien la définir comme une attitude à la fois secrète et sincère. L’origine du terme de nicodémisme14 est à trouver chez Jean Calvin, qui qualifia ainsi les membres des Eglises protestantes cachées dans les pays restés catholiques, et qui altéraient leur foi en simulant les rites catholiques.15 Ce terme s’applique également en dehors de la question protestante,16 et peut s’appliquer par exemple aux catholiques anglais sous le règne d’Elisabeth Ière ou aux crypto-juifs. Par contre, pour les adeptes de la Maison de la Charité, qui était considérée comme une communauté d’élus formant une église invisible, la question n’avait aucun sens. Les membres étaient déchargés de la nécessité d’une pratique religieuse visible. Avec cette conception, la secte resta indifférente aux dissensions entre catholiques et protestants, et considérant leur liturgie comme inutile pour eux, sauf pour les gens du commun qui avaient besoin de rites.17 13 D. Watson, ‘Jean Crespin and the First English Martyrology of the Reformation’, in D. Loades, éd, John Foxe and the English Reformation (Aldershot 1997) 192-209. 14 P. Zagorin, Ways of lying. Dissimulation, persecution and conformity in Early Modern Europe (Londres 1990) 63-82. Voir aussi D. Cantimori, Eretici italiani del cinquecento; C. Ginzburg, Il Nicodemismo. Simulazione e dissimulazione dell’Europa del’500 (Turin 1970); E. Droz, ‘Calvin et les Nicodémites’, in Chemins de l’hérésie 1 (Genève 1970) 145-157. Pour le débat philosophique et moral, consulter S. Bok, Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life (New York 1978). 15 Consulter Ginzburg, Nicodemismo, 15, 1-2, 76; Zagorin, Ways of lying, 68-ss.; M. Turchetti, Concordia e toleranza. François Baudouin (1520-1573) e i ‘moyenneurs’ (Genève 1984); R. D. Linder, The Political Ideas of Pierre Viret (Genève 1964). 16 G. K. Waite, ‘Staying alive: the Methods of Survival as Practiced by an Anabaptist Fugitive, David Joris’, in Mennonite Quarterly Review, t. 6 (1987) 46-57. 17 R. Bekers, Benito Arias Montano (1527-1598) (Londres 1972) 102-103, 156-157.
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Il faut insister sur le cas très particulier du crypto-judaïsme. Les crypto-juifs eurent à gérer différemment le dilemme spirituel qui s’imposait à eux. Loin de vouloir s’assimiler, ils choisirent de continuer à pratiquer le culte mosaïque malgré la pression constante de la société catholique. Certes, la clandestinité réduisit parfois le nombre et le déroulement des cérémonies, mais l’essentiel fut préservé comme la connaissance de l’hébreu et l’enseignement de la mitzwot. Ici aussi, des éléments catholiques firent leur apparition. L’extrême danger de cette situation contribua également à réduire au minimum l’éducation religieuse des enfants, comme le témoigne Isaac Orobio de Castro lors de son arrivée à Amsterdam au XVIIe siècle, et à ne leur avouer leur véritable appartenance religieuse qu’à l’âge de 20 ans.18 Comme il était impossible à la communauté juive de vivre sans user de dissimulation, comment pouvait-elle présenter et défendre cette attitude ambivalente? L’examen des procédures inquisitoriales espagnoles nous apprend que la plupart des condamnés choisirent la voie de la conversion forcée plutôt que le martyre. Ce choix se reposait sur le Deutéronome (5:33) et le Lévitique (18:5), qui affirmaient la primauté du devoir de vivre sur celui de mourir. Une autre manière est également de ne plus se considérer comme un Juif à part entière, et donc de rendre la conversion au catholicisme possible sans renier réellement sa foi. Il va sans dire que tout ceci relève finalement bien plus de la casuistique religieuse, se fondant sur la philosophie de Maimonide (XIIe siècle). Se penchant sur la question de la conversion forcée, celui-ci avait présenté le martyre comme le sacrifice suprême, mais s’adressait plus spécifiquement à ceux qui le refusaient. Il avait permis le recours à des circonstances atténuantes provoquées par une situation exceptionnelle, faisant ainsi disparaître tout sentiment de culpabilité. Les crypto-juifs reprirent notamment ces arguments, y voyant la permission divine d’adorer des dieux étrangers par nécessité.19 Les protestants qui désiraient pratiquer leur foi au quotidien n’avaient, dans la situation offerte par les Pays-Bas méridionaux, que deux solutions pour survivre: la fuite ou la dissimulation. De nombreux témoignages cathares médiévaux, ainsi que les procédures inquisitoriales intentées contre les divers mouvements hérétiques témoignent de l’utilisation de cette dernière en matière de foi. Si l’on parcourt la Practica de Bernard Gui, par exemple, l’on se rend compte que les hérétiques répondaient aux questions des clercs par d’autres questions, sans jamais énoncer le fonds de leurs pensées, profitant à chaque occasion d’affirmer croire en ce que leurs persécuteurs voulaient qu’ils croient. Nicolas Eymerich, dans son Directorium, fit les mêmes constatations à l’encontre des Vaudois et des Bégards.20 On trouve des traces pour la période moderne à Venise, où après l’augmentation significative de l’activité inquisitoriale, bon nombre de protestants décidèrent de mener une double vie. Le 18 Cité in Y. H. Yerushalmi, From Spanish Courts to Italian Ghetto: a study in Seventeenth-Century Marranism and Jewish Apologetics (New York 1971) 64. 19 Zagorin, Ways of lying, 56-58. 20 B. Gui, Manuel de l’Inquisiteur, éd. G. Mollat, 2 (Paris 1927), 63-67. N. Eymerich, Le manuel des Inquisiteurs, éd. L. Sala-Molins (Paris 1973) 11-18. J. Martin, Venice’s Hidden Ennemies: Italian Heretics in a Renaissance City (Berkeley 1991) 125.
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choix conscient fut possible aussi car, tout en participant aux cérémonies catholiques, ils espéraient la victoire finale de leur foi. On assiste ici à une dichotomie importante entre la situation quotidienne des protestants et autres adeptes des Réformes et celle des meneurs, interdisant ces pratiques. La décision de faire de sa ‘vraie’ foi une affaire strictement privée émane donc des premiers, mus par la nécessité de survivre, refusant par là même d’user des deux solutions prônées par Calvin, à savoir la fuite ou le martyre. Leur situation en était d’autant plus inconfortable que les réflexions de Calvin trouvèrent encore beaucoup d’échos dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle. Ainsi, il faut aborder la question de l’attachement à la foi, voire à quelle religion précisément. Car les croyances sont multiples à cette époque, Henri IV en est l’un des exemples les plus connus, lui qui changea cinq fois de confessions au cours de sa vie. Les archives judiciaires ne nous aident pas dans la détermination exacte des mouvements auxquels les condamnés se rattachent. Bien plus, la reconstitution de la société chrétienne de cette époque passe également par la connaissance du processus de conversion, qui toucha un grand nombre de gens, avertis à des degrés divers de l’existence des nouveaux courants religieux. La conversion pouvait s’effectuer ou non, mais chaque cas était effectivement différent. Il est donc important de rassembler un grand nombre de ‘chemins de vie’, non pas dans le but de tenter une généralisation qui dans tous les cas serait abusive, mais de dresser une typologie des cas les plus fréquents et des circonstances prioritairement favorables au passage du catholicisme vers les Réformes. T. Wanegffelen, dans plusieurs de ses travaux, en a montré toute l’importance pour les élites culturelles.21 Semblable travail pour la paysannerie ou les artisans reste par ailleurs de l’ordre de l’impossible. G. Oestreich montra de son côté qu’il fallait cependant la relativiser pour les communautés rurales et urbaines relevant de la culture populaire, insistant sur le fait qu’elle ne constitua qu’un élément parmi un vaste mouvement de changements sociaux. Par contre, il me semble que le moment du passage effectif d’une Eglise à une autre constitue un élément fondamental pour l’homme ou la femme qui fait ce choix, qu’il soit pris en toute liberté ou pour des raisons de conformité. Seule la contrainte, bien entendu, doit être exclue de cette appréciation. Plus révélateur encore, il semble que la Réforme et la Révolte des Pays-Bas n’ait pas bouleversé du jour au lendemain les habitudes religieuses des nobles hollandais. Sur les cinquante-cinq membres de la noblesse siégeant aux Etats provinciaux de Hollande, entre 1581 et 1619, seuls quatorze appartenaient officiellement à l’Eglise réformée, les autres restant catholiques mais non pratiquants, adoptant une ‘non-confessional Christian mentality’22 Une étude similaire réalisée pour les 21
Th. Wanegffelen, Ni Rome, ni Genève. Des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle (Paris 1997); Id., ‘Se convertir ou abjurer? Indices de la construction confessionnelle dans les cérémonies d’adhésion aux Eglises réformées et catholiques en France au XVIe siècle’, in M.-M. Fragonard – M. Péronnet, éds., Catéchismes et confessions de foi (Montpellier 1995) 65-93. G. Oestreich, Neostoicism and the Early Modern State (Cambridge 1982). 22 S. Marshall, The Dutch gentry, 1500-1650. Family, faith and fortune (New York 1978) 89.
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Provinces-Unies montre que vers 1619-1656 les protestants constituaient deux tiers de la population de la Hollande et trois quarts de celle de Frise, mais seulement la moitié dans la région d’Utrecht. La désaffection au catholicisme fut cependant la plus flagrante dans la seconde moitié du XVIIe siècle, se stabilisant aux environs de 30% de la population totale des Provinces Unies. On constate ainsi globalement qu’il fallut, comme en Angleterre, près de trois générations pour que l’attachement religieux devint définitif.23 Habituellement, nous sommes confrontés à une vision des événements religieux du XVIe siècle qui présente les populations comme devant choisir obligatoirement entre le catholicisme et les Réformes. Cette vision nous semble totalement incomplète, dans la mesure où elle exclut d’office toutes les attitudes intermédiaires comme le rejet de la liturgie et de certains aspects cultuels. Plus encore, il faut considérer ceux que T. Wanegffelen appelle les catholiques ‘non-confessionnels’,24 c’est-à-dire les pratiquants occasionnels ou non pratiquants, attachés à l’Eglise catholique, mais ne sélectionnant que les dogmes qui leur convenaient. Cette définition ne peut certes pas s’appliquer telle quelle à l’ensemble des populations concernées car dans ce cas, il s’agit d’un choix conscient, fondé sur des connaissances religieuses minimales. Les cas qu’il étudia d’ailleurs appartenaient tous à l’élite culturelle française. Or, l’on sait qu’à l’époque l’inculture religieuse et le syncrétisme étaient courants. Cette obligation de prendre parti s’accommodait assez mal de positions médianes et, à défaut de pouvoir les faire disparaître rapidement, l’Eglise accepta de mauvais gré la séparation entre la pratique religieuse visible et la piété privée, voire plus tard, son absence. La Réforme catholique chercha par la suite à les faire entrer dans le rang, par la persuasion plutôt que la coercition directe, mais sans y parvenir totalement, l’homme des Lumières y opposant d’autres voies spirituelles. Faut-il pour autant les considérer comme des sceptiques? En 1957, Henri Busson25 démontra que l’incrédulité pouvait être présente dans une société largement religieuse; l’inexistence de la terminologie appropriée comme le mot rationalisme n’était pas une preuve en soi, dans la mesure où existaient les mots athéiste et libertin. Le débat se poursuivit par les travaux de G. Schneider et de F. Berriot, qui étudièrent les écrits contre l’athéisme et l’irréligion, confirmant ainsi leur existence. L. Febvre tenta de montrer le contraire dans son ouvrage sur Rabelais,26 mais sans être totalement convaincant. Aucune société n’est jamais entièrement unifiée par la croyance et l’idéologie, il coexiste toujours des penseurs en dissidence. Il convient de nuancer cependant la notion d’athéisme au XVIe siècle: le rejet de Dieu est rarissime,
23 A.M. van der Woude e.a., ‘Numerieke aspecten van de protestantisering in Noord-Nederland tussen 1656 en 1726’, in A.A.G. Bijdragen, 13 (1965) 149-180. 24 Wanegffelen, Ni Rome, ni Genève, 480-481. 25 H. Busson, Le rationalisme dans la littérature française de la Renaissance (1553-1601) (Paris 1957). 26 G. Schneider, Der Libertin. Zur Geistes- und Sozialgeschichte des Bürgertums im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart 1970). F. Berriot, Athéismes et athéistes au XVIe siècle en France (Lille 1977). L. Febvre, Le problème de l’incroyance au 16e siècle: la religion de Rabelais (Paris 1968).
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il s’agit plutôt de rejet de la religion comme modèle conformiste et moralisateur. Certaines notions dogmatiques ne sont pas alors acceptées, comme l’immortalité de l’âme, l’incarnation, la providence, les miracles. On parlera donc plus justement d’incroyance ou d’irréligion. Calvin, par ailleurs, en parle comme une philosophie attachée au platonisme27. Enfin, comme nous l’avons déjà souligné, il est très difficile, voire impossible, de détecter les personnes incroyantes en raison de la soigneuse dissimulation dont elles font preuve. Le danger était en effet grand de nier l’existence de Dieu avant le XVIIIe siècle, si bien que nous ne trouvons dans nos textes aucun persécuté qui proclame de telles opinions de manière claire.
Pourquoi une répression religieuse de cette ampleur? L’acharnement contre les hérétiques peut se comprendre si l’on envisage que les dirigeants des principales nations européennes au XVIe siècle désiraient lutter contre tout ce qui n’entrait pas dans le cadre strict de leurs convictions religieuses. A un pouvoir religieux et civil qui craint et rejette les déviances de tout ordre, s’ajoute le phénomène de punition collective infligée par Dieu à un peuple qui le trahit, ainsi qu’une ambiance de fin du monde à laquelle les élites intellectuelles européennes ne savent comment réagir, sinon par l’assimilation de tout adversaire à un hérétique, et donc à un agent de Satan. L’hérétique est décrit comme un être désincarné, agent de l’Antéchrist, et pour cela représenté sous les formes physiques les plus abominables, les plus effrayantes pour la population de cette époque, comme des loups ou des ‘monstres déguisés en hommes’. Quelles furent les raisons qui poussèrent Charles-Quint à instaurer un régime de terreur pour lutter contre les hérétiques des Pays-Bas? Sans doute estimait-il que pour établir son pouvoir de souverain absolu l’immuabilité des dogmes était une condition nécessaire et qu’il devait donc la défendre implacablement. De même, il devait absolument maintenir ou renforcer la cohésion de l’Etat, donc ne permettre aucune division d’origine religieuse. Or, au sein de l’Empire, Luther avait déjà gagné à sa cause plusieurs princes, et non des moindres, qui s’opposaient au pouvoir impérial. De longs conflits fratricides finirent par arracher à Charles-Quint des concessions, dont la liberté pour chaque prince de choisir la religion officielle (Paix d’Augsbourg, 1555). Mais il n’était pas question qu’une pareille situation se reproduisît dans les Pays-Bas. Enfin, il faut tenir compte du fait que la vision politique d’un monarque comme Charles-Quint ou comme Philippe II n’est pas uniquement nationale, mais européenne et internationale. Un des rôles que les monarques espagnols désiraient remplir était celui de champion du catholicisme, aussi bien dans les Pays-Bas que dans toute l’Europe. Si l’emprise de la religion sur la société de la Renaissance fut importante, 27
Zagorin, Ways of lying, 290-292.
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nos travaux ont montré combien cette collaboration fut difficile et subordonnée aux intérêts politiques souvent divergents de ces institutions. Néanmoins, on ne peut nier qu’une collaboration s’installa entre l’Eglise et l’Etat au niveau de la répression ellemême. Tous deux avaient intérêt à conserver l’unité religieuse dans les Pays-Bas. L’Eglise de Rome donna très vite son feu vert à la répression violente contre les hérétiques, poussant les autorités à n’user d’aucune pitié à leur égard, sous réserve toutefois de ne pas mettre en péril par ses excès l’Etat lui-même, dont elle considérait l’existence comme nécessaire à ses desseins. L’idée de la monarchie universelle, très présente dans l’esprit de Charles-Quint et plus encore chez Philippe II, bien que ressentie comme utopique, contribue aussi à renforcer leur volonté d’user des moyens coercitifs. Charles-Quint et ses successeurs désiraient donc régner seuls et sans partage sur les Pays-Bas, et n’entendaient pas devoir y disputer le pouvoir. La répression du protestantisme et des hérésies en général, et plus encore la création de l’Inquisition d’Etat, servit de moyen moteur à cette politique. Les XVe et XVIe siècles voient se former et se centraliser les Etats européens, nécessairement aux dépens des mouvements régionaux, des minorités et des hétérodoxes religieux. Cette restructuration se manifeste à la fois par une nouvelle définition des frontières, notamment durant les guerres franco-espagnoles, par la mise sur pied d’un gouvernement hiérarchique et autoritaire, et enfin par l’éviction de toutes les interférences au sein du pays constitué. L’Etat s’ingère ainsi brutalement dans une série de domaines dont il était écarté jusqu’alors, comme les coutumes et la religion. A partir de 1520, l’Etat et la société vont entrer en conflit sur la question religieuse, qui est alors placée dans un nouveau contexte tout à fait original. En effet, plus que jamais, la religion et la politique vont voir s’entremêler leurs intérêts, et vont unir leurs forces contre les hétérodoxes. Comme l’Etat avait soutenu l’Eglise aux XIVe et XVe siècles dans sa lutte contre l’Islam, ainsi, à partir de 1520, l’Etat va jouer le même rôle face aux hérésies. Plus novateur encore, et par cet aspect plus proche de notre société actuelle, l’Etat du XVIe siècle subordonna à ses intérêts les systèmes économiques et religieux, concentrant ainsi les secteurs de base de la société; l’Etat de la Renaissance était en route vers sa modernité et vers sa toute-puissance. Ainsi, l’Etat imposa une homogénéisation culturelle à ses membres par la religion et s’attribua le monopole d’une Eglise d’Etat; il était donc impossible dans ce contexte de laisser s’épanouir les libertés individuelles, qui auraient été garanties par un juste équilibre entre les pouvoirs, et qui furent écrasées par l’hégémonie d’un seul. La violence que l’Etat centralisateur mit en place, qui n’est en fait qu’une contreviolence pour lutter contre les guerres et conflits privés, fut le système le plus efficace jamais créé par la société. Il permit de déplacer lentement les conflits de l’intérieur vers l’extérieur, dans des guerres internationales. En Europe, au début du XVIe siècle, coexistent deux formes de cultures politiques: la première, qui est liée intimement à l’activité économique, se permet un peu de tolérance, de par son dynamisme et son cosmopolitisme, comme à Anvers par exemple; la seconde, la plus
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largement répandue, s’appuie sur l’absolutisme et l’obéissance stricte à Dieu et au prince. Et ces deux tendances s’opposent logiquement et inéluctablement. Ainsi, l’absolutisme trop coercitif des monarques des Pays-Bas espagnols va faire s’étioler lentement le commerce international anversois, qui ne peut se libérer de l’obéissance au roi pour se plier aux lois du marché commercial, qui exigent une certaine souplesse. Comment la population des Pays-Bas ressentait-elle ce nouvel absolutisme princier, notamment en matière de justice? Nous ne pouvons que remarquer que dans l’ensemble elle intégra rapidement cette nouvelle ‘manière de fonctionner’, malgré l’opposition latente des grandes villes des Pays-Bas. En réalité, à leur moindre tentative d’indépendance, Charles-Quint en profite pour réduire leurs privilèges et les placer sous son autorité directe. C’est notamment ce qui adviendra à Lierre, à Gand, à Douai et à Anvers sous son règne. La collaboration que Charles-Quint exige de ses officiers et des magistrats urbains s’inscrit dans ce schéma. En effet, en leur déléguant une petite partie de son pouvoir judiciaire, il s’assure d’une part de leur bon vouloir, et d’autre part s’immisce dans leurs affaires internes, s’arroge le pouvoir de les contrôler et donc de les dominer. Les oligarchies urbaines sont ainsi désorganisées et déstructurent partiellement les conseils provinciaux où elles dominaient. Le fait que les bourgeois et leurs officiers ne sont plus les représentants et les gardiens des anciennes coutumes les dépouille de leur prestige et de leur pouvoir. La ville n’a plus comme unique devoir que de faire régner la paix publique en son sein et dans son hinterland. Les grandes ordonnances criminelles du 5 juillet 1570, rédigées par Philippe II à la demande du duc d’Albe, véhiculent aussi cette philosophie de la monarchie absolutiste; la répression, nécessaire pour séparer le bon grain de l’ivraie, doit purifier un pays déchiré par la guerre civile et les dissensions religieuses. C’est donc vers 1580, avec la reconquête par Alexandre Farnèse, que la lutte entre absolutisme et particularisme va s’achever, notamment avec la mise en application des ordonnances de 1570 et l’unification de la pratique judiciaire. Les villes y trouvent des avantages non négligeables: une sécurité garantie par le prince et un rôle important dans le fonctionnement de la justice royale. Les juges s’investissent mieux et plus qu’avant dans leurs fonctions et les coupables sont punis plus sévèrement. Mais, autre corollaire, les campagnes sont peu surveillées et finalement peu connues. C’est d’elles que les nouveaux dangers vont surgir au siècle suivant. Peu à peu, une catégorie d’ennemis intérieurs va disparaître; on constate effectivement partout une raréfaction des hérétiques à la fin du XVIe siècle. Mais il ne faut pas exagérer outre mesure les succès de ce nouveau système judiciaire, car des communautés protestantes subsisteront encore dans diverses régions des Pays-Bas dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle. Sans doute, les archives témoignent-elles effectivement d’une diminution sensible des procès pour hérésie, mais elles occultent l’existence des groupes entrés en clandestinité. Enfin, l’Inquisition travailla à créer une nouvelle société en unifiant un peuple par sa croyance, avec la plus grande orthodoxie possible. Cette action s’établit d’abord négativement, c’est-à-dire par la coercition des comportements jugés inopportuns, le
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Concile de Trente s’efforçant ensuite de lui donner une argumentation positive par la discipline et l’application des dogmes chrétiens. Du côté protestant, l’intolérance était tout aussi manifeste L’union des deux pouvoirs, civil et religieux, rendait la tolérance civile en matière religieuse difficile, voire irréalisable. Pourtant, c’est également à la Renaissance que l’idée de tolérance religieuse et de coexistence des cultes fit son apparition dans des écrits d’avant-garde, comme ceux d’Erasme ou de Michel de Lhospital. Pourtant, le passage de la répression à l’intolérance au cours du règne de Philippe II, c’est-à-dire le remplacement de l’application systématique de la peine de mort pour hérésie par une forme d’exclusion sans pénalités afflictives, était déjà un grand pas vers la tolérance, compte tenu des difficultés idéologiques qu’il fallait vaincre.
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Péter Sahin-Tóth
A Difficult Apprenticeship. The Integration of Hungary into the Habsburg Monarchy in the 16th Century
R. J. W. Evans characterized the relationship that was established between the Habsburg dynasty and the Hungarian political élite from the mid-16th century onwards with the very telling expression of ‘limited rejection’.1 In this article I present and analyse why the relations between the court of Vienna and Hungary became quite lukewarm, to say the least, from the time of the accession of Ferdinand I to the throne of the Hungarian Kingdom. After a brief survey of the major facts of Hungarian political history during his reign I sketch the most important features of the leading Hungarian political group of that time, the nobility and the problems the Habsburgs had to face because of this group when establishing their rule in Hungary. I try, however, to show that the Hungarian nobility did not fail either to make concessions to the new dynasty. I treat these questions paying special attention to works of Hungarian historians that had been published on this topic in major European languages.
Towards the tripartite division The death of the young Louis II on 29th August 1526 while escaping the victorious troops of sultan Süleyman after the battle of Mohács paved the way to the Habsburgs for the throne of Hungary. Actually, the dynasty had been waiting for a long time for the opportunity to obtain the crown of St. Stephen. Since the reign of Albert (1438-1439) and his son László V (1440-1457) the Habsburgs sought for recognition of their right of succession in Hungary by several dynastic treaties, a method that proved to be efficient in other countries. In 1463, the Emperor Frederick III (1440-1493) signed a treaty in Wiener Neustadt with King Mathias (1458-1490). According to this treaty Frederick or his son, Maximilian had to inherit the Hungarian throne if Mathias died without a legitimate male heir. However, the majority of the Hungarian nobility rejected Maximilian’s claim to the throne by right of this treaty. He had to be content with a new agreement made with his lucky rival, Wladislas II (1490-1516) in Pozsony (Bratislava) in November 1
R.J.W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550-1700 (Oxford 1985) 235-294.
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1491 that renewed the treaty of 1463. A new pact of succession and alliance was signed in March 1506 between the two sovereigns. The dynastic alliance was reinforced with the marriage of the grandchildren of Maximilian, Ferdinand and Mary, in July 1515 with the children of Wladislas, Anna and Louis (the couples actually lived together since 1521).2 Nevertheless, these contracts had a minor significance in Hungary. They hurt the concept of constitution of the Hungarian nobility that was being shaped by the mid-fifteenth century. According to this, only such a ruler could occupy the throne legitimately that had been elected by the representants of the nobility which considered itself exclusively the natio hungarica.3 That’s why the Hungarian diet expressed its total disagreement with these treaties whenever the occasion arose.4 Furthermore the Habsburgs sought to exert a growing influence in the Hungarian royal court through Queen Mary during the reign of the young Louis II and this increased the dislike of the nobility towards them.5 Ferdinand’s claim to the kingship based on his right of succession in the chaotic aftermath of the battle of Mohács only made things worse and reinforced the image that the Habsburgs neglected the prerogatives of the Hungarian Estates. That is to say that most of the Hungarian political class displayed hostility to them from the beginning.6 Despite this hostility Ferdinand and his sister Mary, widow of Louis II did not at all give up trying to take over the throne by all possible means. Their determination was not only motivated by personal or dynastic ambition. Very important strategic interests led the ruler of the Austrian territories to extend his power over the Hungarian Kingdom. On the one hand, the Habsburgs had realized very early the significance of the neighbouring country in the defence of their hereditary lands. Actually, a Hungarian King collaborating with the sultan would have exposed the Habsburg provinces to constant Turkish raids. This eventuality had to be prevented by all means. Austria must have been defended in Hungary, and what is more with using Hungarian resources to the highest possible degree.7 Therefore, Ferdinand was interested in taking control over Hungary economically too. As a 2
Zs. Hermann, Az 1515, évi Habsburg-Jagelló szerzödés. Adalék a Habsburgok magyarországi uralmának elötörténetéhez…(Értekezések a történeti tudományok köréböl, Új sorozat 21, Budapest 1961). G. Heiß, ‘Politik und Ratgeber der Königin Maria von Ungarn in den Jahren 1521-1531’, Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, 82 (1974) 119-121. H. Wiesflecker, Kaiser Maximilian I. Das Reich, Österreich und Europa an der Wende zur Neuzeit. Vol. I: Jugend, burgundisches Erbe und Römisches Königtum bis zur Alleinherrschaft 1459-1493 (München 1971) 271307; Vol. III: Auf der Höhe des Lebens. 1500-1508. Der grosse Systemwechsel politischer Wiederafustieg (1977) 307-312, 321-337; Vol. IV: Gründung des habsburgischen Weltreiches. Lebensabend und Tod 1508-1519 (1981) 154-162, 181-204. 3 F. Szakály, Virágkor és hanyatlás 1440-1711 (Magyarok Európában II, Budapest 1990) 42. 4 P. Kulcsár, A Jagelló-kor (Budapest 1981) 64, 94, 104, 160. 5 Heiß, ‘Politik und Ratgeber’, 121-122, 126-142. G. Barta, ‘An d’illusions (Notes sur la double élection de rois après la défaite de Mohács)’, Acta Historica Academiæ Scientiarum Hungaricæ, 24 (1978) 6, 20. Kulcsár, A Jagelló-kor, 180-186, 191, 194-196, 200. 6 Heiß, ‘Politik und Ratgeber’, 147-148. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 8–10. Á. R. Várkonyi, ‘V. Károly Magyarországon’, in Á. R. Várkonyi, Europica varietas – Hungarica varietas (Budapest 1994) 14. 7 C. Turetschek, Die Türkenpolitik Ferdinands I. von 1529 bis 1532 (Dissertationen der Universität Wien 10, Wien 1968) 5. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 29. Kulcsár, A Jagelló-kor, 93-94, 216. G. Barta, La
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matter of fact, this country was larger than his inherited lands, even vaster than the Bohemian Kingdom that he also desired to obtain, and it promised considerable income.8 These considerations resulted in a concrete initiative before Mohács. At his brother-in-law’s request, Ferdinand sent troops every year since 1522 paid by the Estates of Carniola and Carinthia to defend Croatia against Turkish attacks. This military aid also proves the dependence that started to set in between the weakening Hungarian Kingdom and the Habsburgs. This appeal for help was particularly urged by the severe blow that the southern military border of Hungary received in 1521 with the loss of Nándorfehérvár (Belgrade). So it is little wonder that the Croatian Estates recognized the succession of Ferdinand without any difficulty after the disaster of Mohács.9 Thus Ferdinand, while declaring his claim to the throne, did not at all hide his determination to assert his rights, if necessary, by force.10 Now, we should have a quick look at the other side. What could Hungarians expect from the Austrian archduke? Firstly and above all, help against the Ottoman invasion. He had the resources of Austrian and Bohemian lands at his disposal (the Estates elected him King of Bohemia on 23rd October 1526). His brother, the emperor made encouraging promises to the Hungarian diet: if Ferdinand were elected King of Hungary, he would not fail to help him against the Turks. At that moment, such kind of promises were the main and practically the unique trump of the Habsburgs.11 Admittedly, Hungarian politicians of a wider horizon were fully aware that only a broad international Christian league would be able to drive back Süleyman. And such a coalition could only be set up by the emperor at that time. Nevertheless, this expectation led only a few really influential personalities to the camp of Ferdinand. He was elected King of route qui mène à Istanbul 1526-1528 (Studia Historica Academiæ Academiæ Scientiarum Hungaricæ, 195, Budapest 1994) 31. G. Pálffy, A 16. század története (Budapest 2000) 21, 53-54. 8 G. Pálffy, ‘A bécsi udvar és a magyar rendek a 16. században’, Történelmi Szemle, 41 (1999) 336. 9 On the Hungarian-Croatian border defence system and its collapse on the eve of Mohács see F. Szakály, ‘Phases of Turco-Hungarian Warfare before the Battle of Mohács (1365-1526)’, Acta Orientalia Academiæ Hungaricæ, 33 (Budapest 1979) 104–106. F. Szakály, ‘The Hungarian-Croatian Border Defense System and its Collapse’, in J.M. Bak and B. Király, eds., From Hunyadi to Rákóczi. War and Society in Late Medieval and Early Modern Hungary (War and Society in Eastern Central Europe, 3, Brooklyn 1982) 141-158. F. Szakály, ‘Nándorfehérvár, 1521: The Beginning of the End of the Medieval Hungarian Kingdom’, in G. Dávid – P. Fodor, eds., Hungarian-Ottoman Military and Diplomatic Relations in the Age of Süleyman the Magnificent (Budapest 1994) 47-76. Barta, La route, 95-107. For the defensive measures of the Habsburgs before 1526 see J. Amstadt, Die k. k. Militärgrenze 15221881 (Würzburg 1969) 5-14, with bibliography. G.E. Rothenberg, The Austrian Military Border in Croatia, 1522-1547 (Illinois Studies in the Social Sciences, 48, Urbana 1960) 13-21. Wiesflecker, Maximilian, Vol. I, 355-358, 400-402. A. Lhotsky, Das Zeitalter des Hauses Österreich. Die ersten Jahre der Regierung Ferdinands I. in Österreich (1520-1527) (Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für Geschichte Österreichs, 4, Wien 1971) 167-178. G. Pálffy, ‘The Origins and Development of the Border Defence System against the Ottoman Empire in Hungary (up to the Early Eighteenth century)’, in G. Dávid – P. Fodor, eds., Ottomans, Hungarians and Habsburgs in Central Europe. The Military Confines in the Era of Ottoman Conquest. (The Ottoman Empire and its Heritage. Politics, Society and Economy, 20, Leiden-Boston-Köln 2000) 13-15. 10 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 9, 27, 37. Idem, La route, 15–16, 30. 11 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 30-31. Idem, La route, 31–32, 103-104. Idem, ‘A Forgotten Theatre of War 1526-1528 (Historical Events Preceding the Ottoman-Hungarian Alliance of 1528)’, in Dávid, Fodor, Hungarian-Ottoman Military and Diplomatic Relations, 117.
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Hungary only by a handful of magnates, supporters of the widow queen, Mary on 17th December 1526. Among them was the palatine, the first dignitary of the Kingdom after the King and some noblemen of the counties along the Austrian border, town representatives of the same region and some clergymen (with only one bishop among them). To ‘facilitate’ the vote, Ferdinand put military pressure on the assembly. He sent 8000 infantrymen and 2000 of cavalry to Pozsony (Bratislava) in order to ‘protect’ the Estates. These troops also occupied some Hungarian towns near the Austrian border.12 Ferdinand had to promise to respect the Kingdom’s territorial integrity as well as the privileges of the Estates. Besides, his supporters hoped that the new King would devote himself mainly to the Hungarian affairs. Moreover, they expected that he would reside sometimes at the royal castle of Buda.13 In spite of all promises and gestures intended to awaken the sympathy of the Hungarian political élite and despite the seemingly huge resources of the Habsburgs, the large majority of the Hungarian nobility subscribed to another political plan in the autumn of 1526. In their opinion, the richest and the most influential aristocrat of the country, János (John) Szapolyai (1487-1540), voivode of Transylvania should be elected King, because he was the only politician who would be capable of restoring the Kingdom after the disaster of Mohács. Szapolyai seemed to be destined to play the same role as Matthias Hunyadi (Corvinus) seventy years before. He was a prestigious leader well versed in both internal and foreign policy. He had got the indispensable experience in the Turkish wars in his capacity as voivode of Transylvania. His victory over the rebellious peasants in 1514 invested him with a considerable military prestige. After the defeat at Mohács he had the only notable army in the country. Most of the nobility judged that Szapolyai was able to unite all forces of the Kingdom against the external menaces including the claims of the Habsburgs. János Szapolyai inherited a great fortune from his father, the palatine István Szapolyai and his mother, Hedwige Piast, duchess of Teschen. He owned more than 30 castles in Upper Hungary. Before the battle of Mohács, he cleverly organized and took advantage of the discontented masses of the lesser nobility.14 It would be an anachronism to accuse the supporters of Szapolyai of political myopia. Their expectations were not without foundation. The royal government of the early 1520s dominated by the protégés of Mary led the country and the king to a catastrophe. ‘Anti-German’ feelings that got hold of the majority of the nobility favoured the advance of a proTurkish orientation.15 The battle itself in which Hungarians had to face the Ottoman army alone proved that they hoped in vain for any help from the Habsburgs. The Hun12
Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 28. Idem, La route, 29. Szakály, Virágkor, 116. On the ‘party’ of Maria see Heiß, ‘Politik und Ratgeber’, 144-162. 13 J.M. Bak, Königtum und Stände in Ungarn im 14.-16. Jahrhundert (Wiesbaden 1973) 71. K. Benda, ‘Absolutismus und ständische Widerstand in Ungarn am Anfang des 17. Jahrhunderts’, SüdostForschungen, 33 (1974) 89-90. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 28. Idem, La route, 30. 14 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 15-19, 22-23. Idem, La route, 20–28. 15 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 20. F. Szakály, Lodovico Gritti in Hungary 1529-1534. A Historical Insight into the Beginnings of Turco-Habsburgian Rivalry (Studia Historica Academiæ Scientarum Hungaricæ, 197, Budapest 1995) 111.
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garian nobility also remembered the severity with which Ferdinand treated the rebellious Austrian Estates a few years before.16 At first, Szapolyai himself believed that the Habsburgs struggling against the League of Cognac sooner or later would accept his election and would be content with influencing the Hungarian affairs indirectly.17 As regards the Turks, the rapid retreat of Süleyman allowed many Hungarians to delude themselves with the illusion that it would not be impossible to return to the situation that preceded the battle of Mohács and an acceptable peace treaty would be signed with the Porte. If this had come true, it would have been possible to heal the wounds of the country and to resist the Ottomans with better chances. Szapolyai considered the Ottomans as an enemy in the autumn of 1526. In consequence, he started to reorganize the southern military border. His troops even retook some smaller castles in the Szerémség (Srem).18 The reorganization of the royal government started in this spirit in the autumn of 1526. By the next spring, King John proved to be successful in this task. He ruled the greatest part of the realm and the vast majority of the Hungarian political class sided with him against Ferdinand. The diet of Székesfehérvár elected him king of Hungary on 10th November 1526. He was crowned on the following day.19 Though, the regeneration of the country by using only its own resources could not succeed as long as it was sandwiched between an oriental superpower and a powerful occidental neighbouring state. As soon as one of them intervened in Hungary by armed force the extreme fragility of Szapolyai’s position became apparent. And that happened after the failure of the peace talks between the deputies of the two rival kings in the spring of 1527. As mentioned above, Ferdinand left no doubt from the start that he was determined to assert his claim to the throne even by force. The negotiations into which his representatives entered with the delegates of John served merely to temporize. As soon as the Italian war seemed to come to an end with the sacco di Roma and he did not have to subordinate so strictly his interests to that of Charles, Ferdinand took up arms in order to settle the Hungarian problem.20 Ferdinand’s troops won several victories in 1527 and 1528. Taking into consideration what the Hungarian political élite demanded of him, little wonder that the Habsburg could gain a greater number of Hungarian supporters to his cause at a single blow when he was able to make an impression of a powerful ruler who was strong enough not only to defeat his Hungarian rival, but also to defend the country against the Turks. The major part of the nobility went over to his side and his coronation in Székesfehérvár on 3rd November 1527 legitimized his kingship sym-
16 Lhotsky, Das Zeitalter, 98-105. E. Zöllner, Geschichte Österreichs. Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (München 1984) 162-163. 17 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 24–27. Szakály, Virágkor, 115. 18 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 25-27. Idem, La route, 41-43, 95-96. Idem, ‘Forgotten War’, 95-96. Szakály, Lodovico Gritti, 107. 19 For the reorganization of the royal government and institutions see G. Barta, ‘Konszolidációs kisérlet Magyarországon a mohácsi csatavesztés után (Szapolyai János király kormányzása 1526 november – 1527 augusztus)’, Századok, 111 (1977) 635-680, and Idem, La route, 28. 20 Barta, ‘Konszolidációs, 677. See also below. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 31, 33–34. Idem, La route, 34, 49-54, 60-61.
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bolically too. But his military success proved to be short-lived. He could not strengthen his authority in the country that came almost entirely under his control.21 Furthermore, his defeat urged his competitor to appeal to the sultan for support. This initiative put the Porte in the position of the judge in the internal affairs of Hungary. Although, at first John nourished the illusion that the sultan would treat him as an ally and, with some restrictions, would let him govern Hungary independently.22 Then, the Ottoman campaigns of 1529 and 1532 severely disillusioned both kings and their supporters. In 1529 Ferdinand was repelled into his initial position. Only some northern and western counties remained under his direct control. He definitely lost Buda, the historical capital of the realm. His supporters had to realize that he was not capable of protecting the country against the Turks and that he could not mobilize the emperor’s resources to the defence of Hungary. Actually, Charles considered the Hungarian problem in the broad perspective of his whole empire and, consequently, devoted less attention to it as to other ones. He occasionally lent financial aid and sent troops in order to support his brother when internal or external pressure on his territories temporally ceased or weakened. But for gaining a decisive victory much more effort would have been needed. Usually it was him who was in need of help and absorbed the resources of Ferdinand. That’s why, when his conflict with the Pope, the French king or with the German princes sharpened, he rather exhorted the impatient Ferdinand to try to find a peaceful settlement with his rival.23 At the same time, the political strategy of King John proved to be a failure too. The successive fiascos of the sultan in 1529 and 1532 revealed the limits of the Ottoman military potential. So Szapolyai tried to loosen the ties that bound him to his Turkish ally and became more open to a compromise with the Habsburgs. Thus, in the 1530s, diplomacy took the place of the war. Between 1531 and the autumn of 1536 (except the Ottoman campaign of 1532) greater military clashes between the two camps were rare in Hungary. In the autumn of 1536 Szapolyai took the important town of Kassa (Kosice) in Upper Hungary. Ferdinand tried to modify by force the status quo in his favour in 1537, but his troops under the command of Hans Katzianer were severely defeated by the Turks near Eszék (Osijek).24 The negotiations, which were interrupted several times, finally resulted, in sign-
21
Idem, La route, 89-95, 110. Zöllner, Geschichte Österreichs, 189. The development of Szapolyai’s foreign policy from the attempt to reach a compromise with the Habsburgs to the conclusion of a disliked alliance with the Ottoman Porte and to his entry into the League of Cognac is thoroughly analyzed in Barta, La route. See also Idem, ‘Forgotten Theatre’, 128-130. 23 Turetschek, Türkenpolitik, 45-51, 165, 171-178. Lhotsky, Zeitalter, 210. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 29-31. I. Zombori, ‘V. Károly és a magyar trónviszályok 1529-1533’, Történelmi Szemle 23, 4 (1980). Barta, La route, 16-18, 31-32, 103-104. Idem, ‘Forgotten Theatre’, 118-119. 24 G. Barta, ‘A kompromisszumok és kollaborációk kora: a 16. század’, Magyar Tudomány, 35 (1990) 1267. Idem, ‘La première période de la Principauté de Transylvanie (1526-1606)’, in B. Köpeczi, ed., Histoire de la Transylvanie (Budapest 1992) 245. 22
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ing the treaty of Várad (Oradea) on 24th February 1538 with the active contribution of Charles the Fifth. This compromise would have had the effect in the long term of reaching complete Habsburg rule in Hungary. However, its implementation failed, because leading politicians of the Szapolyai party, mainly the famous monk, ‘Friar George’ (his family name was Utiesenovic, but he, falsely, was also called Martinuzzi in his times) had little confidence in Habsburg power. He doubted the readiness of the emperor and Ferdinand to repel the inevitable Ottoman reprisal, and to make a durable effort to defend the kingdom.25 He preferred to continue the policy of John, who died in 1540, leaving behind a newborn baby who was immediately elected king of Hungary by his supporters under the name John II. But the leaders of the party inaccurately gauged their situation. Süleyman had had enough of unreliable allies and of political instability in Hungary. He opted for open conquest and presumably that was his intention from the beginning.26 Ottoman troops deceiving the Hungarian garrison occupied Buda on 29th August 1541. Then the sultan sent the infant heir of Szapolyai with his mother Isabella and ‘Friar George’ to Transylvania. They were allowed to govern not only this province but several counties situated beyond the Tisza, later known as the Partium, but under the strict control of the Porte. The central regions of the realm, a continuously increasing area in fact, were put under direct Ottoman rule. Therefore, the attempts of unification after 1541 (in 1542, 1549, 1551-1556) that public opinion of both parts strongly urged at first took place in much worse strategic conditions. Nevertheless, it turned out again and again that Habsburg power was insufficient to realize the reunification of Hungary and to drive back the Turks. The Habsburgs, Charles and Ferdinand had to accept the partition of the kingdom into three separate domains in the armistice of Edirne (1545), then in a peace agreement concluded in 1547 for five years to the great deception of pro-Habsburg Hungarian Estates. Nevertheless, Ferdinand achieved his basic purpose with the assent of the sultan. He definitely came into possession of a relatively wide strip of land in front of his Austrian lands.27 Though an important but vain attempt of reunification took place during his reign (1551-1556), which led to new wars with Süleyman (1551-1562, 1566) and to constantly recrudescing hostilities with the ‘Eastern Kingdom of Hungary’ up to the mid-1570s, these conflicts did not fundamentally modify the balance of power in Hungary. However, they resulted in a significant territorial increase of the Habsburg kingdom in Upper Hungary. Finally, the treaty of Edirne concluded with the Porte in 1568, then the treaty of Speyer in 1570 between the emperor Maximilian II and John Sigismund, the heir of 25
Barta, ‘Première période’, 245–246. Pálffy, A 16. század, 93. Barta, ‘A kompromisszumok’, 1267. P. Fodor, ‘Ottoman Policy Towards Hungary, 1520-1541’, Acta Orientalia Academiæ Hungaricæ, 45 (1991) 271-345. Szakály, Lodovico Gritti, 98-111. See another interpretation of Ottoman policy towards Hungary between 1520-1541, in G. Perjés, The Fall of the Medieval Kingdom of Hungary: Mohács 1526 – Buda 1541 (Boulder, Co. 1989) 83–170. 27 E.D. Petritsch, ‘Der Habsburg-osmanische Friedensvertrag des Jahres 1547’, Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Staatsarchiv, 38 (1985) 53-59. Szakály, Virágkor, 125. Barta, ‘Première période’, 247–252. Pálffy, A 16. század, 92-96. 26
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King János, maintained the three-way split of the Hungarian Kingdom. The eastern territories ruled by the Szapolyai party and submitted to Ottoman protectorate took the name of Principality of Transylvania – because John Sigismund ceded the royal title to the Habsburgs – and became a separate and more-or-less independent political entity embodying the continuity of the ‘national’ state. The demarcation of the spheres of influence took place gradually on all levels. Boundaries were drawn, property rights were settled. That is the new states could henceforth concentrate on pacifying their territories and consolidating the authority of the sovereigns.28 All things considered, splitting into two was, as Gábor Barta so pertinently observed, an instinctive but appropriate choice of the Hungarian political élite sandwiched between two great powers. It allowed both to preserve the Hungarian State within the framework of the Principality of Transylvania and to defend a considerable part of the realm against the Turks without giving up the major privileges of the Estates to the Habsburg rulers.29
The Hungarian nobility and the Habsburgs Now passing from the political facts to a brief analysis of the social and political environment that inevitably influenced the development of Habsburg government in Hungary, the continuity has to be stressed in the Hungarian social and political history before and after Mohács. Much as the defeat was humiliating and bloody but it changed the political habits little during the years that followed 1526 compared with the earlier period. During the reign of the Jagiello kings, the political life and the institutions of the country were dominated by the magnates (barones), about 50 families in sum. Those aristocrats may be counted among the magnates who had more than 300 peasant households on their estates.30 The members of these wealthy and powerful families came to retain the highest offices and dignities of the realm. These families had a private army of about 500 armed men, called banderium, at their disposal by reiterated authorization of the diet. Under the pretext of paying their troops, they reserved the right to collect royal taxes on their domains and deduct a part from it.31 In fact, redistribution of state income depended on them. Each one of them extracted considerable pensions, lands and privileges from the king, of course to the detriment of the royal treasury and estates. As members of the Royal Council they discussed all matters of importance. They took part in all major decisions and could influence the administration of justice. They also controlled higher administration because royal officials were to a man protégés who owed their emergence to the patronage of influential
28 29 30
Barta, ‘Première période’, 253. Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 37-39. Idem, La route, 111-112. Pálffy, A 16. század, 141.
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aristocrats.32 Taking all this into consideration, the conclusion should come as no surprise that rather very quickly changing, amorphous aristocratic alliances or ‘parties’ ran the central government and not the royal authority which was a lot weaker than at the time of king Matthias. Compared with them, the political influence of the quite numerous lesser nobility, or gentry, was almost insignificant. Although, they seem to have played a more and more important political role since the mid-fifteenth century. They often came in great numbers to the diet where their assent to important issues was asked. Because of their superiority in numbers they could influence and even force important decisions. But appearance is deceptive. Actually, most of the lesser nobility served the magnates (familiares, servitores) and represented the interests of their protector. Their services in military, administrative or legal affairs (they acted on behalf of their dominus in local or national offices) as well as in the managing of their master’s estates were rewarded by money or other benefits. At the same time the latter could pave the way for his protégés to political or military career on local or national level getting them offices, titles and dignities in the royal court, army or fortresses.33 The leading lights of the gentry acted in the first place according to the instruction they got from their master (dominus), and represented only in the second place their own group. So crowds of the lesser nobility marched to the diets as ‘auxiliary troops’ of a magnate or an aristocratic ‘party’.34 Nevertheless, the mere fact that they were repeatedly involved in decision making and that they managed sometimes to make themselves heard started to develop a certain political consciousness among them. An autonomous estate was in the making that aspired to independence in the representation of its interests. At the same time, an ideology expressing the desires and the ambitions of this group was being formed which the magnates could not ignore completely for the sake of appearances at least. The nobility’s claim to electing the king was the cornerstone of this ideology. So, the king gained his legitimacy from the approval of the whole nobility. In fact, this theory sustained the precedence of the Estates over the king.35 The mass of petty gentry looked askance at every thing that came from abroad. The ‘national’ kingship was their ideal. At the mid-fifteenth century they supported the Hunyadis and rose them to the throne. After the death of Matthias the Szapolyais succeeded in gaining the sympathy of their majority. Precisely, as a result of this sympathy, they turbulently gave voice to their annoyance because of the interference of the Habsburgs in the internal affairs of the Hungarian Kingdom before 1526. Szapolyai was neither the leader of a ‘national’ opposition nor
31 Kulcsár, Jagelló-kor, 74-76. A. Kubinyi, ‘The Road to Defeat: Hungarian Politics and Defense in the Jagiellonian Period’, in Bak and Király, From Hunyadi to Rákóczi, 161–171. 32 Szakály, Virágkor, 47, 101-102. 33 Pálffy, A 16. század, 149-150. 34 Kulcsár, Jagelló-kor, 97-99. Szakály, Virágkor, 47, 101-102. 35 Szakály, Virágkor, 42. Barta, ‘A kompromisszumok’, 1260. On the development of the role of the lesser nobility at the diet see Bak, Königtum und Stände, 39-53.
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of a ‘gentry party’ as mostly traditional Hungarian historiography suggested. He simply was one of the most influential magnate who was able to mobilize great numbers of average noblemen in order to achieve his political aims. But he let his ‘party’ down unscrupulously when his interests required separation from them.36 All in all this is a brief outline of the Hungarian political scene on the eve of the tragedy of Mohács. The struggle between aristocratic ‘parties’ perpetuated political break-up.37 As I mentioned above, though the shock of the defeat was great and the nobility seriously worried about the future of the country, this event in itself did not radically change political reactions. The double election of king, which seems to have been in retrospect the major blow provoked by the extraordinary crisis, even a political suicide in the shadow of the Ottoman menace, was not without precedent. In the fifteenth century the double even triple election of kings or support for foreign pretenders became a usual practice in Hungary. So a similar procedure need not have seemed, at the beginning at least, to be fatal for those who began it. Most of them presumably considered that the stronger pretender would win sooner or later as it happened in similar circumstances before, and would extend his power over the whole kingdom. He would remedy all troubles of the country, then he would unite all forces of the nation against external enemies. Süleyman’s rapid retreat in the autumn of 1526 contributed to nourishing these hopes. Furthermore, the struggle of the rival kings, as in the past, facilitated social mobility and redistribution of lands, goods, offices and dignities. Aristocracy was thoroughly renewed during the decades after the battle of Mohács. The battle itself thinned their ranks: seven prelates and 28 aristocrats died on the battlefield. Then Ferdinand raised many noble families among the barones (the Nádasdys, the Serédys, the Salms, the Nyárys, the Chorons, the Draskovicss, the Erdödys, the Zrínyis, etc.). Simultaneously, a geographical shift of the centre of gravity of their estates can be observed, because they withdrew to the more secure northern and western areas of the country. During the period between 1526 and 1560 a sort of high aristocracy emerged, composed of about twenty families, which were even more powerful than the magnates of the Jagiello era.38 ‘New men’ (homines novi) appeared on the scene who could more easily keep, even increase their often illegally seized fortunes taking advantage of the weakness of the royal authority and of the always recrudescing hostilities. Their interest in the disorder contributed to keep up civil war in Hungary between 1526 and 1541.39 The two rival kings had not enough power and means at their disposal to stop anarchy. So they were compelled to relentlessly bargain with the more or less powerful landlords and to promise them sometimes the moon in order to keep them (with their estates, castles and servitores) on their side or to gain them to their cause. The
36 37 38 39
Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 21-22. Idem, La route, 24-25. Bak, Königtum und Stände, 62-73. Kubinyi, ‘The Road’, 173–174. Szakály, Virágkor, 98. Szakály, Virágkor, 114, 119. Pálffy, A 16. század,141-143, 145. J. Bessenyei, A héttorony foglya (Budapest 1986) 85. Barta, ‘Première période’, 244.
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most powerful lords asked a high price for their fidelity or their treason. So a privilege, a domain, a castle or a great sum of money were two, even three times granted even within each ruler’s camp.40 The constant state of war and the rivalry for keeping supporters and winning over those of the rival ended up putting proprietary rights in such a disorder that it considerably hindered the implementation of the treaties concluded between the two parties. For instance, the large family estates of the Szapolyais the return of which had been stipulated both in the treaty of Várad and in that of Gyalu (on 29th December 1541) should have been bought back or taken out of pawn from the major supporters of Ferdinand who possessed them or, at least, were promised to get them. The Habsburg neither had money to carry out these transactions nor wanted to put the fidelity of some of his subjects to the proof with such an action.41 Actually, it is no accident that the restoration of legality became possible only when spheres of interest were clearly separated. Considering all the factors mentioned above, there was only one way Ferdinand could reinforce his authority in Hungary without prejudicing the prerogatives of the Estates excessively. Following the path of his grandfather he established such central institutions (Geheimrat, Hofkammer, Hofkriegsrat) that could, to some extent, coordinate the administration of his lands which were totally independent in their internal affairs. At the same time he was careful that these changes should not affect the traditional national or provincial political and administrative structures controlled by the Estates, but he subordinated them to the newly created administrative bodies. Of course, the Hungarian Estates, but also the Austrian and Bohemian ones protested from time to time against the reforms. Nevertheless, their resistance was not an insurmountable obstacle.42 The Hungarian royal government also underwent notable reforms which, of course, irritated the Hungarian political élite. First of all, it had to resign itself to the extinction of the royal court after the definite loss of the historical capital, Buda. In consequence, the most important matters concerning the kingdom were henceforth discussed and decided outside the country, in Vienna or in Prague. Admittedly, this change was inevitable in a way. Many vital Hungarian affairs actually became common concerns of every Habsburg land because of the necessities of anti-Ottoman struggle. Most of the administrative functions of the former royal court were assigned by Ferdinand to the Council of Lieutenancy (Consilium Locumtenentiale) set up in the relatively secure town of Pozsony (Bratislava) on the western frontier
40 Barta, ‘An d’illusions’, 32. Bessenyei, A héttorony, passim. F. Szakály, ‘The Early Ottoman Period, including Royal Hungary, 1526-1606’, in P.F. Sugar – P. Hanák – T. Frank, eds., A History of Hungary (Bloomington-Indianapolis 1990) 91. Barta, La route, 32-36. 41 Bessenyei, A héttorony, 85. T. Oborni, ‘A gyalui szerzödés’, in M. Font – I. Kajtár, eds., A magyar államiság elsö ezer éve (Pécs 2000) 138-139. 42 For a summary of these reforms see Zöllner, Geschichte Österreichs, 187-188. Benda, ‘Absolutismus’, 90-92, 97-98. Pálffy, A 16. század, 55.
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of the country. On the other hand, the Royal Chancery was transferred to Vienna where the Estates could not influence or control its functioning anymore. The Royal Council, previously the highest governmental body dealing with major political and military matters almost entirely lost its political influence.43 Central fiscal administration was transformed too. A Royal Chamber (Camera Regia) replaced from 1528 the former Royal Treasury run traditionally by means of a network of personal relationships and loyalties built up by the current Treasurer in office. The Royal Chamber was a collegial body and functioned as a council on a regular basis. It was run by well-trained and paid professionals. Its headquarters was at first in Buda, but also had to be transferred to Pozsony. In theory, this new institution did not have to hurt the Estates’ political sensibility. Most of its counsellors were Hungarians. Originally, they managed all royal income (regalia) including taxes granted by the diet and the royal towns. In reality, appointment and career of the counsellors and of the lower officers depended on the king. That is to say they were not subject to the Estates’ control. Furthermore, the managing of about 40% of the royal income was entrusted from the 1540s onward to the Lower Austrian Chamber set up in 1527. This 40% was precisely the most valuable part of royal incomes: customs and duties, mining, royal domains, etc. These were relatively easy to collect and they yielded a lot to the royal treasury because of the commercial boom in the first half of the 16th century. The Royal Chamber had to be content with the taxes always arriving late and the very uncertain incomes of the domains attached to the royal castles of the military border.44 On top of everything else, a special Austrian counsellor was charged to supervise the Hungarian Chamber. Should we then be surprised that the Hungarian nobility considered the Royal Chamber as a foreign body among the traditional institutions of the realm?45 Hungarian nobility had even more difficulty in swallowing the loss of all control over the high military administration and command. Nevertheless, they had to admit that the remains of Hungary could not go without financial and military help of the other Habsburg lands. And those who devoted their resources to help their neighbours obviously took care that their money and mercenaries should be used according to their priorities. In consequence, foreign troops were placed under Hungarian command only in extraordinary cases. But Hungarian troops and logistics were usually subordinated to foreign generals.46 A specific form of external aid was bearing partially the costs of the Hungarian military confines which were nearest to their frontiers. The Croatian and Hungarian military regions were organized from the 1540s onward. The Estates of Carinthia and Carniola beard a part of the costs of the 43
Gy. Ember, Az újkori magyar közigazgatás történet (Budapest 1946) 75-76, 83-84. Szakály, Virágkor, 130. F. Eckhart, Magyar alkotmány- és jogtörténet (Budapest 2000) 202, 205. See also below. 44 Gy. Ember, Az újkori magyar, 119-146. Eckhart, Magyar alkotmány, 202-203. Pálffy, A 16. század, 73-75. 45 Szakály, Virágkor,130. 46 Pálffy, A 16. század, 55-57.
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Croatian military confines. The costs of the military regions of Slavonia and of Kanizsa were shared by the imperial treasury and the Styrian Estates. The Estates of the German Empire and those of Lower Austria granted substantial contributions to the running costs of the military region of Györ while the Bohemian and Moravian ones did the same for the confines around the Mining Towns in Upper Hungary.47 Of course, the Austrian, Moravian and Bohemian Estates, who paid the garrisons as well as the construction and upkeep of the fortresses of ‘their’ military region, wanted to control how their money was spent and to be certain that their own interests would be respected above all. This financial dependence had the effect of appointing foreign, mainly Austrian, German and Italian officers to the captaincies of the fortresses and to the governorship of the military regions of vital importance for the border provinces. Actually, foreign Estates had more confidence in foreigners than in Hungarians. At the same time, central military administration was entrusted in 1556 to the imperial War Council (Hofkriegsrat). Its main task consisted in running the Hungarian and Croatian military border that stretched from the Adriatic Sea to the Carpathian Mountains.48 The same tendency can be observed in the diplomatic apparatus. Before the peace of Edirne the Habsburg government employed many Hungarians, Serbs, Croats or Dalmates in oriental diplomatic missions who were familiar with Turkish language and habits. But after the setting up of a permanent imperial embassy in Istanbul they were also replaced by Austrians that gradually acquired the skills required in this field.49 This withdrawal of the Hungarian Estates could give the impression that Hungary’s political constitution considerably changed during the reign of Ferdinand I. But appearances can be misleading. Although the Habsburgs could consolidate their control over the areas they were able to occupy and defend after 1541, the result of their centralizing efforts were rather limited. The Hungarian Estates maintained many of their prerogatives. First of all, it must be stressed that the Council of Lieutenancy was not a simple executive of royal (i.e. imperial) will.50 Secondly, a great potential of political, administrative and military independence lay in the palatine’s remit. Actually, the palatine was considered as a sort of vice-roy in the absence of the sovereign. Royal authority in civic, legal and military affairs was delegated to him, but he also represented the Estates in front of the king.51 The palatinate of Tamás Nádasdy (1554-1562), one of the most important Hungarian politicians in the 16th century, illustrates well how this potential could be realized. Thanks to his talent and to his good Viennese relations he was able to deal with the central government as an equal. Sometimes he even suc47 Rothenberg, Military Border, 27-51. Amstadt, Militärgrenze, 53-69. Pálffy, ‘A bécsi udvar’, 337338, 352. 48 Gy. Ember, Az újkori magyar, 70-71. O. Regele, Der österreichische Hofkriegsrat 1556-1848 (Wien 1949). Eckhart, Magyar alkotmány, 197. 49 Pálffy, A 16. század, 61, 67, 70, 72-73. 50 Szakály, Virágkor, 130. 51 Márkus Dezsõ et al., eds., Corpus Juris Hungarici, Magyar törvénytár 1000-1526 (Budapest 1899) 396-403. Gy. Ember, Az újkori magyar, 518. Eckhart, Magyar alkotmány, 210.
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ceeded in realizing his own plans and in extending his remit as well as that of the Hungarian institutions controlled by the Estates.52 Besides, in addition to its exclusive right to vote taxes, the diet managed to obtain a privilege in military affairs that consisted of appointing two captain-generals responsible for the military administration of the counties of Lower Hungary (the Western part of present-day Slovakia) and those of Transdanubia. The troops of these counties and the contingents of royal towns were placed under their command. So they had hundreds of soldiers paid from Hungarian taxes at their disposal. That is to say they carried on embodying the former military prerogatives of the Estates That was the reason why only native or naturalized persons could be appointed to the chief captaincy.53 The powerful landlords whose domains lay near the military border also played an important role in the local military administration and command. The War Council could not do without their experience and their social influence. The most powerful ones preserved their banderia composed of their servitores and mercenaries paid, at least partly, from the taxes voted by the diet. Any political, administrative or legal measure could not be executed neither on the local nor on the national level without their assent. Practically, they were above the law. Their estates were real states within the State. They organized their household following the western-European cultural and social patterns of their times. These magnificent courts functioned to some extent as a kind of substitute for the lost national royal court.54 The central government needed to collaborate with the border nobility too, because without the corvée of their serfs upkeep and supply of the fortresses would not have been possible.55 To sum up this point: Hungarian nobility quickly adapted itself to the specific conditions of the frontier military service. The aristocrats occupied the chief captaincies while the garrison officers came from the wealthier gentry. All things considered, the Viennese court and the Hungarian Estates, or rather the court and the nobility, shared the political power in Hungary. The political system set up in Habsburg Hungary during the reign of Ferdinand I was based on a compromise and the two parties needed about two decades to accept it.56 The Habsburgs did not change the institutional construction of Hungary. At least for the sake of appearances, they submitted to the Hungarian constitutional tradition that required that the king should be elected by the diet and he should respect the prerogatives of the Estates. Basically, the Habsburg kings did not infringe on these privileges. They gave top priority to the smooth functioning of the military border that would have been inconceivable without the collaboration of the Hungarian political and military élites. On the other hand, the nobility was well aware of being indispensable to the imper52
Pálffy, A 16. század, 79-80. Ibidem, 69. 54 Evans, The Making, 240-246. Szakály, ‘Early Ottoman Period’, 91–92. Barta, ‘Kompromisszumok’, 1265. Pálffy, ‘A bécsi udvar’, 355. 55 Pálffy, A 16. század, 71. 56 Barta, ‘Kompromisszumok’, 1264. 53
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ial government and gave voice without any fear to their claims or resisted the court’s initiatives. Nevertheless, the final word was always said by the king in all matters of importance. Of course, several political conflicts took place in the second half of the 16th century, but these never exceeded the limits of constitutional compromise.57 This compromise can be neither under- nor overestimated. Nevertheless, the question arises if the Hungarian political élite could have reached a more favourable position in the Habsburg Monarchy, at least in theory, at that time. Would it have been possible to build up an other kind of relationship with the dynasty that would have allowed the Hungarian aristocracy to participate in the central administration and in the high spheres of power. Control of the latter also was a constant demand of the Estates, but it was impossible to realize as long as the Hungarian nobility refused to integrate into the Viennese court society.58 Actually, Ferdinand was ready to support the promotion of Hungarians in his court. Compared to his successors he surrounded himself by many Hungarians and used them for different purposes. According to a recently published study the fact that leading pro-Habsburg politicians did not want to stay on a permanent basis in the court of Ferdinand I did not mean that they were not aware of the importance of court-life. Many of them sent their sons, nephews or other young parents to the court for learning foreign languages and court-manners in the service of the king who could in this way get to know them personally. Court-service also was the best way of establishing useful social and political relations.59 He certainly had practical reasons to do so, because at the beginning he did not have enough skilled Austrian or other foreign experts matching Hungarians in managing Hungarian affairs. Admittedly, keeping Hungarians in favour also aimed at conquering the sympathy of his new subjects. Nevertheless, a real opportunity was offered during his reign for Hungarians to play a considerable role in the cosmopolitan Habsburg court.60 Ferdinand often consulted his Hungarian counsellors but these gave unwillingly advice on matters that came within the competence of the diet. They also had difficulties to get by in the unusual conditions. They were not capable of exercising a notable influence in the court. Instead of attempting to infiltrate, to some extent at least, into the institutions Hungarian Estates desired to control, they contented themselves with criticising them from outside.61 That is to say that the Hungarian political élite took a defensive attitude from the very start toward the centralizing process initiated by Ferdinand and withdrew into the purely Hungarian political structures. The main reason for this choice lay, for the great majority of the nobility, in refus57
Benda, ‘Absolutismus’, 97. Pálffy, ‘A bécsi udvar’, 365-366. Szakály, ‘Early Ottoman Period’, 90-91. Szakály, ‘Early Ottoman Period’, 130. 59 G. Erdélyi, ‘Vita a helytartóságról. Néhány szempont I. Ferdinánd és a magyar politikai elit kapcsolatának vizsgálatához’, Századok, 134 (2000) 353. 60 Szakály, Virágkor,129. Pálffy, A 16. század, 57. 61 Ember, Az újkori magyar, 51, 80-84. Eckhart, Magyar alkotmány, 20. 58
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ing obstinately to stay on a more or less permanent basis in Vienna. Of course, this remoteness had its causes. First of all, civil war and Turkish raids compelled noblemen to stay at home to protect their peasants and possessions. Those fishing in troubled water were also interested in keeping a close eye on good opportunities in order to take immediately advantage of them. Secondly, Vienna was completely unfamiliar to the Hungarian nobility. Before 1526 they practically had not had any contact with the Austrian aristocracy. Furthermore, they felt, for the most part, a strong dislike toward ‘Germans’. Even many of Ferdinand’s supporters were not able to free themselves from this antipathy. Cultural and linguistic differences as well as that of mentality did not favour integration. Communication in itself was an insurmountable obstacle for many Hungarians because Latin, the lingua franca of the Hungarian nobility was not much used in Viennese court. Moreover, Hungarians whose language, garment and habits seemed strange in the eyes of Viennese courtiers, often received a cool and haughty welcome. Even a long-standing aristocratic supporter of the Habsburgs like Elek Thurzó, the first lieutenant of Ferdinand in Hungary (15321542), was not capable of adapting to the court-life of Vienna or Prague. The complete assimilation to the court aristocracy and the reception of the Hungarians was still a problem in the 17th century.62 Finally, it must be taken into consideration that costs of court-life were exorbitant for an average Hungarian nobleman. Only few of them, who understood the importance of participation in court-life and recognized the prospects it could open for them, were ready to invest in Viennese life. A telling proof of the absence of Hungarians in Vienna at the end of the reign of Ferdinand is that in 1563, after almost 40 years of dynastic union between Austria and Hungary, only three Hungarian aristocrats owned a house in the Austrian capital (not including the chancellor). Other high-ranking dignitaries reserved accommodation, but according to the court accommodation register (Hofquartierbuch) ‘they rarely stayed in Vienna’.63 All in all, only some cultivated and well-informed aristocrats whose talent for politics was above average, were really interested in court-life. They were ready to collaborate with the central government instead of retelling repeatedly their grievances at the diets which the Hungarian nobility usually did. Such magnates of wide horizons were the above mentioned Tamás Nádasdy, Chief Justice then Palatine, the Hungaro-Croatian Miklós Zrínyi, the heroic adversary of the dying sultan Süleyman at Szigetvár in 1566, or the Thurzós who had for long supported the cause of the Habsburgs because of the economic interests that bound them to the Fuggers. These aristocrats bought not only a house in Vienna, but tried to establish relations in the court that proved to be useful even in their career in Hungary. Nádasdy, for instance, used the influence of his Viennese acquaintances (Leonhard Freiherr von Vels, Obersthofmeister, former general of Ferdinand in Hungary and Johann Hofmann, 62 63
Pálffy, ‘A bécsi udvar’, 341-343. Erdélyi, ‘Vita a helytartóságról’, 350-353. Evans, The Making, 259. Barta, ‘A kompromisszumok’, 1265. Pálffy, A 16. század, 57-59.
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president of the Hofkammer) in order to be appointed Chief Justice in 1542.64 Their matrimonial strategy shows their serious will of integration too. The second wife of Zrínyi came from the very prestigious Bohemian aristocratic family, the Rozmberks. His son, György, after the death of his first Italian wife, Anna d’Arco, married a daughter of a leading Styrian noble family, the Stubenbergs. Anna d’Arco came from an Italian family that was influential both in the imperial and in the Styrian court.65 However, the nobilities of other Habsburg lands were not more enthusiastic about getting nearer to their Hungarian fellows. Few Austrian, German or Bohemian nobles were naturalized in Hungary during the 16th century. Most of them were high-ranking military officers who had served for a long time in the country. But only some of them wanted to buy estates and to settle in their ‘second homeland’. Naturalization of Hungarians in Austria or in Bohemia was even more scarce in the 16th century.66 Finally, a mixed ‘imperial’ élite composed of the leading families of every Habsburg land existed only virtually in the 16th century. The Bohemian nobility, for instance, needed several decades of imperial presence in Prague and had to undergo painful changes after 1620 in order to accede to key positions in the central government from the 17th century onwards.67 In conclusion, the Hungarian aristocracy, after a first period of coolness toward the Viennese court and the dynasty, was less reluctant to begin its integration into the imperial court society in the 17th century. But the delay was considerable and resulted in a relatively unfavourable position of the Hungarians in high-level decision making within the Habsburg Government.68
64
Pálffy, A 16. század, 66. I. Nagy, Magyarország családai czimerekkel és nemzedékrendi táblákkal (Pest 1865) 436. Pálffy, A 16. század, 146-147. 67 V. Press, ‘The Imperial Court of the Habsburgs From Maximilian I to Ferdinand III, 1493-1657’, in R.G. Asch – A.M. Birke, eds., Princes, Patronage, and the Nobility. The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age c. 1450-1650 (London-Oxford 1991) 300-303. 68 Evans, The Making, 241-242. Pálffy, A 16. század, 57-59, 76-77. 65 66
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Part III Constructing the Imperial Image
Ulrike Becker
Das Bildnis des Kaisers Zur Entstehung des ganzfigurigen Herrscherportraits
Einleitung Ein Herrscherbildnis hat schon immer höchste Anforderungen an den Künstler gestellt. Es war die Aufgabe des Künstlers, zugleich mit der wirklichkeitsnahen Abbildung dem Dargestellten eine Aura von Adel und Würde zu verleihen. In den Gesichtern der Herrscher sollte er die Würde und Majestät steigern und, falls nötig, die Mängel der Natur verschleiern.1 Wie alt dieses Problem ist, belegt eine in der Renaissance wohlbekannte Geschichte um Apelles, dem bekanntesten Maler der Antike, dem Maler Alexanders des Großen. Er soll, als er vor die Aufgabe gestellt wurde, ein Portrait des Königs Antigonos anzufertigen – ohne Preisgabe der Ähnlichkeit, aber ohne Darstellung seines Triefauges – das Problem so gelöst haben, daß er diesen einfach im Profil darstellte.2 Das höfische Bildnis befand sich immer im Spannungsfeld ‘zwischen Ähnlichkeit und höherer Auffassung’3 und war so weit mehr als eine bloße Abbildung des Dargestellten. Im 18. Jahrhundert gab es beispielsweise genaue Anweisungen für das Verhalten gegenüber einem Herrscherbild. Man sollte ihm nicht den Rücken zukehren und zudem war es den meisten verboten, in seiner Gegenwart den Hut aufzubehalten.4 Der Bildnistyp des ganzfigurigen Portraits wurde im ersten Drittel des 16. Jahrhunderts formuliert und konnte sich im Verlauf des Jahrhunderts als die typische Darstellungsform eines Herrschers und seiner Familienmitglieder etablieren.5 Die Frage nach der Herkunft dieser Portraitform ist eine der umstrittensten Fragen der Kunstgeschichte.6 Die 500. Wiederkehr des Geburtstags des Kaisers Karl V. im Jahr 2000 war für viele Historiker und Kunsthistoriker der Anlaß, sich intensiv mit der 1
Basierend auf Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, Trattato dell’Arte de la Pittura (Mailand 1584) VI, 50. Martin Warnke, Hofkünstler. Zur Vorgeschichte des modernen Künstlers (Köln 1985) 271. 3 Jacob Burckhardt, Die Anfänge der neuen Portraitmalerei’, in ders., Vorträge 1844-1887 (Basel 1918) 266. 4 Warnke, Hofkünstler, 272. 5 Hubertus Froning, Die Entstehung und Entwicklung des stehenden Ganzfigurenporträts in der Tafelmalerei des 16. Jahrhunderts (Würzburg 1973) 9. 6 Diane H. Bodart, ‘La Codification de l’imagine impériale de Charles Quint par Titien’, Revue des Archéologues et Historiens d’Art de Louvain XXX (1997) 61. 2
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Welt und der Person des Kaisers auseinander zu setzen, und auch in der Frage nach den Ursprüngen dieser Portraitform gab es neue Erkenntnisse. Die Ausstellung ‘Kaiser Karl V. (1500-1558) Macht und Ohnmacht Europas’7, die gemeinsam vom Kunsthistorischen Museum Wien und der Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland in Bonn vorbereitet und an beiden Orten durchgeführt wurde, hat der Diskussion um die Herkunft des ganzfigurigen Herrscherportraits neue Impulse gegeben.8 Als Schlüsselbild der Gattung des ganzfigurigen Herrscherportraits gilt das Bildnis ‘Kaiser Karl V. mit Hund’ von 1532/33.9 Es ist das erste Bildnis seiner Art mit betont repräsentativem Charakter und stellt somit eine Wendemarke in der Geschichte der Portraitkunst dar. In ihm wurden die verschiedenen Bildnistraditionen Mitteleuropas und Italiens zusammengefaßt und zu einem international und bis in das 20. Jahrhundert gültigen Portraittyp vereint. Es gibt jedoch zwei Fassungen dieses Gemäldes. Eine von ihnen wurde gemalt von dem Hofmaler König Ferdinands, dem Österreicher Jacob Seisenegger; es ist signiert und auf das Jahr 1532 datiert (Abb. 1). Die zweite Fassung des Bildes, so wird allgemein angenommen, stammt von Tizian (Abb. 2). Die Ähnlichkeit ist frappierend, und erst auf den zweiten Blick werden Unterschiede deutlich. Hier tritt der Hintergrund stärker zurück, der Raum ist weniger klar definiert. Der Kaiser und sein Hund sind weicher, malerischer wiedergegeben. Die Zuschreibung an den großen italienischen Maler beruht auf einer Nennung des Bildes im Inventar des Alcazar von Madrid aus dem Jahr 1600, es ist allerdings weder signiert noch datiert. Zwei so ähnliche Gemälde – es kann sich hierbei nur um Original und Kopie handeln. Doch von wem stammt das Original, von wem die Kopie? Aufgrund der Quellenlage, auf die näher eingegangen werden soll, und nach einer umfangreichen Forschungsdiskussion zu Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts schien die Frage geklärt. Jacob Seisenegger hatte den Kaiser seit 1530 mehrmals auf den Reichstagen gemalt und nach eigener Aussage 1532, wohl in Bologna, das ganzfigurige Bildnis des Kaisers mit Hund vollendet. Bisher wurde allgemein angenommen, daß Tizian das Werk Seiseneggers in Bologna gesehen und kopiert habe.10 Im Zuge der Ausstellungsvorbereitungen sind jedoch vermehrt Stimmen laut geworden, die Tizian die Urheberschaft zuschreiben. Der Streit um Original und Kopie wurde so neu entfacht.
7
Ausstellungskatalog, Bonn-Wien 2000: Kaiser Karl V. Macht und Ohnmacht Europas (Bonn/Wien 2000). Zu diesem Thema hat es auch Anfang September 2000 in Wien ein Symposium gegeben, in dem diese Frage sehr kontrovers diskutiert wurde. Einen zusammenfassenden Überblick über dieses Symposium hat Andreas Beyer in dem Artikel ‘Macht und Ohnmacht der Kenner. Tizian gegen Seisenegger: Ein Bilderstreit in der Gemäldegalerie des Kunsthistorischen Museums Wien’ in der Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung (20.9.2000) gegeben. Die publikation zu diesem Symposium befindet sich noch in vorbereitung. 9 Froning, Entstehung, 12. 10 Unbestritten seit der Argumentation von Gustav Glück, ‘Original und Kopie’, Festschrift für Julius Schlosser zum 60. Geburtstag (Wien 1927) 224 ff. 8
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Zugleich es geht um die Frage, ob – zugespitzt formuliert – die endgültige Formulierung des ganzfigurigen Herrscherportraits, des wohl erfolgreichsten Typs des höfischen Bildnisses, nördlich der Alpen entstanden sein kann oder vielleicht dem Genie eines Tizian zugeschrieben werden muß. Es stellt sich so die wichtige Frage, inwieweit die Erkenntnisse aus der wissenschaftlichen Analyse der Bilder mit den erhaltenen schriftlichen Quellen in Einklang gebracht werden können – und wie man damit umzugehen hat, wenn dies einmal nicht möglich sein sollte.
‘Kaiser Karl V. mit Hund’ – ein Gemälde und seine Nachwirkungen Dies ist nun das erste – oder das erste erhaltene, gewiß aber das älteste bekannte – Ganzfigurenportrait mit betont repräsentativem Charakter.11 Im Anschluß an dieses Portrait Karls V. bildete sich ein Schema des Ganzfigurenbildnisses heraus, das fast schon kanonisch genannt werden kann. Der Dargestellte steht meist im Kontrapost, den Kopf leicht gedreht, und er blickt entweder den Betrachter an oder aus dem Bild heraus. Die eine Hand liegt am Degenknauf, die andere hält einen Handschuh oder ähnliches oder ist in die Hüfte gestützt. Auch für die Umgebung der Figuren wird eine bestimmte Staffage bevorzugt: der Dargestellte wird in einem Innenraum gezeigt und von großzügigen Draperien oder Architekturteilen umfangen.12 Dieser Bildtypus ist so prägnant, daß auf weitere Herrschaftsattribute verzichtet werden kann, das Bild selber IST das Attribut.13 Ein Beispiel für den europaweiten Erfolg dieses Bildnistyps ist das Portrait des französischen Königs Karl IX., gemalt 1569 von seinem Hofmaler Francois Clouet (Abb. 3). Hier sind alle Kennzeichen des Ganzfigurenportraits zu erkennen – der leichte Kontrapost, der gedrehte Kopf, die Handhaltung, der Vorhang im Hintergrund und der Perspektive andeutende Fußbodenbelag. In diesem Bild fehlt nur der Hund. Doch auch der Hund wurde in der Folge zum typischen Element des ganzfigurigen Herrscherbildnisses. Ein Hund ist nicht nur das allgemeingültige Symbol der Treue und Wachsamkeit,14 sondern – im burgundischen Herrscherzeremoniell – auch ein Herrschaftszeichen15. Karl V. hat seine Jugend am Hof seiner Tante Margarete in Mecheln verbracht. Seine burgundische Erziehung, das burgundischen Hofzeremoniell und die burgundische Kultur haben ihn geprägt, und burgundische Darstellungselemente wie der Hund haben durch seinen Hof ihre Verbreitung erlebt. Ein guter Jagdhund war selten wie kostbar, und daß die Jagd als die dem Herrscher angemessene Tätigkeit angesehen wurde, ist ebenso bekannt wie 11
Froning, Entstehung, 21. ebd. 13 G. Heinz in Katalog der Gemäldegalerie, Portraitgalerie zur Geschichte Österreichs von 1400 bis 1800 (Wien 1982) 25. 14 Zur Symbolik des Hundes: Dorothea Forstner Osb, Die Welt der Symbole (Innsbruck 1961) 338-340. 15 Kurt Löcher, Jakob Seisenegger. Hofmaler Kaiser Ferdinands I. (München-Berlin 1962) 33. Schon im Weißkunig ist in der Darstellung ‘Wie der junge Weisskunig malen lernet’ das Motiv des Hundes zu sehen. 12
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Abb. 1 Jakob Seisenegger: Kaiser Karl V. mit Hund, 1532, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Abb. 2 Tiziano Vecellio, genannt Tizian: Karl V. mit Hund, 1533, Madrid, Museo del Prado
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Abb. 3 François Clouet: König Karl IX. von Frankreich, 1569, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
die Jagdbegeisterung der Habsburger.16 Schon Maximilian I. war ein begeisterter Jäger, seine Frau Maria von Burgund starb an den Folgen eines Jagdunfalls. Die Begeisterung der Maria von Ungarn für die Jagd rief in ihrer niederländischen Umgebung Befremden hervor,17 und auch Kaiser Karl V. war ein leidenschaftlicher Jäger.18 16 Zur Jagdbegeisterung der Habsburger verg. Lynne Heller – Karl Vocelka, Die Lebenswelten der Habsburger. Kultur- und Mentalitätsgeschichte einer Familie (Graz 1997) 39 ff. und Ausstellungskatalog Wien 1997, Jagdzeit. Österreichs Jagdgeschichte – Eine Pirsch. Katalog der 209. Sonderausstellung des Historischen Museum der Stadt Wien (Wien 1997). 17 Zu Maria von Ungarn vergl. jüngst Ursula Tamussino, Maria von Ungarn (Graz 1998). 18 Nebst aller Symbolik handelt es sich bei dem Karl begleitenden Hund um ein konkretes Tier, mit dem der Kaiser häufig zusammen war. So schrieb Karl in einem Brief vom 3. Mai 1532 an seine
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Zwei Beispiele für den Erfolg des Hundes als Begleiter im ganzfigurigen Herrscherportrait erläutern den Erfolg dieser Bildfindung. Das Bild von Anton van Dyck, 1631/32 entstanden, also 100 Jahre nach dem Bild Karls V., zeigt wohl den Prinzen Ruprecht von der Pfalz, den Sohn des sogenannten ‘Winterkönigs’ Friedrich V. von Böhmen (Abb. 4).19 Die Abhängigkeit von dem Bildnis Karls V. wird auf den ersten
Abb. 4 Anton van Dyck: Prinz Ruprecht von der Pfalz (?), 1631/32, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
Schwester Maria: ‘…car encores l’autre jour combien que ce fut a piet et par mon levyer, il n’y avoyt que le roy present, que sans luy mon levyer m’ut trayné jusques dedans le filet avec luy et le fy serf.’ (HHSt, Belgien PA 22/3, nr. 3975, f., 101v.) An dieser Stelle herzlichen Dank an Laetitia Gorter van Royen für diesen Hinweis. 19 Dies ist die traditionelle Identifizierung. In jüngster Zeit wurden jedoch Zweifel an dieser Zuschreibung laut.
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Blick deutlich – wieder ist der leichte Kontrapost zu erkennen, die Draperie im Hintergrund und schließlich zur linken des Prinzen: der Hund. Das zweites Beispiel ist ein Portrait von Velazquez, noch einmal fast 30 Jahr später entstanden, im Jahr 1659. Es zeigt den Infanten Philipp Prosper, den frühverstorbenen Sohn des spanischen Königs Philipp IV. Und auch hier – ein jungen Hund als Begleiter des Zweijährigen (Abb. 5). Doch nicht nur auf die Malerei, auch auf andere Gattungen hatte das Portrait des Kaisers mit seinem Hund Auswirkungen. Die Bronzetafel aus dem Ferdinandeum in Innsbruck (Abb. 6) feiert die Erneuerung der Fernpaßstraße, einer wichtigen Verbindungsstraße zwischen Tirol und Italien, die 1543 vollendet werden konnte. Dies geschah unter der Regentschaft König Ferdinands, und so sind dieser und sein kaiserlicher Bruder Karl zu beiden Seiten des Schriftfeldes dargestellt. Der Kaiser ist natürlich älter dargestellt als auf dem Bild, die enge Beziehung zu diesem wird aber dennoch sofort deutlich.
Abb. 5 Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez: Infant Philipp Prosper, 1659, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Abb. 6 Veit Amberger (Modell), Gregor Löffler (GuB): Gedenktafel zur Erinnerung an die Erneuerung der Fernpaßstraße, 1543, Innsbruck, Tiroler Landesmuseum Ferdinandeum
Kaiser Karl V. und Tizian Während des Aufenthalts Karls V. in Mitteleuropa, zwischen 1529 und 1533, trafen der Kaiser und Tizian zum ersten Mal aufeinander, und der Maler konnte den Kaiser von seinen überragenden Fähigkeiten überzeugen.20 Karl V. war von dem Venezianer so begeistert, daß er ihn am 10. Mai 1533, nach seiner Rückkehr nach Spanien, zum Ritter des goldenen Sporns und zum Grafen des Lateran ernannte und in den kommenden Jahren versuchte, ihn an seinen Hof zu binden. In der Ernennungsurkunde bezeichnet Karl V. Tizian als den Apelles seiner Zeit und stellt sich somit in die Nachfolge Alexanders des Großen, von dem es hieß, er habe sich nur von diesem einen Maler abbilden lassen.21 Die Frage, wann genau Karl V. seinen Apelles fand, gehört zu den umstrittensten Fragen der Tizianforschung und ist auch in unserem Zusammenhang von Interesse. 20
Zu den Daten und den historischen Hintergründen vergl. Alfred Kohler, Karl V. 1500 – 1558. Eine Biographie (München 1999) 201-223, 239 f.; Karl Brandi, Kaiser Karl V. Werden und Schicksal einer Persönlichkeit und eines Weltreiches, 2 Bde. (München, 1937/1941) 244-283; ebenso Bodart, ‘Codification’. 21 Carlo Ridolfi, Le maraviglie dell’Arte, hg. von Detlef Freiherr von Hadeln, 2 Bde. (Berlin 1914/24) Bd. 1, 180-182 (mit falschem Datum 1553).
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Sicher ist, daß das Treffen auf Vermittlung von Federigo Gonzaga stattfand, dessen bevorzugter Maler Tizian war und der sich von einer erfolgreichen Vermittlung seines Protegés an den Kaiser diplomatische Vorteile erhoffte. Die Quellenlage hierzu ist sehr problematisch. Nur wenige authentische Quellen haben sich erhalten, auch Bilder sind verloren gegangen, so daß man aus dem Wenigen seine Schlüsse ziehen muß. Karl V. soll durch ein Portrait Federigos von der Kunst Tizians überzeugt worden sein (Abb. 7), das dieser um 1530 gemalt hat. Nur – wann könnte der Kaiser es gesehen haben? Darf man annehmen, daß Federigo Gonzaga 1530 das Bild nach Bologna mitgenommen hat, um es dort dem Kaiser zu zeigen? 1530 war Karl nämlich zuerst in Bologna, hinterher in Mantua, 1532 ist er auf dem Weg von Innsbruck nach Bologna durch Mantua gereist und hat dort auch nachweislich Station gemacht. Bei diesem Aufenthalt ist es auch zu einem Treffen von Kaiser und Maler gekommen.22
Abb. 7 Tiziano Vecellio, genannt Tizian: Federigo Gonzaga mit Hund, um 1530, Madrid, Museo del Prado.
22 Bodart, ‘Codification’, 63. Dieses Treffen ist das erste zwischen Karl V. und Tizian, das zweifelsfrei nachgewiesen werden konnte.
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Vitruv berichtet von einem Treffen zwischen Kaiser und Maler im Jahre 1530, doch konnte nachgewiesen werden, daß sich die beschriebene Begegnung erst im Februar 1533 zutrug23 – Vitruv liefert folglich keinen Hinweis auf ein Treffen Karls V. und Tizians 1530. Es gibt allerdings ein Dokument, das auf ein erstes Treffen schon 1530 hinweist. Es scheint allerdings nicht sonderlich erfolgreich gewesen zu sein. In einem Brief vom 18. März 1530 berichtet der Botschafter des Herzogs von Urbino in Venedig, Gian Giacomo Leonardi, an seinen Herren Francesco Maria della Rovere von einer Geschichte, die er von Giacomo Malatesta, dem Botschafter Mantuas in Venedig, gehört habe. Diese Geschichte erzählt, daß Kaiser Karl V. sich bei seinem ersten Treffen mit Tizian als so geizig erwiesen hätte, daß er Tizian für seine Dienste nur einen Dukaten gezahlt hätte – was Federigo Gonzaga mit 150 Dukaten Draufgabe wieder gutzumachen versucht hätte.24 Was dieser Geschichte zugrunde liegt, ist heute schwer zu sagen. Ist nur eine Zeichnung gemacht worden? Ist das Bild, so vorhanden, nicht vollendet worden? Oder ist vielleicht gar kein Bild gemalt worden und der junge Kaiser sollte mit dieser Geschichte nur lächerlich gemacht werden? Sie ist auf jeden Fall schwer mit den bekannten Aufenthalten Karls und Tizians im Winter 1529/30 in Übereinstimmung zu bringen. Karl V. war von November 1529 bis Ende März 1530 in Bologna. Tizian ist über Dokumente nachweisbar von Mitte Januar bis 8. März in Venedig gewesen. Die kolportierte Erzählung datiert, wie erwähnt, vom 18. März, so daß das Zeitfenster für eine mögliche Begegnung zwischen Karl V. und Tizian sehr kurz ist. Sicher ist, daß, falls ein Bild oder eine Zeichnung angefertigt oder begonnen wurde, es seine Wirkung verfehlte – ganz im Gegensatz zu dem, soweit bekannt, ersten vollendeten Gemälde des Kaisers von der Hand Tizians. Dieses Gemälde zeigt Karl V. in Rüstung mit erhobenem Schwert. Leider ist es nicht im Original erhalten, es existieren allerdings zahlreiche Kopien, darunter eine, die 1603 von Peter Paul Rubens angefertigt wurde (Abb. 8).25 Alleine das spricht schon für den Bekanntheitsgrad des Bildes, zudem fertigte Tizian nach eigenem Zeugnis selbst mehrere, leider ebenfalls nicht erhaltene Repliken an.26 Es war bei den Zeitgenossen so berühmt, daß es in zahlreichen Stichen und Holzschnitten vervielfältigt wurde und so eine weite Verbreitung erfuhr. Der Holzschnitt von Giovanni Britto aus der Albertina in Wien ist eindeutig eine Ableitung des Tizian-Bildes (Abb. 9). Besonders deutlich wird dies bei der Rüstung, die sich in den Abbildungen gleicht. Einzig die Haltung 23
Schon H.E. Wethey, Titian. Bd. II: The Portraits (London 1971) 19. Wethey, Titian, 19; Bodart, ‘Codification’, 62 f. Es ist dies allerdings das einzige Dokument, daß eine Anwesenheit Tizians in Bologna während des ersten Aufenthalts Karls V. dort beschreibt. 25 Justus Müller Hofstede, ‘Rubens und Tizian. Das Bildnis Karls V.’, Münchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst XVIII (1967) 47 ff. Wann genau das Bild entstanden ist, ist jedoch umstritten. Wethey, Titian, 20, plädiert für eine Entstehung um 1530, wohingegen Charles Hope, ‘Titian’s early Meetings with Charles V’, Art Bulletin 59 (1977) sich für eine spätere Entstehungszeit, um 1532/33, ausspricht. 26 Bodart, ‘Codification’, 64; Gustav Glück, ‘Bildnisse aus dem Hause Habsburg’, Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien, N.F. 11 (1937) 169 ff. 24
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Abb. 8 Peter Paul Rubens nach Tizian: Karl V. in Rüstung mit gezogenem Schwert, 1603, Engl. Privatbesitz.
des Schwertes ist anders. Diese Abweichung ist allerdings durch die Besonderheit des Mediums zu erklären. Da ja der Druck des Holzschnitts die Vorlage spiegelverkehrt abbildet, mußte die Schwerthand gewechselt werden, um aus Karl nicht einen Linkshänder zu machen. Sicherlich hat dieses Bild den Kaiser begeistert. Er hatte Zeit seines Lebens eine Vorliebe dafür, sich in Rüstungen abbilden zulassen, die Rüstung war sein liebstes Kleidungsstück – kein Herrscher vor und nach Karl V. hat eine derartige Vielzahl luxuriösester Harnische bzw. Harnischgarnituren hinterlassen.27 Auch die Mehrheit der Büsten stellt den Kaiser in Rüstung dar. Der Bildhauer Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli nimmt in seiner 1541 geschaffen Büste des Kaisers direkt auf das Bild Tizians Bezug (Abb. 10). Es ist eindeutig – das Bild Tizians, das den Kaiser mit erhobenem Schwert zeigt, fand in der italienischen Kunst großen Widerhall. Aus einem Brief vom Ferrante
27
Christian Beaufort-Spontin, ‘Karl V. als Mäzen der Plattnerkunst’, Vernissage 10 (2000), 48-55.
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Abb. 9 Giovanni Britto nach Tizian: Karl V. mit erhobenem Schwert, 1536, Wien, Graphische Sammlung Albertina.
Gonzaga an seinen Bruder Federigo ist bekannt, daß 1533 Karl V. von einem Bild Tizians so begeistert war, daß er ihn in aller Öffentlichkeit umarmte und ihm 500 Dukaten dafür gab. Es kann sich meiner Meinung nach dabei eindeutig nur um dieses Bild gehandelt haben.28 Die Vertrautheit und Nähe zwischen Kaiser und Maler entwickelte sich allerdings erst in den späten 1540er Jahren. Noch 1536 konnte Tizian in Asti nicht zu dem Kaiser vordringen, wie er an Aretino schrieb.29 28 Ebenso Wethey, Titian, II, 18-21 und A. Cloulas, ‘Charles Quint et le Titien. Les premiers Portraits d’Apparat’, L’Information d’histoire de l’art IX, Nr. 5 (1964) 219. Ganz anders Gunter Schweikhart. Für ihn bezieht sich die Ablehnung Tizians durch den Kaiser von 1530 auf das Bildnis mit Rüstung und seine Anerkennung auf das Gemälde mit Hund, was meiner Meinung aber aus den genannten Gründen abzulehnen ist. Aber auch er konzidiert, daß es ‘schwer vorstellbar ist, daß Tizian diese Ehrung im wesentlichen wegen des Bildnisses nach Seisenegger erhielt’ (G. Schweikhart, ‘Titian in Augsburg’, in Jochen Brüning u. Johannes Burkhardt, Hg., Kunst und ihre Auftraggeber im 16. Jahrhundert. Venedig und Augsburg im Vergleich, 55 (Berlin 1997) 28-30. 29 Schweikhart, Titian in Augsburg’, 21.
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Abb. 10 Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli: Büste Kaiser Karls V., 1541, Neapel, Museo e Gallerie Nazionali di Capodimonte.
Jakob Seisenegger Jacob Seisenegger30 wurde 1505 in Österreich geboren und starb 1567, im Alter von 62 Jahren, in Linz. Über seinen genauen Geburtsort, seine Jugend und seine Ausbildung ist nichts bekannt, ein Aufenthalt in Italien gilt aber als wahrscheinlich. 1529 war er in Böhmen tätig, wo er die Aufmerksamkeit Ferdinands, des Königs von Ungarn und Böhmen, erregte. 1530 begleitete er diesen zum Reichstag nach Augsburg und wurde 1531 sein Hofmaler. Sein Leben lang blieb er im Dienste Ferdinands, für den er beinahe ausschließlich als Portraitist tätig war. Im Gegensatz zu anderen 30 Ernst Birk, ‘Jacob Seisenegger, Kaiser Ferdinands I. Hofmaler. 1531-1567. Eine Studie zur österreichischen Kunstgeschichte aus bisher unbenützten Quellen’, M.k.k.Z. Bd. IX (1864) 70 – 94, dann Kurt Löcher, Jakob Seisenegger. Hofmaler Kaiser Ferdinands I., (München-Berlin 1962) als noch immer umfassendstes monographisches Werk über Seisenegger. Ebenso K. Löcher, Hg., Germanisches Nationalmuseum Nürnberg. Die Gemälde des 16. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart 1997) 478.
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Malern wie Hans Holbein schlug Seisenegger attraktive Angebote aus, um in seiner Heimat, bei seinem Landesherren und bei seiner Familie zu bleiben. Sein Leben war von der ständigen Unrast weitläufiger Reisen und von zermürbenden Geldsorgen geprägt. Die Reisen waren Dienstreisen, keine Reisen aus eigenem Antrieb und künstlerischen Interesse, und sie beeinflußten seinen zu Beginn der 1530er Jahre gefunden Malstil kaum. Beispielsweise war er 1538/39 in den Niederlanden und Spanien, wo er ein heute verlorenes Gemälde der Kaiserin Isabella und ihrer Kinder schuf. Durch einen für uns glücklichen Zufall wissen wir verhältnismäßig viel über die Arbeit Seiseneggers für Ferdinand I. Durch die schlechte Zahlungsmoral des österreichischen Hofes war der Maler gezwungen, durch schriftlichen Eingaben seine Bezahlung einzufordern. Zahlreiche dieser Suppliken, in denen er die von ihm geschaffen Werke aufzählt, haben sich erhalten, und so können wir Seiseneggers Werk, von dem viel verloren gegangen ist, recht gut rekonstruieren. 1558 wurde Jacob Seisenegger geadelt. Der Adelsbrief hebt seine Kunst hervor, er sei ‘mit seiner khunst der illuministrey und abconterfethur (…) diser zeit fur den beruembtisten erkhent und befunden’31 worden. Er mag heute nicht mehr bekannt sein, es ist aber wichtig festzuhalten, daß es sich bei Seisenegger nicht um einen in seiner Zeit unbedeutenden Maler handelt, sondern um den Hofmaler Ferdinands, seit 1526 König von Böhmen und Ungarn, seit 1531 römischer König, Stellvertreter Karls und der nächste Kaiser des Römischen Reichs. Somit war er Tizian, wenn auch nicht an künstlerischer Qualität, so doch an gesellschaftlichem Rang und künstlerischer Wertschätzung in seiner Umgebung nahe. Wie sehr Seisenegger von seinen Zeitgenossen geschätzt wurde, belegt die Tatsache, daß 1532 der Herzog von Alba, der Papst und sogar der Kaiser versucht haben, ihn von König Ferdinand abzuwerben. 1532 befand sich Seisenegger auf einem Höhepunkt seiner Anerkennung. Gewiß hängt dies mit der Reihe von Gemälden zusammen, die er zwischen 1530 bis 1532 für Ferdinand schuf. Nicht weniger als fünf von ihnen sollen den Kaiser ganzfigurig in voller Lebensgröße dargestellt haben. Keines von ihnen machte allerdings so viel Eindruck wie das Bildnis Karls V. mit Hund.32 Schon seit Beginn des 16. Jahrhunderts gab es vermehrt Künstler, die Ganzfigurenbildnisse schufen. Hans Krell schrieb in einer Rechnung an das ungarische Königspaar Ludwig und Maria: ‘Im 1525 jar baider khunigl. maj. abgunterfehung auf tuch, so lang und grosz ir maj. gewest ist, welche ich noch beihendig hab (…) 30 fl.’33 Diese Künstler befanden sich wohl in der Tradition der mittelalterlichen Miniaturenmalerei, hier vor allem der burgundischen Tradition der Darstellung der ‘Neun Helden’.34 Neu war 31
Löcher, Jakob, 9. Löcher, Jakob, 10; Maria Kusche, ‘Der christliche Reiter und seine Dame’ – das Repräsentationsbildnis in ganzer Figur. Zur Entstehung, Entwicklung und Bedeutung des weltlichen Bildnisses von der karolingischen Buchmalerei über die Augsburger Schule bis Seisenegger, Tizian, Antonis Mor und der spanischen Hofmalerschule des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts’, Pantheon 49 (1991) 20. 33 Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses (weiter zitiert als JAK) 5, Nr. 2897. 34 Einschlägig hierzu Kusche, ‘Christliche Reiter’, Froning, Entstehung. 32
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allerdings die Lebensgröße der Wiedergabe der Personen, die allerdings noch ein wenig unbeholfen und steif, wenig dreidimensional und körperhaft wirkten. Jacob Seisenegger hingegen gelang es, ein zugleich traditionelles und äußerst modernes Bildnis zu schaffen. Er baute auf die alten Traditionen, die dem Kaiser noch von seiner Zeit in Burgund her vertraut gewesen sein müssen, und verbindet sie mit dem modernen augsburgisch- italienischen Stil und dem großen Format der Leinwand, die ja ein traditionell italienischer Bildgrund war.35 Es bleibt allerdings eher kleinteilig, miniaturhaft, und scheint nicht auf Fernwirkung bedacht gewesen zu sein. Auf Herrscherinsignien wird verzichtet, schon durch die Darstellung in Lebensgröße und in ganzer Figur wird die Hoheit des Dargestellten betont.36
Die Forschungspositionen Es gibt, wie oben dargelegt, zwei Fassungen des berühmten ganzfigurigen Gemäldes des Kaisers mit Hund; die eine stammt von Tizian, die andere von Jakob Seisenegger. Im Allgemeinen wird angenommen, daß Seisenegger das erste Bild gemalt hat, Tizian hingegen eine Kopie davon. Das würde bedeuten, daß die Formulierungen des wahrscheinlich erfolgreichsten Bildtypus der Malerei diesem im Verhältnis völlig unbekannten Maler zuzuschreiben ist, wohingegen Tizian diese Darstellungsform nur aufgegriffen hat. Für Seisenegger spricht die Quellenlage. Er selber berichtet in der Supplik von 1535 an König Ferdinand: ‘14. Item mer di Römische kais. maj., so ich zu Wononi abconterfet hab, wie dann di kgl. maj. den noch vor augen hat, de in ainem weissen silberen stuckh, mit Zobel unterfuetert, und in ainem Cordowanischem lidrem golletr, dasselb uber die prust herab zerschniten und mit gulden gewunden schniern verprämbt, in ainem weissen zerschniten attlasen wamass, das auch mit gulden schniren verprämbt, in weissentuechen hosen und samaten zerschnitten schuhen, ainrapir und gulden tolch mit seiden tollen an der seiten, auf dem haubt ain schwaz samaten piret mit ainem weissen federlein, neben ime ain grosser englischer wasserhund, steund auf ainem mabalierten östrichgrund hinter und neben ime ain gruener taffanter furhang, beger dafur auch nur 50 gulden reinisch.’37
Das Selbstzeugnis Seiseneggers ist glaubhaft. Alle seine Angaben waren von der österreichischen Finanzkammer leicht nachzuprüfen und Falschaussagen leicht zu entdecken. Auch hat er immer gewissenhaft vermerkt, wann er ein Bild selbst gemalt,
35 Bereits Birk, ‘Jakob Seisenegger’, 70 ff.; besonders Löcher, Jakob, 88 ff., ‘Das Bildnis in ganzer Figur. Quellen und Entwicklung’, Zeitschrift für Schweizerische Archäologie und Kunstgeschichte 42 (1985) 88 ff., darauf aufbauend Erwin Panofsky, Problems in Titian, mostly iconographic, (New York 1969) 184; 77 f.; Kusche. ‘Christliche Reiter’, 21; Schweikhart ‘Titian in Augsburg’, 29. 36 Bodart, ‘Codification’, 69 f.; Heinz, in Katalog Gemäldegalerie, 21. 37 JAK 5, 4481 (1887).
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
Abb. 11 Leone Leoni: Kaiser Karl V., um 1555, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
und wann er es von einem anderen Meister kopiert hat.38 Wir können also von den Quellen her mit großer Sicherheit annehmen, das Seisenegger das Bild des Kaisers 1532 (so hat er es selbst datiert) vollendet hat, wohl in Bologna, dem ‘Wononi’ gleichzusetzen ist. Wie sieht es nun mit Tizians Bild aus? Von diesem Bild gibt es keine direkten Nachrichten; sein mögliches Entstehungsdatum kann nur aus den Reisedaten Karls 38 Seisenegger hat immer angegeben, wenn er eine Kopie gemacht hat, so beispielsweise 1532 die Kopie eines Bildes des kleinen Philipp, oder 1545 ‘unnser Frauen pild zu der zafl, so der Ducian (Tizian) in Venedig gemalt hatt’ (JAK Nr. 4120). ‘Abconterfet’ bedeutet nach dem Leben gemalt; kopiert wäre ‘abgemacht’. Verg. Birk, ‘Jacob Seisenegger’, 77.
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und Tizians erschlossen werden. Wenn Wononi wirklich Bologna heißt, wovon die Mehrzahl der Forscher ausgeht, dann hat Seisenegger es zwischen dem 13. November, der Ankunft Karls in Bologna, bis zum Jahresende gemalt. Wenn Seiseneggers Bildnis die Kopie wäre, müßten beide Bilder 1532 fertig geworden sein. Da Tizian aber erst im Januar 1533 in Bologna nachweisbar ist, erlauben die vorhandenen Quellen nur den Schluß, daß Seiseneggers Bild das ältere der beiden ist.39
Neue Erkenntnisse? Über Jahrzehnte schien die Sachlage klar: Beruhend auf der Quellenlage und Seiseneggers eigenem Zeugnis folgend ging man davon aus, daß Seisenegger sein Bild als erster malte und später Karl bei Tizian eine zweite Fassung bestellte, vielleicht, so wurde angenommen, weil ihm die eher idealisierende Darstellung seiner Physiognomie bei dem Italiener besser gefiel als die schonungslose Zeichnung des Österreichers.40 Während der Vorbereitungen zu den Ausstellungen im Karl V.- Jahr 2000 wurden beide Bilder gereinigt, geröntgt und restauriert (Abb. 12 und 13). Seiseneggers Röntgenaufnahme ist sehr klar und stimmt mit der Ausführung bis auf kleine Schattenzonen am inneren Oberschenkel und dem linken Fuß deutlich überein. Er muß also einen genauen Karton zur Verfügung gehabt haben, bevor er zu malen anfing, und diesem genau gefolgt sein. Tizians Version zeigt ein weniger klares Röntgenbild. In der Untermalung finden sich zahlreiche Variationen, in der Beinhaltung beispielsweise, und besonders in der Kopfhaltung des Hundes. Deutlich ist zu erkennen, daß der Hund zunächst nach unten blickte und erst später den Kopf hob. Hier wird ein großer Unterschied in der Vorgehensweise von Seisenegger und Tizian deutlich. Tizian ist bekannt für seine Korrekturen, die sogenannten Pentimenti, er entwickelte das Bild, während er es malte. Seisenegger hingegen war sich über die Komposition schon immer im Klaren, bevor er an die Ausführung des Gemäldes ging. Es handelt sich hierbei um einen grundsätzlichen Unterschied der Malweise der beiden Künstler, der auch bei anderen Bildern zu sehen ist. Nun stellt sich die Frage, welche Schlüsse aus diesem Befund gezogen werden können, und diese Frage hat die Kunsthistoriker in zwei Lager gespalten. Zahlreiche Tizian-Forscher erachten die Pentimenti als so bedeutend, daß es für sie eindeutig ist, daß nicht Tizian, sondern vielmehr Seisenegger die Kopie erstellt habe. Eine gewisse Steifheit im Ausdruck des Tizianbildes wird dadurch erklärt, daß Tizian mit dem Ganzfigurenbildnis nicht vertraut war.41 Denn natürlich – warum sollte Tizian, wenn 39 Froning, Entstehung, 59 f. Dies ist seit Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts allgemeine Überzeugung. Otto Fischel, ‘Die Bildnisse Kaiser Karls V. und der Kaiserin Isabella’, Jahresbericht des städtischen Museum Carolino Augusteum, Salzburg (1906) 84 ff., stellte die These als Erster auf, seit Glück, ‘Original’, gilt sie als unumstritten. Vergl. auch Panofsky, Problems, Exkurs IV. 40 Bodart, ‘Codification’, 72. 41 Sylvia Ferino-Pagden, ‘Wer malte das ganzfigurige Portrait Karls V. mit der Ulmer Dogge zuerst: Jacob Seisenegger oder Tizian?’ Vernissage 10 (2000) 26-33. Ebenso in Ausstellungskatalog BonnWien 2000 und Ausstellungskatalog Toledo 2000/2001, Carolus (Madrid 2000).
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Abb. 12 Röntgenbild zu Jakob Seisenegger: Kaiser Karl V. mit Hund, 1532, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
er schon ein Bild kopierte, während des Kopiervorgangs andere Darstellungsformen ausprobieren? Es wäre allerdings genauso gut möglich, daß er aus Neugierde während der Ausführung der Kopie andere Kompositionsformen ausprobiert hat, die er dann wieder rückgängig machte, da es ja die Aufgabe war, eine genaue Kopie anzufertigen. Der genaue Vergleich der beiden Gemälde hat auch andere Unterschiede zum Vorschein gebracht. Das Gemälde Seiseneggers scheint durch seine trocken gemalte Darstellung des Kaisers in dem konkret geschilderten Ambiente das naturalistischere der beiden zu sein.42 Im Gegensatz dazu zeichnet sich das Portrait 42 Dies war für Glück, ‘Original’, ein Hauptargument dafür, daß Seiseneggers Bild das erste der beiden Gemälde war.
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Abb. 13 Röntgenbild zu Tiziano Vecellio, genannt Tizian: Kaiser Karl V. mit Hund, 1533, Madrid, Museo del Prado.
von der Hand Tizians durch ein größeres Verständnis der Stofflichkeit und von Details aus, wie ein Blick auf die Zierleisten des Lederwamses und die Kette mit dem Anhänger des Goldenen Vlieses auf der Brust des Kaisers deutlich macht.43 43 Vergl. Ferino-Pagden, ‘Wer malte’. Unsicherheit herrscht auch um die Darstellung des Dolches an der Seite des Kaisers. Er könnte auch als Fliegenwedel aus Silberfäden interpretiert werden. Vergl. Birk, ‘Jacob Seisenegger’, 77. Ebenso Beaufort-Spontin in seinem Vortrag auf dem Symposium in Wien im September 2000 (vergl. Anm 8). Falls sich diese Interpretation bestätigen sollte, stellt sich natürlich die Frage, warum der mutmaßliche Fliegenwedel von Seisenegger als ‘gulden tolch mit seiden tollen an der seiten’ (s.o.) bezeichnet wird.
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Das Bildnis des Kaisers
So stehen nun zwei Ansichten gegeneinander. Auf der einen Seite gibt es den schwer zu interpretierenden röntgenologischen Befund, auf der anderen Seite ist dieser Befund nicht mit den überlieferten Quellen in Einklang zu bringen. Sicher ist, daß Tizians Gemälde des Kaisers mit Hund weder in seinem Gesamtwerk noch in der italienischen Kunstgeschichte große Spuren hinterließ. Dies ganz im Gegensatz zu Seiseneggers Bild, und auch im Gegensatz zu seinem Bildnis des Kaisers in Rüstung, wie oben gezeigt wurde. Tizian hat bis in die 1540er Jahre kein weiteres ganzfiguriges Bildnis gemalt, auch nicht vom Kaiser. Erst von dessen Sohn Philipp hat er zahlreiche ganzfigurige Gemälde geschaffen, darunter die Fassung von 1554 aus dem Museo Nazionale di Copodimonte (Abb. 14). In diesen Bildnissen hat
Abb. 14 Tiziano Vecellio, genannt Tizian: Bildnis Philipps II., um 1554, Neapel, Museo e Gallerie Nazionali di Capodimonte.
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Tizian schließlich zu seiner eigenen ausgereiften Lösung des Themas gefunden,44 die die weitere Entwicklung des ganzfigurigen Bildnisses sehr beeinflußten – so auch das Bild des spanischen Hofmalers Alonso Sanchez Coello von 1564, das den Infanten Don Carlos, den 1568 verstorbenen ältesten Sohn Philipps II., zeigt (Abb. 15). Wie Tizian verzichtet er auf eine Andeutung des Raumes, jegliche Draperie und Ausschmückung fehlen. Dennoch hat Tizian mit seinen Bildern des Kaisers unser Bild Karls V. bestimmt. Die Ähnlichkeit ohne Detailversessenheit prägt alle Bilder, die Tizian vom Kaiser gemalt hat, und wirkte sich auch auf seine Darstellung in Skulpturen und auf Medaillen aus.45 Interessant ist, daß diese sehr einheitliche Darstellungsform erst in der zweiten Hälfte der 1540er Jahre auftritt. Tizian malte in Augsburg auf dem Reichstag nach der für Karl V. siegreichen Schlacht bei Mühlberg zahlreiche Bild des Kaisers und seiner Familie. Der Kaiser versuchte in dieser Zeit vergeblich, Tizian als sein Hofmaler an den kaiserlichen Hof zu binden.46 Interessanterweise trat auch erst nach 1547 Bildhauer Leone Leoni in sein Leben, der sein Hofbildhauer werden sollte. Seiseneggers Bild hingegen beeinflußte die Hofmalerei ganz unmittelbar, er wirkte in seiner Eigenschaft als Habsburger Hofmaler für seine Zeitgenossen stilbildend.47 Voraussetzung für die Verbreitung dieses Bildtypus war der seit dem 16. Jahrhundert übliche rege Austausch von Hofportraitisten und der noch regere zwischenstaatliche Austausch von Bildern, eng verbunden mit der dynastischen Heiratspolitik, in der solche Bildnisse verschickt wurden. Von zahlreichen Künstlern, unter ihnen Antonis Mor, Hans von Aachen, Hans Holbein und Sebastiano del Piombo, sind Künstlerreisen zum Zwecke der Brautaufnahme bekannt.48 Auch Seisenegger reiste zu den Höfen anderer Habsburger, und seine Gemälde von Ferdinand, Anna und ihren Kindern fanden an den europäischen Höfen weite Verbreitung.49 Eine ganze Serie von Ganzfigurenbildnissen ging beispielsweise 1535 als Geschenk von Wien nach Madrid.50
Ist es wirklich ein Tizian? Die Fragen und Unsicherheiten, die sich um Tizians Portrait des Kaisers ranken, dazu eine gewisse Steifheit und Unsicherheit der Darstellung in diesem Bild selber, haben zu der Frage geführt, ob es sich bei dem Gemälde wirklich um ein Werk Tizians handelt.
44
Froning, Entstehung, 60. Bereits Glück, ‘Bildnisse aus dem Hause Habsburg’, 167. 46 Charles Hope, Titian, (London 1980) 110. 47 Froning, Entstehung, 21-31. 48 Warnke, Hofkünstler, 279-284. 49 Kurt Löcher, ‘Eine Bildnis-Serie der Kinder Ferdinands I. von Jakob Seisenegger’, Österreichische Zeitschrift für Kunst und Denkmalpflege 35 (1981) 14-21. 50 JAK 5, 4481. 45
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Abb. 15 Alonso Sanchez Coello: Infant Don Carlos, 1564, Wien, Kunsthistorisches Museum.
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Wenn man sich die Geschichte des Bildes vor Augen hält, ist die Frage durchaus naheliegend. Es steht in Tizians Oevre singulär da, es hatte lange Zeit keinen Einfluß auf die italienische Kunst, und bis 1600 gibt es keine Nachrichten und Quellen über dieses Bild – erstaunlich, da es sich doch um ein Gemälde des größten Herrschers seiner Zeit von der Hand des größten Malers seiner Zeit handelt. Bis zum Jahre 1600 fand das Bild in den Inventaren der Königlichen Sammlungen keine Erwähnung – weder im Inventar Karls V. bei seinem Tode, noch in dem seiner Schwester, der Kunstsammlerin Maria von Ungarn, die zahlreiche Familienbildnisse besaß, noch in dem seines Sohnes Philipp. Erst im Inventar des Real Alcazar in Madrid von 1600 wird es erwähnt, als ein Werk Tizians – 70 Jahr nach seiner Entstehung! Das Bild ist zudem nicht signiert. 1623 wurde es von Philipp IV. dem Prinzen von Wales geschenkt, dem zukünftigen König Charles I. von England. Bei der Versteigerung der Güter des englischen Königs nach dessen Hinrichtung 1649 wurde es zurückerworben. Seitdem erscheint es regelmäßig in den Inventaren des Alcazars von Madrid. Seit 1821 ist das Bild im Museo del Prado.51 Als Lösungsversuch wurde die Autorenschaft Tizians Bruder Francesco zugeschrieben.52 Francesco arbeitete im Atelier seines Bruders, besaß, nach allem, was wir heute wissen, eine fundierte Ausbildung und hat auch zahlreiche eigenständige Werke geschaffen. Im Herbst 1534 reiste er von Venedig nach Wien, um bei Seiseneggers Arbeitgeber Ferdinand um eine Ausfuhrgenehmigung für Holz aus Tirol anzusuchen. Er führte ein Empfehlungsschreiben Karls V. bei sich. Man kann nun annehmen, daß Francesco das Gemälde Seiseneggers in Wien zu Gesicht bekam und davon als Geschenk für den Kaiser eine Kopie anfertigte – das Prado-Gemälde! Dies ist natürlich nur eine Hypothese, die (vielleicht noch) nicht mit Quellen untermauert werden kann – die Zuschreibung zu Tizian allerdings ebenso wenig.
Schlußbetrachtung Zu diesen beiden Bildnissen des Kaisers Karl V. mit seinem Hund gibt es viele verschiedene Positionen. Es herrscht lediglich Einigkeit darüber, daß es ein Schlüsselbild der Kunstgeschichte ist mit enormen Auswirkungen auf die Entwicklung des höfischen Ganzfigurenportaits. Die wenigen genannten Beispiele konnten das untermauern. Nur – wem ist dieses Schlüsselbild zuzuschreiben? Dem österreichischen Hofmaler Seisenegger, der Zeit seines Lebens dieser Komposition treu blieb? Für ihn sprechen die Quellen und Dokumente. Oder doch dem italienischen Maler Tizian? Die röntgenologischen Untersuchungen der Bilder sprechen eher für
51 Fernando Checa, in Kaiser Karl V. Macht und Ohnmacht Europas. Ausstellungskatalog Bonn-Wien 2000, 312. 52 Charles Hope, ‘El retrato ecuestre de Carlos V de Tiziano’, Obras maestras del Museo del Prado (Madrid 1996) 60 f.
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ihn. Wenn denn das Gemälde überhaupt von ihm ist! Nach dem augenblicklichen Stand der Forschung lassen sich die verschiedenen Befunde nicht miteinander in Einklang bringen. Die überlieferten Quellen und Dokumente dürfen meiner Ansicht nach nicht vor dem röntgenologischen Befund ignoriert werden. Noch immer gilt Ernst Birks Diktum von 1864: ‘Die Kunstgeschichte bedarf zu ihrem Gedeihen vor allem einer sicheren urkundlichen Grundlage.’53 So neige ich persönlich zu der Ansicht, daß Seiseneggers Bild das ältere der beiden ist, und ich habe gewisse Zweifel, ob es sich bei dem Bild aus dem Prado wirklich um ein authentisches, eigenhändiges Werk Tizians handelt.
53
Birk, ‘Jacob Seisenegger’, 70.
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Uta Barbara Ullrich
Karl V. und der Triumph von Bologna: San Petronio als Erinnerungsstätte der Kaiserkrönung von 1530 – ein gescheitertes Projekt
Die Kaiserkrönung Karls V. am 24. Februar 1530 in Bologna stellt eines der zentralen Ereignisse der europäischen Geschichte des 16. Jahrhunderts dar. Als Papst Clemens VII. dem Habsburger die Kaiserkrone aufs Haupt setzte, geschah dies in Anwesenheit einer internationalen Gästeschaft aus hohen geistlichen und weltlichen Würdenträgern sowie Gesandten unterschiedlichster Fürsten, Staaten und Städte. Die Beschreibung dieses hochpolitischen Ereignisses in zahlreichen, nicht zuletzt in der Krönungsstadt verfaßten Chroniken und Augenzeugenberichten garantierte die detaillierte Erinnerung an die Bologneser Tage über den engen zeitlichen Rahmen des Aufenthaltes der beiden Herrscher in der zweitwichtigsten Stadt des Kirchenstaates hinaus.1 Daß auch auf päpstlicher Seite der Wunsch bestand, die für die historisch-politische Entwicklung der Epoche zentralen Geschehnisse von Bologna in dieser Stadt selbst in Erinnerung zu halten, erstaunt nicht. Ungeachtet der für den Papst wenig schmeichelhaften tatsächlichen politischen Umstände, die die Kaiserkrönung Karls überhaupt erst ermöglicht
1 Einen Überblick über entsprechende Chroniken und Berichte bei G. Giordani, Della venuta e dimora in Bologna del sommo Pontefice Clemente VII per la coronazione di Carlo V Imperatore, celebrata l’anno MDXXX. Cronaca con Documenti ed Incisioni, 2 Teile (Bologna 1842), Teil II, 133-136; darüber hinaus s. auch die bibliographischen Verweise bei B. Mitchell, Italian civic pageantry in the High Renaissance. A descriptive bibliography of triumphal entries and selected other festivals for state occasions (Florenz 1979) 21 f.; G. Conti, ‘L’incoronazione di Carlo V a Bologna’, in M. Fagiolo, Hg., La Città effimera e l’ Universo artificiale del Giardino: La Firenze dei Medici e l’ Italia del ‘500 (Rom 1980) 38-46; V. De Cadenas Y Vicent, Doble coronación de Carlos V en Bolonia, 22-24/II/1530 (Madrid 1985); T. Bernardi, ‘Analisi di una cerimonia publica: l’incoronazione di Carlo V a Bologna’, in Quaderni Storici, 61, XXI (1986) 171-199; zum Teil bislang unveröffentlichtes Material bietet R. Righi, Hg., Carlo V a Bologna. Cronache e documenti dell’incoronazione (1530), Collana di cronache bolognesi d’epoca medioevale, moderna e contemporanea, 4 (Bologna 2000). Eine kritische Auseinandersetzung mit der politischen Bedeutung des Bologneser Treffens von Papst und Kaiser 1529/1530 bei P. Prodi, ‘Papato, Impero e pace nel teatro politico di San Petronio: l’incoronazione di Carlo V’, in M. Fanti – D. Lenzi, Hg., Una Basilica per una Città: Sei Secoli in San Petronio: Atti del Convegno di Studi per il Sesto Centenario di Fondazione della Basilica di San Petronio, 1390-1990 (Saggi e ricerche 5; Bologna 1994) 149-158; vgl. auch Ch. Terlinden, ‘La politique italienne de Charles Quint et le ‘triomphe’ de Bologne’, in J. Jacquot, Les fêtes de la renaissance. Bd. II. Fêtes et cérémonies au temps de Charles Quint (Paris 1960) 29-43; A. Kohler, Karl V. 15001558. Eine Biographie (München 1999) 201-208.
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hatten2, war das eigentliche Krönungszeremoniell immer noch als Demonstration der Hoheit des Heiligen Stuhls über die weltliche Macht des Kaisers zu lesen. Auch von den tiefgreifenden machtpolitischen und territorialen Veränderungen in Europa, insbesondere in Italien, die aus den der Krönung vorausgegangenen Verhandlungen von Bologna resultierten, blieb das Krönungszeremoniell unberührt.3 Dem Zeugnis des Bologneser Stadthist
