wbonnell
12-09-2003, 12:19 AM
Some of you expressed an interest in my thoughts on Garrett Mattingly's "The Armada". Well here is my "personal reaction" (the complete essay will be posted to my dynasty as soon as it's complete):
Garrett Mattingly’s The Armada attains the holy grail of historical writing: it is esteemed by casual readers and scholars alike. On the one hand, it weaves a compelling narrative, effectively employing elements of both a good drama- a curtain-raiser (the beheading of Mary Stuart was definitely an auspicious beginning), cliff-hangers, flashbacks, etc. - and biography, with its individual perspectives. On the other hand, it fastidiously paints a detailed portrait of the politico-religious struggles of the period, late 16th century Continental Europe, replete with numerous historical references. The lack of footnotes is probably the only serious complaint a scholar might have. However, the scholarly research is readily apparent (fortunately it remains unobtrusive).
Mattingly’s ability to gather, synthesize, and succinctly convey the elaborate diplomatic dynamics is spectacular to behold. This is obviously a man who devoted much of his life to the subject. He shapes the world around the major cities of the period- Madrid, Paris, Rome, Brussels, London, and, although not a city, the English Channel- shifting from one city to the next and deftly tying the multifarious Machiavellian plots together without knotting them up. Each city has a main character, each a prominent figure of the era: King Phillip in Madrid, King Henry in Paris, Pope Sixtus in Rome, the Duke of Parma in Brussels (and surrounding region), Queen Elizabeth in London, and the illustrious Sir Francis Drake (admittedly, it wasn’t his fleet) contesting the ill-fated Medina Sidonia in the English Channel.
On one side of this grand European conflict, we see the English and Dutch Protestants; on the other side, Catholic Spain and her many vassals (Spain was the largest empire then known to the world). This is Europe’s Counter-Reformation and Spain, in the guise of King Phillip, is its champion. Of course, both sides claim sole custody of God’s blessing, for even in utter defeat, the Spaniards look to God for comfort. Trapped between the two sides stands an enfeebled France, paralyzed by an internal power struggle for the throne.
Skillfully manipulating his diplomatic environment, Don Bernandino Mendoza emerges as (arguably) the book’s main character. One suspects that Mattingly, himself an aficionado of diplomacy, favored Mendoza most of all, for it is Mendoza who seems to be at the center of the most interesting skullduggery (most notably the sponsorship of a Huguenot coup d’tat in France led by Mendoza’s puppet, the Duke of Guise).
While the heart and soul of the book is rooted in diplomacy, any history of this era would be incomplete without bloodshed; after all, this is a historical account of the world’s first modern naval battle. Mattingly provides adequate descriptions of the major battles leading up to the epic clash of fleets- the siege of Sluys, Drake’s pirating on the Portuguese coast, the battles of Coutras, and the ‘Day of the Barricades’- but one gets the feeling that they are merely secondary to the real plot of Machiavellian intrigue. Indeed, amidst all the intriguing ploys, feints, and counters, the Armada itself looks as if it were just another instrument- albeit a massive one- of the Catholic crusade. But save for the military historian, who cares about the technical minutia of gun sizes and ship types; history is about people, not guns.
Fortunately, Mattingly agrees. He develops the major characters much more deeply than one would expect in such a short, but detailed and historically accurate, book. It’s as if he has developed a personal relationship with each one; and after years of research, he probably has. In this way, Mattingly displays the skill of a biographer. As a result, he isn’t afraid to speculate about what the characters might have thought- to psycho-analyze them, if you will- but he usually warns the reader before doing so. And he’s sympathetic to each of them, typically emphasizing their positive traits and offering plausible excuses for their flaws. One will find no villains in The Armada (nor should one expect to). It is a testament to this impartiality that Medina Sidonia is not portrayed as the bumbling fool that is so common in other treatments. Likewise, Francis Drake is the holy warrior rather than the rebellious pirate.
This impartiality is further appreciated considering Mattingly’s English heritage. Shouldn’t he have portrayed the Spaniards as villains or at the very least, in a slightly darker light? Well, the English won the battle, so perhaps he didn’t have to. But one gets the impression that Mattingly is far more interested in what actually happened than which side won.
Mattingly is not without bias, however. As mentioned, this is a book for the diplomatic historian, not the military historian. While Mattingly does give a sketch of the more important tactical moves, a military historian would be disappointed by the lack of detail or maps.
Furthermore, the setting is decidedly European-centric at the expense of the bigger picture. Little mention is made of the colonization of the new world (as we know, it was in full swing at the time), and no mention is made of the Turkish empire to the south; obviously these nations didn’t exist in a vacuum. Moreover, apart from the major nations, France, England, and Spain, the other nations feel paper thin. How tightly allied were the Dutch and the English? How did Elizabeth appease the Scots after the execution of Mary Stuart? Mattingly leaves us guessing. Finally, it isn’t made clear how the Armada came to fruition; it seemingly appeared out of thin air.
But these quibbles are minor and don’t blemish the overall work. It’s obvious that Mattingly attempts to consider other perspectives. And throughout the book, he is not reticent to attack unfounded theories and offer his own, less biased, opinion. This is a true masterpiece. It is history as it should be written- compelling narrative driven by the primary sources with proper sensitivity to bias (both in the sources and in him). If only all history were this good…
Garrett Mattingly’s The Armada attains the holy grail of historical writing: it is esteemed by casual readers and scholars alike. On the one hand, it weaves a compelling narrative, effectively employing elements of both a good drama- a curtain-raiser (the beheading of Mary Stuart was definitely an auspicious beginning), cliff-hangers, flashbacks, etc. - and biography, with its individual perspectives. On the other hand, it fastidiously paints a detailed portrait of the politico-religious struggles of the period, late 16th century Continental Europe, replete with numerous historical references. The lack of footnotes is probably the only serious complaint a scholar might have. However, the scholarly research is readily apparent (fortunately it remains unobtrusive).
Mattingly’s ability to gather, synthesize, and succinctly convey the elaborate diplomatic dynamics is spectacular to behold. This is obviously a man who devoted much of his life to the subject. He shapes the world around the major cities of the period- Madrid, Paris, Rome, Brussels, London, and, although not a city, the English Channel- shifting from one city to the next and deftly tying the multifarious Machiavellian plots together without knotting them up. Each city has a main character, each a prominent figure of the era: King Phillip in Madrid, King Henry in Paris, Pope Sixtus in Rome, the Duke of Parma in Brussels (and surrounding region), Queen Elizabeth in London, and the illustrious Sir Francis Drake (admittedly, it wasn’t his fleet) contesting the ill-fated Medina Sidonia in the English Channel.
On one side of this grand European conflict, we see the English and Dutch Protestants; on the other side, Catholic Spain and her many vassals (Spain was the largest empire then known to the world). This is Europe’s Counter-Reformation and Spain, in the guise of King Phillip, is its champion. Of course, both sides claim sole custody of God’s blessing, for even in utter defeat, the Spaniards look to God for comfort. Trapped between the two sides stands an enfeebled France, paralyzed by an internal power struggle for the throne.
Skillfully manipulating his diplomatic environment, Don Bernandino Mendoza emerges as (arguably) the book’s main character. One suspects that Mattingly, himself an aficionado of diplomacy, favored Mendoza most of all, for it is Mendoza who seems to be at the center of the most interesting skullduggery (most notably the sponsorship of a Huguenot coup d’tat in France led by Mendoza’s puppet, the Duke of Guise).
While the heart and soul of the book is rooted in diplomacy, any history of this era would be incomplete without bloodshed; after all, this is a historical account of the world’s first modern naval battle. Mattingly provides adequate descriptions of the major battles leading up to the epic clash of fleets- the siege of Sluys, Drake’s pirating on the Portuguese coast, the battles of Coutras, and the ‘Day of the Barricades’- but one gets the feeling that they are merely secondary to the real plot of Machiavellian intrigue. Indeed, amidst all the intriguing ploys, feints, and counters, the Armada itself looks as if it were just another instrument- albeit a massive one- of the Catholic crusade. But save for the military historian, who cares about the technical minutia of gun sizes and ship types; history is about people, not guns.
Fortunately, Mattingly agrees. He develops the major characters much more deeply than one would expect in such a short, but detailed and historically accurate, book. It’s as if he has developed a personal relationship with each one; and after years of research, he probably has. In this way, Mattingly displays the skill of a biographer. As a result, he isn’t afraid to speculate about what the characters might have thought- to psycho-analyze them, if you will- but he usually warns the reader before doing so. And he’s sympathetic to each of them, typically emphasizing their positive traits and offering plausible excuses for their flaws. One will find no villains in The Armada (nor should one expect to). It is a testament to this impartiality that Medina Sidonia is not portrayed as the bumbling fool that is so common in other treatments. Likewise, Francis Drake is the holy warrior rather than the rebellious pirate.
This impartiality is further appreciated considering Mattingly’s English heritage. Shouldn’t he have portrayed the Spaniards as villains or at the very least, in a slightly darker light? Well, the English won the battle, so perhaps he didn’t have to. But one gets the impression that Mattingly is far more interested in what actually happened than which side won.
Mattingly is not without bias, however. As mentioned, this is a book for the diplomatic historian, not the military historian. While Mattingly does give a sketch of the more important tactical moves, a military historian would be disappointed by the lack of detail or maps.
Furthermore, the setting is decidedly European-centric at the expense of the bigger picture. Little mention is made of the colonization of the new world (as we know, it was in full swing at the time), and no mention is made of the Turkish empire to the south; obviously these nations didn’t exist in a vacuum. Moreover, apart from the major nations, France, England, and Spain, the other nations feel paper thin. How tightly allied were the Dutch and the English? How did Elizabeth appease the Scots after the execution of Mary Stuart? Mattingly leaves us guessing. Finally, it isn’t made clear how the Armada came to fruition; it seemingly appeared out of thin air.
But these quibbles are minor and don’t blemish the overall work. It’s obvious that Mattingly attempts to consider other perspectives. And throughout the book, he is not reticent to attack unfounded theories and offer his own, less biased, opinion. This is a true masterpiece. It is history as it should be written- compelling narrative driven by the primary sources with proper sensitivity to bias (both in the sources and in him). If only all history were this good…