T OF THE ARMADA

In the gallery at Madrid there is a picture, painted by Titian,
representing the Genius of Spain coming to the delivery of the afflicted
Bride of Christ. Titian was dead, but the temper of the age survived,
and in the study of that great picture you will see the spirit in which
the Spanish nation had set out for the conquest of England. The scene is
the seashore. The Church a naked Andromeda, with dishevelled hair,
fastened to the trunk of an ancient disbranched tree. The cross lies at
her feet, the cup overturned, the serpents of heresy biting at her from
behind with uplifted crests. Coming on before a leading breeze is the
sea monster, the Moslem fleet, eager for their prey; while in front is
Perseus, the Genius of Spain, banner in hand, with the legions of the
faithful laying not raiment before him, but shield and helmet, the
apparel of war for the Lady of Nations to clothe herself with strength
and smite her foes.

In the Armada the crusading enthusiasm had reached its point and focus.
England was the stake to which the Virgin, the daughter of Sion, was
bound in captivity. Perseus had come at last in the person of the Duke
of Medina Sidonia, and with him all that was best and brightest in the
countrymen of Cervantes, to break her bonds and replace her on her
throne. They had sailed into the Channel in pious hope, with the blessed
banner waving over their heads.

To be the executor of the decrees of Providence is a lofty ambition, but
men in a state of high emotion overlook the precautions which are not to
be dispensed with even on the sublimest of errands. Don Quixote, when he
set out to redress the wrongs of humanity, forgot that a change of linen
might be necessary, and that he must take money with him to pay his
hotel bills. Philip II., in sending the Armada to England, and confident
in supernatural protection, imagined an unresisted triumphal
procession. He forgot that contractors might be rascals, that water four
months in the casks in a hot climate turned putrid, and that putrid
water would poison his ships' companies, though his crews were companies
of angels. He forgot that the servants of the evil one might fight for
their mistress after all, and that he must send adequate supplies of
powder, and, worst forgetfulness of all, that a great naval expedition
required a leader who understood his business. Perseus, in the shape of
the Duke of Medina Sidonia, after a week of disastrous battles