RISE OF THE PARTY OPPOSED TO OLIVARES--THE QUEEN AND THE INFANTES
CARLOS AND FERNANDO--OLIVARES REMONSTRATES WITH PHILIP FOR HIS NEGLECT
OF BUSINESS--PHILIP'S REPLY--ILLNESS OF THE KING--FEARS OF
OLIVARES--PHILIP'S CONSCIENCE--ASPECT OF MADRID AT THE TIME--HABITS OF
THE PEOPLE--A GREAT ARTISTIC CENTRE--MANY FOREIGN
VISITORS--VELAZQUEZ--PHILIP'S LOVE OF ART, LITERATURE, AND THE
DRAMA--CONTEMPORARY DESCRIPTION OF A PLAYHOUSE--PHILIP AND THE
CALDERONA, MOTHER OF DON JUAN OF AUSTRIA--BIRTH AND BAPTISM OF BALTASAR
CARLOS--PHILIP'S FIELD SPORTS--GENERAL SOCIAL DECADENCE
On the King's return to Madrid in the spring of 1626 almost
simultaneous baptism of another short-lived infant Princess and the
betrothal of the Infanta Maria, the erstwhile "Princess of Wales," to
the King of Hungary, heir to the empire, gave other pretext for one of
those interminable rounds of pompous shows in which Philip delighted.
The marriage of yet another Princess of the Spanish branch of Hapsburg
to a future emperor was a provocation flung in the face of Europe, and
so Richelieu understood it; and again patiently knitted his plans for
taking up the challenge in due time, and defeating finally the
threatened {173} hegemony of the house of Austria to the detriment of
that of Bourbon.
[Sidenote: The enemies of Olivares]
During the absence of the Court at Aragon, the party against Olivares
had taken courage in Madrid; for already it was seen that the young
Queen, full of spirit as she was, chafed under the complete subjection
in which the King was held, and the almost equal tutelage which the
Countess of Olivares endeavoured to exercise over her. Isabel loved
diversion as much as her husband did, though her amusements were less
intellectual than his; but she could not help seeing, even if there had
not been those who were eager to tell her, that the high hopes that the
domination of Olivares had first aroused were very far from being
fulfilled, and that the distress in the country was greater than ever
with the increased drain of the never-ending war. Olivares, moreover,
took no pains to conciliate the Queen, and his attitude towards ladies
in general was frankly insolent and contemptuous. He was determined,
in any case, to brook no possible interference with his supremacy, and
deliberately endeavoured to lessen the Queen's influence by encouraging
the formation of other ties by Philip. Not that Philip, indeed, needed
much encouragement; but a regular network of agents in the principal
cities kept the favourite informed of the appearance of any new and
charming actress on the provincial stage, in order that she might be
brought to the theatres of the capital and placed before the eyes of
the King.
[Sidenote: The Infantes]
Nor was the Queen the only person of the family whose influence
Olivares was determined {174} to check. The two young Infantes, the
King's brothers, were now growing into manhood, the elder, Charles,
born in 1607, being twenty years of age, and the Cardinal Infante
Fernando two years younger. A curious memorandum from Olivares to the
King on the subject of his brothers is extant,[1] and shows plainly the
method by which Olivares kept his hold upon the King by arousing
suspicion of all others, even of the members of the royal family. It
appears that at the instance of the minister Philip had appointed a
commission, headed, of course, by Olivares, to consider and report upon
what should be done for the future of the King's brothers; and the
series of memoranda referred to set forth the result of their
deliberations. The points to be settled, says the document, are full
of difficulty, and though there has been a period of nineteen years to
consider it (_i.e._ since the Infante Carlos was born), it is as full
of perplexity as ever. The great danger and risk is to make a choice
of servants for the Princes. "We must approach this by taking into
account the characters and dispositions of their Highnesses. We
consider Don Carlos to be of easy and yielding disposition, and that he
will tend the way that those who are near him may desire. But in Don
Fernando may be seen a greater natural vivacity, which, with a little
help, might be inflamed to a point that would cause serious harm, which
we must try to prevent." It is far better, says Olivares and his
colleagues, to face the matter now {175} than to let it drift until it
becomes unmanageable. "The best thing will be for Fernando to continue
in the ecclesiastic state; but not to take higher steps in it than at
present, in view of the succession.[2] Let him have sufficient money,
but let us be careful not to arouse his spirit and ambition by giving
him the power that too much money bestows, and do not let us in our
generosity to him defraud the poor flocks and the other bishops. Or
else give him the bishopric of Oran and arouse his zeal in Africa, like
Cardinal Ximenez."[3] This project was not approved of by the
commission, as the desire for arms and conquest might set him against
his profession. "Or we might make him Inquisitor-General, in order to
introduce him into government affairs, as was done with Prince Henry
the navigator. But the worst of that is that he is yet very young, and
the Inquisition is a very serious matter. Or we might send him to
Flanders, or even put him into the Council of State here; but if we did
that we must put Carlos in too, and we can see many reasons against
doing so. Carlos, of course, must be married or set to some active
exercise, to keep him employed and out of mischief until God shall
point out to us what had better be done with him. At present there is
no available princess for him." Several princesses are then suggested,
such as one of the Savoy cousins, a younger daughter of the Emperor,
and a sister of the Duke of Lorraine; but all are rejected, and after
an {176} interminable prologue the final recommendation of Olivares is
reached, namely, to get Fernando, evidently the one he dreaded most,
out of the way by sending him to Flanders. But even this is full of
suspicion and difficulty. The people there want a Prince of their own.
The old Infanta might leave him the throne when she died, and the
Flemings might use the Infante to conquer and hold independence of you
with your (_i.e._ Philip's) own arms, and that, of course, must be
avoided. If the States of Flanders could be left without a master when
the Infanta dies, that would be best, but as it cannot be your Majesty
must keep them.[4] Or if your Majesty thought well, you might make him
Grand Admiral and Prince of the Sea. In that capacity, as the
authority would be so much divided, it would not be easy for him to do
anything to your Majesty's detriment, especially as he will be
surrounded by persons of unquestionable fidelity. But it is difficult
to know how we can do this. If he were appointed to supreme command,
both in the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, with both ships and galleys
under him, he would have to depute much of his authority, and we think
this would be good. But still, it would be putting vast power into the
lad's hands. Besides, {177} perhaps he would not be contented with the
place unless a viceroyalty like that of Sicily was attached to it.
And so every possibility is discussed at length, and every suggestion
either rejected altogether or approved of with many qualifications and
drawbacks, pointing out the danger of giving power to princes. But
though the commission could come to no decided conclusion, Olivares, in
a private letter to Philip, recommended that Carlos should eventually
be made Viceroy of Sicily, and Fernando sent to Flanders with a wise
old household, although, for the present, it was decided that nothing
should be done, except to keep the Princes quiet and as much apart from
affairs as possible.
I have given to these curious documents perhaps more space than their
intrinsic importance deserved, because they seem to me to illustrate
exactly the almost diabolical distrust that Olivares sought to instil
into the young King, even of his own brothers. Philip's, however, was
an affectionate nature, and he was never soured against his brothers,
as Philip II. by similar Machiavellian counsels from Perez was fatally
estranged from his. Distrust was the note struck everywhere by
Olivares: distrust of relatives, of nobles, even of councillors, except
those who were creatures of his own; and it is evident that on the
return of the Court to Madrid, after the absence of five months in
Aragon, the favourite found the atmosphere less grateful to him than
before. The Queen, as Regent in Philip's absence, had enjoyed an
increase of power and consideration, and the nobles, priests, and
ladies around her had been able to speak more {178} boldly whilst they
were relieved of the alarming presence of the Count-Duke.
[Sidenote: Philip's idleness]
Olivares soon struck a blow to regain any power or prestige that he had
lost and to fill his enemies with confusion. The King, as we have
seen, was indolent and pleasure-loving, leaving all the hard work of
the Government to Olivares, upon whom he depended absolutely. The
minister knew full well that without his guidance his master would be
utterly at sea, and the threat of his retirement always brought Philip
to heel. No step, therefore, could have been more effectual in
stopping the mouths of the carpers opposed to the favourite, than for
the latter himself to protest against the King's neglect of his duties.
The State paper in which Olivares remonstrated with the King in the
autumn of 1626 for his lack of attention to work, and the King's reply,
have been printed several times in Spanish; but they deserve to be
quoted here as specimens of the consummate skill of the minister in
facing the situation in which he found himself and his clever
management of the young King.[5]
The document is headed, "Paper from the Count-Duke to his Majesty, in
which he urges him to consider and despatch current and private affairs
himself, without obtaining the opinions of the junta, and, above all,
the opinion of the Count-Duke, so that the King himself may, by a step
later, take entire control of affairs of State and Government." "Your
Majesty is good witness of the many times during the long period I have
{179} served you, that I have told you how important it was for your
best interests that people should not only see the result of your own
actions, but that they should also recognise them as such, and give you
the full credit for them, thus also endowing with force those actions
upon which you must needs take counsel. For it is certain, sire, that
in the present state of this republic no other course will remedy our
ills. Let people recognise in your Majesty attention, resolution, a
determination to be obeyed, and if this be not sufficient, let it be
recognised in the orders you give, and even in your own person in
insignificant acts, nay in the most private actions in your own
chamber, where most of the fears which the people entertain have their
origin. I have also on many occasions begged your Majesty to give me
leave to retire, and to recognise how impossible it is for me to
succeed in any of my efforts to serve your Majesty, without your own
attention, resolution, and application to the papers. Feeling, as I
do, the weight of the duty and love I owe to your Majesty, I have tried
to impress this need upon you in the preamble of my various requests;
and to show you how indispensable it is for your Majesty's conscience,
for your reputation, and for the redress of the evils of the
Government, that you should work, or everything will sink to the
bottom, no matter how desperate my efforts may be to keep things going.
I have decided, therefore, to make a last appeal to you, because during
the last few months affairs have become so urgent that there really is
no other course but that your Majesty should put your shoulder to the
wheel, or commit a mortal sin. {180} I must protest, with due respect
to your Majesty, as your humble slave and faithful minister, that if
your Majesty will not at once adopt this resolution, I shall be looked
upon as a traitor if I continue in this place, knowing as I do that,
however I may strive, it is quite impossible, without the personal aid
and support of your Majesty, for me to do what is necessary for the
State, and this is being proved now to me by daily experience. It may
be that the reason why your Majesty will not consent to work and do as
I beg you, arises from the entire confidence you place in me, and that
if I were not here you might apply yourself more to work, because you
might not trust others as you trust me. This thought, together with
the zeal and desire, as God knows, I have to serve your Majesty, have
brought me to the point of saying resolutely, that if your Majesty will
not do as I ask you, I will go away at once without asking your leave
or even letting you know I am going, even though your Majesty may
punish my disobedience by sending me to a fortress, because, God forbid
that I, who owe what I do to your Majesty, should with my eyes open
fail to act as I believe for the best, even at the risk of ruin to
myself and all my kin, a loss which would be well repaid if it resulted
in inducing your Majesty to do what is necessary to remedy the evils
which demand the personal attention of your Majesty. I have said all
that a subject may say, clearly and boldly; I would rather risk your
anger than fail in my duty. The evil is great. Reputation has been
lost, the treasury has been totally exhausted, ministers have grown
venial and slack, taught to {181} neglect the execution of the laws or
to administer them with laxity, and this is one of the great causes of
the evils that afflict the country and justice. Take, I pray you,
sire, the work into your own hands. Let the very name "favourite"
(_privado_) disappear. I will continue to urge your Majesty to
shoulder this burden that God Himself has cast upon you, to labour with
it, if you will, without overworking yourself, but not without work at
all. 4th September 1626."
[Sidenote: Philip promises to work]
The appeal sounds genuine, and no doubt to some extent it was so, for
it did not suit Olivares to be the person to be held solely responsible
for the grave state of things that was already arousing even
long-suffering Castile to passionate protest; and the privation and
misery of the greater part of the population were, it must have been
evident to the Count-Duke, powerful instruments against him in the
hands of his enemies, now growing daily bolder. Philip always wanted
to do well, that was the tragedy of his life, and if good resolutions
had sufficed, no better ruler could have been desired. Any appeal,
moreover, to his conscience always found an immediate echo, though a
fleeting one; and in his reply to the minister the weakness as well as
the rectitude of his character are touchingly displayed. In his own
great sprawling hand Philip wrote on Olivares' letter--
"COUNT,--I have resolved to do as you ask me, for the sake of God, of
myself, and of you. Nothing is boldness from you to me, knowing, as I
do, your zeal and love. I will do it, Count, and I return you this
paper with this reply, so that {182} you may make it an heirloom of
your house, that your descendants may learn how to speak to kings in
matters that touch their fame, and that they may know what an ancestor
they had. I should like to leave it in my archives to teach my
children, if God grant me any, and other kings, how they should submit
to what is just and expedient.--I, THE KING."
Whatever may have been Philip's intention, and it is impossible to
doubt his sincerity, his good resolutions, as Olivares probably
foresaw, did not last long; but the cavillers for a time were silenced,
and Olivares at any future crisis could and did always point to his
letter, and shift a full share of his responsibility upon the King.
The responsibility, in good truth, was a heavy one. The constant drain
of men and money to Germany, Italy, and Flanders fell mainly upon the
realms of Castile, where the poverty was greatest. The expulsion of
the Moriscos (1610), the most ingenious and industrious craftsmen in
the land, had already produced its dire effects, and skilled industry,
which formerly paid most of the taxes, had well-nigh disappeared.
Without doing anything to revive manufactures in Spain itself, the
Government of Olivares now began the fatal policy of prohibiting
commerce of all sorts with the countries at war with Spain, which soon
meant all maritime Europe; and the consequence was a complete dearth of
commercial movements, a terrible rise in prices, universal contraband
and untold suffering, which the purblind minister sought to remedy by
the puerile device of suddenly reducing by one half the value of copper
money (May 1627), and {183} fixing a maximum price at which farmers
might sell food stuffs!
[Sidenote: Illness of the king]
Anxiety and dissipation acted upon a physique never strong, and Philip,
in the summer of 1627, fell seriously ill in Madrid. The last baby
girl had died, and though the Queen was pregnant, the next heir,
failing issue to the King, was his brother Carlos, a gentle, easy-going
young man, in appearance and character wonderfully like his elder
brother. But for all his gentleness Carlos was no friend of Olivares,
who had taken from his side all the friends he depended upon, most of
them, be it said, kinsmen of Lerma, whose sister had been the Prince's
governess.
Young Fernando, the cardinal, as we have seen, was much more able and
ardent than his brother; and when courtiers began to shake grave heads
and doctors doubted of the King's recovery, it was Fernando rather than
Carlos who took the lead in resenting the attempts of Olivares to
isolate the King.[6] By means of his wife, also, Olivares endeavoured
to set the Queen against her brothers-in-law, and to extract a pledge
from her that if the King died she would retain the minister in his
place in the interests of her unborn child. As Philip grew worse, and
himself despaired of recovery, the Infantes, strengthened now by a
large party of nobles, made no secret of their anger with Olivares, and
the latter lost heart and fell ill (or, as spiteful Novoa says, feigned
illness), giving himself up for lost, and groaning that everyone {184}
hated him so much that they even wished the King dead in order to get
rid of him. The palace of Madrid became a buzzing nest of intrigues,
in which, however, the principal song was that of gleeful anticipated
vengeance on Olivares and all his kin; though, unknown to his foes,
arrangements had been made by him and his party to seize the Government
and propitiate the Queen and Don Carlos the moment the King died, as he
was expected to from one hour to the other.[7]
Whilst Olivares still kept his bed from illness and fear, an attendant
entered and said that the King had recovered consciousness and showed
signs of improvement. "Who says so?" cried Olivares, springing up in
his bed. "Dr. Polanco." "Then send Dr. Polanco to me immediately."
Dr. Polanco bore no love to the arrogant favourite, and he came tardily
to the call, and gave a dry and reticent statement of the King's
condition. His Majesty, though better for the moment, he said, could
hardly survive another crisis. But there were other royal physicians
more courtly than Dr. Polanco, and one soon entered the Count-Duke's
room with the welcome news that the King was really better, and had
asked for Olivares. The Count-Duke's malady left him as if by magic at
the news, and in a few minutes he was at Philip's bedside. On the
opposite side of it stood the young Cardinal Infante, who exchanged
with him {185} a glance of undisguised enmity, whilst Carlos at his
side was all mildness, only unselfishly delighted that the King was
better. After a few words of greeting only from the King, who said he
was very ill and in want of rest, Olivares retired, disturbed and
uneasy at the open hatred of him shown by the Cardinal Infante. In the
present state of uncertainty he dared not quarrel with the King's
brother, the cleverest member of the family, and by submissive
diplomacy and professions of devotion soon managed to patch up a
reconciliation with him,[8] whilst resolving in his own mind to lose no
opportunity that offered of getting away from Madrid so inconvenient a
Prince.
[Sidenote: Philip recovers]
Again the King's life was despaired of, when, after many mouldering
relics had been piled up fruitlessly, until the King's bedroom looked
like a rag and bone warehouse, the prayed-for miracle was worked by a
shoeless Austin friar, "who brought that admirable and miraculous relic
of the little loaves of St. Nicholas, which the King took from the
hands of the friar with fervent prayers and supplication for divine
help and mercy, and the King recovered."[9] Olivares did not spare
those who had thrown him into such a panic whilst the King lay ill, and
the plans for the future made by the minister's enemies were
represented to Philip as treason against himself. "Ah, sire," he said
on his first long conversation after the King's recovery, "we have had
an anxious time. In future must keep our eyes open." "Yes, no doubt,"
assented the King languidly. "As for me," continued the minister, "I
considered {186} myself as already being almost thrown out of the
window. The Infante Fernando, sire, is in very bad hands!" "And how
about Carlos," asked the King, "is he in any better hands?" But though
Philip listened to the whispers of treason against all but those who
were the creatures of Olivares, he was too amiable and kind to allow
any harsh measures against his brothers, and Olivares had to postpone
for the present the greater part of his vengeance.[10]
[Sidenote: Philip's conscience]
Philip's tender conscience had, as usual, plagued him during his
illness and convalescence. In later years, as calamity after calamity
fell upon him and his, it became his settled conviction that the wrath
of heaven poured upon his country and upon those whom he loved best in
the world was the awful retribution exacted for his personal
transgressions; but even in this, his first severe illness, apparently
the same idea assailed him, and as soon as he recovered he addressed a
curious and characteristic document to each of his many councils,
treating the administrative actions of his reign as a case of
conscience for himself. The document is dated 14th August 1627, and
the preamble states that it is drawn up for the discharge of the King's
conscience after his serious illness.[11]
"1. If I have caused any damage or loss of {187} property to anybody by
any act or order of mine or otherwise, I desire that redress shall be
given to the sufferers.
"2. If by any means or way property belonging to any person be unjustly
taken or withheld by any act of ours, I command that the wrong be
righted at once.
"3. Consider the means that can be devised to pay all my debts, so that
in this respect my conscience may be clear, and in future as far as
possible let all necessary expenses be justly met and paid.
"4. Consider whether any of the contributions payable by my vassals can
be abolished, and what reform is possible, both as to the amounts
levied and the mode of collection.
"5. If any minister of your Council does any unjust act, if he fails to
administer justice righteously, or if any grievance is inflicted by him
on my subjects, severe punishment must be meted out to him. Great
vigilance must be exercised by you in this respect.
"6. If, in order to favour or benefit me, any injustice has been done,
it must be redressed at once, regardless of every other consideration.
"Consider all this maturely, and report to me.--I, THE KING."
However well intentioned such decrees as this might be, in the existing
state of the country they were absurd. If a foreign policy was
persisted in which brought Spain into conflict with every progressive
and prosperous country in Europe, which shut the ports of Spain to
foreign commerce, and excluded Spanish ships from foreign harbours; if
a system of finance were persisted in which ruined {188} taxpayers and
paralysed production; if industry was a disgrace and idleness
respectable; if corruption existed from the base to the summit of the
administration at home and abroad, and ostentation, vanity, greed, and
self-indulgence permeated every class of society in the capital, the
heart from which flowed the tainted life-blood of the nation, it was
futile to order redress to be given for individual wrongs, and for the
surface administration to be cleansed, whilst the mass was corrupt; and
it is needless to say that the King's conscience was rapidly lulled to
rest again, leaving matters much as they were before, and as they
remained for years to come, whilst Madrid was the artistic and literary
centre of the world, and the rest of Spain was sunk in utter misery and
debasement.
[Sidenote: Madrid in 1627]
A glance at the material and moral aspect of society in Philip's Court
during this period, the flower of his reign and life, will be necessary
in order to understand what followed. After the restoration to Madrid
of its rank as the capital in 1606, the increase in the size and
population of the town had been extraordinary; and it was at this
period that Madrid assumed the extent and appearance that it retained
with little change until the middle of the nineteenth century. As now,
the great palace on its bold spur looking over the Manzanares and the
plains of Castile to the snow-capped Guadarramas, formed the
conspicuous boundary of the capital on the west, and the precipitous
slope on that side to the bridge of Segovia, then recently built,
checked expansion in that direction. But to the north and east the new
{189} streets stretched forth in a way which was at the time looked
upon as prodigious. The Puerta del Sol, the present centre of the
capital, had even in Philip's time begun to acquire importance as
leading to the broad new street of Alcalá, which afforded a less
congested approach to the promenade of the Prado than the ancient and
narrow Carrera de San Geronimo. The Calle Mayor, leading from the
palace to the Puerta del Sol, was not, as now, one broad street in its
entire length, the wide portion being, indeed, only the newer stretch
near the Puerta del Sol, but in the greater part of its length
consisted of a continuous line of narrow and somewhat tortuous streets
called by different names. This, however, being the road to and from
the palace, was the fashionable promenade, especially for the great
swaying coaches then the rage in Madrid. In hot summer nights the dry
bed of the Manzanares attracted fashionable promenaders to enjoy such
coolness as could be found there; whilst the Prado itself, from the
street of Alcalá to the Atocha, on certain occasions, especially on
saints days, church festivals, and in the evenings of spring, was the
crowded resort of the idlers. The Plaza Mayor, or great square,
standing much as it does to-day, had been built in the previous reign,
the houses that enclosed it being capable of accommodating in their
lines of balconies as many as fifty thousand spectators to the
bull-fights, _autos-de-fe_, or equestrian shows, which were held there
on great occasions.[12]
The construction of the houses, for the most {190} part rapidly run up
to meet the sudden increase of the population--the Court, as has been
explained, attracting everybody in Spain with brains, ambition, or
money--was extremely mean and shabby, the heavy ostentatious palaces of
the nobles, many of which still stand, being surrounded by wretched
little shanties with mud walls and filthy exteriors.[13] The windows
towards the street were heavily grated, and mostly small, which gave a
gloomy dungeon-like appearance to the buildings, whilst the total
absence of drainage made the roadways a mere middenheap, through which
the heavy coaches ploughed, and bespattered the pedestrians. To the
enormous number of strangers and foreigners whom curiosity, politics,
or business brought to Madrid at this period, the filthy condition of
the streets became a byword. The gutters of the houses projecting far
out from the eaves threw great jets of water when it rained into the
middle of the narrow roadways, and with the mere warning of "_Agua va_"
all the house garbage, debris, and excrement were cast forth into the
open street, there to fester until the salutary sun had deodorised it
and reduced it to dust.
In these streets, and especially in the portion of the Calle Mayor near
the Church of St. Philip and the Puerta del Sol, the idlers of the
capital, {191} which meant the greater part of the population, loved to
promenade for hours every day, preferably in coaches, bandying coarse
jests with the people on foot. This objectless promenading and
gossiping was so characteristic that a special verb was coined to
describe it, namely, to _ruar_. Everybody pretended to be wealthier,
more highly placed, and better dressed than he really was; and though
sumptuary pragmatics and decrees, announced by heralds in the Calle
Mayor, constantly threatened transgressors with all sorts of pains and
penalties, the people, especially the women, continued to defy the law
in their dress and behaviour. The insolent dames would wear outrageous
garments; flattened farthingales (_guardainfantes_) so immensely wide
as to be indecent, starched ruffs, pattens so high with jingling heels
as to be like musical stilts, and would still insist upon covering
their faces, all but one eye, the more to pique curiosity and indulge
with impunity in their not too delicate badinage.
The large spaces occupied by the frowning religious houses, whilst
adding to the gloom of the city, must have increased its salubrity, in
consequence of the large shady gardens that they usually enjoyed. At
twelve o'clock, when the angelus sounded, the monastery gates opened,
and there came forth a lay brother with an immense cauldron of soup and
a basket of bread, which formed the principal meal of many hundreds of
poor people and idlers all the year round. The students, real or
pretended, who in token of their dependence on these eleemosynary meals
wore a wooden spoon tucked into the brim of their hats, formed a
considerable portion of those who attacked the garlic {192} broth with
avidity. Broken soldiers and led captains, gamblers out of luck and
varlets out of place, fought too for the food with the maimed and
diseased beggars who crowded the most frequented streets at fashionable
hours.[14] In addition to these charity meals given by the religious
houses, there were numerous lay brotherhoods established to relieve the
sick and impotent; and one particular brotherhood, which went its
rounds at night, especially in the outer districts of the capital, was
called by the people the "bread and egg watch," because the brethren
carried with them baskets of bread and eggs to distribute to the needy
whom they found exhausted and homeless by the way.
It may be asked if Madrid was so forbidding in appearance, as it was
certainly difficult of access and lacking in comfort and convenience,
what was the attraction that drew to it at the time not only the
enriched Spaniards from the Indies, and the ambitious and idle of the
Peninsula itself, but the immense number of foreign visitors who now
frequented it. So far as the Spaniards were concerned, it has already
been explained that by the time of which we are writing the Court had,
in fact, drawn to itself all that was left of available wealth in the
country. There alone could the Spanish love of ostentation be
indulged; there alone could bravery of dress and demeanour find the
attention and emulation it always seeks; there alone could advancement
in any unlaborious career be found, for where all the patronage,
wealth, and taste were, {193} there also must be those who sought
patronage or provided things that taste and wealth alone could buy, and
so the Court--"_la Corte_" as Madrid was always called--shone brightly,
like the last phosphorescent spot in a decaying body, and attracted by
its brilliancy when all the rest of Spain was dark.
[Sidenote: An artistic capital]
The fame of the splendid shows of Philip's Court, the traditional
wealth of the monarch, and the reputation for gallantry and gaiety
which the place obtained, brought to it pleasure-seekers from all
Europe. The close connection with Austria naturally attracted Germans
to Spain in numbers; Flemish Catholics were, of course, almost as much
at home in Madrid as in Brussels; whilst the marriage of Philip's
sister Anna of Austria in France had made the romantic view of Spain
fashionable there. The war with France somewhat restricted the French
incursion, but Burgundian and Franche-Comtois craftsmen were numerous,
and the enemies of Richelieu always found a welcome in the Spanish
Court. Italians, especially Neapolitan and Milanese subjects of
Philip, who served in his armies and provided his finest weapons, were
frequent visitors to his capital. It was, moreover, a dilettante age,
when all over Europe, and particularly in Madrid, where for a century
the monarchs had been generous patrons of art, a perfect craze had
seized wealthy people to collect and display rare and beautiful
artistic objects of all sorts, and the ostentatious nobles who
surrounded Philip IV., many of whom had lived in Italy, had shared the
King's love of such objects, and had made their palaces perfect museums
of art treasures of every description.
{194}
Olivares himself exacted from viceroys and Spanish officers abroad
presents of tapestries and articles of virtu.[15] The Count of
Monterey and the Marquis of Leganes, both kinsmen of the Count-Duke,
had crammed their palaces with rarities,--clocks, mirrors, enamels,
medals, marqueterie, and paintings; and Monterey, who had been viceroy
of Naples, had brought back with him to Madrid a whole cargo of silver
repoussé work, tapestries, ivory carvings, gems, and such treasures as
the red chalk drawing of the cartoon of Michael Angelo's famous
"Bathers."[16] V. Carducho, who lived in Madrid at the time, describes
in his _Diálogos_ the regular meetings there of connoisseurs and
patrons of art, to inspect, exchange, or criticise paintings, models
and other rare and beautiful things; where, he says, "originals by
Raphael, Correggio, Titian, Tintoretto, Palma, Bassano, and living
painters were admired, and where much taste and knowledge were
displayed." Besides paintings, he continues, there were to be seen at
these meetings "coats of armour and weapons of famous armourers,
damascened swords and daggers, rock crystal work and pyramids and
globes of jasper and glass." On one particular occasion Carducho
mentions that the host of the meeting-place was engaged in arranging
some {195} articles for an exchange he was negotiating with the Admiral
of Castile, a great art patron, whom he was expecting. They comprised
an original by Titian, six heads by Antonio Mor, two bronze statues and
a small culverin, whilst the admiral had left with the host a good copy
of a painting by Caracci; and Carducho mentions that Monterey had there
at the same time an original Madonna by Raphael from the convent of
Discalced Carmelites at Valladolid.[17]
The agglomeration of such works of art at Madrid during a long period
naturally led to the dispersion of the great collections on the death
or fall of the noble owners, and this was effected by the usual Spanish
form of sale still common, called an _almoneda_, such articles as are
for sale usually remain _in situ_, but on public view, with the prices
marked; and the German ambassador, Count Harrach, mentions no less than
twenty of such almonedas of artistic collections belonging to Madrid
nobles within the space of five years, at a somewhat later period of
Philip's reign than that of which we are now writing.[18] Of one such
noble collector in Madrid (Juan de Espina) Quevedo says: "For years his
house was an epitome of the marvels of Europe, visited by strangers, to
the great honour of our nation, for they had often nothing to tell of
Spain except their recollections of him."
I have mentioned that one of the presents given by Olivares to the
Prince of Wales on his departure was a set of paintings, but these were
by no means the only pictures that Charles took back {196} with him to
enrich the royal galleries of England. The unfortunate murdered Count
Villa Mediana's great collection was still being dispersed by
_almoneda_ at the time, and here Charles bought several specimens.
Lope de Vega says that the Prince "collected with remarkable zeal all
the paintings that could be had, paying for them excessive prices." He
was unable to persuade Quevedo's friend Espina to sell him the gem of
his collection, two volumes of original drawings by Leonardo da Vinci,
which, however, eventually came to England as the property of Philip
Howard, Earl of Arundel.[19] Many other paintings and precious objects
were secured by Charles during his stay by purchase and gift; and it
may be fairly assumed that so great an art lover as he must have found
his principal solace for his long absence from home in the inspection
and acquisition of objects he prized so highly. In the Calle Mayor,
against the wall of the Oñate Palace, opposite Liars' Walk, on the
raised path along the side of St. Philip's Church, the Spanish painters
of the day, on the lookout for patrons, were wont to exhibit their
canvasses for sale,[20] and some of the modern Spanish pictures that
Charles took home with him were doubtless seen and bought in the course
of his {197} daily promenade through the fashionable street of the
capital.
[Sidenote: Valezquez in Madrid]
There was one young painter of the day, a stripling of twenty-four,
though already married and with two children when he arrived in Madrid
at the same time as the Prince of Wales, who at least had no need to
seek purchasers for his canvasses upon the rough side walk, though he
did exhibit them there for the admiring criticism of the connoisseurs
opposite. To have come from Seville, as he did, was, to begin with, a
good credential in the time of Olivares, whose own noble house was of
Andalucia, and who himself was Sevillano to the marrow. But this young
man, Diego Velazquez, had married the daughter of his master, Pacheco,
the best known painter in Seville, and the bosom friend of Francisco de
Rojas, the literary henchman and devoted adherent of Olivares. Three
years before this, Diego had come to Court full of high hopes and
ambitions; for the painting of convent altar-pieces in Seville was a
narrow field for genius, and Diego yearned for the wide recognition
that the "Court" alone could give. But though he had the help of the
Sevillians who abounded in Olivares' household, and notably that of Dr.
Fonseca, the Court chaplain and King's "curtain-drawer" in the royal
chapel, business was so pressing, both for King and minister, in the
early days of the reign, that there was no time to be spared for
portrait painters, and Velazquez returned home disappointed.
But in the spring of 1623, whilst Charles Stuart was in Madrid,
Fonseca, at Olivares' bidding, wrote to the artist telling him that he
might now {198} with good hope return to Madrid, and sending him fifty
ducats for his travelling expenses. He needed no further urging, nor
did his famous father-in-law, who, if he was not a genius himself, at
least realised genius when he saw it, and together they set forth, with
the assurance that young Diego was going to conquer Madrid. There was
no heart-breaking struggle for him, though his triumph was not so
immediate as he would have wished. The effort to get to the palace,
the fountain of all patronage, was universal; and the rivalry of
competitors was keen. Poets, dramatists, actors, placemen, and artists
were all struggling eagerly to catch the eye of royalty, or the
ministers of royalty, and for a time even Fonseca could not secure for
his protégé an admission to the King's presence. In the meanwhile
Velazquez painted a portrait of the priestly patron Fonseca, in whose
house he lived. As soon as it was finished the chamberlain of the
Cardinal Infante Fernando, the Count de Peñaranda, visited the house by
chance, saw the picture, and insisted upon carrying it off with him to
the palace. Everybody at Court knew the reverend "royal
curtain-drawer" in chapel, and within an hour the portrait had been
seen by all the _palaciegos_, from the King downward, and praised to
the skies.
Promises were sent to the young painter that he should be commissioned
to portray the King and his brother; but the King's work and play, more
momentarily pressing, still delayed the anticipated honour until the
end of August, when Philip, on his prancing charger--for the King was a
splendid and intrepid horseman--carracoled in the garden of the palace
before the grave, lean young painter {199} with the jet black hair and
flashing Andaluz eyes, who for the first time fixed there upon canvas
the face and form which his genius was to immortalise. Philip was a
good judge of art, and when he saw the picture, though no muscle of his
impassive face moved, he expressed his satisfaction with courteous
condescension. Olivares, vehement as usual, and proud that a Sevillian
should have succeeded, swore that no one else had ever painted the King
as he was, and that in future Diego Velazquez alone should paint his
Majesty. When the last touch was given to it, the great life-sized
equestrian portrait of Philip was exhibited upon the pavement opposite
Liars' Walk, not for sale, but for the astonishment and delight of
loyal Madrileños.[21]
Diego Velazquez's fortune was made. Within a few weeks he was
appointed Court painter, with a salary of twenty ducats a month, with
extra payment for each picture and a studio in the palace, and
thenceforward pensions and favours of all sorts testified to Olivares'
pride in his fellow-countryman and the King's recognition of a genius.
From the time of the great Emperor and his son the tradition had
existed that intimate familiarity was permissible between the King of
Spain and those household servants whom he cared thus to honour. Both
the Emperor and Philip II. had allowed the greatest liberty to their
jesters, dwarfs, and body servants, and had extended their friendship
to the artist craftsmen who had served them. Philip IV. bettered the
instruction, for he at heart was a poet and an artist himself; and
whilst he {200} delighted in the company of clever people generally, he
distinguished with life-long regard and considerate kindness the young
artist, only a few years older than himself, who did so much to ennoble
and illustrate his Court. In Velazquez's studio in the palace a
leather armchair was always kept sacred for the King, who was wont to
come in unannounced when the fancy seized him, and watch the painter at
work. Indeed, during his stay in Madrid he hardly missed a day in his
visits, and would often come accompanied by his wife to the studio.
There he witnessed, gradually growing under the magic brush, the
counterfeit presentments of those who made up his life, his wives,
brothers, and children, the latter in their chubby babyhood, stiff with
irksome splendour; the distorted and deformed beings who ministered to
the merriment of those whose surroundings were otherwise far from
merry; the poets who solaced his life, the women he loved, the famous
captains of his armies; Spinola, Pimentel, Pulido-Pareja, and the rest
of them; the great Olivares himself, and all the rout of glittering
satellites who revolved around the Planet King.
[Sidenote: A literary court]
Philip enjoyed almost as much the society of Quevedo as that of
Velazquez, but the satiric wit was less careful than the painter, and
his medium was more risky; so that, though his biting verse and
malicious prose had in the King an appreciative listener, the poet was
almost as often in exile as in favour.[22] The literary contests and
discussions which amused Philip as he grew older {201} always, when
Quevedo was not in disgrace, benefited by his ready wit. Philip
himself took part in these literary orgies in the palace, frequently
proposing a subject for an impromptu play in the facile blank verse
which comes so trippingly upon Spanish lips. The subject would
sometimes be a sacred one, in which case the treatment was such as
would shock modern ears, though for abject lip devotion the persons who
spoke so slightingly of sacred things were never surpassed. It is
related that on one such occasion Philip set the Creation of the World
as the subject for an impromptu play, assigning to himself the
character of the Maker. The poet, whom he had cast for Adam, made his
part unduly long, and Philip elaborately expressed his grief, as the
Eternal Father, that ever he should have afflicted the world with such
a long-winded Adam. But though these literary diversions had already
become attractive to him at the period at which we are now writing
(1626-1630), the gloomy old Alcazar was not a congenial setting for
frivolity; and it was not until later, when the new suburban palace of
the Buen Retiro was specially devised by Olivares for the purpose, that
the poetic and dramatic exercises of the Court reached their zenith, as
will be related in a future chapter.
But from the first Philip's devotion to the theatre never wavered, and
in this his people, high and low, agreed with him. The two public
theatres of the capital, the Corral de la Pacheca (on the site of the
present Teatro Espanol) and the Corral de la Cruz, in the street of the
same name, were crowded every day, and sometimes twice a day; {202} the
performance before noon being attended mainly by women, and that of the
afternoon by men, and women of a better class. The appurtenances of
the stage were extremely rough, and the scenery widely adaptable where
it existed at all, as the constant changes of comedy made special
scenery impossible. The plays presented, hundreds of which are still
extant, are marvellous in the inventive fertility of their plots; the
intrigues that spring from mistaken personality, marital wiles, and
lovers' stratagems furnishing the foundations of most of them. The
speeches, according to modern ideas, appear intolerably pompous and
long, but the mere sound of the flowing rhythm pleased the ears of
Spaniards, as similar speeches do to-day, and the Madrileños never grew
weary of their shows.
[Sidenote: Madrid theatres]
The following lively description of one of the theatres in the reign of
Philip IV. will give an idea of the scene they presented on a
holiday.[23]
You must dine hurriedly at noon, and not stay long at table if you are
going in the afternoon and wish to find a seat. The first thing you do
when you arrive at the door of the theatre is to try to get in without
paying. Many work and as few pay as possible. That is the actor's
first misfortune. It would not be so bad for twenty people to get in
for four farthings, if many more did not try to imitate them. As it
is, if one person gets in without payment others expect to do the same.
Everybody wishes to enjoy the privilege of free admission, in order
that people may see that they are worthy of it. For this reason they
{203} strive so hard to enjoy it that it gives rise to endless disputes
and altercations; with all the more reason that by these means they
usually succeed in their aim. When once a person gets entrance without
payment he adopts it as a general rule, and never wants to pay. A fine
way this to remunerate those who merit some return for their work in
trying to amuse them. And perhaps you will think that he who pays not
is more easy to please. On the contrary, when the actor is not
properly dressed, those who have not paid insult and hiss him most. At
last our man gets into the theatre, and asks those who are seated on
the benches to make room for him.[24] They tell him that there is no
seat for him, but that perhaps one of those who have paid for a seat
will not come, so he had better wait until the guitar players appear
and he may then occupy the vacant seat. This being agreed upon, our
friend goes to the dressing-room to amuse himself in the meanwhile.
There he finds the actresses taking off their usual clothes and
assuming those necessary for their characters; they being sometimes as
naked as if they were going to bed. He stops and stares before one of
them, who, having come through the streets on foot, is changing her
boots by the aid of her servant. This cannot be done without some
sacrifice of decorum, and the poor actress is much put out, {204} but
she dares not protest, because, as her main object is to gain applause,
she is afraid of offending. A hiss, however unjustified, discredits an
actor, because people in general incline more to the censure of others
than to their own judgment. The actress consequently does not suspend
the changing of her boots, and suffers the importunity of the visitor
patiently. In the meanwhile the blockhead never takes his eyes off her.
"After that he looks from the stage to see what is happening with the
doubtful seat he covets. It is still vacant, and in the hope that the
legitimate owner of it will not come he runs to occupy it. The moment
he does so the owner appears and defends his claim. The other does the
same, and both grow heated and come to blows. The last comer, as he
has come to the theatre for amusement, and finding no amusement in
shouting and fighting, thinks it better to stand for three hours than
to continue clawing, and retires from the fray, another seat being
provided for him by those who have intervened and pacified the dispute.
When this hurly-burly has ended, our intruder settles down quietly and
casts an eye upon the cazuela,[25] and passes in review the women who
fill it. He takes a sudden fancy to one of them, and begins to
manifest his feelings by making signs to her. But, my good friend! you
have surely gone to the theatre to see the play, not the cazuela.
"It is four o'clock in the afternoon by this time, and the performance
has not begun yet. Our friend, looking vaguely about him, first on one
side and then on another, suddenly feels that {205} someone is pulling
at his cloak. He turns his head and sees an orange-seller, who,
bending towards him between the two spectators behind, whispers in his
ear that the lady who is tapping her knee with her fan has watched with
sincere pleasure the spirit he showed in the quarrel about the seat,
and that it would be a gracious thing if he bought her a dozen oranges
in recognition of her sympathy. Our friend scans the cazuela again,
and sees that the lady in question is the one that caught his fancy
before; so he pays for the oranges, and tells the orangeman to let the
lady know that he will willingly pay for anything else she would like.
When the orangeman disappears with this message, our friend thinks of
nothing else than how he shall approach the lady when they leave the
theatre, cursing the comedy in the meanwhile, which appears to him
interminable, such is his impatience. He signifies his disapproval
aloud, and groans without cause, exciting the musqueteers[26] below to
imitate him and to break forth in offensive cries. This is not only
rude and uncultivated, but monstrously ungrateful, for, of all men,
actors are those who strive hardest to gain applause. What a bad time
they pass, and how laborious whilst they rehearse a piece. And when
the first representation comes, any of them would give a year's wage to
be applauded for his part. What anxiety assails them, what
inexpressible yearning they feel on the stage to please the public.
When they have to cast themselves down from some {206} precipice, they
throw themselves off the painted canvas rock with desperation; when
they have to represent a dying man and to writhe in agony, how they
soil their clothes, which have often cost much money, and tear their
hands with the nails and splinters of the boards!"
The rest of the chapter is more concerned with the evils of the actor's
life than with the audience, which is the point most interesting to us;
but it is clear from what has been quoted that the comedies, witty and
facile as they were, nevertheless did not form the only attraction that
drew crowds daily to the theatres of the Court. In the first place,
they were a pretext for the prevailing idleness, and the sure sign of
decadence which manifests itself in the inactive many gazing upon and
criticising the hired exertions of the active few. But the "corrales"
of Madrid are also shown in the above extract, and in hundreds of
allusions in the comedies themselves, to have been places of
assignation and incentives to promiscuous gallantry.[27] The King
himself, behind the impenetrable window grating of a first-floor
private room (_aposento_) first saw many of his mistresses, they were
not mistresses in the sense that prevailed at the Court of the French
Bourbon kings. None of them ever aspired to, or attained, political or
social power, for the distance between the sacrosanct sovereign and
common humanity was too great for that to be possible in Castile. They
were just the creatures Of Philip's caprice, and the {207} momentary
playthings of his passions, none of them retaining hold upon him but
for a very short time.
[Sidenote: "The _Calderona_"]
Of his thirty and more illegitimate children, of whom eight were
recognised, the only one that was given princely rank was that Don Juan
of Austria who was beloved by his father above all others of his
offspring. From the theatre, at the period which we are now writing,
Don Juan of Austria sprang. It was at the Corral de la Cruz in 1627
that Philip first set eyes upon the girl whom one of Olivares' agents
had sent from the country to act upon the Madrid stage. Her name was
Maria Calderon, and at the time she appeared in the capital she was not
more than sixteen years of age. She was no great beauty, but her grace
and fascination were supreme, and her voice was so sweet and her speech
so captivating that Madrid fell in love with her at once.[28] The King
from his aposento was enamoured of her the first time he saw her, and
for him to desire was to enjoy. She was immediately summoned to the
private apartment, that the King might listen more closely to her
lovely voice, and when he heard it the King's love grew fiercer still.
From the corral to the palace was but a step when Philip willed it, and
thenceforward the _Calderona_ became the King's best beloved mistress.
She still acted upon the stage, though gifts and tokens of affection
were piled upon her by the love-lorn King. She, proud of the ineffable
honour vouchsafed to her, became rigidity itself in her virtue, and
turned a hard face to all other lovers.
{208}
[Sidenote: Birth of Baltasar Carlos]
The tradition in Spain made the position of King's mistress not by any
means one to be coveted by most women, since it was understood that
when the liaison ended the lady must immure herself in a convent for
the rest of her life, to prevent such a sacrilege as for the King to
have a successor in any woman's regards. It is told of one young lady
of the Court to whom Philip was making unmistakable advances, that she
shut herself behind a locked door when she knew the amorous King was
seeking her, and cried out to him from the inside: "No, no, sire; I
don't want to be a nun!" The Calderona had no such scruples, either
from natural devotion or because she really felt the honour of the
King's love to be overwhelming. Her son by the King was born on the
17th April 1629, and as soon as the _Calderona_ could leave her room
she sought the King, and, throwing herself at his feet in tears, prayed
for his permission for the mother of his son to sin no more. For it
was enough, she said, to have borne a child to the greatest monarch on
earth, and nothing more was left for her but to devote the rest of her
life to cloistered sanctity. Philip was deeply in love with her still;
all his children by the Queen, none of whom had been sons, had expired
at, or soon after, their births, and this boy by the _Calderona_ was
held to be the most beautiful and perfect child ever seen. Philip
tried hard to alter the resolve of his mistress, but she absolutely
refused to cohabit with him again; and at last, but with sorrow, he
gave way, and the actress Maria Calderon became the abbess of a remote
convent, whilst her child was sent with semi-royal surroundings {209}
to be educated with exquisite care at Ocaña, with a view to his future
greatness.
This was the background: a vast conspiracy of make-shift and of
make-believe, before which the Court of Philip IV. alternately prayed
and postured unconvinced. An utterly decadent society, of which each
individual was striving to get as much as possible out of life without
giving anything in return; a society which combined besotted
superstition and abject servility to priests and ritual with appalling
impiety, a society that lived from day to day for such pleasures as it
could grasp, knowing that all was crumbling to dissolution beneath its
feet, that squandered and lavished money, mostly ill-gotten, in empty
splendour, whilst the whole nation beyond the mud walls of the "Court"
was sunk in carking penury. And amidst the festivities and stage
plays, the poetical recitals, the battues that stood for sport, and the
_autos-de-fe_ that stood for holiness, "Philip the Great" moved like a
demigod, knowing in his heart of hearts that all was hollow--his wealth
a lie, his dignity a mask, and he himself but a poor sinning trifler
whose coward conscience denied him even pleasure in his sin.
Philip's love for ostentation had full opportunity for its exercise in
October 1629, when, six months after the birth of his son by the
_Calderona_, an heir was born to the Spanish crowns. The month had
begun with splendour, for on the 3rd October the Prince of Guastalla
had entered the capital as the envoy of the Emperor to marry by proxy
the Infanta Maria for the King of Hungary, heir to the imperial crown.
The whole of the grandees of Spain had gone out to receive him, {210}
and his train of thirty-six pages and lackeys in liveries of black
velvet and gold, and his thirty-six baggage horses with crimson and
gold horse-cloths, the Spanish nobles being so numerous and smart, as
Soto says, that "Madrid looked like another Indies for richness."
Before the splendours of Guastalla's welcome had become dim, the prince
of so many prayers was born, and Madrid settled down to another orgy of
festivities. The magnificence of the baptism in the Church of St. John
near the palace need not be detailed in full; suffice it to say that a
temporary staircase and gallery splendidly adorned with tapestries
descended from the great balcony over the palace portico to the church.
Down this corridor, in a sedan chair of silver and crystal, preceded by
heralds and followed by crowds of nobles, the child was carried very
slowly to its baptism on the lap of the Countess of Olivares. On the
left hand of the chair marched Olivares himself, strangely dressed, as
was remarked at the time, in a long robe of cloth of silver with
sleeves reaching to the ground, his breast crossed by a crimson
baldric--some ceremonial dress, it was thought, of the house of
Austria. Then came the new Queen of Hungary, her nephew's godmother,
and the rest of the high personages, to attend the ceremony. It was
against the etiquette for the King to be there, but he was too proud
and happy to forego the pleasure of seeing the show secretly, which he
did from a closely curtained pew reached from the adjoining house. The
Countess of Olivares, as supreme in the palace as her husband was in
the Government, held the child at the font, seated upon "a chair of
rock {211} crystal, the most costly piece of furniture ever seen in
Europe," whilst cardinals and bishops did their best to make Prince
Baltasar Carlos of Austria a member of the Christian Church. As soon
as the Queen was able to appear, which was on her birthday, she was
feted in her turn as she had never been feted before. Masked
equestrian contests, torchlight parades, bull-fights, and balls
succeeded each other day after day, and in all of them the King and his
brother, Don Carlos, made a gallant appearance.[29]
[Sidenote: Philip's field sports]
The fact that both Philip and Olivares were accomplished horsemen made
equestrian pastimes and field sports specially fashionable in this the
best period of Philip's reign. At least two realistic representations
exist of hunting battues in which Philip was seen to great advantage,
reproducing from the brush of the great painter the exact aspect of
such diversions. That in the Ashburton Collection portrays one of the
deer hunts in the leafy glades of Aranjuez, Philip's spring palace on
the Tagus, twenty-eight miles from Madrid. In the wooded park the
afternoon sun glints through the dark verdured trees against the
cloudless sky, and upon a wide stretch of sward a great white canvas
enclosure is erected. Into its gradually narrowing limits the
frightened deer are being driven by beaters, and at the narrow end of
the funnel, the only outlet from the enclosure, the "hunters" are
stationed on prancing steeds. Over the narrowest part of the funnel
neck a leafy bridge or balcony is built, decked with crimson hangings
and furnished with soft cushions, upon which the {212} Queen and her
ladies sit, dressed in brilliant colours. Just beneath them, on
horseback, are the King, his brother Carlos, and the inevitable
Olivares; and as the terrified deer rush past them underneath the
ladies' bower, the cavaliers, with big sharp hunting-knives, slash at
them, killing some, laming others, and leaving those they miss to the
mercies of the hounds that await them beyond. The ground beneath is
drenched with blood, but the ladies smile approvingly upon the
butchery. The exercise demanded a firm seat in the saddle, and great
agility and dexterity in the management of the horse, and it was
universally admitted that no one in Spain shone so brilliantly at these
battues as Philip himself,[30] though Olivares, courtier like, was only
just inferior to him.
The other picture by Velazquez, which is in the National Gallery in
London, presents a sport somewhat less repugnant to English eyes. The
scene in this case is the hunting seat of the Pardo, a few miles out of
Madrid, and the King, within the canvas walls of the vast enclosure,
is, from the saddle of his caracoling steed, which he sits like a
centaur, thrusting his forked javelin into the flank of the boar as it
rushes past, Olivares being close by, whilst other mounted courtiers in
different {213} parts of the enclosure are participating in the sport.
Inside the enclosure there are stationed some of the heavy
leather-curtained coaches then in use, filled with ladies. The mules
in every case have been unharnessed and put out of the way of a charge
from an infuriated boar; but as the boars were agile when aroused, and
had been known to leap into the carriages themselves, the ladies inside
are armed with dainty little javelins to repel any such attempt; not
very easy to happen, one would imagine, as the heavy leather aprons or
screens that cover the footplate and serve as doors are closed.
To look upon these pictures is to view the very life of Philip's Court;
the posturing gentlemen outside the enclosure, the prancing gentlemen
inside. Beyond agile showy horsemanship and well-trained steeds,
nothing was called for on the part of those who joined in the sport.
There was no danger, and little exertion needed from the "hunters," for
the quarry was all driven into the enclosure, and could not get away.
One sees that ostentation and "show-off" are the main attraction and
object of the sport; and in the sports, as in the pleasures and
devotions, the same inevitable note is struck: that of selfish
epicureanism that seeks to enjoy sensuously without risk or labour.
Each poor mortal is marked out in his own esteem as the central point
of a brilliant show, and gorges the best of life's banquet to the end,
careless of who pays the scot.
[1] British Museum, Egerton MSS 2081, p. 261. Some of the papers in
question were also published many years ago by Valladares in the
_Semanario Erudito_.
[2] Fernando was as yet only a deacon, not a full priest, and the King
when this was written had only one child, an epileptic girl infant, who
died soon afterwards.
[3] _i.e._ the great minister of Isabel and Ferdinand.
[4] This was the worst possible advice, and its ultimate adoption
consummated the ruin of Spain. Philip II. had left the sovereignty of
Flanders to his daughter the Infanta Isabel and her husband the
Archduke Albert, in the hope that they might remain Catholic and
friendly, but separate thenceforward from the Spanish crown. The
Infanta had no children, and when she died the resumption by Spain of
the sovereignty of Flanders, on the advice of Olivares, was disastrous.
Fernando, in effect, became Governor of Flanders for his brother a few
years afterwards on the death of the Infanta, and turned out a Prince
of great promise, and a military commander of real distinction, but he
died young, and of course unmarried, in Flanders, after years of
ceaseless war.
[5] Contemporary transcripts are in British Museum, Egerton MSS. 338,
fol. 571.
[6] Novoa says that Olivares turned Fernando out of his bedroom, which
adjoined that of the King, in order that he (Olivares) might occupy it
during the King's danger.
[7] The principal conspirator with Olivares is represented by Novoa to
have been the Marquis of Hinojosa who had until recently been the
ambassador in London, and had specially signalised himself by his
bitter enmity against Buckingham, whom he had tried to ruin by means of
statements damaging to him, and impugning his loyalty to King James.
See the correspondence in Cabala.
[8] Novoa.
[9] _Ibid._
[10] An important series of letters from Olivares to the King soon
after his illness, mainly about the Infantes, their characters, their
friends, and their proceedings, is in Egerton MSS., British Museum,
2081, from which I have already quoted some papers on the same subject
of an earlier date. The whole object of the letters is evidently to
arouse the suspicion of the King against his brothers.
[11] Contemporary draft, British Museum MSS., Add. 10,236 f. 382.
[12] All one side of the great square was destroyed by fire a few years
after the time of which we are writing (in 1631).
[13] The fact of so many of the wretched houses of the capital having
only one storey is explained by the oppressive arrangement which placed
at the disposal of the Court one entire floor of every house of more
than one storey, a right grossly abused by Court hangers-on to quarter
their relatives and friends rent free upon the citizens. In Philip
IV.'s time this oppressive right had been partially commuted to a
payment of 250,000 ducats annually by the municipality, which was
estimated to be one-sixth of the rental value of such houses. Mesonero
Romanes, _El Antigua Madrid_.
[14] A vivid picture of Madrid of the time is given in _El Diablo
Cojuelo_, by Velez de Guevara, a judge, and favourite of Philip IV.
[15] In this he only followed the recognised rule of Spanish ministers.
Quevedo, writing from Madrid to his patron the Duke of Osuna, Viceroy
of Sicily, shortly before Philip's accession, says: "Men here are like
strumpets, every one of them has to be bought.... The Marquis of Siete
Iglesias (_i.e._ Calderon) would like a present for his cabinet, and it
would be worth while to send some trifle for his cell to the King's
confessor." The "trifle" he did accept was a diamond reliquary worth
20,000 reals and a splendid altar jewel.
[16] Carl Justi.
[17] Carl Justi.
[18] _Ibid._
[19] When Sir Francis Cottington went to Spain to negotiate peace in
1629, Endymion Porter asked him to try and buy these drawings by
Leonardo da Vinci from D. Juan de Espina, whom everybody knows, for
Lord Arundel. The half-Spanish Porter gave a good many other
commissions to Cottington on his departure: some paintings by Titian,
some orange-flower water, some orange confection, a dozen baskets of
oranges, six barrels of large Seville olives, caraways, figs,
chestnuts, marmalade, wine, gloves, perfumes, matting, wine, dried
peaches, fine crocks, etc., in considerable quantities. (Record Office
SP. Spain MS. 34, November 1629.)
[20] At a somewhat later period Murillo sprang into fame and fortune
through Philip seeing a picture of his exposed for sale here.
[21] Pacheco, _Arte de la Pintura_.
[22] He offended Olivares somehow in 1627, and remained in exile until
the minister fell.
[23] Zabaleta, _El dia de fiesta_, Coimbra, 1666.
[24] The mere admission to the theatre was, and still is in Spanish
theatres, paid for separately from the seat. And from the extract
quoted it would appear that the bench seats at the time were sometimes
booked beforehand, as they may be to-day. The _entrada_ in Spanish
theatres gives the right to the run of the house, but nothing more.
The noble army of deadheads appears to have been as numerous and
unblushing three hundred years ago in Spain, as they are in England at
the present time.
[25] The side gallery where the women were seated.
[26] The men who had only paid for the entrance and stood at the back
of the patio (or pit) were so called, but they soon became a recognised
paid claque.
[27] The rooms in the top floors were called _desvanes_. The attic
rooms were often occupied by priests.
[28] Contemporary Italian MS. in British Museum, MSS. Add. 8703.
"Ritratto della nascitá qualitá ed accioni di Don Juan d'Austria."
[29] All are described _ad nauseam_ in the _Soto y Aguilar_ MS.
[30] Most of the Spanish kings have been fanatical devotees of the
chase in various forms. During the reign of Philip's father it used to
be said that "Lerma and the woods were King." Philip IV. spent much
time in field sports. In a letter from the Venetian ambassador in
Madrid, enclosed in one from Dermond O'Sullivan Bear to an Irish
correspondent (March 1628), the following passage occurs: "The King is
so inclined to horse exercise and hunting, that Olivares manages to
keep him at it all day, thus leaving the King no time to do anything
but sign the decisions of the Councils, which suits Olivares
perfectly." Record Office, S.P. Spain 34, MSS.
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