CHAPTER II

By one of its articles the Holy League insists that every year in the month of March, or in April at the latest, the squadrons of the three Powers should set out to sea, with an army at least equal to the one of 1571. But when Pius V died on the 1st of May, 1572, the Powers had not been able to agree about this second campaign, in spite of the superhuman efforts of the saintly old man. At last, in July, his successor, Gregory XIII, managed to get the matter settled, and in July, on the 6th, D. John of Austria left the port of Messina with Marco Antonio Colonna, to join the Venetian fleet which was cruising in the Levant at Corfu. Jacobo Foscarini commanded instead of old Sebastian Veniero, against whom D. John had made grave complaints before the Venetian Senate. The Duque de Sesa was D. John's lieutenant in the place of the Knight Commander D. Luis de Requesens who had been appointed Governor of Milan by Philip II. These were the only changes in the fleet.

"This expedition," says an historian, "was undertaken with inexcusable delay, continued with slowness, and failed through quarrels. Nobody could have believed in October, 1571, that the victors of Lepanto could have returned thus in 1572." They did return, without having engaged in any definite battle with the Turk, and without other loot than the magnificent galley belonging to Barbarossa's grandson, taken by the Marqués de Santa Cruz and brought back to Naples, to be rechristened "La Presa." Then the expedition was considered ended, and the Venetians went to winter in Corfu, the Pontifical fleet at Rome, and D. John of Austria with his squadron to Messina and from there to Naples, where by ill-fortune Philip II had ordered him to spend the winter.

It was an unfortunate circumstance, for what Do?a Magdalena de Ulloa with her maternal foresight had foretold, when she sent D. John to the Granada war, came to pass: "Indolent wealth will be always prejudicial to his youth, and it is only by the labours and responsibilities of war that he will be able to balance the youthful ardour of his nature." D. John found himself unoccupied, because, while the fleet wintered, the duties of his command did not satisfy his longing for activity; he was wounded in his pride, that his advice about the organisation and commencement of this campaign had not been listened to, the scanty results of which were now deplored by all, when it was too late, proving the Generalissimo to have been right. Something, therefore, was necessary to distract him and fill up his time, and this he found in that delightful country, under that matchless sky, in that corrupt Naples of the sixteenth century, as dangerous then in its treacherous delights as it is to-day.

Naples was at that time one of the most beautiful cities in Italy or in Europe; the famous Viceroy D. Pedro de Toledo had enlarged and beautified it, throwing down the old walls, and constructing magnificent palaces, monasteries and churches in the two miles which this improvement added to the town. He also caused streets and squares to be paved, and filled with trees and fountains, and made the celebrated road more than half a league long, full of sumptuous palaces, which he named the street of the Holy Spirit, and which to-day is called the street of Toledo in his honour. Naples had then more than 300,000 inhabitants, and was the centre to which all the aristocracy of the Kingdom flocked.

In D. John's day, 40 Princes lived there, 25 Dukes, 36 Marquises, 54 Counts, 488 Barons, and numberless gentlemen, not so rich in money as in titles, and sometimes absolutely poor, but not the less proud of their nobility on account of this, and as disdainful as the rest, with no other occupations than riding, games with arms, and to "ruar," that is to saunter about the streets, paying compliments to the ladies, and lazily gossiping in the thousand comfortable seats which it was the custom of the city to provide in the squares and streets.

So, what we call good society was very numerous at Naples, and in it could be noted, in certain elevated circles, as to-day, that fatal anxiety for enjoyment and amusement of every possible kind, as if life had no other aim or object. That lazy nobility, strange medley of the virtues and vices of the time, strongly tinged with paganism, a relic of the Renaissance, flighty and chivalrous, cultured and wild, devout and corrupt, welcomed the hero of Lepanto as a demi-god, whose human charms, which were many and great, were enhanced by the divine rays of Genius and Glory. The men, overcome with admiration, slavishly imitated him, the women, in love with his winning presence, vied with each other for his glances, and solicited his favours as supernatural honours, and the people idle too, and captivated with so much grace and splendour, exaggerated his deeds and triumphs, followed him, and enthusiastically applauded his skill and undoubted bravery in the cane jousts, and games of "pelota," in masquerades, tournaments and bull-fights.

In the diary of D. John's confessor, Fr. Miguel Servia, who had followed him to Naples, we notice a circumstance which will make those smile sadly who know the frailty of the human heart. The more D. John was engulfed in the pleasures of Naples, the more the regularity and the frequency with which the good Franciscan notes this simple phrase in his diary diminishes, "To-day his Highness confessed."

Submerged in these pleasures and the continual amusements of Naples, there happened to D. John what always happens to the unwary, passionate youth, that he went further than he intended.

There was outside assistance for this first false step of D. John's in Naples, which astonishes to-day more than it did then. This is what happened. In the stable-yard of the Viceroy's palace, who was then the Cardinal de Granvelle, there was a bull-fight every Sunday. The noble families were invited in turns, as the place was too small for them all to be bidden at one time; and the last Sunday in October, a radiant day of a Neapolitan autumn, it fell to the lot of a certain gentleman of Sorrento named Antonio Falangola, who lived in Naples with his wife Lucrecia Brancia and his daughter Diana, said to be the handsomest woman in Naples: "La piu bella donna di Napoli," says the Knight Viani. Antonio Falangola was poor for his position, swaggering and not at all scrupulous: Lucrecia sly and hypocritical, and both intending to profit by the beauty of their daughter, who for her part was a great flirt.

They showed themselves everywhere therefore, displaying much luxury and ostentation, leaving hidden at home the misery and want due to their poverty. They arrived that Sunday at the bull-fight in a coach, the ladies finely dressed, and accompanied by duennas and pages, and settled themselves in the seats covered with damask and tapestry, opposite the place reserved for D. John of Austria.

He was not there at the moment, as he was going to spear the bull in the Spanish fashion, and waited in the little yard until it was his turn to go into the arena. D. John speared his bull successfully, leaving the neck covered with "banderillas" of all colours, which streamed on each side of the bull's head; two gentlemen on horseback gave him the spear, and they in their turn took them from servants wearing the Granvelle livery. Then they gave him a big dart of ash with its wide iron sharp and clean; at the first thrust he killed the wild animal, with a lunge in the nape of the neck which made it fall to the ground, pierced with the weapon, but the horse had no blinkers, so that the bull frightened it, and it gave a false start, allowing the bull to wound it in one of its shoulders, thus spoiling the brilliance of the feat.

D. John returned to his place on the seats, surrounded by a crowd of gentlemen who with much adulation applauded his skill and intrepidity, and Cardinal Granvelle also came to congratulate him: showing him Diana Falangola from afar on the seats opposite, as something wonderful, and D. John, who did not know her, was amazed.

It was then the custom for ladies to throw from the seats, at the bull, what were called "garrochas," which were small darts with sharp points, very like modern "banderillas." These "garrochas" were smartly adorned with flowers, ribbons and feathers; the ladies threw them at the bull with extraordinary skill, and it was very much admired gallantry for the youth of that day to draw them out of the beast with brave daring and return them to the ladies, without a stain or perceptible harm done to the flowers and ribbons or feathers.

D. John took one of these little "garrochas," very smart with its white and yellow ribbons, which were the colours of Diana Falangola, and sent it to her by a little page with a polite message, begging her to throw it, for love of him, at the first bull which appeared. Diana received the "garrocha" with transports of gratitude, and it was worth seeing the obeisance of the father, the bows of the mother, and the attitude of the daughter, who seemed not to wish to throw the "garrocha" for fear of losing or destroying it, but to prefer to keep it like a beautiful toy as a remembrance of the Prince.

D. John sent a second message saying she must throw it: and that he gave her his word to return it to her unhurt. On this, the bull, a very fierce one, black as night, called Caifas, entered the ring; and as luck would have it, after some turns came, snorting, to a standstill in front of the seat of Diana Falangola, fierce and holding his head high, casting wild eyes round the arena, as if seeking enemies to fight. D. John made repeated signs to Diana from his place, until the maiden stood up, threw and stuck with sure aim and great strength the "garrocha" in the back of the bull. The ring broke into applause which stopped at once: all saw D. John jump bravely alone into the arena, a naked sword in one hand, a scarlet cloak in the other. All held their breath and the silence was absolute; the bull was penned at one end bellowing and scraping the ground as if anxious to attack; D. John went straight up to him and at twenty steps called him, stamping on the ground. The bull dashed forward with violence, and D. John, throwing the cloak to the ground to the left, tore the "garrocha" out on the right, at the same time giving such a strong cut on the muzzle, that the animal withdrew from the man, and went and savagely laid hold of the red cloth with roars of pain and in clouds of dust. Meanwhile D. John quietly and slowly walked to Diana Falangola's seat, and cap in hand, on one knee, smilingly presented the "garrocha" to her, without a speck of blood to spoil it, or a stain to mar its feathers and ribbons.

Antonio Falangola, touched and beside himself with joy, craved permission to wait with his wife and daughter on D. John the next day to show his gratitude. The day after D. John returned the visit, making rich gifts to Lucrecia and Diana, and soon afterwards Antonio Falangola set out for Puzzoli, of which he had been appointed Governor by Granvelle, leaving his wife and daughter at Naples: "To appear to know nothing about his shame," writes the spiteful author of the manuscript, "Fatti occorsi nella città di Napoli," in the national archives of that famous city.