It Was By
Humouring Her Pride That She Was Induced To Waste Her Precious
Blood And Treasure In The Low Country Wars, To Launch The Armada,
And To Many Other Equally Insane Actions.
Love of Rome had ever
slight influence over her policy; but flattered by the title of
Gonfaloniera of the Vicar of Jesus, and eager to prove herself not
unworthy of the same, she shut her eyes and rushed upon her own
destruction with the cry of "Charge, Spain."
But the arms of Spain became powerless abroad, and she retired
within herself. She ceased to be the tool of the vengeance and
cruelty of Rome. She was not cast aside, however. No! though she
could no longer wield the sword with success against the Lutherans,
she might still be turned to some account. She had still gold and
silver, and she was still the land of the vine and olive. Ceasing
to be the butcher, she became the banker of Rome; and the poor
Spaniards, who always esteem it a privilege to pay another person's
reckoning, were for a long time happy in being permitted to
minister to the grasping cupidity of Rome, who during the last
century, probably extracted from Spain more treasure than from all
the rest of Christendom.
But wars came into the land. Napoleon and his fierce Franks
invaded Spain; plunder and devastation ensued, the effects of which
will probably be felt for ages. Spain could no longer pay pence to
Peter so freely as of yore, and from that period she became
contemptible in the eyes of Rome, who has no respect for a nation,
save so far as it can minister to her cruelty or avarice. The
Spaniard was still willing to pay, as far as his means would allow,
but he was soon given to understand that he was a degraded being, -
a barbarian; nay, a beggar. Now, you may draw the last cuarto from
a Spaniard, provided you will concede to him the title of cavalier,
and rich man, for the old leaven still works as powerfully as in
the time of the first Philip; but you must never hint that he is
poor, or that his blood is inferior to your own. And the old
peasant, on being informed in what slight estimation he was held,
replied, "If I am a beast, a barbarian, and a beggar withal, I am
sorry for it; but as there is no remedy, I shall spend these four
bushels of barley, which I had reserved to alleviate the misery of
the holy father, in procuring bull spectacles, and other convenient
diversions, for the queen my wife, and the young princes my
children. Beggar! carajo! The water of my village is better than
the wine of Rome."
I see that in a late pastoral letter directed to the Spaniards, the
father of Rome complains bitterly of the treatment which he has
received in Spain at the hands of naughty men. "My cathedrals are
let down," he says, "my priests are insulted, and the revenues of
my bishops are curtailed." He consoles himself, however, with the
idea that this is the effect of the malice of a few, and that the
generality of the nation love him, especially the peasantry, the
innocent peasantry, who shed tears when they think of the
sufferings of their pope and their religion.
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