INTRIGUES TO SECURE ENGLISH NEUTRALITY--HOPTON AND OLIVARES--SOCIAL
LAXITY IN MADRID--CHARLES I. APPROACHES SPAIN--THE BUEN RETIRO AND THE
ARTS--WAR IN CATALONIA--DISTRESS IN THE CAPITAL AND FRIVOLITY IN THE
COURT--PREVENTING LAWLESSNESS--THE RECEPTION OF THE PRINCESS OF
CARIGNANO--SIR WALTER ASTON IN MADRID--THE ENGLISH INTRIGUE ABANDONED
As Spain drifted nearer and nearer to the inevitable war with France,
Olivares became more friendly with the English. He hinted that Spain
was getting tired of the burden of the Emperor's wars, and might soon
be pleased to give up the Palatinate. At another time he told Hopton
that the Palatine business might be settled in a few hours; and through
all the reverses that were daily befalling the imperial and Spanish
cause the Count-Duke kept a good face. "I never saw him merrier, nor
with greater appearance of confidence. God grant he may have reason,"
reported Hopton in the summer of 1633. Rojas, too, who was the
mouthpiece of Olivares, harped constantly on the same string. "They
were most desirous of close friendship with England; but had such
crosses with Germany." At the same time the talk of war with France
grew throughout the {263} country; though Hopton could not understand
how it was possible for them to raise armies or money, for all their
talk, "having neither men sufficient to man their ships nor to till
their ground."
[Sidenote: Decay of commerce]
The penury of the country, indeed, was greater than ever. The American
trade, a close monopoly nominally, had previously been the ultimate
resource of Spanish kings in need; but that was failing now. In June
1632 the silver fleet came into Seville, and instead of the treasure
being delivered to its legitimate owners, most of it was seized by the
Government. The merchants utterly lost heart, and when the time came
for the return fleet to leave Seville in the autumn, Hopton wrote:
"The Indian fleet is ready to sail, but there is no merchandise nor
merchant ships, and it will cost the King more than it will bring. The
reason for this is that for many years past the trade of the Indies has
decayed, being wholly given up by Spaniards, and kept alive by
strangers. The Spanish merchants think it not worth while to continue
a fleet, as the King keeps in the _Contratacion_ (India House) all the
silver and gold, and hath assumed to himself first the customs, then
the 47 per cent. average, and will not declare his purpose as to the
rest. This has caused such disability and unwillingness to send goods,
and hath brought trade so low, that whereas licences for strangers to
trade there were hardly gotten for 4000 ducats, they are now offering
them for 4000 reales; and I thinke they will shortly be forced to
_hyre_ adventurers. As for the trade in Portugal, that country cannot
do a sixth part of it, and so they are obliged to grant licences {264}
to contract with strangers to trade in Brazil, offering such conditions
as they may trade safely."
I have transcribed these lines at length, because they show in vivid
terms how the suicidal system of finance was ruining every class of the
community. The workers, agricultural and urban, especially the former,
had been the first to go under, then the smaller tradesmen, crushed by
the alcabala tax on all sales, and the tampering with the currency; and
the turn now had come of the great merchants and bankers; whilst even
the nobles and churchmen had been bled freely by the last "voluntary
donation."[1] In these circumstances it is not surprising that the
dissatisfaction became almost clamorous in its intensity. Such
pasquins passed from hand to hand on Liars' Walk that people said that
the ghost of Villa Mediana must surely be walking his old haunts again,
so bitter were they. Olivares, it was whispered, had poisoned the
Infante Carlos, and had tried to send Fernando by the same road. The
French were ready with great armies to devastate Spain, only because
Olivares was coquetting with the rebel Orleans. Even the Pope, said
the gossips, was being insulted and flouted by this minister, who was
but an ill-born Jew in disguise.[2] "If you heard," wrote Hopton to
Cottington, in August 1632, "the {265} libels and foolish inventions of
the people against the Conde, you would never desire to be a
favourite."[3]
[Sidenote: Olivares' difficulties]
Thus affairs in the capital went from bad to worse. Fanaticism spent
itself upon the loan-mongers, mostly Genoese and Jews with Portuguese
names, who served Olivares in extremity, and many of them, and the
richest, fell into the hands of the Inquisition. There were frequent
hints, uttered beneath bated breath, that if all men had their due
Olivares himself would be burnt in a _sambenito_ outside the gate of
Fuencarral, for he had risen by the devilish arts of sorcery, and kept
the King in his power by witchcraft.[4] Enormous difficulty was
experienced in levying troops for the war, for the country was half
depopulated, and many able-bodied men fled: the old spirit of
confidence in a sacred mission was gone, and they had now no stomach
for a fight provoked by the King's favourite. The Catalans looked on
in sulky suspicion, believing that Olivares needed the soldiers to rob
them of their liberties; whilst in Madrid itself, though there were
only eight {266} companies of troops, "and more idle men to be spared
than in half Spain."[5] The shirkers flocked by thousands into
ecclesiastical and noble service, or in that of the Inquisition, with
little or no pay, in order to escape enlistment.[6] News came daily,
too, of reverses in Flanders, and serious riots in Biscay against the
salt tax; and in the meanwhile the French armies were mustering upon
the Pyrenean frontier to menace Spanish territory when the dread hour
should strike. No spot of brightness indeed appeared anywhere.
Olivares had opened secret negotiations direct with Charles I. for an
offensive and defiance alliance against France, in union with the party
of Marie de Medici and the Duke of Orleans; and again the English were
sure for a time that now the Palatinate would be restored,--too late,
however, in any case, for poor Frederick, who had just died. But soon
another cause for dispute changed Olivares' tone towards England.
Behind the amiable talk about the Palatinate large bodies of men for
the Spanish service had been raised in Ireland. This, it was seen,
would not do. Charles I. was willing to oblige Spain in return for
concessions in the matter of the Palatinate; and Scottish, or even
English, mercenaries, he said, might be obtained. But {267} Catholic
Irishmen, "utter rebels"! Olivares was told plainly that he could not
have; "for if ever Spain meant to do us harm it would be by means of
the Irish." So the new Irish troops were stopped by England before
they were embarked, and Olivares, in a violent rage, said he had been
betrayed and ruined, and would never trust an Englishman again.
England, indeed, at last was learning what manner of man Olivares was.
Suave and diplomatic when it served his turn, but, whilst gaining
everything, giving nothing but vague promises in exchange. English
shipmasters were still being disgracefully despoiled; not a step had
really been taken for the restoration of the Palatinate; and Charles
was more than justified in insisting upon practical proofs of Spanish
friendship before he stretched a point to help Olivares.
[Sidenote: A dissolute court]
Through all this gathering trouble, with deep discontent at home and
menace on all sides, the trivial life in Madrid went on in the usual
way. "The King hath been very sensible of the losse of Rheinsberg,"
wrote Hopton in June 1633; "and the Conde hath endeavoured to divert
him with playes and maskes at a new house (Buen Retiro) he hath built
near the St. Geronimo monasterie: a thing of noe great expense for such
a King, yet murmured at by the people, who will allow to governors in
times of misfortune nothing but care."[7] As time went on, Philip had
grown more idle and dissolute than ever; and the tone of the Court had
followed the fashion of the King. The newsletters of the period from
Madrid are simply a collection of atrocious scandals touching {268} the
honour of the highest people in the Court. The blame for this also was
laid, though not very justly, upon Olivares, who, having lost his only
daughter, the Marchioness de Heliche, to his enduring grief, had now
cast the whole of his affection upon his bastard son Julian, whom he
subsequently legitimated, and rechristened Enrique Felipe de Guzman, to
the fury of the nobles who were opposed to him. But this fact,
although it contributed ostensibly to his fall, as the Queen was
persuaded that he had induced Philip to legitimate his own favourite
bastard Don Juan in order that he, Olivares, might have a good
precedent to do likewise with his, was really but a venial fault in a
Court so corrupt as this.
[Sidenote: A budget of scandal]
In his private letters to Cottington, Hopton occasionally allowed
himself to tell some of the current scandal concerning courtiers, who
were, of course, well known to Cottington. He appears in one of his
letters to have hinted at a terrible misfortune as having happened to
some highly placed ladies in Madrid, but without giving details.
Charles I. saw the letter, and was much offended apparently that the
scandal should be mentioned vaguely. Hopton (26th October 1633) wrote
an abject letter of apology to King Charles, beseeching pardon, and
saying that he had only mentioned scandal and avoided particulars in
order to save the lady's honour; but in obedience to his Majesty's
orders he would now tell the whole story.
"The tragedy began in Cardinal Zapata's house, where there is a niece
of his, daughter of his sister the Countess de Valenzuela, a very fine
lady, and exceedingly well beloved by her uncle, {269} who married her
about two years ago to the eldest son of the Count de Sevilla, with
whom she lived about a year, and, being left a widow, returned to the
protection of the Cardinal, her uncle. In the house there lived a
favourite servant of the Cardinal, one Joseph Cabra, who had entered
the service at Zaragoza as a page, but now occupied the post of highest
trust in the household. The Count of Sevilla's son was jealous of this
man before he died; but since his death the Count his father has
proceeded criminally against the young Countess and Cabra, for living
in adultery together and murdering the husband. It is now certain that
since she became a widow she lived with Cabra and had a child by him,
which made them resolve on a secret marriage. This was concealed for
some months, and divulged at last through a slip of Cabra's, who failed
to pay sufficiently handsomely the officers of the church where they
were married. The whole business then came out. Cabra fled to his own
country, where he thought he would be safe; and there he published
something vindicating his quality. There was no reason, he argued, why
his marriage with the Countess should be considered strange. Others of
greater inequality had been married before; for instance, the Duchess
of Peñaranda and her steward Avellaneda. He knew this, he said, by his
having had access to the secret books of Toledo Cathedral. The Duchess
of Peñaranda was a younger daughter of the Cardinal Duke of Lerma; and
she was known in her youth to have been free, but all passed under her
high spirits. The Duke of Lerma had a page called Avellaneda, who,
{270} being a favourite, was appointed to wait upon his daughter in
those liberties she assumed, and to be the instrument of justification
to her and him. The Duke of Lerma having died, the page was appointed
steward, and although he was already married, she (the Duchess) had a
child by him, who is now five years old. Eighteen months ago,
Avellaneda's wife died, and the Duchess married him. When the bans
were published, her son, the present Duke of Peñaranda, happened to be
present; but the names being common ones he did not suspect, though he
mentioned the matter to his mother as a curious coincidence. This
marriage being discovered by the disclosures in Cabra's pamphlet, threw
all the town in a turmoil. The Duke of Peñaranda assembled in the
house of his sister, the Marchioness of Villena, his confidential
kindred, to consult them as to what had to be done. There it was
decided that he must first kill Avellaneda. When this news reached the
palace, the King sent for the Duke of Peñaranda, and ordered him to do
nothing as he (the King) would take the matter into his own hands. He
sent to Illescas, where Avellaneda was, and had him brought in a cart
to the common prison here; the Duchess being sent to the royal convent
of nuns of St. Domingo el Real,[8] where she still remains. Cabra, who
had caused all this trouble, was also imprisoned, and his wife as well,
though she in her justification said: 'Why punish me, who try to live
in the grace of God?--let them look to those who live like strumpets';
and amongst those who did so she {271} mentioned the Dowager Duchess of
Pastrana. The affair has caused dreadful scandal, but has been hushed
up. The good old Cardinal (Zapata) has taken so much to heart the
misfortune of his niece, who, after having been committed to the
custody of an Alcalde de Corte, has been sent to a nunnery, that
ill-meaning people say that she is really his daughter. He is so
troubled about it that he has moved to six different houses in six
months, and much mistrust exists. Another thing has arisen out of the
affair. The great distaste to the house of Peñaranda has caused the
Duke to retire from Court. The King was quite willing for him to go,
but did not like his wife to go with him. She is the daughter and heir
to the Marquis of Valdonquilla, the uncle of the Admiral (of Castile),
who, without taking any notice of the King's displeasure, forced her to
follow her husband. But they say the commerce is established."
This budget of scandal sent to the King of England shows how utterly
rotten was the moral condition of the Court, when it sufficed for one
disgraceful episode to be made public for a whole string of others to
follow touching the honour of those who stood highest. This scandalous
immorality, arising apparently from the absolute degeneration of
religion into a formula, and of its ceasing to be a guide of conduct,
extended to all classes of society, and terrified stories were told of
horrible irreligious rites being carried on in the conventual houses
themselves by a secret society called the "illumined ones"
(_alumbrados_). The particulars of one awful scandal of the sort,
which {272} was investigated by the Inquisition at this time (1633),
caused great excitement in Madrid. It related to the proceedings of
the nuns of St. Placido of Madrid, who were pronounced by the
Benedictine chaplain, Fray Garcia, to be nearly all possessed of the
devil; and on the pretext of exorcising them he was with them almost
day and night. This went on for three years, when the fact that
twenty-eight out of the thirty nuns in the convent were said to be
possessed appeared so strange and suspicious, that the Inquisition
intervened; and, in the course of a long inquiry and much torture of
the chaplain, uncovered an appalling story of sacrilege, black magic,
and immorality combined, for which all the persons implicated were
severely punished; though a few years afterwards (1638) an attempt was
made to whitewash the condemned.[9]
It is needless to say that in such a society as this, idle, depraved,
and to all effects pagan under its morbid devotion, the race after
pleasure became ever keener, notwithstanding the disasters abroad and
the misery at home. The Saints' days were excessively numerous, and
the parishes vied with each other in the attractions of their religious
performances; the _autos-de-fe_ alternated with the constant
bull-fights, cane tourneys, and the other festivities so often
described in earlier pages; the amorous adventures of the King became
more frequent, or at all events were more talked about, than before;
and the new palace and garden of the Buen Retiro formed a more suitable
background for such proceedings than the old palace {273} had been.
Every birth in the King's family, every reception of ambassadors, every
royal anniversary, was made the excuse for one of these long series of
festivities. Hopton, writing to Coke in October 1633, says that the
King was then boar killing at the Escorial and Balsain, and that
already the capital was preparing to welcome him back in the following
week with a series of bull-fights and cane tourneys.
[Sidenote: The Buen Retiro]
"Great preparations are being made to warme a new house built near by
the monastery of St. Geronimo, and contrived by Olivares.... The
business seems to be a matter of Olivares' or the King's affection, or
both, as about 1000 men are at work to have the place ready in time.
They are working day and night, as well as Sundays and holidays. I
doubt what will happen when the place is burdened with such a posse of
people as usually resort to such pastimes, the mortar being yet greene,
the building will run some hazard. There is much talk in the town
about it, generally against the charge thereof being taken from the
bellys of the people by an imposition on wine, flesh, etc. They suffer
it worse because they say it is a fancy of the Conde's (Olivares)."[10]
{274}
In another letter, Hopton mentions that the house-warming of the Buen
Retiro is to last four days; with bull-fights, running at the ring,
wild beast fights and other similar sports; in which "I may say without
flattery, the King, with his excellent comportment, exceeded all that
came in with him. The house is very richly furnished, and almost all
by presents; for the Conde hath made the matter his own, by whose means
it hath wanted not friends."[11] And then, as if to furnish a fit
commentary upon all this wasteful frivolity, the English ambassador
proceeds to say that trade with the Indies was dead, and that, "if
things go on like this they will not be able to re-establish it, and
that Portuguese Indian trade has been almost quite killed by
neglect."[12]
[Sidenote: Charles I. and Olivares]
Whilst the drums were beating in Madrid and other great cities to
enlist recruits to face the French in the coming war, and Olivares,
almost in despair, was casting about for fresh ways of getting large
sums of money, he ceaselessly endeavoured to win England to his side.
It was clear that the old method and the old bait would have to be
changed somewhat, for bland verbal assurances from the Spaniards in
favour of a restoration of the Palatinate, whilst the Emperor was left
unpledged, could no longer impose upon the least suspicious of
diplomatists. The new move was an extraordinary one, and displays
vividly the falsity of Charles I. For some time previous to {275} the
beginning of 1634, Olivares had been delighting Hopton by his
conciliatoriness, and somewhat mystifying him by arch hints as to the
future. Writing on the 24th January 1634, Hopton says that Olivares
was very much better disposed in English affairs than he was wont to
be. "I have done him several services, and try to leave him contented."
A few weeks after this, an explanation of the Count-Duke's amiability
came to Hopton in the form of a private letter from Windebank, the
Secretary of the King of England, enclosing the copy of an address made
by the resident Spanish agent in London, Nicolalde, to Charles. There
had been a talk for weeks of sending some great personage from Spain as
a special ambassador; but in the meantime Nicolalde had cast soundings
by suggesting a close alliance between England and the Emperor, in
which the Palatine would join. Charles had replied cautiously, saying
that he would consider it if the Palatine were confirmed in the
possession of the territories he now held, and especially the Lower
Palatinate. But the real inwardness of it all was revealed in a
private letter of 13th February from Cottington to Hopton, saying that
Charles was willing to league himself with the Emperor and Spain on
certain conditions, but that Coke, the Secretary of State, was to be
kept entirely in the dark about it, the negotiations being carried on
with the King (Charles) direct through Windebank. The object of the
proposed alliance was, "the expulsion of foreigners from the empire,
and the reduction of the rebels to due obedience," which meant the
crushing of the Dutch Protestants. King Charles, {276} says
Cottington, is quite set upon it. The plan can only miscarry by
incredulity on the part of Olivares, or any waywardness of Nicolalde;
and Charles, as an earnest of his good faith, offers the escort of an
English fleet to the Infante Fernando, if it was intended to send him
to Flanders by sea.[13]
[Sidenote: Intrigues with Charles I.]
Behind this there was another mysterious negotiation going on, relating
apparently to a marriage between Charles's eldest daughter Mary Stuart
to Prince Baltasar Carlos, both of whom were children of tender years.
Many close conversations on the subject took place between Hopton, as
the personal mouthpiece of King Charles, and Philip and his minister.
The constant claims and complaints of the English merchants and
shipmasters of Spanish extortion annoyed Hopton almost as much as
Olivares, because they introduced an element of trouble in these loving
confabulations. But Hopton, though zealous to serve his King, was
clearly ill at ease, as well he might be, for it was a dangerous
business for Charles to receive a big money subsidy from SPain, as was
proposed, and to turn the arms of England against the Protestants.
Hopton goes so far, indeed, as to say in his letters to Windebank that
he is not in favour of the subsidy, but that King Charles should fit
out a fleet at his own expense against the Dutch. This will, he says,
be easier, and will leave Charles more free and able to bring the Dutch
to reason. But, he continues, if the matter is undertaken at all, it
must be seen through to the end, or Holland will wax too insolent to be
borne.
{277}
Long discussions with the Council of State and with Olivares kept
Hopton busy in Madrid for months; the while the great betrayal proposed
was kept from the Secretary of State and all the responsible ministers
in England, a good foretaste of the policy that led Charles Stuart to
ruin and the block. To the official Secretary of State, Hopton had
much to say about the great preparations being made in Spain for war,
but no word about the secret plan for England to join in it on the
Catholic side. Great loans and levies are constantly being raised, he
reported in April 1634.
"This great ship," he wrote, meaning of course Spain, "contains much
water (_i.e._ money), but many leaks, and is always dry. It is certain
that they have made loans this year for 13 millions (of ducats), and
are still treating of more, yet at the end of the year they will
neither have money in their purse, nor army paid, nor nobody contented;
which is to be attributed to the hard terms wherewith they do their
business. For being masters of the mines of gold and silver, and
withal having but few friends, nobody will serve them but for their
interests: and their own subjects are so well conceited of themselves,
as they think they cannot be paid enough."[14] "In their present
levies," he continues, "though they are sorry men, they give them 3
reales a day, which is 18 pence English, and yet have all they can do
to keep them from running away. Subjects are fearfully hardly pressed.
The hard usage of business men in the Indian trade has made concealment
general, which has greatly reduced the {278} revenue of the crown.
Great measures were taken to discover unregistered treasure in the last
fleet, and they found 600,000 ducats, and will yet find more. But this
again will stop trade."
[Sidenote: Approach of war]
Everything possible was done by Olivares to please the English at this
juncture. The prisoners of the Inquisition at Cadiz were released,
Hopton was made much of, King Charles was the most popular potentate
amongst the idlers of Madrid; whilst the French ambassador, stoned and
insulted in the streets, was fain to take refuge in a monastery twelve
miles away to avoid scandal. "They want our friendship now," wrote
Hopton, "and we may make our market." The English ambassador had his
head quite turned by so much attention, and, to the anger of King
Charles, was drawn by the superior diplomacy of Olivares into going
beyond his instructions in his promises to the Spaniards. The King of
England had been bitten too often by Spanish plausibility not to be
distrustful; and Windebank's letter to Hopton, in May 1634, was almost
violent in its scolding. Hopton had gone so far as to say that the
English had decided to put a powerful army in the field to punish the
insolence of the Dutch, whereas King Charles had only broached it as a
proposition, and Nicolalde in the meanwhile was pledging the Spaniards
to nothing. When Olivares was pressed for guarantees in return for the
English aid he craved, the usual story was told; and by the middle of
July Hopton wrote to Windebank--
"_The_ business, as I expected when I saw them {279} haggling, has come
to naught. They only want to keep us neutral; and the affair is at an
end. I am not sorry, unless the Palatine might be made secure. When I
said they would oblige the gratefullest prince living, Olivares
replied: 'No hay gratitud entre Reyes' (There is no gratitude between
kings)."[15]
Olivares was beset on all sides. Detested by the nobles, with nearly
all of whom he was at feud;[16] feared and dreaded by the commercial
community, whom he had ruined; overworked, and at his wits' end to face
the vast present and prospective drains upon the national resources,
striving not only to do all the work of State himself and to direct
everything, but also to keep the King in a good humour by providing an
endless series of amusements for him, the Count-Duke was "so spent with
the burden of business that lies upon him," as Hopton wrote, "as to
deserve pity, if he would only pity himself." There was no class of
people now that did not feel the crushing weight of the war
expenditure, even before the great war with France had begun. In June
1634, Hopton reports that "a new tax had been imposed of one-eighth of
the value of all wine sold in Madrid, with no exception allowed, and
one twenty-fourth of all that is sold in the Castilian realms. All the
shops that sell wine are shut, so that all stock may be registered and
an account be rendered of sales. They think thus to charge the
retailer under great penalties. {280} It is like to be a great
trouble, and the greater part of the benefit will be consumed in
officers and false accounts." "I doe much doubte," he continues, "that
by degrees those impositions will first be laid upon all things of home
fabric and growth, and afterwards upon those things imported from
abroad; and your Honour (Coke) may guess to what immoderation the
revenues of this crown will grow by this means."[17]
The good, simple ambassador made no allowance for the self-stultifying
operation of oppressive taxation, and if he had reviewed the state of
affairs a few years later, he would have seen, as we shall in the
course of this book, that, so far from benefiting Philip's treasury,
these blighting impositions on the exchange of commodities ended in a
decrease of the revenue. But whilst the citizens were groaning under
impossible burdens, and the curses of a whole nation were following the
careworn Count-Duke, the King, as much afflicted with the troubles of
his people as anyone, but looking upon them as a visitation of
providence, must needs seek in pleasure distraction from his vicarious
sorrow which the oppressed citizens themselves could not escape.
"All the Court is at the new house" (_i.e._ the Buen Retiro) "for a
fortnight," wrote Hopton in July 1634, "which time hath been spent in
all manner of entertainments and much to their Majesties' contentment,
wherein the Count of Olivares took great pains, all things being
ordered by himself; and so well, as it savoured of his excellent {281}
judgment in all things, especially in the furniture of the house, which
was such as not to be thought there had been so many curiosities in the
whole kingdom; and this at very little expense, for it was for the most
part done by presents. Howbeit the things that were bought were dearly
and punctually paid for, inasmuch as nobody can wisely complain."
[Sidenote: Furnishing the Buen Retiro]
Doubtless no one could _wisely_ complain, but many had reason to do so,
for few great people with art collections escaped spoliation, and the
other palaces were to a great extent denuded of their treasures, for
the purpose of cramming the Buen Retiro with rarities. Some of the
nobles, like the Auditor Tejada, were artful enough to have copies made
of their best pictures, and sent the copies as originals to the Buen
Retiro. But, as in his case, this was bitterly resented by Olivares if
it was found out. The Marquis of Leganés, the nephew of the
Count-Duke, had a superb collection of pictures and articles of vertu
brought from Flanders and Italy; but when he was called upon to
disgorge, his wife stepped in and claimed the whole collection as her
dowry, and the Marquis was let off with the present of a piece of
tapestry. The chapel was fitted up at the expense of the President of
the Council of Castile; the Infante Fernando continued to send
beautiful objects, many of them spoils of war from Flanders; Olivares'
brother-in-law Monterey had to surrender much of the vast store of
pictures he had collected at Naples; and all the painters in Madrid
were kept busy copying or designing canvasses {282} for the new
palace,[18] under the direction of the King's painter, Don Diego
Velazquez, who, having returned from his long visit to Rome, was now,
and had been for the last three years, again working indefatigably in
his studio in the old Alcazar.
This, indeed, was the period when the great artist produced some of the
best of his work, such as the Surrender of Breda (the Lanzas), the
portraits of the child Prince Baltasar Carlos, the fine portrait of
Olivares reproduced in this book, and the famous equestrian portrait of
Philip himself. In the midst of all the growing national trouble, this
in many respects was the most brilliant and perhaps the happiest time
of Philip's reign, so far as he personally was concerned. His habits
were fixed and his pleasures keen. His fits of contrition were
frequent, it is true; but they were always banished by fresh pleasures
or amours contrived by Olivares. The {283} King intermittently
attended to State business himself; but the interminable discussions
and reports by the various Councils upon every subject made the
despatch of business peculiarly irksome and tedious. The Spanish
system of a consultative and deliberative bureaucracy, indeed, seemed
specially devised to disgust anyone but a patient laborious plodder
like Philip II. His grandson, impatient of detail and quick of
apprehension, loathed the dull pompous discussions of the Councils, and
not unnaturally was content to hear a summary of results from Olivares,
whose final decision he always confirmed.
[Sidenote: Philip's domestic life]
Philip's domestic life at this time had every reason to be happy,
though the growing tension between his wife and Olivares had to some
extent estranged them, and the Queen was, under the influence of the
minister, somewhat ostentatiously excluded from public business, not
unnaturally to her annoyance. She was, however, a good wife, and
shared Philip's frequent pleasures gaily, whilst in devotion of the
peculiar Spanish type she was even more emphatic than he. She had a
woman's reason for her dislike of Olivares, as well as the political
objections to him which were the ultimate cause of his fall. It has
already been mentioned that in pursuance of his system of doing
everybody's work, the minister had taken under his care the management
of the King's affairs of gallantry, and the results thereof. This, of
course, was perfectly well known to the Queen, and the satirical poets
who wrote so copiously of frailty in high places took care to publish
the fact. Even Hopton, when in a gossiping mood, referred to it more
than {284} once. Speaking of the skits that were current about
Olivares and the new palace, he wrote: "He (Olivares) hath had likewise
some harsh words with the Admiral for speaking to the King in
disparagement of his new house; and the Queen hath had her little
saying to him also, for some opinion she had of some secret pleasures
there brought to the King."
Whatever may have been the sum of Philip's infidelities, and it cannot
be denied that they were numerous, they were never more than temporary
and vulgar intrigues, which, whilst they would naturally annoy his
wife, did not threaten her permanent influence or interfere with her
continuous marital life with her husband. With monotonous regularity
almost every year the Queen gave birth to a child, usually a girl,
whose advent was an excuse for the customary series of costly
festivities so often described in earlier pages, festivities that in
most cases lasted almost as long as the life of the child whose advent
they greeted; for all the infants up to this time (1634) had died
except the sturdy, promising little Baltasar Carlos, who was idolised
by his father and mother, and, so far as the oppressive etiquette of
the Court would allow, was petted by the whole Court. The little
Prince who was born in 1629, had early developed a love for
horsemanship and field sports, and as a baby horseman, hunter, or
soldier, he is presented to the life again and again by Velazquez.
From Flanders his admiring uncle Fernando sent him many presents,
beautiful armour and weapons in miniature, which now adorn the rich
Armeria in Madrid, martial toys, and above all in 1633 what {285}
afterwards became the Prince's favourite steed, a "little devil of a
stallion pony," as the Infante calls him, that had to be lashed
liberally before Baltasar Carlos was allowed to mount him.[19]
[Sidenote: The Portuguese problem]
The limited number of his near relatives had become a source of
embarrassment to Philip. Of his two brothers, one, Carlos, had died,
and the other, the Infante Cardinal Fernando, was in Flanders fighting
and working heroically. There were no other Spanish relatives, but the
heir Baltasar Carlos and the beautiful illegitimate son Juan, now
growing into a handsome, clever lad in the secluded castle of Ocaña,
whilst the German archdukes had drifted farther and farther from Spain,
as had the Savoy Princes. It had always been the policy of the house
of Austria to keep the Spanish nobles powerless in the Peninsula. They
might command Spanish armies abroad and act as viceroys across the
seas, but were never to be trusted with executive power in the realms
of Spain; and it had become increasingly difficult, now that the nobles
of the outer realms had grown distrustful of Olivares, to find men of
the respective provinces who were of sufficient rank and could be
trusted to govern the non-Castilian territories in the name of the
King. The principal difficulty was in Portugal, where the widest
autonomy, and every possible guarantee against Spanish oppression, had
been granted by Philip II. But, as we have seen, the tendency for a
long time past, and especially under {286} Olivares, had been to
curtail the rights enjoyed by Portugal since the union of the crowns.
The promise that none but Portuguese should rule in the country had
been disregarded almost from the first in the appointment of Viceroys.
The Austrian nephew, the Archduke Albert, had reigned under Philip II.;
and Moura, the wise half-Portuguese minister of Philip II., had ruled
Portugal for years under his son. But to appoint a Portuguese noble
now, with Olivares' known policy, would have been highly dangerous, and
the Portuguese would hardly have stood a Spanish noble, even if Philip
had dared to appoint one. The policy of conciliation that Philip II.
had adopted had left the house of Braganza, which had a better claim to
the Portuguese crown than Philip, richer and more powerful than most
sovereigns. The reigning Duke of Braganza had married a sister of the
Spanish Duke of Medina Sidonia, the head of the Guzmans, of which house
Olivares was a cadet; and in normal circumstances Braganza might have
been the ideal man for Viceroy. But the circumstances were not normal.
The deepest discontent reigned in the country at the ruin that had
befallen its trade in consequence of its union with Spain, and
especially at the new taxation for Spanish objects proposed at the
bidding of Olivares; and a subject so powerful and so popular as
Braganza was naturally suspect. The difficulty was met at the end of
1634 by going somewhat far afield for a ruler of Portugal. The younger
daughter of Philip II., the Infanta Catharine, had married Carlo
Emmanuele, Duke of Savoy, in 1585; and one of their daughters, Princess
Margaret, the {287} widowed and dispossessed Duchess of Mantua, a first
cousin of Philip, was brought to Spain to govern Portugal,--the idea
being that, as she was a lady and a foreigner, she would be a safe and
obedient instrument in the hands of Olivares. In November 1634 she
entered Madrid in great state, and at the bull-fights and other
festivities held to celebrate her coming she sat by the side of Philip
and his Queen, which the Madrileños thought a great and unusual honour,
accorded in order to give her higher prestige and authority before she
set out for her fateful government, a figurehead for Olivares' attempts
against Portuguese autonomy.
[Sidenote: Catalonia]
Catalonia was more uneasy even than Portugal. There had been a talk
all the summer of the King's going thither to ask for more money, and
the Catalans were in anger at the very idea. So great was the
ill-feeling, that the Viceroy, the Duke of Cardona, a humble servant of
Olivares, thought it safer to keep out of the way of his subjects; and
the Castilian soldiers were daggers-drawn with the people, in whose
houses they were billeted, in defiance of the Catalonian constitution.
The growing danger from these provinces, and the busy intrigues of
Richelieu with the Dutch, to the intended detriment of Spain, again
drove Olivares to seek a renewal of the suspended negotiations intended
to draw Charles I. into the Catholic camp. At the end of July,
Olivares sent for Hopton in great excitement, to show him an
intercepted letter of the Prince of Orange, which, he said, disclosed a
dangerous plan against England and Spain. "Ah!" said the Count-Duke,
"we ought to have carried out that league of ours." "It {288} was your
fault," replied Hopton, "that it was not concluded. Nicolalde in
London was not authorised to give the necessary pledges." "Well,"
retorted. Olivares, "the matter may be arranged now, if you like."
The hint was enough for Charles. The first thing, he said, was to get
rid of Nicolalde, who was unsympathetic; and he sent an English agent
named Taylor to Madrid to recommend this course to Philip.
Soon negotiations were in full swing again. Some great personage, the
Count of Humanes probably, was to be sent to England, whilst the Duke
of Medina Celi was to go to France, and endeavour to secure the return
of Marie de Medici the Queen-Mother and her son Orleans to France,
which of course would have meant the paralysation of Richelieu. When
the news came of the decisive battle of Nördlingen (page 260), gained
over the Swedes and Weimar by the Infante Fernando, the great
rejoicings and festivities with which Philip greeted the victory
(October 1634), the bonfires and bull-fights and _Te Deums_, did not
disguise the fact that war with France sooner or later must now be
inevitably faced, and the efforts to come to an agreement with England
proceeded more warmly than ever.
[Sidenote: The agreement with Charles I.]
In October, at length, Windebank sent to Madrid the draft of the
agreement, and one stands aghast at the unwisdom of Charles and his
secret advisers, in thus showing willingness to betray the Protestant
cause at the hollow charming of Olivares. England was to provide
twenty ships of at least 400 tons each, ostensibly to protect the coast
of England and Ireland; but as soon as {289} the fleet was at sea,
notice was to be given to the Dutch in the form of an ultimatum to
surrender to Spain, or the English would attack them. Spain was
nominally to lend, but really to give, to Charles 200,000 crowns, and
100,000 a month for every month the fleet was at sea.[20] When Hopton
saw Philip with this draft, and as usual raised the question of the
Palatinate as a pendant to the Agreement, only evasive answers were
given to him, and again the negotiations flagged, whilst desperate
efforts were made in Spain itself to force the nobles to raise and arm
soldiers to take the field against France when the expected war should
begin in the spring.
But whilst Olivares was thus striving to obtain at least the neutrality
of England on the easiest terms for Spain, there was other diplomacy at
work at least as profound and more generous than his. The battle of
Nördlingen had broken up the effective league between Sweden and the
German Protestants, and John Frederick of Saxony, with the other German
Lutherans, soon made terms of compromise with the Emperor, by which
they gained the toleration they sought, and the Thirty Years' War came
to an end, so far as the religious struggle in Germany was concerned.
But the far-reaching schemes of Richelieu would have been frustrated if
the war had ended here, leaving Spain free from the drain of helping
the Emperor; for then she would have had power to deal with Holland
effectually, and re-establish her waning hold over Italy to the injury
of France. So, as war with Spain was necessary for Richelieu, he {290}
took good care to isolate his opponent before it began. He first
effected an alliance with the United Provinces, and intrigued in
Catholic Flanders with the nobles. Then he drew into his net Savoy,
Mantua, and Parma; he occupied the Valtelline again, and Sweden was
coupled to the car of France anew by Axenstiern, whilst, as a last
stroke, he strove hard to include Charles I. in his league with the
Dutch.
[Sidenote: The intrigue with England]
At the end of 1634, Olivares sent to Hopton in a great fright at news
that he had heard, to the effect that Charles I. had joined France and
Holland in their league; and bitter complaints were made of the
treatment of Spanish cruisers in English ports and in the Channel. In
one case a Dutch prize had actually been taken away from the Spanish
captors by English vessels, and brought into Dover. What was the
meaning of it? asked Olivares in a towering rage. Was the King of
England going to throw them over after all? A mention of the
Palatinate only made him more furious still. Thus the bickering and
bargaining went on all through the year 1635; Hopton urging Olivares to
send some news worth the carrying by Taylor to London about the
Palatinate, and the Count-Duke wrangling over the details of the
agreement about the subsidy to England, which he swore that Charles had
altered without consultation with Nicolalde. "He (Olivares) is in a
good humour now," wrote Hopton on one occasion; "but he is of a most
dangerous nature, to which we shall always be subject as long as the
business of the Palatinate shall last."
At length, when Olivares had exhausted the possibilities of
prevarication in Madrid, the secret {291} draught agreement was sent
back to London for further discussion and amendment, and the continued
neutrality of England at least was secured for another breathing space.
One is struck with positive admiration for the masterly way in which,
with this stale bait of the Palatinate, England was beguiled by
Olivares from year to year, and prevented from joining the enemies of
Spain. Richelieu had been bidding for English aid or benevolent
neutrality too, and this was a chance which, if Charles had possessed
any statesmanship worthy of the name, or any national ambition apart
from the advantage of his dynasty, might have enabled England to play
the part of the arbiter in Europe. But, as usual, the chance was
missed by the instability of Charles, and when the cloud of war burst
in the spring of 1635, the negotiations between London and Madrid were
still dragging on. There was a talk at one time of a partition of the
Spanish Netherlands between France and Holland after they should have
been conquered, and this made Charles more eager than ever for the
alliance with Spain to prevent such an eventuality, whilst both
Olivares and Richelieu were glad to keep him wavering with insincere
negotiations. His own condition, moreover, in England was already
becoming difficult; for he had levied the ship money, and had taken the
first fatal step by deciding to dispense with his Parliament; so that a
strong ally with ready money was desirable to him.
Windebank wrote to Hopton on 27th May 1635:
"The French ambassador is pressing King Charles very hard to make a
league with them; and it is {292} not the fault of the Spaniards that
it is not already concluded, for they are going the right way to thrust
us upon the French, though they cannot send a letter or pass an
ambassador without us. This is a strange fascination, and they deserve
to smart for it, as they will dearly if Dunkirk be besieged and his
Majesty help them not."[21]
A little later Hopton writes: "Their (the Spaniards) only hope for
Flanders and at sea is the friendship of our King. And yet they retain
their gravity, as if they were the arbiters of the world. I saw the
Conde yesterday, and, though he was a little troubled, yet he is very
confident that all would end to their honour."
The conclusion of the precious alliance with King Charles had evidently
at last to be carried through, or further delayed, by more
highly-placed ambassadors than Hopton and Nicolalde; and it was decided
that Sir Walter Aston should go to Madrid and the Count of Humanes to
London. Olivares was, or pretended to be, apprehensive of the coming
of a new English ambassador, but was assured by Hopton that Sir Walter
was all that could be desired from the Spanish point of view. Humanes,
on the other hand, was reported to be "an honest gentleman, but with a
good enough conceipt of himself. Thinking to get great things, he will
be a little hard to deal with in England." But the seas were crowded
with Dutch and French cruisers, and the land route through France was
of course closed to Spaniards, so it was a difficult thing to get
Humanes to England at all, unless he went {293} back in the English
ship that brought Aston. And so month after month of 1635 slipped by,
the war proceeding actively in Flanders against the Infante Cardinal,
and the French troops threatening Catalonia from Perpignan, whilst the
English treaty with Spain was still on the balance. Hopton, in June
1635, told Olivares that this coldness and delay in his proceeding was
producing a bad effect in England, and that unless they stirred
themselves King Charles might look elsewhere. "Upon what ground do you
say that," asked Olivares. "Upon Nicolalde's way of proceeding, and
the delay that is taking place. It makes us think that the whole thing
is a pretence," replied Hopton. "Everything is now practically settled
with very few alterations, and there need be no more delay," Olivares
assured him.
In July alarming news came to Madrid, that the Infante Cardinal had
sustained severe defeat in the Low Countries (at Tirlemont), and was in
personal danger. The Infante was intensely beloved in Spain, and the
evil tidings "caused great care to their Majesties and the whole Court,
for I cannot express what tenderness all sorts of people show to the
Infante," wrote Hopton; and, almost for the first time, Philip flew
into a violent rage with Olivares, when he learnt that a letter written
by the Infante, asking for further resources, had been concealed from
him. Olivares found himself faced now, as he had never been before, by
a determination on the part of Philip to act in opposition to his
advice. Philip had no lack of personal courage, and under stress was
capable of prolonged exertion. He was burning, {294} too, to
distinguish himself in arms, as his brother had done; and, urged
thereto by many of Olivares' enemies, he was insistent in his wish to
lead his armies in person on the Catalonian frontier, now threatened by
the French. Olivares, knowing that if the King were in the field he
could not keep him isolated, or hope to retain his exclusive hold upon
him, resisted the King's desire to the utmost, and almost daily
squabbles took place between them on the subject.
[Sidenote: The plot thickens]
It was clear now to Olivares that the aid of English ships in the
Channel was really in the circumstances desirable for the success of
Spain in Flanders. The road through Lombardy had been rendered
difficult by the adhesion of the several Italian princes to Richelieu's
league, and the war that was proceeding on the Rhine; and the sea route
was equally dangerous by reason of the Dutch and French squadrons. So
the Count-Duke made another desperate attempt to buy Charles Stuart
cheaply, and on trust. Late in July 1635, Olivares sent a very
pressing message to Hopton that he wanted to see him, and when the
ambassador presented himself in the palace, the Count-Duke asked him if
he had a confidential English servant he could lend him, to hurry off
to England at once with despatches for Nicolalde in London. "Yes,"
replied Hopton, "my man David Matthew will serve your turn"; and before
many hours had passed David Matthew was speeding on his way to London,
with instructions to the Spanish agent that the maritime treaty was to
be settled at all costs. The question of the Palatinate, Olivares told
Hopton again, should really be {295} settled now, though, not
unnaturally, Hopton had his doubts; for he knew secretly that the rebel
Earl of Tyrone had been brought disguised to Madrid by the Emperor's
ambassador, and was plotting even then with Olivares to raise sedition
in Ireland if King Charles turned to the side of the French.
Nicolalde in London still went no further than amiable speeches; but at
least Olivares' urgency had the effect of deciding Charles to send Sir
Walter Aston to Spain, though poor Humanes died in Madrid, whilst still
waiting for a ship to carry him, and was replaced as ambassador in
London by Count de Oñate, much to Hopton's delight, who looked upon the
appointment of so highly placed a personage as a great compliment.
"For what he cannot do, nobody can. He is very honest, but somewhat
hasty. In any case it is good to be rid of Nicolalde, who hates us."
Aston, when he arrived at Corunna in September 1635, was received with
ostentatious warmness; and it was evident that his coming meant more
than the mere ratification of a treaty already nearly concluded.
Cottington sent by him what he calls "a merry letter" to Olivares, to
tell him "how French I have become, for the Queen (Henrietta Maria)
dined with me at Hanworth awhile since, and not long after the new
French ambassadors, who now are become my friends, after complaining to
the King of my ill affection to their master's service, calling me
Conde de Olivares." It is plain that Sir Francis Cottington's
"merriment" was intended to convey a hint that unless Olivares was
really prompt this time in closing the deal, Charles would go over to
the French. Hopton was hopeful {296} but doubtful of Aston's better
success than his own, for he knew that the Palatinate still stood in
the way, and that Catholic Philip could never force the Emperor to
restore it to a Protestant. "I believe they wish for a close union,"
he wrote, when he was leaving to return to England, "and this King
might revoke the impediment if he liked, but I shall never be convinced
he will do it till he comes to the point."[22]
Money, as usual, was the great desideratum for Philip, if the war was
to be carried on with hope of success. Cortes were summoned both in
Castile and Barcelona, and the former, as usual, did as they were
asked, and voted 3 million ducats for the year;[23] Olivares having at
the time laid by, {297} as we are told, no less than 8 millions, "which
he will make 16 before the war begins in earnest." Spain was fortunate
that year 1635, too, with the Indies fleet, which arrived in June with
14 millions of ducats, "of which the greater part will reach the King,
besides the good profit he will get out of the confiscations." The
Cortes of Barcelona was, as always, difficult to deal with; and for a
time they were obstinate in their refusal to vote anything at all. But
it was their own country now that was threatened, and on the promise of
the King to relieve them from the levy of men for his armies, the
Cortes of Catalonia agreed to vote him 400,000 ducats, and promised as
much more as they could afford.
[Sidenote: Philip's revolt]
Philip's great dispute with Olivares was with regard to his wish to
visit Barcelona during the session of the Cortes, and to remain there
with his army, ready to lead it either to Italy, France, or elsewhere,
as the events of the war might demand. The favourite was shocked at
the King being exposed to such danger, and especially at the idea that
he might leave the country; and he opposed with all his experience and
authority the King's plan. "If Olivares can hinder the King from
engaging his person he will do so. He pretends to give way, so as not
to cross the King, who is set upon it, but he will not fail of ways to
compass {298} that which he wishes."[24] But though Olivares was
determined, Philip was obstinate; and when the minister, as was his
wont, told the King that the Council of State was opposed to his going,
Philip addressed a rescript to the Council, ordering them to discuss
and vote on the question of his going, but that every Councillor should
give his reasons individually to him for the advice he tendered. This
was not in accordance with the usual procedure, and under Olivares'
guidance the Council declined to do it, saying that the Count-Duke's
knowledge of their opinions was so complete that he would report them
to the King. It appears that Philip had given peremptory orders to
Olivares to make every preparation for his immediate departure, and
this was the subject submitted by the minister to the Council for
discussion. With the arrogant Count-Duke dominating them, the
Councillors, who were all his humble servants, of course agreed with
him against the King. Money was short, they said, for the journey; and
the recent successes in Flanders might perhaps make the voyage
unnecessary. In any case, they begged the King not to undertake the
matter lightly. Philip made the best of this halting dissent, replying
that he accepted the advice as to not going for the moment, but ordered
that everything should be made ready for his going at twenty days'
notice if it became necessary.[25]
[Sidenote: Continued decadence]
In the meanwhile the never-ending trivial show of Madrid went on. The
idlers still paraded up {299} and down the Calle Mayor or gossiped on
Liars' Walk for the greater part of the day. Philip issued ferocious
but ineffective pragmatics against extravagance in dress and household
appointments;[26] both the public playhouses were filled, and the
comedies applauded by eager crowds as usual. But, on the other hand,
famine had laid its grisly hand everywhere on the arid lands of
Castile, the excise had been increased until even in the capital itself
starvation was not a threat but a reality; the ecclesiastical revenues
were drained as they had never been drained before, and salaries,
pensions, and State debts were either not paid at all or else ruinously
curtailed. In Madrid, penury was now evident even amongst the better
classes;[27] and Philip, who always lived frugally in his own person,
was obliged to write to his brother Fernando, begging him to save to
the utmost: not to allow his household to wear other than plain cloth,
and not to spend a ducat unnecessarily.
Spanish troops were fighting under the Infante {300} for the
preservation of Flanders, in Germany, in Italy, in the Valtelline,
wherever the enemies of the faith or the allies of Richelieu defied the
Spanish claims; and yet it never entered the head, apparently, either
of Olivares or his master, that these terrible sacrifices were useless
to Spain; except that it was a point of honour to hold the Catholic
States of Flanders that had been the ancient inheritance of its royal
house. Holland was really lost beyond all recovery, though the
stiff-necked pride of Castile would not acknowledge it; the religious
question in Germany had already practically settled itself, and had
left Spain hardly an excuse for fighting for orthodoxy there. All that
was needed, even now, for Spain was to eat her unavoidable leek, to
recognise facts patent to all the world, and to abandon her impossible
pretensions; and peace with France and Holland might have been attained
with ease. But through all the suffering and stress, that if continued
meant national exhaustion, there was no indication anywhere of the
conviction that Spain must voluntarily humble herself or bleed to death.
[Sidenote: Court diversions]
The process of social decadence had gone on apace, as was inevitable in
such circumstances. scandals were of constant occurrence. At the end
of 1635, when the grave matters referred to were under discussion, two
nobles, the Marquis del Aguila and Don Juan de Herrera, came to blows
with each other in the theatre of the Buen Retiro Palace, in the
presence of the King himself;[28] {301} and whilst they fled from
justice, a greater noble still, the Count of Sastago, Captain of the
King's Guard, was accused of inciting them to the disturbance. As was
invariably the case, no sooner was one offence mentioned than a dozen
were added to it. The Count, it was said, had sold the sergeancy of
the guard for 1100 ducats; the provedor of the guard paid him fifty
reals every day, filched from the mess bill; he ill-treated his wife,
... and much else of the same sort; and as soon as Count de Sastago was
under lock and key for these offences, no less than three other noble
Counts were competing and quarrelling with each other for his place as
Captain of the Guard;[29] whilst, a few days afterwards, Zapata, the
Lieutenant of the Guard, was carried to prison for making a disturbance
at the entrance of the palace, and breaking down the barriers to get
in, against the royal orders, whilst Prince Baltasar Carlos was coming
out.
On New Year's Eve 1636, we are told, "their Majesties went to dine at
the Buen Retiro, where there was in the afternoon a sort of comedy or
festival never seen before in Spain. First there appeared the poet
Atillano, who has come from the Indies, and who may justly be called a
prodigy of the world, as he proved himself to be on this occasion; for
such is his poetic rage, that he utters {302} a perfect torrent of
Castilian verse on any subject proposed to him,[30] and, withal, in
very remarkable style, with much taste and adornments from the
Scriptures and classical authors, brought in most aptly, with
comparisons, emphasis, digressions, and poetic figures, which strike
his hearers with astonishment, many believing that it can only be done
by devilish arts, for he never drops a foot or forgets a syllable....
After Atillano came Cristobal, the blind man, well known at Court; and
he also showed his skill in turning out couplets impromptu, with his
usual prettiness and propriety, and quite in courtier-like fashion.
But as he lacks erudition, and the other man possesses much, you may
well imagine the difference between them. After the poets came
Calabaza, the dwarfs, the little negro, and the girls they call the
_Count's wrigglers_;[31] and they represented their figures and played
a hundred monkey tricks to raise a laugh. Afterwards the party ended
by a ball and masquerade. It was {303} very good and diverting; and my
lady Countess of Olivares gave the collation to their Majesties."
[Sidenote: Progress of the war]
The year thus fittingly begun in the Court was signalised by the
Cardinal Infante Fernando in Flanders and France by military capacity
which recalled the great days of the Emperor a hundred years before.
The French and Dutch allies were already suspicious of each other, and
were not co-operating cordially; so that Fernando had been able to wear
out the resistance of the French without a general engagement, and
whilst they, disorganised and decimated with famine and disease,
retreated into France, the Infante overran Picardy and Champagne. He
pushed his advance beyond the Somme and to the banks of the Oise,
threatening Paris itself, and elated Olivares planned a simultaneous
invasion of France under the Admiral of Castile, and yet another from
the side of Germany over the frontier of Burgundy. The only one of
these attacks that came to anything was that of the Cardinal Infante;
but even he, either from want of resources or lack of boldness, lagged
on the line of the Somme and Oise until the French had recovered from
their panic. Orange was also marching to aid his ally, and Paris had
raised a great army of citizens to resist further attack; and early in
1637 the Spaniards, under the Cardinal Infante, had retreated into
Flanders again, forced once more to stand on the defensive. But the
net result of the temporary display of Spanish vigour had been to free
the Catalonian frontier from imminent fears from the French, and Philip
had found no excuse for insisting further upon his {304} desire to
place himself in command of his troops in Barcelona.
A perusal of the gossiping newsletters of the times, though, of course,
much that they record is merely trivial, throws a lurid light upon the
utterly lawless condition of the capital at this grave juncture, when
the nation was supposed to be straining every nerve to prevent
humiliation at the hands of its implacable enemy. It would be
profitless to give details of all, or of any large number, of the
scandals mentioned by the chroniclers from day to day; but as a
specimen a few entries belonging to this year 1636 will give an idea of
the state of affairs in Philip's Court at the time. In January, Don
Antonio Oquendo, the famous naval commander, was at Mass in the church
of Buen Suceso,[32] when a challenge to immediate combat was brought
from the rival admiral Nicholas Spinola. Oquendo just gave himself
time to confess, and then met his opponent, both being mounted and
armed with knives. One of the combatants was wounded before the
passers-by could interfere, and the other fled to hiding.[33]
[Sidenote: A turbulent capital]
A day or two later, proclamation was made in the streets that the King
ordered all the Portuguese murderers in Madrid to leave within a week,
or they would be apprehended and sent before the judges, who Were
considering their cases. "The intention of this," sapiently says the
chronicler, "appears to be that they may thus be forced to {305} enlist
as soldiers, and the pragmatic with regard to the number of lackeys
allowed had a similar object." At the same time a scandalous quarrel
was going on between the officers of the Inquisition and the alcaldes
of the Court, or judges of first instance, on some trivial point of
etiquette, but which ended in wholesale excommunication of all the
alcaldes in a body, and several inferior officers on both sides being
condemned and imprisoned by the rival authorities. In the summer
another panic occurred in the Church of St. Philip and on Liars' Walk,
because a heretic shouted some sacrilegious words in the church; and
soon afterwards an offended soldier murdered by a pistol shot a
gentleman named Bilbao on the steps leading to the crowded atrium of
the church, the most frequented spot in Madrid.
On the 28th July there was a great bull-fight in the Plaza Mayor, which
had attracted a vast concourse of people, as the bulls were said to
have been unusually savage. They must have been so, for several men
were killed; but worse than this, daggers were drawn and a slashing
match commenced under the King's very eyes. Philip, outraged at such
disrespect, ordered the offenders to be arrested. They were handed by
the alguacils to the Archers of the Guard, from whom they managed to
escape. Philip quite lost his temper at this, which he very rarely
did, and rose wrathfully to leave the arena. The Queen pulled him by
the cloak, and coaxed him into sitting again whilst two more bulls and
many horses were done to death. But the King was still unappeased, and
as he went out past the Archers of the Guard {306} he told them "that
they had managed it very nicely. Why were they Archers, he wondered,
and what were they paid for?" the matter ending in mutual
recriminations between the Archers and the alguacils, and the
punishment of the former.
Matrimonial scandals succeeded each other daily in the Newsletters, and
the highest names in the Court are treated with the utmost scurrility
in this particular; whilst accusations of corruption on the part of
judicial authorities and priests are quite as common. The authorities
whose duty it was to keep order appear to have been as lawless as the
rest of the citizens. The Corregidor[34] (Governor of Madrid) had
occasion in October to call upon the King's upholsterer and valet de
chambre, who was also captain of a newly raised company of militia.
The soldiers in his courtyard, for some reason not stated, snatched the
Corregidor's wand of office from the page who carried it, and, having
broken it, belaboured the boy's back with it. The Corregidor, offended
in his dignity, told the soldiers angrily that he was a member of the
Council of {307} War, and their master; whereupon one of the
men-at-arms thrust his pike against the august breast of the
Corregidor, and threatened to kill him. Upon this a free fight took
place between the alguacils in attendance on the Corregidor and the
soldiers, and after much uproar one of the soldiers was overpowered and
borne off in triumph by the alguacils to the prison of the
municipality, "notwithstanding that it was the feast day of our
seraphic father St. Francis." The Corregidor lost no time, but sat in
judgment at once, and of course found the soldier guilty. But before
the trial was done a great rabble of soldiers assembled outside the
Guildhall (Casa de la Villa) to rescue their comrade from the hands of
justice. The town officers read an order from the balcony that every
soldier was immediately to withdraw, and the stout-hearted Corregidor
himself arrested the ringleader, and, kicking and cuffing, thrust him
into a cell. That afternoon the Corregidor accompanied the first
offender through the streets of Madrid, whilst 200 strokes of the lash
were administered on the poor soldier's bare back, and when the
Corregidor returned to the Guildhall he stood by whilst the other
offender was tortured on the rack. Out of this arose a quarrel royal
between the Council of War, who took the soldiers' part, and the Royal
Council, who were for the civil authorities; and for weeks afterwards
recriminations and punishments were abundantly exchanged.
There was, indeed, in all spheres a shocking absence of real dignity
and restraint. Crimes of the most horrible description are mentioned
as {308} being prevalent in the better classes;[35] and after the first
outcry they were allowed to go almost unpunished and unchecked. As may
be supposed, in such a state of society superstition of the grossest
description was common. The proceedings of the miracle-working nun of
Carrion, to whom, it will be recollected, the Infanta Maria had
recommended the Prince of Wales, had become so notorious that the
Inquisition had taken her in hand, and condemned her as a witch and an
impostor. But this appears only to have increased her fame for
sanctity, for several books in her praise were burnt by the
Inquisition, and every measure taken to expose her frauds by the Holy
Office; but with so little effect, that after her death, early in 1637,
an edict was read in every church in Madrid pronouncing major
excommunication against all those who retained images, portraits,
signatures, crosses, certificates, beads, or books relating to her.[36]
When the Marquis of Aitona was unwilling to start from Madrid to take
up the governorship of Milan in the spring of 1636, and delayed his
departure from week to week, a fresh pretext for delay, and one
generally praised, was that it would be most unwise for {309} him to
leave Madrid on the Ides of March, because it was the anniversary of
the murder of Cæsar.
[Sidenote: General lawlessness]
The lawlessness was not confined even to grown people, but extended to
children. It appears that late in 1636 a pragmatic had been drafted,
but not yet officially promulgated, decreeing that no man in future
might wear in Madrid the long wisp of hair before the ears (_guedejas_)
that had recently become the fashion; and women were strictly forbidden
to appear in the strange farthingales or very wide hoop skirt,
flattened back and front, called _guardainfantes_; "although," says the
chronicler, "it has not yet been proclaimed, the boys are already
hunting women who wear guardainfantes as if they were cows, hissing and
whistling at them, and insulting them dreadfully. To such a length has
this insolence been carried, that mounted alguacils have been posted to
prevent violence, two boys having been killed in the street last
Thursday by attendants upon the women, who had turned upon the
boys."[37]
Whilst Olivares bore upon his bowed shoulders the whole burden of
government, resorting to the most empirical means to raise money, such
as calling in the copper coin and restamping it to three times its
former value,[38] the King had to be distracted and kept amused by
never-ending entertainments, such as those that have been described
{310} in former pages.[39] Hardly a week passed without some pretext
for a long series of such shows, which now usually took place at the
favourite Buen Retiro. Aston, in one of his letters to Coke in May
1636,[40] describes the festivities of Whitsuntide that year.
"Three days of noble feasting," he calls it; "the first day a
masquerade on horseback, in the evening, and bull-fights on the other
two days, with cane tourneys. I was invited to all of them, and had
the particular honour on the first night to be placed in a balcony in
the King's own apartments with the grandees; this being an unusual
honour. On the other days I occupied a special balcony with my own
people. When the welcome news of the Cardinal Infante's victories in
Picardy came to Madrid late in September 1636, the rejoicings were
frantic. His Majesty and all the Court rode to Our Lady of Atocha to
give thanks.... They returned at night through the streets,
illuminated by countless torches; all the Councils having been ordered
to make a celebration in honour of the occasion, they all complied
famously, and with great sumptuousness, each feast having cost 2000
ducats, and others are yet to come which will surpass them all."[41]
{311}
[Sidenote: Continual festivities]
A few weeks later, an excuse was found in the expected arrival in
Madrid of the French Bourbon Princess of Carignano, wife of Prince
Thomas of Savoy, who was fighting for the Spanish under the Cardinal
Infante, and it was determined that in her honour the Buen Retiro
should surpass itself. Before the Princess had even embarked for
Spain, the great preparations were begun "to finish the new arena at
the Buen Retiro. Experts have been despatched to the country around
Madrid to obtain the 80,000 planks which will be needed for the
barriers that are to surround it. The work is going on so actively,
both in levelling the ground and erecting the woodwork, that there is
no cessation, even on Sunday or feast days; and the Corregidor has
erected there a scaffolding with a (neck) ring to punish the workmen
who do not complete their task properly, as an example to the others.
A triumphal car is also being made, of which the cover alone is to cost
4000 ducats; and it will be enclosed in glass, in order that the inside
may look more beautiful."[42]
Another fine feast is described by Aston in June 1636. Writing to
Coke, he says:
"The King and Queen retired to Buen Retiro to enjoy the curious gardens
and new waterworks contrived by Olivares, and a great variety of
festivals. One on Midsummer night was of the greatest ostentation and
curiosity I have ever seen in my life. I had {312} the honour to be
invited to it, and had extraordinary favour and respect shown in the
place that was given to me. The entertainment was a play that was made
on purpose to be acted by the three several companies of players of
this town, the intention whereof was so good; the place where it was
acted being set out with three several scenes of much ostentation, and
the disposition of the lights so full of novelty and delight, that I am
highly tempted to give your honour a larger description of it, but that
it would prove to be business enough for a large letter."[43]
It was not all feasting and play-going for Sir Walter Aston at the
historic "house with the seven chimneys." When he arrived to replace
Arthur Hopton, early in 1636, the famous agreement between Philip and
Charles was still uncompleted, and the complaints of the English
shipmasters against Spanish oppression were louder and more insistent
than ever. Tyrone and the Desmonds were in Madrid negotiating for the
raising of fresh Catholic Irish regiments for the Spanish service, and
urging Philip to make no terms about the Palatinate unless Charles
would restore the lands of O'Neill. But the aid of an English fleet in
the Channel became more and more desirable to Spain as the war went on;
and it was clear that the old vague promises and smiling plausibilities
of Olivares had at last lost their efficacy with Charles. An
instructive light is thrown upon the methods by which Olivares still
strove to cope with the situation, by an original holograph letter in
the Record Office[44] from Olivares' confidential secretary Rojas,
{313} to the imperial ambassador in Madrid, asking him by King Philip's
orders to "give some words of hope to the English ambassador about the
Palatinate." "It is of the utmost importance that we should make use
of all such expedients as present themselves; as it appears that the
King of England is extremely busy preparing a powerful fleet to be used
to the detriment of this Crown, ... probably against Brazil, in
co-operation with the Hollanders."
On the 18th June 1636, Olivares wrote a serious letter to Aston,
evidently intended to bring affairs to a crisis. He, Olivares, had
news, he said, of a design of a French naval attack on the English
coast. Aston replied coolly that he had no doubt due measures would be
taken in England to repel any attempt; but in the subsequent interview
he succeeded "in persuading," as he says, "the Conde to assent to the
terms for the co-operation of the English fleet, and Count de Oñate was
instructed to start for England at once. They are really trying to
prove that they desire the King of England's friendship. Indeed, in
the present state of things it is needful for them, and I hope our King
will make wise use of the opportunity."[45] But, withal, the
Palatinate, which was the question nearest to Charles's heart, was
still left open, though Arundel in Vienna was pushing the point there
industriously, while the Palatine himself appealed personally to Philip
by a letter which received no answer.
When Count de Oñate eventually presented himself before King Charles at
Whitehall, the English King left no doubt that the Palatinate {314} was
uppermost in his mind. Speaking in Latin, he asked Oñate three
questions--"Whether, having notice of the final answer of the Emperor
to Arundel, he hath any power by way of interpretation or otherwise to
qualify the said answer? Whether he hath power from the King of Spain
to deliver to King Charles, or the Prince Elector, that part of the
Lower Palatinate in his (Philip's) possession, and also by this
mediation that part held by the Emperor? Whether he hath commission to
set down in particular those conveniences that his father told Arundel
the King of Spain would insist upon? Whether, in accordance with the
assurance given by the English ambassador in Spain, King Charles may
expect by him (Oñate) any more particular and full satisfaction than
hath yet been delivered?"[46] Needless to say that Oñate had no clear
answers to any of these questions, nor instructions to forward the
matter of the Palatinate definitely; and once more discouragement fell
upon those who had hoped to carry through the treaty.
Hopton, when he arrived in London and heard the news, wrote to Aston by
Richard Fanshawe, who was on his way to Spain:
"A greater change has taken place in our purposes in the last month
than in years before. Our eyes are now opened to the intention of the
house of Austria to keep hold of the Palatinate. They must have a very
mean opinion of us to treat our King with so little courtesy. If his
Majesty gives way to the opinion {315} of his subjects about the
Palatinate, it will prove to Spain their error. It is incredible that
they should act thus. They will certainly lose us if they be not
careful." At the same time, the Spaniards were boasting in Madrid that
"the Palatinate has been put to bed, and the King of England will not
dare to break with us about it."
[Sidenote: England again shelved]
The need of Spain for English co-operation was now once again growing
less urgent, for the star of Richelieu was temporarily dimmed. The
coalition of the Italian princes against Spain had fallen to pieces,
the Dukes of Mantua and Savoy died, and Parma was forced to submit to
Spain. The Valtelline was retaken and occupied by the Spanish troops,
and the Grisons conciliated; whilst Cardinal la Valette's campaign in
1637 against the Infante Cardinal partially failed. In Germany, too,
the French were defeated all along the line, and, worst of all, France
lost Alsace. Richelieu, moreover, was faced by the dangerous Court
intrigues of Gaston of Orleans and his cousin Soissons, and half France
was in smouldering revolt against the taxation imposed by the great
Cardinal. The way across Lombardy and Tyrol to Germany and Flanders by
land was now open to Spanish troops; and Olivares, having kept unstable
Charles of England on the tenterhooks all these years with the bait of
the Palatinate, could now snap his fingers at him, and for a time drop
the mask.
[1] An attempt was made to enforce gifts of this donation from
foreigners, and four English youths at Bilbao resisted, but on Hopton's
representations they were exempt.
[2] In fact, a notification had been sent to the Pope that the Nuncio
in future would be treated as any other ambassador, and the large
revenue drawn by the Papacy from Spain would be in future taken by the
King. Upon this the Nuncio was withdrawn, and much trouble ensued.
[3] Corner, the Venetian ambassador in Madrid, writing at the same
period, says: "He (Olivares) is greatly hated both by the grandees and
by the people of all classes, but nobody believes that he can be turned
out of his place.... He is very austere and hard in his dealings with
people, which causes great anger, and the murmurs against him are open
and loud, even the preachers in the pulpits denouncing him; and
everybody is saying that it is a wonder he can stand against it all."
[4] As if to silence these terrible hints, Olivares had at this time
adopted an ostentatiously saintly mode of life. Corner speaks of him
as living very quietly and in great melancholy since the death of his
only daughter. "He professes to live in much piety and devotion,
confessing and communicating every day. He has so many masses said
daily, and to all appearance lives the life of a devotee. He has now
begun to lie in a coffin in his chamber like a corpse, with tapers
around him, whilst the _de profundis_ is sung; whilst in ordinary
affairs he talks like a capuchin friar, and speaks of the grandeur of
this world with the greatest disdain."
[5] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[6] Hopton, writing soon after this (January 1634), says the levies are
going on very slowly. Yesterday a pragmatic was published limiting the
number of lackeys and squires, all beyond that number are to be
discharged, and so also are those employed in unnecessary trades, so
that many will be at leisure to serve the King. But the pragmatics did
not dare to attack the greater scandal of all, namely, the enormous
number of ruffians who escaped all responsibility to the ordinary laws
by becoming nominally "Familiars" of the Inquisition, or servants, in
the broadest sense, to the religious communities.
[7] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[8] This was an ancient Dominican religious house near the palace, at
the corner of the present Cuesta de Santo Domingo in Madrid.
[9] Particulars of the case will be found in the contemporary MS., D.
150, Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid.
[10] On a portion of the site of the Buen Retiro the Countess of
Olivares had formerly had an aviary with a collection of domestic
poultry, in which she and her husband had taken great interest. The
wits of the capital had dubbed the place "the hen-coop"; and the name
was the peg upon which the satirists and poets hung their scurrilous
gibes at the new palace. Corner, the Venetian ambassador at this time,
writes: "The origin of the edifice has become a subject for great
ridicule. The site was occupied by a collection of poultry the
Countess had, and although the hens were curious and pretty of their
sort, it was a source of much wonder and derision that the Count, who
is occupied in such grave business, should have taken such interest in
the hens.... Everybody calls it (the palace) the 'hen-coop,' and
numberless pasquins have been written about it, even Cardinal Richelieu
joking about the hens and the hen-coop to a secretary of the King
(Philip) who was in Paris."
[11] Hopton's MS. Notebook. Corner also says that anybody who wished
to stand well with Olivares hurried to send some precious thing to
adorn the Buen Retiro.
[12] _Ibid._
[13] Fernando was in Milan, and was already under orders to march to
Flanders overland at this time.
[14] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[15] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[16] At this very period the great Don Fadrique de Toledo, son of the
Duke of Alba, was in prison, the victim of Olivares' jealousy, and most
of the grandees avoided Court as much as possible.
[17] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[18] Carl Justi. Presents of paintings were also sent from England.
Coke, for instance, sent, presumably from Charles I., a picture by
Horatio Gentileschi as a present to King Philip. It is extraordinary
to note in the correspondence of the English diplomatists at this
period the constant mention of the sending of pictures to Spain, and
vice versa, mostly for King Charles, but very often also for Lady
Cottington. In May 1633, Hopton writes to Cottington the following
reference to a painter sent to Madrid to copy pictures for Charles I.,
which I do not think has been noticed before. "The King's painter is
sending some pieces. He is a very well governed young man and a good
husband (_i.e._ a good manager of money), yet by reason of the
dearenesse of this place, and being willing to live in so handsome a
manner as a man sent by his Majesty, money goes away apace which I
cannot remedy, because I doe not see that he can; but I conceive his
Majesty will have a very good account of him, to whose service I
perceive he hath wholly disposed himself." A little later we are told
that "the King's painter hath fallen sick of a calenture, and grows
worse. I am out of a great deal of money by him." Lady Cottington and
others in England were constantly asking for Labrador's flower and
fruit pieces to be sent to them, and purchases and exchanges of
pictures are often spoken of for King Charles himself.
[19] The charming picture by Velazquez, here reproduced, represents the
little Prince at about the age of nine on his pony galloping near the
Pardo. There is another charming equestrian portrait of the Prince in
the Duke of Westminster's collection, with Olivares in the background.
[20] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[21] Hopton's MS. Notebook.
[22] It is curious that during all this period of great international
anxiety and important negotiations, the talk about pictures is still
constantly to be met with in the diplomatic correspondence. At one
time, in June 1635, Suero de Quiñones wished to send two pictures as a
present to King Charles. "I (Hopton) and King (Charles's) painter have
seen them, and think they are good, particularly a Venus and Adonis of
Luqueto. The other piece is by Tintoret. Suero de Quiñones is poor,
but of quality. I know not why he should give his pictures away thus."
But Quiñones, urged doubtless by poverty rather than his quality, did
not give them away after all, and perhaps never intended to do so; for
Hopton writes months afterwards: "Quiñones has played the knave, and
sold his pictures." On another occasion (July of the same year),
Hopton expresses his delight to Cottington that Labrador's paintings
had come to hand at last. "The painter who made the landskips," he
continues, "is now dead, and his pieces are much sought after and
highly prized. I have a few of them and am using diligence to get some
more, at your lordship's service. If the man had lived I think I had
carried him with me to England; for he was grown much out of love with
his own country, and was much my friend." MS. Notebook.
[23] After they had voted this usual 9 millions to extend over three
years, the Cortes were thunderstruck in the following January 1636, by
a demand of Olivares that they should vote an additional 13 millions.
The members were all paid and submissive; but this was too much even
for them. They flatly refused to vote the sum, which they said it was
quite impossible for their constituents to pay. The royal Council then
at once commenced criminal proceedings against them, whereupon the
members prayed for time to consult their constituents, and orders were
given by the Council to levy the 13 millions of necessary without the
vote: to this abject state had representative institutions been reduced
in the realms of Castile. See Danvila's _Poder Civil en España_,
_Documents_, and Rodriguez Villa's Newsletters, 1636-37.
[24] Hopton to Coke, 13th June 1635. MS. Notebook.
[25] Council of State Deliberations of 19th November 1635. Danvila,
_El Poder Civil en España_.
[26] There was one pragmatic which touched Madrid to the quick, namely,
that which forbade the use of carriages except to a very few privileged
people. So great was the outcry against this, that it was found to be
impossible to enforce it, as the driving about in coaches was the main
pleasure and amusement of every one who could afford it, and of many
people who could not. Whilst, therefore, the pragmatic was rigidly
enforced in the provincial capitals, licences were issued to anyone in
Madrid to own a coach on payment of 100 ducats.--Rodriguez Villa's
Newsletters, January 1636. Other pragmatics were issued at the time,
regulating the courtesy titles, as it was found that too many people
were calling themselves _Lordship_.
[27] In the Rodriguez Villa's Newsletters at this period, hardly a week
passes without reference to the selling up of some nobleman's
belongings for debt. One of the most ostentatious nobles in Madrid,
the Marquis de las Navas, was soon after this fined for some offence,
and as he had no money an execution was put in on his coaches and
horses, which it was then found were not his own but hired; and his
furniture and even the tapestries of his palace belonged to other
people.
[28] Both of them got safe away abroad, and the Marquis del Aguila was
condemned to death in his absence. Herrera subsequently issued a
public challenge for the Marquis to meet Him and fight in Switzerland,
and thus explains the affray. The Marquis, he asserts, said in the
theatre that he was drunk, and though he made no reply to this, an hour
afterwards he came behind him and struck him a great blow on the back
of the neck. He (Herrera) then drew his sword, and he and the Marquis
were both seized by the Guard.
[29] _La Corte y Monarquia de España en_ 1636-1637, a series of
newsletters written by an anonymous grandee in Madrid, edited by A.
Rodriguez Villa.
[30] Philip had grown very fond of these tests of literary promptitude,
at which he appears to have shone. In Morel Fatio's _Espagne au XVI.
et XVII. Siècle_ there is reproduced the programme of a great burlesque
_Academy_ of this sort, which took place at the Buen Retiro during the
fetes of 1637. There are fourteen items for competition, of which the
following are good specimens: A romance declaring which stomach is most
to be envied, that which will digest great sorrows or great suppers.
An epigram in two Castilian couplets, declaring which is the most
foolish, to be a fool sometimes or to be always discreet. Sixteen
roundels, about a procuress who was dying, much comforted that there
were no proper men left in the world; and just as she is about to
expire, a young man comes in whom she receives with delight, saying to
him, "My friend, you are just in time; there are two beautiful lasses
in there, as good as gold; one dark and the other fair." And as the
youth was hesitating which to choose the expiring old woman cried, "My
son; for heaven's sake take the dark one. This is no time for me to
deceive people." The tale has been drawn out thus, because they say it
is true.
[31] Las Sabandijas del Conde.
[32] This church was at the end of the Puerta del Sol, where the Hotel
de Paris now stands.
[33] Oquendo, only a few weeks later, took command of the galleys at
Cadiz to attack the French fleet, and received 200,000 ducats.
[34] This was the Count of Montalvo, who must have been more
quarrelsome and punctilious than most of his compeers, for only a few
weeks after the contention here described he had a violent quarrel with
the Council of Castile, the supreme judicial authority, which ended in
the Corregidor himself being imprisoned and heavily fined. It appears
that he had ordered an alguacil to attend him, which the alguacil
refused to do, as he was not under his jurisdiction. The Corregidor's
answer was to cast the man into prison; whereupon the alguacil appealed
to the President of the Council of Castile, who told the Corregidor
that he had exceeded his powers. The touchy Corregidor in a rage burst
out with: "A rebuke to me. By Christ's body, his Majesty the King has
many ministers who do not know what they are doing." The scandalised
president without more ado cast the Corregidor into prison, from which
only after much trouble he was released.
[35] Particulars of these may be found in Rodriguez Villa's _La Corte y
Monarquia de España en_ 1636-1637, p. 50 and in Barrionuevo's
Newsletters of a subsequent date. With regard to the period now under
review (1636), one of the accused persons under torture was hastily
taken down from the rack, "as he showed an intention of accusing half
Madrid." On this occasion two obscure persons were burnt alive, but
scores of aristocrats whose names are freely mentioned in the letters
escaped with short banishment from Court or no punishment at all.
[36] It was afterwards stated that one bishop had surrendered thousands
of the nun's letters to the Inquisition, and the Cura of Santa Cruz had
"a room full of crosses, medals, images, and old rags belonging to her,
whilst the Duke of Arschot had two thousand made specially to be
blessed by her." Rodriguez Villa.
[37] Rodriguez Villa's Newsletter, October 1636.
[38] This, as Aston wrote, made gold and silver a mere merchandise.
The pragmatics, it is true, fixed the premium on silver at 25 per
cent., but it was at once raised in the open market to 34 per cent. and
more, the resulting distress and dislocation of business being
appalling. Aston to Coke, 29th May 1636. Record Office, S.P. Spanish
MSS. 38.
[39] In April of this year, 1636, for instance, Philip for some reason
or other was in depressed spirits on Sunday 26th, and was for a time
secretly closeted in the chapel alone in prayer. At once, we are told,
"great and sudden preparations were ordered to be made in the palace
for comedies and interludes, and the comedians were warned to play as
many buffooneries as they could to make his Majesty laugh." An account
in MS. of all that happened in the Court from 1636 to 1642, Biblioteca
Nacional, Madrid, H. 33
[40] Record Office, S.P. Spanish MSS. 38
[41] Newsletter. Aston also describes the rejoicings on this occasion,
and mentions that Philip "let fall some expressions of regret that his
brother-in-law's affairs had fallen into such bad case." This was a
curious expression, as the brother-in-law in question was the King of
France, and it was Philip's own army that had put him "in bad case."
[42] Rodriguez Villa.
[43] Record Office S.P., Spain MSS. 38.
[44] _Ibid._
[45] Aston to Coke, 30th June 1636. Record Office, MSS. S.P., Spain,
39.
[46] Record Office S.P., Spain MSS.
{316}