Emperor Charles V Quotes

To God I speak Spanish, to women Italian, to men French, and to my horse - German.

I speak Spanish to God, Italian to Women, French to Men, and German to my Horse.

I speak English to my accountants, French to my ambassadors, Italian to my mistress, Latin to my God, and German to my horse

The Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, king of Spain, archduke of Austria, and master of several European tongues, professed to speaking “Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse.

Atahuallpa was absolute monarch of the largest and most advanced state in the New World, while Pizarro represented the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (also known as King Charles I of Spain), monarch of the most powerful state in Europe.

Tradition has it that Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, preferred to speak French to diplomats, Italian to ladies, German to stable boys and Spanish to God. English he seems to have used sparingly – to talk to geese.

The only man then living who might have brought this miracle to pass was Erasmus, and Emperor Charles V, the ruler of two worlds, had sent him a special invitation to be present at the diet, conjuring him to give advice and to act as mediator. But Erasmus’s tragic destiny recapitulated itself. Again, as so often before, he missed a magnificent and unique opportunity because of overcautiousness, because of his innate weakness and his incapacity for coming to a definite conclusion.

A year before Bramante’s death, in 1513, Pope Julius II commissioned Raphael to decorate the Vatican apartments and Michaelangelo to paint the Sistine chapel.    In 1527 Rome was sacked by the army of the holy Roman empire led by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V and the work once again ground to a halt. Over the next twenty years very little was done and then in 1546 Pope Paul II persuaded an elderly Michaelangelo to complete the building. Michaelangelo reverted back to the original plan of Bramante’s to create a church of Greek style cross plan.

And I extolled my sweetest word with a love as great as the hatred with which I had before hated the word “righteousness of God.” Thus that place in Paul was for me truly the gate to paradise. Later I read Augustine’s The Spirit and the Letter, where contrary to hope I found that he, too, interpreted God’s righteousness in a similar way, as the righteousness with which God clothes us when he justifies us. Although this was heretofore said imperfectly and he did not explain all things concerning imputation clearly, it nevertheless was pleasing that God’s righteousness with which we are justified was taught. Armed more fully with these thoughts, I began a second time to interpret the Psalter. And the work would have grown into a large commentary, if I had not again been compelled to leave the work begun, because Emperor Charles V in the following year convened the diet at Worms.

Marx discovered the significance of economic power; and it is understandable that he exaggerated its status. He and the Marxists see economic power everywhere. Their argument runs: he who has the money has the power; for if necessary, he can buy guns and even gangsters. But this is a roundabout argument. In fact, it contains an admission that the man who has the gun has the power. And if he who has the gun becomes aware of this, then it may not be long until he has both the gun and the money. But under an unrestrained capitalism, Marx’s argument applies, to some extent; for a rule which develops institutions for the control of guns and gangsters but not of the power of money is liable to come under the influence of this power. In such a state, an uncontrolled gangsterism of wealth may rule. But Marx himself, I think, would have been the first to admit that this is not true of all states; that there have been times in history when, for example, all exploitation was looting, directly based upon the power of the mailed fist. And to-day there will be few to support the naïve view that the ‘progress of history’ has once and for all put an end to these more direct ways of exploiting men, and that, once formal freedom has been achieved, it is impossible for us to fall again under the sway of such primitive forms of exploitation. These considerations would be sufficient for refuting the dogmatic doctrine that economic power is more fundamental than physical power, or the power of the state. But there are other considerations as well. As has been rightly emphasized by various writers (among them Bertrand Russell and Walter Lippmann25), it is only the active intervention of the state—the protection of property by laws backed by physical sanctions—which makes of wealth a potential source of power; for without this intervention, a man would soon be without his wealth. Economic power is therefore entirely dependent on political and physical power. Russell gives historical examples which illustrate this dependence, and sometimes even helplessness, of wealth: ‘Economic power within the state,’ he writes26, ‘although ultimately derived from law and public opinion, easily acquires a certain independence. It can influence law by corruption and public opinion by propaganda. It can put politicians under obligations which interfere with their freedom. It can threaten to cause a financial crisis. But there are very definite limits to what it can achieve. Cæsar was helped to power by his creditors, who saw no hope of repayment except through his success; but when he had succeeded he was powerful enough to defy them. Charles V borrowed from the Fuggers the money required to buy the position of Emperor, but when he had become Emperor he snapped his fingers at them and they lost what they had lent.’ The dogma that economic power is at the root of all evil must be discarded. Its place must be taken by an understanding of the dangers of any form of uncontrolled power. Money as such is not particularly dangerous. It becomes dangerous only if it can buy power, either directly, or by enslaving the economically weak who must sell themselves in order to live.

the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (1500–1558), placed the prosecution of sorcery entirely in the hands of secular tribunals.

Famine and pestilence, which always march in the train of war, when it ravages with such inconsiderate cruelty, raged in very part of Europe, and completed its sufferings. If a man were called to fix upon the period in the history of the world, during which the condition of the human race was most calamitous and afflicted, he would, without hesitating, name that which elapsed from the death of Theodosius the Great, to the establishment of the Lombards in Italy.

Pizarro, doubtless inspired by the recent conquest of Mexico by Hernando Cortes, decided to conquer the Inca Em 303 pire. His first attempt, in 1524-25, was unsuccessful, and his two ships had to turn back before reaching Peru. On his second attempt, 1526-28, he managed to reach the coast of Peru and return with gold, llamas, and Indians. In 1528, he returned to Spain. There, the following year, the emperor Charles V authorized him to conquer Peru for Spain, and supplied him with funds for an expedition. Pizarro returned to Panama, where he assembled the expedition. It sailed from Panama in 1531, at which time

Unfortunately for Henry, Pope Clement VII was at the time imprisoned and under the direct control of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, who was Queen Catherine’s nephew and unsurprisingly was ardently opposed to Henry’s attempt to dissolve the marriage with his aunt. Henry was now compelled to ask Wolsey to effectuate a solution, and Wolsey obliged by convening an ecclesiastical court to resolve the annulment question. It remains unlikely that the papal legate ever was empowered by the Vatican to grant the annulment. The Pope rejected the authority of such a court to grant Henry his annulment and ruled that a decision would be given only in Rome, where Henry’s hand-picked jury could not pre-ordain a result in his favor. But before the Pope issued such a decision, Queen Catherine’s polite, respectful, formidable and defiant plea before the court secured for itself a place in the legends.  She played deftly the part of a woman wronged and scorned by a philandering, lying husband. It also earned Catherine permanent isolation from the King and her daughter Mary. Henry VIII’s means of extortion were that only if Catherine would accept that her marriage to the King was invalid, she might regain her access to Mary and vice versa. Both refused. Catherine died in 1536, probably of cancer.

Pierre asked his confessor: “Is it a sin to marry someone you don’t love?” Father Moineau was a square-faced, heavyset priest in his fifties. His study in the College des Ames contained more books than Sylvie’s father’s shop. He was a rather prissy intellectual, but he enjoyed the company of young men, and he was popular with the students. He knew all about the work Pierre was doing for Cardinal Charles. “Certainly not,” Moineau said. His voice was a rich baritone somewhat roughened by a fondness for strong Canary wine. “Noblemen are obliged so to do. It might even be a sin for a king to marry someone he did love.” He chuckled. He liked paradoxes, as did all the teachers. But Pierre was in a serious mood. “I’m going to wreck Sylvie’s life.” Moineau was fond of Pierre, and clearly would have liked their intimacy to be physical, but he had quickly understood that Pierre was not one of those men who loved men, and had never done anything more than pat him affectionately on the back. Now Moineau caught his tone and became somber. “I see that,” he said. “And you want to know whether you would be doing God’s will.” “Exactly.” Pierre was not often troubled by his conscience, but he had never done anyone as much harm as he was about to do to Sylvie. “Listen to me,” said Moineau. “Four years ago a terrible error was committed. It is known as the Pacification of Augsburg, and it is a treaty that allows individual German provinces to choose to follow the heresy of Lutheranism, if their ruler so wishes. For the first time, there are places in the world where it is not a crime to be a Protestant. This is a catastrophe for the Christian faith.” Pierre said in Latin: “Cuius regio, eius religio.” This was the slogan of the Augsburg treaty, and it meant: “Whose realm, his religion.” Moineau continued: “In signing the agreement, the emperor Charles V hoped to end religious conflict. But what has happened? Earlier this year the accursed Queen Elizabeth of England imposed Protestantism on her wretched subjects, who are now deprived of the consolation of the sacraments. Tolerance is spreading. This is the horrible truth.” “And we have to do whatever we can to stop it.

In the report of the Council of the Archbishop of Cologne[66] about the “Anabaptist movement”, to the Emperor Charles V, it is said that the Anabaptists call themselves “true Christians”, that they desire community of goods, “which has been the way of Anabaptists for more than a thousand years, as the old histories and imperial laws testify.” At the dissolution of the Parliament at Speyer it was stated that the “new sect of the Anabaptists” had already been condemned many hundred years ago and “by common law forbidden.” It is a fact that for more than twelve centuries baptism in the way taught and described in the New Testament had been made an offence against the law, punishable by death.

Landgraf Philip of Hessen was a noble exception to the rulers of the time. He alone braved all the consequences of refusing to sign or obey the mandate of the Emperor Charles V, issued from Speyer, which solemnly commanded all rulers and officers in the Empire “… that all and every one baptized again or baptizing again, man or woman, of an age to understand, shall be judged and brought from natural life to death with fire and sword or the like according to individual circumstance, without previous inquisition of the spiritual judge”, also that any failing to bring their children to be baptized should come under the same law, also that none should receive or conceal or fail to give up any who might endeavour to escape from these regulations.

many diverse people of intelligence and refinement, outside Italy no less than within Italy, devote much effort and study to learning and speaking our language for no reason but love.” These acolytes included Elizabeth I of England, Francis I of France, and Emperor Charles V, who once declared, “I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse.” John

It was the last time in history that a pope was to crown an emperor; on that day the seven-hundred-year-old tradition, which had begun in ad 800, when Pope Leo III had laid the imperial crown on the head of Charlemagne, was brought to an end.

I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men and German to my horse.

From his mother, Philip inherited the Burgundian possessions. But a few years after Philip’s marriage, his wife Joanna, daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, inherited not only Castile, but Aragon, Sicily, Naples, America, and the Indies. So when Charles V came of age, he inherited from his father, his mother, and his grandparents a great empire. He was, at once, prince of the Netherlands, king of a united Spain, and emperor of Germany.

Charles watched from a stage as the entire urban elite filed in front of him, bare-headed, with nooses round their necks and wearing only their shirts. They knelt and begged his forgiveness, but for a time the emperor ‘looked into the distance, saying nothing in reply, appearing to reflect on what the people of Ghent had done and whether or not he should pardon them’, until Marie begged him to forgive them ‘in honour and memory of his birth there’. This he graciously granted. He also laid the first stone of a citadel to be erected on the spot chosen by his grandfather Maximilian after an earlier revolt.66

Philip the Handsome, like his mother, died young – possibly poisoned. But, also like Mary, he lived long enough to have a powerful impact on Europe’s future. In another sensational agglomerative Habsburg marriage he had wed a daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella and, following a series of surprise deaths, found himself as Philip I, King of Spain. He reigned only briefly before his own death, but he and his wife had six children, including future consorts of the French, Portuguese and Scandinavian kings, the Emperor Charles V, the Emperor Ferdinand I and Mary of Hungary. In terms of playing poker this falls outside the realms of the possible – a super-imperial-royal-cheat flush. It meant that Charles V inherited all the Burgundian, Habsburg and Spanish lands – including of course America, the potential of which was beginning to become apparent under Philip. Nobody had ever ruled so widely and on so rickety a set of chances.

Spiritually I have always been a bit confused. Both my parents were Catholic and I was raised as Catholic. But from an early age I was sent away to very Protestant schools. I cannot swear that I noticed the difference for a long time, but it gradually and dumbly occurred to me that these were two faiths with very different flavours. This quirk in my religious background has pursued me as an adult and inflected my attitude towards history, culture and writing in curious ways. Much of this book is, at the hidden wiring level, about this topic – for the obvious reason that since the Reformation the story of Lotharingia has been its crazy-paving of faith. My own sympathies veer around pathetically, depending on where I am. If I walk into some vast Reformed hall-church in Gelderland, with the only decoration provided by the shapes of the lettering in the prayer book, I recoil as a Catholic: oh, the arrogance of man, the cul-de-sac of mere words, arid and cheerless. If I walk into some baroque Catholic church in the Rhineland, an explosion of whipped-cream stucco, paintings of tortured saints, sobbing Marys, I recoil as a Protestant: emotionalism gone mad, the empty bluster of a picture-book religion, oh but this is practically Filipino. Of course, both these responses are infantile, curiously unmediated and not malicious as such. But through an accident of upbringing I find myself equally drawn to and equally repulsed by the great schism that has for five hundred years torn this part of Europe apart – I am as moved by an old Bible in German as by a really splashy Rubens. In the astonishing encounter at Worms between the young Emperor Charles V and Martin Luther I am paralysed by indecision as to which side’s colours to wear. The iconoclasm that burns through the Netherlands in the 1560s is at one level a cultural and spiritual catastrophe, at another a welcome bit of tidying.

The Dukes loved their palace at Hesdin in Artois. It had wonderful machines to entertain visitors: they could create hidden voices, spray water, sprinkle snow. There was a trapdoor through which visitors would drop onto great piles of feathers; conduits were placed to squirt ‘women from below’. There were the mysterious but no doubt beguiling automata. There was a magical room celebrating the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece (to commemorate the chivalric order initiated by Philip the Good), which William Caxton saw while he was working as a printer in Bruges and which he thought ‘craftily and curiously depeynted’. The entire palace and its fortifications were razed by the Emperor Charles V and no trace remains. The Burgundian court was once famous for a special dance called the ‘moresca’, but we have no idea how it was danced, and in any event the music has not survived.

Emperor Charles V said he spoke Spanish to God