1634: The Bavarian Crisis (assiti chards) Read online

  "Upon what is your knowledge based?"

  "Reports."

  "Thank you, Father." Maria Anna nodded. "Now, please, what do these reports say about England?"

  "The entire country had not, as a unit, been returned to the fold of the Church. However, it had granted freedom of worship with no civil disabilities to Roman Catholics and had a fairly large number of citizens who belonged to the Church." Father Lamormaini's face expressed distaste for the next statement. "However, it was forbidden for the monarch to be Catholic."

  "And in this America or United States? Was it also forbidden there for the president to be a Catholic?"

  "Well, of course, their president was not properly a monarch. He was elected."

  Maria Anna frowned. "What is wrong with that? My father was elected. God willing, my brother will be elected, and my nephew after him. So have all the Holy Roman Emperors been elected. So are bishops and abbots. And abbesses. So is the pope. Since God is omnipotent, He can certainly ensure that the electors follow his will when they make their choice."

  Again, the Emperor's confessor found himself wishing Maria Anna had been married off at a much younger age. Wherever the archduchess's train of thought might be going-he could anticipate at least three possible goals-Father Lamormaini found it worrisome. Each of the possibilities he envisioned somehow managed to be more unnerving than the others, which was a remarkable logical achievement.

  "Was it forbidden for this president to be a Catholic?" Maria Anna had not lost track of her original thought. As usual. In a way, Father Lamormaini was proud of her tutors. They had been Jesuits, of course.

  "Ah, no. It was not forbidden," Father Lamormaini said uncomfortably. "It is my understanding that on one occasion a Catholic had been elected to that office. Once. Out of about forty men chosen over a span of almost two and a quarter centuries. In a country with a population that was almost one-quarter Catholic. Though it is only fair to say that at the level of the provinces, the 'states,' Catholics held a higher proportion of the offices."

  By 1634, one of the proudest and most useful possessions of the Jesuit Order was a 1988 World Almanac and Book of Facts. Friedrich von Spee had found it in a box at a yard sale and sent it to Rome immediately.

  "Was it forbidden, either in England or this America, for the Church to own property? To hold Corpus Christi and other public processions? To establish religious orders? To instruct children in schools?"

  "The Church was permitted to carry on all those functions. Indeed, I understand, in America the constitution was written in such a way that it prohibited the civil administration from interfering in them."

  "Do you have a copy of this document?"

  Father Lamormaini did. However, he had no intention of corrupting the young archduchess' mind with it. "I am not in a position to provide you with a copy, Your Highness."

  Maria Anna appreciated the diplomatic wording of his answer. She'd really just been probing Father Lamormaini, as she often did, to discover the limits she would be officially permitted. As it happened, she already had a copy. In fact, she had read it many times. She wondered if Father Lamormaini realized just how many copies were available in the world as it now was in the year 1634. It seemed like half the presses in Europe were printing them by the thousands. Sometimes spiritual advisors, even Jesuits, were just so… unworldly.

  She reminded herself, as firmly as possible, that that was after all their job. To draw people to God, especially those in positions of power. At least, that was what they were supposed to be for.

  So, her reply was also carefully worded. "I will not press you to get one for me."

  She paused. "I do have another question, though. Father Lamormaini, I know that you were one of Papa's advisors who most strongly supported having him issue the Edict of Restitution four years ago. True, this defended the rights of the Church to its temporal goods, to its worldly property. But by demanding that the princes of Germany restore all of the… things…"

  She waved her hand expressively at the top of the table at which they were seated, its golden and bejeweled crucifix, its mother-of-pearl-inlaid box of writing materials, its globe of the world. "By demanding restoration of all of the real estate-which is a form of material things-that the German princes confiscated during the Reformation, back to the way things were in the year 1552, some say that it really caused the intervention of the King of Sweden. He would scarcely have come to defend the free exercise of religion by the Calvinists and sectarians, I should think. The Lutherans like them little more than the Holy Church does. It was the provisions in regard to material things that really, some people say, restarted a war that otherwise might have ended on endurable terms."

  She picked up a piece of paper and wrote a line on it: What does it profit a man, if he gains the world and loses his soul?

  She handed it to him. "Is it more important that the Church regain all the temporal worldly goods that she once held? Or that she be free to practice her faith unhindered in Protestant territories? If these were placed before a Catholic ruler as a choice, which way should he go?"

  Father Lamormaini swallowed. "I am not your confessor," he pointed out.

  "I'm not asking you to provide me with guidance, Father," Maria Anna answered impatiently. "I'm just asking a simple question. A question for people who live in a world where you can't have exactly what you want-not all of the time; not even most of the time. That's just as true for emperors and archduchesses as it is for shopkeepers and peasants. So. Which one is more important?"

  After the archduchess left, Father Lamormaini heaved a sigh of relief.

  "We must get her married off," he muttered to himself. "To the right man. And the sooner the better!"

  ****

  "Dona Mencia," Maria Anna asked. "Would you do something for me?"

  "Of course, if it is within my capacities."

  "Would you please write to your brother, Cardinal Bedmar, and ask him this question: 'Is it more important that the Church regain all the temporal worldly goods that she once held? Or that she be free to practice her faith unhindered in Protestant territories? If these were placed before a Catholic ruler as a choice, which way should he go?'"

  "Certainly, Your Highness."

  Dona Mencia personally saw her letter placed into a diplomatic pouch within the hour.

  Not, however, into the diplomatic pouch going out from the imperial chancery to Venice-although that, also, contained a nice, chatty, letter from Dona Mencia to her brother, covering nieces and nephews, great-nieces, great-nephews, and a new recipe for melon relish. She felt quite sure that the emperor's intelligence agents would try to decipher it. She wished them great joy in their attempts, for it contained nothing other than what she had written on the surface. There was not one veiled reference or cryptic allusion, much less a code. She hoped, with considerable relish that was not made from melons, that someone in the imperial intelligence office wasted hours and hours and hours on it. And on the one she would send the next week. And the week after that.

  This other letter, however, went into the pouch that had come in from Brussels and would be returned there by Cardinal-Infante Don Fernando's own courier. Brussels could send it on to Alphonso. Among the attachments to Alphonso's letter had been a sealed certification from the Infante authorizing her to use his pouch at her own discretion.

  Chapter 2

  Prudentia Politica

  Brussels, the Spanish Netherlands

  Don Fernando, often known as the "Cardinal-Infante," was the younger brother of King Philip IV of Spain by birth and, by virtue of his own martial accomplishments, the effective ruler of most of the Netherlands. All of it, actually, except Amsterdam and the small rump of less than two provinces still held by the Dutch rebels under the Prince of Orange, Fredrik Hendrik. But the uncertain expression on his face as he lowered the letter made him seem even younger than the twenty-three-year-old that he was. So, at least, it seemed to Pieter Paul Rubens, watching him-but since Rubens wa
s acknowledged throughout Europe as one of the great portraitists of the day, his assessment was reliable.

  The young Spanish prince was, indeed, very unsure of himself. All the more so, perhaps, because he knew as a gifted military commander that uncertainty was a deadly thing in the middle of battle. Still, at least for the moment, Don Fernando was uncertain.

  "He has a somewhat unsavory-well, certainly interesting-reputation, you know."

  Rubens smiled thinly. "I think, were Cardinal Bedmar still here in person, he would urge you to abandon the qualifying 'somewhat'-but would also point out that his reputation is only unsavory among his enemies. Spain's enemies."

  The smile broadened. "To almost anyone, of course, he is interesting-including you. Which, may I remind Your Highness, is the very reason you decided to send him as your unofficial envoy to Venice. So why the sudden doubts in his capabilities?"

  Don Fernando shook his head, folded up the letter from Bedmar and handed it back to Rubens. Then, leaned back in his chair in the salon of his headquarters. "It's not Alphonso's capabilities that concern me, Pieter. It's… well. His loyalties."

  They were now treading on treacherous ground. Rubens paused, while he chose his words carefully. It would be tactless in the extreme to make too much of the fact that Bedmar's loyalty to Spain was precisely what the young Spanish prince was worried about-since his own loyalty was now highly questionable.

  Best to avoid terms like "loyalty" altogether, Rubens decided. "Alphonso has grown weary of what he regards as the blind fecklessness of Spain's ministers, Your Highness. I think you may rest assured that his thoughts run in tandem with yours."

  A quick smile came and went on the cardinal-infante's face. "That was very nicely put, Pieter. Have you considered taking up a career-just as a sideline from your painting, of course-as a diplomat?"

  They shared a soft laugh. When it was over, Rubens shrugged. "What I said remains true. I really do not think that Your Highness needs to entertain any doubts with regard to Cardinal Bedmar's discretion. In any event"-he waggled the letter in his hands-"he has nothing much to report of any interest, beyond the usual machinations of the Venetians. The American delegation hadn't yet arrived in the city when he sent me this."

  Now, he smiled a bit ruefully. "I'm afraid you probably have a lot more to fear from my own… well, not indiscretion, exactly. Still, it's not always easy to explain why I'm seeking a portrait of someone like Anna Katharina Konstanze Vasa or Anna de Medici or Claude de Lorraine-to say nothing of the two Austrian archduchesses, Maria Anna and Cecelia Renata. Taken one at a time, I believe my explanations have not aroused any suspicions. But should any competent spy"-what he meant was Spanish spy, but he left that unsaid-"happen to discover that I'm seeking portraits of all of them, I'm afraid… Well, to use that American expression, there will be hell to pay."

  "I can imagine! Given that there could be only one plausible reason that you'd be seeking portraits of every eligible Catholic princess in Europe." Don Fernando gave Rubens a sly smile. "Of course, I suppose I could claim that you were obviously intending to do away with your wife Helena and marry one of them yourself."

  Again, they shared a soft laugh. And when it was over, Rubens shrugged again. "I don't actually think there's much risk involved, Your Highness. I've been dealing entirely with artists, not diplomats."

  "Yes, I imagine they wouldn't be as prone to suspicion."

  Rubens burst into much louder laughter. "To the contrary, Your Highness! I can assure you that artists are obsessive about their suspicions-far more so than diplomats. The up-timers even have a word for the attitude. 'Paranoia,' they call it. But the suspicions run along professional channels, not those of matters of state. Each and every one of the artists from whom I've either bought a portrait or commissioned one is absolutely certain that I intend to do one myself based on their work-and then sell the end result for ten times what they would have gotten."

  He cleared his throat and added, perhaps a bit smugly: "Which, indeed, I could, were I so inclined."

  Don Fernando scratched his chin. "Perhaps that explanation…"

  "No, I'm afraid not," said Rubens. "One or two portraits, yes. But seven?" He shook his head. "No capable spy-not one, at least, with any knowledge of art-would believe for a moment that I'd delve that extensively into what is, after all, neither a lucrative nor a prestigious field of portraiture. At the risk of immodesty, I am an artist who gets commissioned by royalty to paint them in person-and turns down far more commissions than I accept. I do not have to paint portraits at second-hand in the hopes that I might be able to sell them at a later date. One or two I could explain, with not much difficulty, as a matter of specific personal interest. For seven portraits, there can be no logical explanation beyond the one that involves affairs of state."

  The Spanish prince was still scratching his chin. "Only seven? I'd hoped…"

  "You will perhaps recall that I warned you, Your Highness. I'm afraid that today-and this won't change for years-we have a shortage of eligible Catholic princesses who would suit you for a bride. Even that figure of 'seven' is stretching the matter. Two of the ladies involved-Claudia de Medici, the regent of Tyrol, and her older sister Maria Maddalena-are really a bit too old. Maria Maddalena is reported to suffer from very poor health, as well."

  Don Fernando finally stopped scratching his chin. "I've met Claudia. She seemed quite capable and she's not that much older than me. Somewhere around thirty, I believe."

  "Yes, you're right-and if you were a prince in a different position, with one or two brothers whose children could provide an heir in the event your own wife did not produce one, she'd be quite suitable. But a thirty year old woman-yes, you're right about her age-is really a bit too old, when the entire dynasty will of necessity have to depend entirely on your own offspring."

  He cleared his throat again, but before he could speak Don Fernando waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I see the point. Not that my brother Philip wouldn't be delighted to provide me with an heir-but that would rather defeat the whole purpose of the enterprise, wouldn't it?"

  His eyes narrowed slightly. "So… I need a wife who's no older than her mid-twenties, and in good health. Of the remaining six, which do you think are the best prospects?"

  "Best, in what terms, Your Highness? In an ideal world, there's no question-the two Austrians, especially the older sister. By all accounts, and I've collected quite a few, they are both in good health-even very vigorous health, by the standards of most highborn women-and both of sound mind. The older daughter Maria Anna even has something of a reputation for her intellect, if not the younger. And"-here he suppressed a smile-"they are also quite comely."

  Don Fernando scowled. "I don't care about their looks. Well. Not much. I need a wife who'll produce children."

  The prince's pronouncement was in the finest tradition of capable royalty. It was also complete nonsense. Don Fernando was a very vigorous young man and he was no more indifferent to the comeliness of women than any other twenty-three year old male in good health. Given his training, of course, he never ogled such women. But Rubens had not failed to notice the prince's rapt interest whenever a woman as beautiful as-to give just one recent example-Rebecca Abrabanel came into his presence.

  Don Fernando would never pursue the matter, to be sure. He was far too self-controlled for such foolishness. Leaving aside the fact that the Abrabanel was married, and apparently faithful to her husband, she was a Jewess. So, the prince made no advances, and did not ogle. But he certainly… observed.

  Privately, Rubens understood perfectly well that he had to find a bride for Don Fernando who would be sufficiently attractive for the prince to spend enough time in her bed to succeed in his royal duties. Dynasties died out for many reasons, and the ill health or infertility of the wife was only one of them. Lack of interest on the part of the husband would do just as well to wither a royal line.

  But Rubens left all that unsaid. Like any vigorous and capable twenty-three-year-ol
d prince, Don Fernando was also sensitive about his youth. He would not take kindly to the suggestion that he was not, actually, a wise old Nestor.

  So, he went back to the subject at hand. "As I say, those two-especially the older sister-would be the ideal one from your point of view. However, they are also the daughters of Emperor Ferdinand II. Who is, ah…"

  "A religious fanatic," stated the cardinal-infante curtly. "To the point of bigotry."

  "Well… yes, unfortunately. So I can see no likelihood that he would ever agree to such a match. Given that, under the best of circumstances, it would cause a severe strain to be put upon the Habsburg dynasty across Europe-to which he also belongs. He'd view it as a capitulation to the Dutch Protestants. Who are not even Lutherans, but Calvinists."

  Don Fernando made a face. "I find it hard to see where a marriage to an Austrian Catholic would constitute a 'capitulation' to Dutch Calvinists. But…" He sighed. "Yes, I can see where he would view it that way. By producing a fissure in the solid ranks-not so solid as that!-of the Habsburgs, the premier family of Catholicism, I would indirectly be giving succor to the enemy of the true faith."

  He raised his hand and almost clutched his blonde hair, as if he might pull it out by the roots. "Aaaah! Am I the only member of my powerful and widely scattered family who studies those up-time books, and is capable of drawing intelligent conclusions from them? Are all other Habsburgs village idiots accidentally wearing royal finery?"

  He lowered the hand and glared up at Rubens-or rather, glared at the world, with Rubens just happening to be in his line of sight. "Is the lesson so difficult to read, in those up-time histories? Every dynasty that survived-some of them even prospered-did so by abandoning the attempt to enforce religious beliefs and behavior. Am I not right?"

  "Well… In Europe, certainly." Pieter did not add what he could have, that all those dynasties had also survived because they abandoned their attempts to rule as well, and satisfied themselves with simply reigning. Rubens knew that Don Fernando even understood that himself, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but was not really prepared to accept it yet. And perhaps never would be, though he lived to the age of eighty.