CHAPTER X

MORAL AND SOCIAL DECADENCE IN MADRID--PHILIP'S HABITS--POVERTY IN THE

PALACE--VELAZQUEZ--THE MENINAS--BIRTH OF AN HEIR--THE CHRISTENING--THE

PEACE OF THE PYRENEES--PHILIP'S JOURNEY TO THE FRONTIER--MARRIAGE OF

MARIA TERESA--CAMPAIGNS IN PORTUGAL--DON JUAN--DEATH OF HARO--PHILIP

BEWITCHED--DEATH OF PHILIP PROSPER--BIRTH OF CHARLES--FANSHAWE's

EMBASSY--LADY FANSHAWE AND SPAIN--ROUT OF CARACENA IN

PORTUGAL--PHILIP'S ILLNESS--THE INQUISITION AND WITCHCRAFT--DEATH OF

PHILIP

By great good fortune there have survived descriptions and accounts of

life in Philip's Court at the time of which we now write (1654-1660),

so minute and so photographic in their fidelity, as to provide

absolutely trustworthy material for a true comparison of the condition

of affairs after five-and-twenty years of a disastrous reign, with that

which had existed on the King's accession. A writer of keen

observation, insatiable curiosity, ample opportunity, and much literary

skill, the noble churchman and poet Jeronimo de Barrionuevo, from 1654

for several years wrote almost every week a chatty letter from Madrid

to his friend the Dean of Saragossa and others, setting {442} forth

with perfect frankness everything worth recording that passed in

Madrid. At the same time, an observant Hollander named Aersens van

Sommerdyk visited Spain, and stayed in the capital long enough to write

an account of the social and political condition of the Court as it

appeared to an intelligent foreigner; whilst shortly afterwards the

sparkling narrative of life in Madrid, written by the Frenchman

Bonnecasse, came to confirm the impressions of the Spaniard and the

Dutchman.[1] If we add to these Philip's own weekly letters to the

nun, and the reports of the Venetian ambassadors, which are also in

print, we have a mass of contemporary evidence which cannot be

contradicted, especially in matters upon which all agree.

[Sidenote: Madrid in 1655-1660]

It is well that this should be so; for the picture to be presented of

life in the capital of the Spains at the end of Philip's reign is so

gloomy, that the historian who ventured to produce it without full

contemporary warrant would be accused of bias {443} and exaggeration.

At the beginning of the reign we saw a fairly numerous class of nobles,

churchmen, and officials, still rich with royal grants and government

plunder; whilst the mass of the people were sunk in poverty. At the

time of which we are now writing the nobles themselves had been bled to

a state of bankruptcy. They and the Church were supposed to be exempt

from taxation; but the demands made upon them, and especially upon the

nobles, for funds for the war had ended by reducing most of them to the

same poverty-stricken condition as their inferiors in rank. The

financial and mercantile classes had lost all confidence; for the

arbitrary seizure of their property again and again by the Government,

and the crushing taxation on exports, even to Spanish colonies, had

driven them to universal evasion and contraband, to the further

depletion of Philip's resources.[2] Haro, who had a revenue of 130,000

ducats a year, and a few of his kinsmen, were still very rich, and

continued to plunder all they could, though there was, indeed, little

left to plunder; and in addition to these, the only people who had much

ready money to spend were the colonial officials who had returned home

with the booty of their offices.

The idleness and pretension of all classes in the capital had increased

now to such an extent, that practically the whole of the necessary work

had to be done by foreigners; there being as many as 40,000 French

subjects in Madrid dressing as Spaniards, and calling themselves

Burgundians or Walloons, to escape the special tax on foreigners.[3]

{444} By these people most crafts and callings were conducted, the

Spanish working classes being occupied mainly in casual service, petty

traffic, and mendicancy; whilst highway robbery and murder, even in

Madrid, was so frequent as to cause no remark. The streets were more

filthy and dilapidated than ever, and still the crowd of idlers on foot

and in vast number of coaches, drawn by mules now, for the horses had

been seized, thronged the promenades,--the Calle Mayor in the winter,

the Prado and river bank in the summer; the humbler classes elbowing

their social superiors with perfect effrontery, wearing swords and

daggers, claiming equal respect, and, indeed, swaggering more than the

nobles.

The two playhouses, which had been reopened on the King's second

marriage, were crammed every day with artizans dressed in imitation or

cast-off finery, and calling themselves _caballeros_, who had to pay

from 10 to 15 sous in all for a seat;[4] and, whilst the fields were

mostly tilled, if at all, and the urban labour was performed, by

foreigners, the very cloth upon Spanish backs being made in Holland and

England from Spanish wool, the native working classes still

vociferously kept up the silly tradition of their own gentility, and of

national potency and the overwhelming wealth of the King. The

alternate appreciation and debasement of the coinage had enormously

raised the price of commodities, and especially of house rent {445} in

Madrid; the houses being still low, shabby, and incommodious, for the

most part, owing to the claim of the King to the first floor of every

house or its equivalent in money.

But what struck foreigners, and indeed observant Spaniards, at this

period, was the appalling profligacy still prevalent in Madrid. Public

women almost monopolised the promenades; their shameless impudence in

broad daylight having the effect of lowering the standard of behaviour,

even of decent women, who thought it no insult, but rather the

contrary, to be addressed in amorous terms by strange men in the

street.[5] The women, for the most part, still went about,

notwithstanding the prohibition, with shawls covering their faces

except one eye, and this facilitated intrigue in all classes to a

shocking extent. The Government were in despair about the utter

disregard by women of the dress regulations; for the wide farthingales,

stiff, extravagant wigs, and fine stuffs were worn in spite of all

pragmatics, since the Queen and her ladies set the fashion; and the

only persons punished were the unfortunate shopkeepers who supplied the

offending things.

The whole moral situation in Spain was indeed a social problem which

can only be explained by the lack of feminine influence in society at

the time and previously. There had always remained a taint of Oriental

tradition in the treatment of women in Spain. They had been kept in

strict seclusion; {446} they were for the most part entirely ignorant,

and had never taken an equal social position with men, usually dining

apart from their husbands, visiting each other in closed chairs or

coaches, and spent their time squatting on the ground in circles

talking trivialities or devotion, whilst the men were rarely

accompanied by their woman-kind in public. It was therefore no wonder

that in such a state of society as this, ladies and modest women for

the most part abandoned the streets and public places to utter

profligacy; and that men, free from the salutary influence exercised by

the presence of good women, sank deeper and deeper into vice. Philip,

under the influence of the nun, had striven hard to make his capital

more decent; but the whole tide of feeling was contrary and too strong

for him; whilst his own example in this respect was a very bad one,

which seriously weakened his efforts. Barrionuevo, in one of his

letters at this time, mentions the King as being "a fine hand at

bastards, but with very poor luck as regards legitimate children"; and

shortly afterwards, during one of Philip's spasmodic attempts to

cleanse his capital, the same writer says: "They are arresting all the

women they find wandering unoccupied about the streets, and hailing

them off by tens and twenties to prison with their hands tied. The

gaol is crammed full, so that they have hardly room to stand, and the

house will have to be largely extended if this rigour is to go on, or

vast supplies of wood will have to be laid in to burn some of them

otherwise."

In the matter of men's dress Philip's example had agreed with his

precept; and here he had {447} succeeded in imposing the fashion of

sombre modesty. No man was allowed to enter his presence, or even to

tender a petition to him as he went to Mass through his lines of red

and yellow halberdiers, unless apparelled entirely in black, and

wearing a _golilla_. The style of dress had changed somewhat since the

King's accession. The hats were much smaller, and often of silk

instead of felt, and profusely trimmed with black lace. The doublet,

trunks, and cape of the men were usually of black baize, as was the

_ropilla_, a close-fitting unbuttoned tunic reaching to the thighs,

with open sleeves hanging from the shoulder; though gentlemen often

wore black silk doublets and trunks in the summer. The trunks or

breeches were now cut quite narrow, with buttons at the knee, like

modern knickerbockers; and the fashion was to wear thin black silk

stockings over thick white ones, and the shoes were tied with very

broad black ribbons.[6]

The King was now rarely seen in public, except that on two days in the

week he sat almost motionless for an hour in public audience to receive

petitions, which with a slight inclination of his head he referred to

Don Luis de Haro. The various Councils, as before, discussed at great

length every point touching their respective departments, and, unseen,

the King might listen to their deliberations; but practically his

intervention in their business was confined now to his {448} sitting

upon his throne every Friday morning, whilst the respective secretaries

recited what had been done during the previous week. The King's assent

to their recommendations was usually given simply by the words "_Está

bien_," It is well; but if the matter appeared to demand further

attention he turned to Don Luis de Haro, who stood by his side, and

told him to speak to him later about it. Don Luis de Haro was in all

but name a Vice-King. Everyone, even the Secretary of State, knelt

whilst he addressed him, and Philip appended his signature "Yo el Rey,"

with little or no inquiry, to everything that the favourite placed

before him.

His finances were more hopelessly involved than ever, especially after

Cromwell joined the French against him: and he told the Cortes of

Castile in the previous year, 1654, that out of the 10 million ducats

voted to him by them he only received 3 millions. From the Indies in

all he received in good years from 1½ to 2 millions of ducats;[7]

whilst about 2 millions came from Aragon, etc. Out of a total nominal

revenue, therefore, of about 18 million ducats he only received about 8

or 9 millions, the rest being either anticipated or intercepted by

peculation; and in the year 1654 he confessed to an uncovered debt of

120 million ducats. But, withal, though Philip himself made no secret

of his poverty, the country at large, and particularly the people of

Madrid, insisted upon boasting still Of the boundless wealth at his

disposal. There are in Barrionuevo's letters scores of references to

the squalid penury that existed {449} everywhere at this period,[8]

even in the interior of Philip's palace; but the following short

extract from one of them, belonging to the year 1657, will suffice.

[Sidenote: Poverty in the palace]

"For the last two months and a half the usual rations have not been

distributed in the palace; for the King has not a _real_. On the day

of St. Francis they served a capon to the Infanta (Maria Teresa), who

ordered them to take it away, as it stank like a dead dog. They then

brought her a chicken, of which she is fond, on sippets of toast, but

it was so covered with flies that she nearly overturned the lot. This

is how things go on in the palace.... It appears also that the Queen

likes to finish her dinner with sweetmeats; but as none had been

brought to her table for some days, she asked the lady whose business

it is to attend to these things, why they were not served as usual.

She replied that the confectioner refused to supply them because he

could not get paid, and a large amount was owing to him. The lady then

drew a ring from her finger, and said to a servant: 'Run out at once

and get some sweetmeats, anywhere, with this jewel.' But the buffoon

Manuelito de Gante was present, and cried: 'Put your finger in your

ring again, mistress'; and with that he took a copper real from his

pocket and said: 'Go and get some {450} sweetmeats quickly, so that

this good lady may finish her dinner.'"

With poverty touching even the Queen's own table, with Philip and his

ministers in despair of finding fresh means to extort more money from

the empty pockets of subjects, and from the hidden hoards of the

Church, lavish waste still jostled carking poverty. Barrionuevo gives

an account of an entertainment provided by the Marquis of Heliche, the

eldest son of Haro, a few months only before the scene just described

(January 1657), to celebrate the visit paid to him by Philip and his

wife at the Zarzuela outside Madrid, where, in addition to comedies and

the like, a great banquet was prepared.

[Sidenote: A gargantuan feast]

"It cost 16,000 ducats.... There was a dinner served of 1000 dishes;

and there was one monstrous stew in a huge jar sunk in the ground with

a fire beneath it.... It contained a three-year-old calf, 4 sheep, 100

pairs of pigeons, 100 partridges, 100 rabbits, 1000 pigs' trotters, and

1000 tongues, 200 fowls, 30 hams, 500 sausages, and 100,000 other

trifles. They say it cost 8000 reals, though mostly presents.

Everything I am telling you is true, and I minimise rather than

exaggerate. There were three or four thousand persons present, and

there was plenty for everybody, and to spare. So much was left,

indeed, that it was brought back to Madrid in baskets, and I got some

relieves and scraps. And all this was in addition to tarts and puffs

and pasties, sweet cakes, preserves, fruits, and enormous quantities of

wine and sweet drinks. {451} The Venice ambassador presented 500

ducats' worth of glass, and Tutavilla gave a similar amount of

crockery.... All the scenery and apparatus have been brought to the

Retiro, to the new theatre which they have made in the St. Paul's

Hermitage there, and the whole affair is to be repeated there this

carnival."

It is hardly necessary to say that, in reward for this Gargantuan

feast, Heliche was made a grandee a few days afterwards.

Philip took no pleasure personally now in these coarse frivolities;

though Mariana hungered for them, to distract her from the fits of

homesick depression into which she periodically sank in the dull

monotony of her life and her frequently disappointed hopes of renewed

motherhood. The King himself was well-nigh despondent: going through

his life like a leaden automaton, signing papers placed before him by

Haro, usually without discussion or remark.[9] His condition, indeed,

now was closely akin to melancholy religious madness, such was the

morbid misery that preyed upon him: in anticipation of an early death,

weeping for his own sins, for the utter ruin that seemed impending,

{452} and for the continued absence of a male heir to his broken

realms. One of his strange whims at this time was to pass hours alone

in the new jasper mausoleum at the Escorial, to which he had

transferred the bodies of his ancestors shortly before. After one of

these visits in 1654, he wrote to Sor Maria: "I saw the corpse of the

Emperor, whose body, although he has been dead ninety-six years, is

still perfect; and by this it may be seen how richly the Lord has

repaid him for his efforts in favour of the faith whilst he lived. It

helped me much, especially as I contemplated the place where I am to

lie when God shall take me. I prayed Him not to let me forget what I

saw there." Soon afterwards, Barrionuevo records that the King had

passed two solitary hours upon his knees in prayer on the bare stones

of the mausoleum before the niche which was to be his own final

resting-place; and that when he came out his eyes were red and swollen

with weeping.

[Sidenote: "The meninas"]

The years went on, and still Mariana's repeated hopes of progeny were

disappointed. Her own health was not good, for she fretted much,

whilst Philip's troubles had crushed and aged him sadly. The Indian

silver, which had previously been so precious a contribution to his

revenue, was now regularly captured by Cromwell's cruisers, which

closely beleaguered Cadiz. The French on the Flemish frontier and in

Catalonia were still holding his territory, though Don Juan was doing

his best and not unsuccessfully in Flanders (1656-57). Peace, as

Philip well knew, was now a vital necessity for him; but pride still

kept him from surrendering to the foreigner the land of his fathers,

and Mazarin's {453} terms were as yet too humiliating for acceptance by

a Power which had for so long claimed predominance in Europe.

Girl children had been born to Mariana, but each one had died at, or

soon after, birth, though the wildest caprice of the mother was

complied with in order to produce favourable conditions; but after the

simultaneous birth and death of the girl child which came in August

1656, all hope seemed gone, and a profound melancholy fell upon both

husband and wife, unrelieved by one ray of light. Philip's principal

pleasure now, with the exception of his prayers and the immoralities he

deplored so much, were the visits he paid every few days to the studio

of Velazquez in the old palace. There, beneath the magic brush of the

painter, he saw grow in resemblance the portraits of those amongst whom

his life was passed,--the dwarfs and buffoons, who tried now so

fruitlessly to make him smile, the quaint characters about the palace,

the generals and admirals, the councillors and secretaries, whose faces

he knew so well; and, above all, his two little girls and his young

wife, with her rouged cheeks, her stiff square wig and her hard eyes.

The favourite child--for Mariana was jealous of the elder, Maria

Teresa--was the little Infanta Margaret, born in 1651, a fragile, fair

little flower of a girl, degenerate from her descent, but in childhood

not showing excessively the unlovely features she inherited. The

etiquette that surrounded the child and her sister was freezing in its

formality. Those who served them knelt, and everything had to pass

through several hands before reaching them. Their dress, {454} with

the wide-hooped farthingales and stiff long bodices, were utterly

unchildlike and cumbrous, but, withal, the charm of youth could not be

utterly crushed out of Margaret; and Velazquez has left us portraits of

her as a child which will always remain the ideal of infancy.

[Illustration: THE MAIDS OF HONOUR. _Portrait of the Infanta Margaret;

from a picture by Velazquez at the Prado Museum_]

The finest painting that ever left the master's easel is that which

presents not only a portrait of the little Princess, but also an

interior which tells more of Court life at the time (1656) than pages

of written description could do. The tiny Infanta stands in her white

satin hooped dress, her fair hair parted at the side, in the studio of

Velazquez, who, with the coveted cross of Santiago upon his breast,[10]

is painting a portrait of the King and Queen, whose faces are seen

reflected in a mirror at the back of the room, but who do not appear in

the picture itself. The child had probably been brought to relieve the

tedium of her parents in sitting for their portraits, and she seems

herself to have grown fretful and needed amusing. The young maid of

honour, Doña Maria de Sarmiento, kneels before her, handing her, on a

gold salver, a cup of water in the fine red scented clay which it was a

vicious fashion of ladies of the day to eat. In the foreground lies a

mastiff dozing, and close by it are two of the ugly dwarfs who were

such important personages in the Spanish Court, Mari Barbola and

Nicolasico Pertusato; whilst behind {455} them, slightly curtseying, is

another maid of honour, Doña Isabel de Velasco; and still farther back

in the gloom a lady and gentleman in attendance, the former in a

conventual dress; whilst in the extreme rear of the picture stands the

Queen's quarter-master, Don Jose Nieto, at the open door drawing back a

curtain, perhaps that more light may be thrown upon the King and Queen,

whom the painter is portraying. The interior of the room, with its

special lighting and its unrivalled perspective, fixes for us, as if in

a flashlight photograph, one unstudied moment of life in Philip's Court

as it was actually passed, and for this reason the picture is

invaluable. The existence it crystallises is a dull one, unrelieved

from tedium for Philip except by the presence of his little child, and

the trembling consolations of his religion.

[Sidenote: Birth of an heir]

Soon, however, hope for a time was to blossom again. After months of

anxiety, in which his doubts and fears were laid before the nun again

and again by the anxious father, he was assured that another child was

yet to be born to him, and the astrologers and soothsayers predicted

that this time it would be a son, and would live. Philip was in dire

straits for money at the time (November 1657), and on the first day of

the Vigil of the Presentation of the Virgin he had nothing to eat but

eggs without fish; as his steward had not a _real_ of ready money to

pay for anything else, and the tradesmen would give no more credit.[11]

But yet the most whimsical fancy of his wife now had to be gratified at

any sacrifice, and the Buen Retiro soon again rang with jovial music

and water parties {456} on the lake, merry comedies, novel bull-fights,

and diversions of all sorts, which were produced to make Mariana happy.

Don Juan sent from Flanders a splendid silver bedstead, with brocade

hangings; and all that care and solicitude could discover to ensure the

happy arrival of the looked-for heir was forthcoming.

[Sidenote: Prince Philip Prosper]

At last, to the weary, worn-out King of fifty-two, a man-child was born

at the end of November 1657. The mother was thought to be dying, but

no one had thoughts for her, the birth of an heir to Philip being

greeted by rejoicings so tumultuous in the capital as of themselves to

prove the lawless condition into which the people had sunk.

"On the day of the birth," writes Barrionuevo (5th December 1657), "not

a bench nor a table was left unbroken in the palace, nor a single

pastry-cook's nor tavern that was not sacked. In the Admiral's house,

too, one of his equerries, and riding-master to some of the greatest

gentlemen in Madrid, named Chicho Cristalino, killed his groom in the

stable, stabbing him for some trivial cause.... He has escaped. He

was a Knight of Calatrava. The same night three or four other similar

misfortunes happened, and in the rejoicings nobody's cape was safe....

To-morrow they say that his Majesty will go on horseback to the Atocha

to give thanks to the Mother of God.... They say the Prince is a

pretty little chap, and that the King wishes him to be baptized at

once, before the extreme cold comes on.... There are to be

masquerades, bullfights, and cane-tourneys as soon as the Queen gets up

to see them, as well as plays with machinery {457} invented by an

engineer, a servant of the Nuncio, to be represented at the theatre at

the Retiro, and in the saloon of the palace.... The municipality,

following the lead of the Councils, have gone to congratulate the King,

... and no gentleman, great or small, has failed to do the like. There

have been some funny incidents. Here are two. The little Count de

Haro, the Admiral's child, six years old, went, and the King was much

pleased with the little man, as he was so serious, and especially when

he said to his Majesty, 'But, Sir! those buttons of yours are against

the pragmatic; they are gold!' They were really diamond buttons that

the King had put on for the celebration. The favourite (_i.e._ Haro)

accompanied him, and one of the courtiers present came up to him and

said: 'God bless your Excellency for the boon you have bestowed upon

Spain in sending us a Prince,' as if Haro had been the artificer of the

work. There was much laughter at this."

Astrologers were busy predicting all manner of glory and good fortune

for the new-born Prince, and Philip was full of gratitude and hope that

all would now be well. "Help me, Sor Maria," he wrote, "to give thanks

to God; for I by myself am unable to do so adequately. Pray to Him to

make me fully thankful for the signal favour conferred upon me, and to

give me strength henceforward to do His holy will. The new-born babe

is well, and I implore you to take him under your protection, and pray

to our Lord and His holy Mother to keep him for their service, for the

exaltation of the faith and the good of these realms. If this is {458}

not to be, then pray let him be taken from me before he reaches

manhood."[12]

[Sidenote: Baptism of Philip Prosper]

For weeks the usual festivities in Madrid went on, though the general

penury made them less brilliant than the occasion warranted. But

Philip, for his part, seemed almost young again with joy. On the 6th

December he rode through the decorated streets of his capital on a

spirited Neapolitan charger. Dances, masques, and music greeted him on

his way, and the public fountains ran wine instead of water, whilst the

night was made as light as day by thousands of wax torches.[13] A week

afterwards the baptism of the Prince was celebrated in the royal chapel

by the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo (Borja), whose magnificent

preparations of liveries, vestments, and equipages were to cost 50,000

{459} ducats; though, says Barrionuevo, he had not a _real_.

"On Thursday the 13th, the corridors and courtyards of the palace were

decorated with great splendour, and three canopies were erected, one in

each corridor and one in the chapel." There was a very sumptuous bed

adjoining the King's curtained closet, and a step away a staging, with

two steps and a triangle of silver. Upon this was placed the font of

St. Dominic's baptism, and six great silver braziers very full of fuel,

which were replenished every now and then from the fireplaces, so that

the air might be warmed, which it was until it was like an oven. There

were also sconces which perfumed the air divinely. Shortly after two

the ceremony commenced; the Inquisitor-General and the Bishop of

Siguenza, apparelled in pontificals, assisting the Cardinal, who

awaited the arrival of the Infante near the altar, whilst the whole

chapel was hung with the most beautiful hangings the King possesses.

Don Luis Ponce, without a cape, led the way with the Spanish Guard,

followed by peers, nobles, and grandees; after whom came the Nuncio and

ambassadors. Then came the minister (Don Luis de Haro), dressed in a

gown of cloth of gold and a red sash.[14] Following him the Prince,

richly adorned, was borne in the arms of the Countess of Salvatierra,

seated in a crystal chair; and the Infanta (Maria Teresa) {460} walked

behind, her train carried by the Mistress of the Robes, after whom

marched the heralds and archers of the Guard, who entirely surrounded

the space. The Marquis of Priego carried the sacred taper, Alba bore

the custode and napkins, the Admiral carried the ewer, which was of a

single emerald, very large, and set with diamonds. The marchpane[15]

fell to the Count of Oñate, the towels to Medina de las Torres, the

salt-cellar to the Prince of Astillano, his son. The ladies of the

Court followed the Infanta, their trains borne by pages. The

presidents of the Councils, with their two senior officers on each

side, were ranged around the chapel, with the grandees before them; and

when the ladies entered they stood in front of the grandees. The

lady-in-waiting handed the Prince to the Infanta naked, except for a

very short little jacket of plush much adorned, and with false sleeves.

The Infanta cried out in a very clear voice: 'Why have you not put his

clothes on? Why do you give him to me so undressed?' The lady

replied: 'That is done on purpose, Madam, that it may be seen that he

is a male.' The water they baptized him with was from the Jordan, ...

brought lately by some friars who came from the Holy House. The Prince

screamed lustily when he was baptized, and, attracted by the loud

resonant voice, the King, who was looking through his jalousies, {461}

exclaimed, "Ah! that does sound well; the house smells of a man

now."[16]

[Sidenote: Pride of the Constable]

Then, after retailing the baby's names, Philip Prosper, "and the whole

litany of saints to follow," and the magnificent presents given to the

child's nurse, the narrator gives a curious instance of the overweening

pride of the higher Spanish nobles of the time. A staircase had broken

down with the crush of people, and the Duke of Bejar, whose duty it was

to carry the marchpane, could not get through the crowd. The acting

Lord Chamberlain, the Count of Puñonrostro, seeing that the ceremony

was being delayed in consequence, asked the King what he should do.

"Tell the Constable (_i.e._ the Grand Constable of Castile, the Duke of

Frias) to carry the marchpane," said Philip. The proud noble replied

that his arm was bad, and he could not do it. This answer only

produced a repetition of the command from the King that the Constable

was to carry the marchpane. "Tell his Majesty that the Constables of

Castile are too big to serve as stopgaps for anybody," said the

Constable. Two days later the Duke was being hurried off to Berlanga

under arrest. If Dukes and Constables could be impracticably proud, so

could scullions; for only a fortnight after this there was a regular

pitched battle in the King's kitchen on some point of honour between

the scullions and the guards, in which six of the combatants were

killed outright, and twenty were wounded, many more being carried off

to the prison of the Court to answer for their turbulence.

{462}

Admiration spent itself in praises of the beauty of the infant that had

been born to Philip's decline. Never, sure, was such a babe vouchsafed

to man as this. Verse and prose galore declaimed its present

perfection and coming greatness. But alas! Philip Prosper, as might

have been expected from the offspring of several generations of incest,

was a poor epileptic monstrosity, who quietly made his exit from the

world four years after he entered it with such a blare of trumpets.

The good nun of Agreda, far away from the turmoil of rejoicing at the

Prince's birth, had misgivings at the ungodliness and extravagance of

the festivities, and remonstrated with Philip upon them. "It is good

and politic for your Majesty to receive the congratulations of your

subjects, ... but I do beseech you earnestly not to allow excessive

sums to be spent on such festivities as these, when there is a lack of

money needful even for the defence of your crown. Let there be no

offence to God in what is done.... It is good to rejoice for the birth

of the Prince; but pray let us do it with a clear conscience."[17]

Through all these years the wars in which Spain was engaged had gone

on. Mazarin's many enemies in France had been encouraged and bribed

largely by Spain, and the greatest of French commanders, Turenne and

Condé, for a time entered Philip's service against their own country.

This changed the aspect of affairs, especially on the Flemish frontier,

whilst in the south of France the leaders of the Fronde with Spanish

aid kept Mazarin's troops busy there. When Turenne {463} again

returned to the French side the tables were turned somewhat (1655), and

after a series of defeats the Archduke Leopold, Philip's Governor of

Flanders, had retired, leaving Condé in command of the troops, whilst

Don Juan, King Philip's son, succeeded the Archduke as Governor (1656).

This brilliant pair of young men did much to restore Spanish prestige

in Flanders; but when the alliance between Cromwell and Mazarin was

signed Spain was outmatched, and all observers could see that France in

the end must be victorious.

[Sidenote: Loss of Dunkirk]

One after the other the Flemish frontier places surrendered to the

allies; but the great blow to Philip's arms fell in the summer of 1658.

Dunkirk, a Spanish port in Flanders, promised to Cromwell by Mazarin,

was closely blockaded by an English fleet, and besieged on the land

side by Turenne, who was accompanied by young Louis XIV. himself;

whilst a Spanish army under Don Juan and Condé, with whom was James

Duke of York, now nominal Admiral of the Spanish fleet, was

endeavouring to break through Turenne's lines and relieve the place.

By a _coup de main_ Turenne outflanked the Spanish force, whilst

Cromwell's fleet bombarded them from the sea. Panic overtook the

Spaniards, who fled precipitately with great loss, and Dunkirk soon

after capitulated. This Battle of the Dunes seemed the last drop in

Philip's cup of sorrow, for by it all Flanders lay at the mercy of the

French royalists, and city after city fell into their hands.

Shortly before this, and soon after the christening of Philip Prosper

described above, an equally fatal catastrophe had fallen upon Philip on

the Portuguese {464} frontier. There for years a state of hostility

had continued, with frequent raids on both sides; but, growing bolder

with Philip's increased exhaustion, the masculine Spanish Queen Mother

of Portugal[18] had laid regular siege to the great Spanish frontier

fortress of Badajoz. At any cost this daring insolence had to be met,

and Philip, with no able commanders now available, Don Juan being in

Flanders, entrusted the leadership of his forces of 8000 men, raised

with infinite sacrifice and difficulty, to his favourite, Don Luis de

Haro. On the news of his approach the Portuguese raised the siege of

Badajoz and recrossed the frontier; but Haro, utterly inexperienced in

warfare, was drawn into pursuing them, led into an ambush and put to

ignominious flight, with the loss of guns, baggage, and most of his men.

[Sidenote: Peace with France]

This defeat, followed by the Battle of the Dunes a few months

afterwards, proved to all the world that Spain had come to the end of

her tether and could struggle no more. Material resources, faith in

herself, belief in her mission, even confidence in her God, had all

fled, and nothing was left to her but besotted pride and a

sanctimonious ritual devotion which lightly covered a scoffing mockery

of the noble ideals that had made her temporarily great. Peace had

now, indeed, become for Philip absolutely necessary. There had been

many efforts made through the influence of Anna of Austria, Queen of

France, to come to an understanding with her brother, ever since the

treaty of Münster; but the demands of Mazarin, that the {465} French

should continue to hold all they had taken including Catalonia, had in

every case frustrated the attempts. But the aspect of affairs was

changing. Catalonia was heartily tired of the French, who left the

province less liberty than it had enjoyed under the Castilian Kings,

whilst the grave discontent and division in France against Mazarin's

Government had rendered peace necessary even for him. But that which,

above all, contributed to a peaceful agreement was the fact that

Philip's health was evidently failing, and that only one life, that of

the scrofulous epileptic infant, Philip Prosper, stood between the

house of France and the Spanish throne. It is true that when Queen

Anna had married Louis XIII. she had solemnly renounced for herself and

her family the right of succession to Spain; but some of the dowry

which was to have been paid to her had not been paid, and it might be

contended that as one condition of the contract had not been fulfilled

the others could not be enforced as against the house of France.

Mariana, Philip's second wife, was at Madrid quite as much in the

capacity of Austrian ambassador as of Philip's consort, and she had

always tried to prevent any closer union between France and Spain; her

object, aided by the German agents who prompted her, being to maintain

the fatal alliance between the two branches of the house of Austria,

which had dragged Spain to ruin.

In the summer of 1656 a sincere attempt had been made by France to come

to an understanding with Philip. A skilled diplomatist, M. de Lionne,

in the confidence of Mazarin, had arrived with great secrecy at Madrid,

and was lodged at the Retiro, {466} where he and Haro held many

conferences, with a result that an agreement on many points was arrived

at, especially upon the retrocession of Catalonia (though not of

Roussillon) to Spain. In one of their conferences Lionne noticed that

Haro was wearing in his hat, doubtless for a purpose, a medal impressed

with the portrait of the Infanta Maria Teresa. "If your King would

give to my master for his wife the original of the portrait you wear,"

said Lionne, "peace might soon be made."[19] Haro passed over the

matter lightly, for in the absence of a male heir to Philip it would

have been impossible to marry Maria Teresa to the King of France; but

the idea was not a new one, and the possibility of bringing about such

a match as a pledge of peace between France and Spain had often been

mooted by the quidnuncs of Madrid.[20]

[Sidenote: Peace negotiations]

Lionne's negotiations came to nothing at the time, mainly because the

knotty point of the Prince of Condé's position could not be settled;

but when the birth of Philip Prosper provided Philip with an heir, the

marriage idea again came to the front, and made both sides in the

subsequent peace negotiations much more conciliatory than they

otherwise would have been, especially when there was a talk of marrying

Louis XIV. elsewhere. He was, indeed, {467} on a courting expedition

to the south of France to meet the Princess of Savoy, when Haro, in May

1659, sent Antonio Pimentel in a hurry to Mazarin reminding him of what

Lionne had said three years before about a Spanish marriage. Anna of

Austria and Mazarin were quite willing; and in a very few weeks the

diplomatists on both sides had drawn up a protocol suspending

hostilities, and providing for a meeting of plenipotentiaries of both

Powers in the little Isle of Pheasants in the Bidosoa River that

separates France and Spain. This was to take place in August, and in

the meanwhile ministers were busy drawing up marriage settlements and

agreeing upon the main points in dispute between the two Powers.

Mariana struggled hard to prevent the agreement by proposing a marriage

between the Infanta and the Archduke Leopold, the Emperor's heir. She

even prevailed upon her brother to send the Archduke Sigismund to

replace Don Juan in Flanders, and to bring a strong imperial army with

him to defend Spanish territory there. Before they could meet the

French, however, the truce between Philip and Louis was signed (June

1659), and the Austrian interest for the present had to accept defeat.

Peace or war, the stereotyped merrymaking never ceased for very long in

the Court of Madrid. Like Olivares before them, Philip's ministers

were constantly on the look-out for new musicians, buffoons, or

beauties to distract him, and discovering fresh pretexts for shows.[21]

To celebrate {468} the birth of the sickly Philip Prosper, the

festivities continued for months; and in answer to the nun's

remonstrances about it, the King invites her to tell him how he can

fulfil his desire to withdraw his mind from worldly things, "since it

is obligatory for me to live amongst men, and to be present at

festivities and other public occasions, which I cannot avoid attending.

In the midst of all this turmoil I should like to execute your

directions, if my frailty does not prevent me from doing so. Help me,

Sor Maria, and pray to God and His holy Mother to aid me in attaining

such a boon."[22] In one of Philip Prosper's frequent illnesses a

saintly friar from Jerusalem, one Father Antonio, went to see Philip,

and brusquely told him, in reply to his request for prayers for the

Prince's health, "that he, the King, ought to pray also, and leave off

all these comedies and other rejoicings."[23] The Madrileños of

Philip's time would no more abandon their idle pleasures than they

would their daily bread. Fresh taxes of 2 per cent. more were put upon

food, and upon every payment made of any sort; even fireplaces and

windows were taxed more heavily, the idea being to make people redeem

these taxes by paying a sum down, and so, as Barrionuevo says, to get

money quickly. "All this makes men of business desperate, for it is

said that even upon loans and payments of every sort the {469} tax is

to be charged; so that we shall soon have nothing to pay with but water

and sunshine."[24]

[Sidenote: Poverty and waste]

Only a few days after this was written, the municipality of Madrid gave

a luncheon to the eleven Royal Councils, handsome presents being given

to all the guests, the cost of the entertainment being over 550,000

ducats; and hardly a week passes without the record of two or three

costly shows, bull-fights, masquerades, and tourneys, in which smart

new clothes are always a notable feature, and the King and Queen are

usually present, the young Marquis of Heliche being generally the

busiest promoter. Madrid, although suffering from a winter more severe

than had been known in the memory of man (February 1658), was full of

foreigners and strangers, attracted by these continual shows, and

doubtless much of the money squandered came ultimately from them; but

the people themselves must have been in dire straits, for robbery seems

to have been openly resorted to, even by priests; and so highly placed

an ecclesiastic as Barrionuevo says of it: "I do not wonder, for the

pinch of poverty is such that everybody is forced to do it."

Madrid, at the time, indeed, presented a strange picture of anarchy.

The only rich people were the comparatively few who were concerned in

the administration, either in Spain or the Colonies; and they spent

their money with the utmost prodigality, whilst the great bulk of the

population lived from hand to mouth on the proceeds of this

expenditure, gained either by service, work, or robbery. There was

practically no industry, {470} except that carried on in a small way by

foreigners; and the vast majority of the inhabitants of Madrid lived,

directly or indirectly, by government expenditure. Philip looked on

helplessly, convinced apparently that his calamities were unavoidable,

because sent for a special purpose by the Almighty as a scourge for his

and his people's transgressions. Preachers unrebuked thundered out of

pulpits to him that most of the evils might be avoided by energy.

"Your Majesty is poor, and your ministers are rich," cried one to him.

"You give grants, favours, pensions, and double pay to people such as

these, who beguile you with vain shows. The noblest eagle may be left

bare if plucked feather by feather; and your Majesty is obliged to

appeal to these very ministers, whom you enable to settle vast estates,

for money necessary for your very food and garments."

[Sidenote: Peace of the Pyrenees]

In good truth, it was too late to preach to Philip now; for he did

little but register the decisions of others, and go through his dull

round of duties with despairing, earthy face; his great consolation, as

he says again and again, being the letters of the nun, which assured

him of the divine mercy and of the efficacy of constant prayer. To his

great delight another son was born to him in December 1658, though the

babe lived only for a few months; but Philip Prosper lingered on still,

through a sickly infancy. In the meanwhile Don Luis de Haro and

Cardinal Mazarin were in close confabulation on the Isle of Pheasants,

settling the terms of the much-needed peace; and the death of Cromwell,

and the probable restoration of the Stuarts to the English throne, gave

a further {471} hope that, after a long lifetime of constant war,

Philip's days might end at peace with all the world.

In October 1659 the peace negotiations were sufficiently advanced for a

formal demand to be made to Philip for his daughter's hand on behalf of

her cousin Louis XIV. The ambassador was one of the greatest seigneurs

of the Court of France, Marshal de Grammont; and though Madrid, with

good reason this time, assumed its most pompous garb, and Spaniards

held their heads high, yet de Grammont, as he entered with his

brilliant suite into Philip's capital, consciously represented a new

dispensation that was in process of supplanting that of Spain. For a

century and a half Spain had claimed precedence over all earthly

Powers: her language was that of culture and fashion; her literature,

especially of the theatre and the novel, had given the tone to the

writers of Europe; her dress had set the fashion; her soldiers had

taught the art of war; and her explorers had borne to the four quarters

of the earth her traditions, her tongue, and her religion. But the

stately entrance of de Grammont with his new airs and graces into the

palace of Madrid, after a devastating war extending over thirty years,

marked the opening of a new epoch in the civilisation of the world.

Spain was the waning force, France was the youthful giant with a long

life before him; the Planet King Philip, spent and weary, was sinking

to his yearned-for rest after a reign of tragic failure; the Roi Soleil

was climbing in the sky. All the courtly conventions of diplomatists,

all the gracious politeness of de Grammont, all the consideration shown

by French statesmen to Spain in the treaty of {472} peace, could not

hide these facts; nor could it be concealed that this new friendship

meant the end of the fatal union of Austria and Spain, whose aim had

been to force orthodoxy upon the world.

Mariana frowned and pouted as Grammont and his company of princes and

nobles bowed before her; and the gloomy grandeur of the old palace of

Madrid, with the richly sombre dresses of Philip and his courtiers,

seemed to the triumphant and gaily dressed Frenchman, fresh from the

sprightly youthful Court of Louis, to be in harmony with the old

obscurantist régime which was passing. The visitors were liberal in

recording their impressions of a society which they regarded as

romantic and antique.[25] The description of a theatrical

representation in the old palace of Madrid in honour of Grammont,

written by one of his chaplains, will give a good idea of a

characteristic feature of Philip's Court at the time.

"The great saloon was lit only by six enormous wax candles in gigantic

silver stands. On each side of the saloon, facing each other, were two

boxes or tribunes with iron grilles before them. One of these was

occupied by the Infanta, whilst the other was destined for the Marshal

(Grammont). Two benches covered with Persian rugs ran along the sides

beneath the boxes, also facing each other, upon which sat about twelve

ladies of the Court, whilst we Frenchmen stood behind them.... The

{473} Queen and the little Infanta entered, preceded by a lady holding

a candle. When the King appeared he saluted the ladies and took his

seat in the box on the right hand of the Queen, whilst the little

Infanta sat on her left. The King remained motionless during the whole

of the play, and only once said a word to the Queen; although he

occasionally cast his eyes round on every side. A dwarf was standing

close by him. When the play was ended, all the ladies rose and

gathered in the middle, as canons do after a service. Then joining

hands in a row they made their courtesies, one by one, a ceremony that

lasted some seven or eight minutes. In the meanwhile the King was

standing, and he then bowed to the Queen, who bowed to the Infanta,

after which they all joined hands and retired."[26]

It was far into the winter (1659) before the terms of the pregnant

peace of the Pyrenees could be finally settled by the plenipotentiaries

on the Isle of Pheasants. More than once the negotiations came to a

deadlock, for, comparatively easy as the French conditions were, they

were very bitter for the pride of Spain to swallow.[27] She had to

surrender the province of Roussillon and most of Artois, as well as

many of the principal cities of French Flanders, whilst the English

kept her port of Dunkirk. But in return Catalonia willingly {474}

became Spanish again under its old constitution, whilst the new King of

England and his friends the Portuguese were excluded from the treaty.

The rejoicings in Madrid, and the adulation of the favourite Haro, who

was made Prince of the Peace, knew no bounds. At last, no matter,

thought the lieges, at what cost, Spain was free from the war that had

weighed her down for a whole generation; and now the rebel Portuguese

might be punished for their contumacy, and Philip be King of the

Peninsula again. Don Juan, the King's son, was to have the honour of

reconquering Portugal for Castile; but for the present all minds were

occupied by the ceremonious journey of King Philip and all his Court to

the French frontier to conduct his daughter, the Infanta, to her

waiting bridegroom.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Maria Teresa]

For many months, notwithstanding Philip's expressed desire that things

should be done as economically as possible, the preparations for the

voyage had been carried out on a scale of magnificence surpassing that

of all previous bridal progresses between Spain and France. The

Spanish nobles and courtiers, taking their tone from Haro himself, were

determined, even at the cost of their last ducat, that the Frenchmen

should see that the country was neither exhausted materially nor

humiliated morally. So again the old prodigal pride asserted itself,

and Madrid pushed its poverty in the background, as it spent its money

on gew-gaws, or flocked to see the preliminary turnout of the royal

equipages prepared for the King's journey to France.

{475}

"There were four litters, and fourteen coaches with six mules each;--a

fine sight! The table services, newly made with the arms of Spain and

France, which her Highness is to take with her, are a marvel of

richness and beauty. The jewels for presents and for adornment exceed

all price and praise. Each of the gentlemen who is to accompany the

royal party is making preparations more in accordance with his spirit

than with his means. They say that the Duke of Medina de las Torres

will distinguish himself specially. He gives five suits of livery to

each of his servants, one set alone of which made in Naples will cost

65,000 ducats; whilst, as to his Excellency's own dresses, wonderful

stories are told of them, and also of the jewels he is taking with him,

worthy as they are of the greatness of his heart. The preparations of

Don Luis de Haro can only be conceived by those who recollect that he

is the luminary of the world upon which reflects and radiates most

fully the majesty and brilliancy of our Sun-Monarch. The value of the

horses and hackneys, with their harness and housings, alone are said to

be worth a vast treasure; but when we consider the rank of the persons

with whom the horses of the Sun will enter Irun, these latter, richly

caparisoned as they may be, will be unworthy of an occasion so supreme.

It is likely enough that when our Infanta took leave of the altars of

Madrid her eyes were wet with tears; but our muffled women, who spare

nobody, said so in such a way as to hint that the tears were really

hearty smiles. The Queen looks very sad at the King's going away."[28]

{476}

[Sidenote: Journey to the frontier]

On the 15th April 1660, Philip set forth on his famous journey to the

French frontier to give his daughter Maria Teresa to his young nephew

Louis XIV. for his wife, and meet in peace once more his sister Anna,

whom he had not seen since their early youth, over forty years before.

The train that accompanied him surpassed anything of the sort ever seen

before in Spain. Don Luis de Haro himself was served by a household of

200 persons, and scores of other nobles vied with him in

magnificence.[29] All the sumptuary pragmatics were suspended, and as

a reaction after the long insistence upon plain, sombre attire for men,

Philip's courtiers were gorgeous in the costly richness of their garb,

determined as they were to impress the Frenchmen.

The land through which the long procession slowly made its way, at the

rate of about six miles a day, was stark and ruined; and provisions, as

well as beds and all other necessaries, had to be carried for the whole

multitude, the cavalcade covering over twenty miles of road. Such of

the wretched peasants as were left in Castile[30] saluted their King

with frantic joy as he passed; for he looked so sad and sorry for them,

and with so much wealth as he now displayed before their famished eyes,

surely he would not grind them down to utter famine as he had done for

these unhappy years of strife. All would be well now. {477} The

Infanta was to be Queen of France, and she would not allow her father's

realm to be laid desolate again by those over whom her young husband

reigned. Everywhere hope blossomed again. The towns on the way

regaled the vast concourse of courtiers with shows, banquets, and

bull-fights; long-hidden hoards of money were brought out and spent in

rejoicing now, even by the humbler farmer folk, for the great fear that

all would be taken from them by the tax farmers had passed away. At

length, after six weeks of tedious travel over miserable roads, where

overturns and other mishaps were frequent, the King and his Court

entered St. Sebastian, where the first marriage ceremony was to be

performed, on the 2nd June 1660. In the crowds of splendidly

apparelled Spanish courtiers, whose names were as resounding as their

pedigrees were long, there was one olive-skinned man, with a touzled

mop of wavy black hair streaked with grey, whose fame was to outlive

them all. His office, that of the King's quarter-master, and one of

his chamberlains, kept him close to the person of Philip, who loved his

company. Upon the breast of his dark, closely fitting tunic was

embroidered in scarlet the long sword-shaped cross of Santiago, whilst

an enamelled and diamond pendant hung from a rich gold chain around his

neck; and Diego Velazquez, the painter, now growing old with his

master, looked as distinguished as any in the throng, doing his

courtier's service in the famous journey as if he had been merely a

grandee of long lineage instead of a poor gentleman who happened to be

a genius.[31]

{478}

All the magnificence that could be crammed into the humble town of St.

Sebastian was there on the morning of the 2nd June 1660.[32] In the

principal house, under canopies of damask stiff with bullion armorial

embroideries, sat upon thrones side by side Philip and his daughter,

the Patriarch of the Indies and the Bishop of Pamplona standing in

their robes near to them, with Haro upon the steps of the dais. Every

inch of standing room was filled with the proudest nobles of Spain,

intermingled with many masked and cloaked figures whom all knew or

guessed were French princes, princesses, and nobles, who had crossed

the frontier disguised to witness the ceremonies which some still

hoped, notwithstanding the failures of past similar attempts, would

"level the Pyrenees." One who was there writes: "The ladies-in-waiting

were dazzlingly handsome, and all the multitude of people, grandees,

peers, noble gentlemen, and others, stood with uncovered heads, their

Majesties alone being seated; whilst Don Fernando de Contreras, the

Secretary of State, read aloud the solemn document in which the Queen

of France, by oath on a Christ crucified, renounced for herself and

hers for ever all claim to the succession of the Spanish throne." For

a long hour and more the Secretary of State, on his knees, read the

pompous sentences of the act which was in after years to convulse all

Europe in war, and change the dynasty of Spain; but those who listened

to it {479} were more concerned with their own fatigue at standing in a

crowd so long than at the vast import of the renunciation, whose

effects were hidden in the womb of time.[33] When, at last, Contreras

had finished reading, the Bishop stepped forth, and upon the Gospels

and the crucifix Maria Teresa swore to keep inviolate the pledge

contained in the act.

[Sidenote: The wedding]

The next morning the humble parish church of St. Sebastian was

transformed, by the "richest hangings and adornments necessary for the

greatest wedding that ever was seen in the world, whilst their

Majesties and the Court were a blaze of magnificence." Advancing with

his daughter, Philip took his seat upon the curtained throne by the

side of the high altar, whilst Maria Teresa stood beneath the canopy,

and Don Luis Haro, who was honoured by holding the proxy of King Louis

to marry her, stood a step below her. The church was crowded with

French princes, princesses, and nobles in disguise intermingled with

the Spaniards, and, as the pontifical mass was sung with its beautiful

ceremonial, appealing to all the senses before that gorgeous assembly,

St. Sebastian reached the apogee of its glory, never to be surpassed.

When the sacrament was ended the Bishop descended to the canopy, where

the Infanta and Haro were standing before the King. In answer to the

ritual question whether she would take his Majesty the most Christian

King for a {480} husband, the Infanta with streaming eyes turned and

sank upon her knees before her father. Philip, himself overcome with

emotion, bowed his head and gave his blessing to the daughter who was

to be the pledge of future peace between Spain and France; and the

Bishop had to repeat his question three times before the weeping

Princess could summon composure enough to reply in the affirmative.

Then she and Haro together placed their hands in a great gold dish that

stood upon a side table, whilst Haro in the name of King Louis XIV.

accepted Maria Teresa of Austria as his legitimate wife. Taking a gold

ring from the centre of the salver upon which their hands rested, the

Spanish minister placed it upon the rim near the fingers of the

Infanta, but without touching them; and then with a sweeping flood of

melody the _Te Deum_ burst out, whilst the great guns of the fortress

upon the crag overhanging the church thundered their message to the two

realms that another Spanish Princess was Queen of France.[34] In the

midst of the uproar King Philip led his daughter from the church,

followed by all the glittering crowd.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Maria Teresa]

That afternoon the royal party rode to the neighbouring land-locked

Port of Pasages three miles away, and so to Renteria for dinner, and by

Oyarzun to the ancient fortress village of Fuentarrabia on its jutting

peninsula, from which you may cast a stone to France on the other side

of the river mouth. The roads were so narrow and bad that the maids of

honour were upset on the way; and Don Luis de Haro, anxious as he was

to do {481} honour to the Sovereign who had made him little less than a

King, he was unable to meet him on the narrow rocky causeway, but

perforce had to stand, surrounded by the King's Guards in their new

yellow uniforms, at the gate of the ancient palace fortress upon its

cliff, that twenty-two years before had so stoutly withstood the siege

of the French by land and sea.

The following day, whilst preparations for the public interviews upon

the Isle of Pheasants were being made, Philip embarked with his

daughter, Haro, and a very few attendants, amongst whom was Diego

Velazquez, and landed privately upon the little island in mid stream.

The buildings, which had been specially erected for the peace

conference of the previous autumn, were constructed with the jealous

punctiliousness which always characterised the intercourse between

France and Spain. The eyot was divided into a Spanish and a French

half, and the houses, each in its respective territory, were connected

by a corridor, the conference hall, which stood upon the dividing line,

being half upon Spanish and half on French soil. Even in Philip's

private meeting with the sister from whom he had been separated and at

war so long, the utmost precision of etiquette was preserved. Landing

on the Spanish part of the island, and entering the Spanish house, he

bade all his attendants stay behind, except Haro, Velazquez, and one or

two more, who alone accompanied him to the hall, where, on the French

side of the dividing line across the hall, stood Anna of Austria.

The meeting was a painful one, for when they had last met Philip and

his sister had been in the {482} flower of youth, full of hope and

bright ambition; and now both were old and broken, with lives of

bitterness behind them. Both brother and sister had been slaves of

their passions, and had surrendered their regal power to other hands.

They had been but figureheads of State; and though, as was the case

with all their house, their family affection had been strong, national

aspirations had been too powerful for them, and victor and vanquished,

brother and sister, must have felt themselves, for all their grandeur,

the helpless victims of forces beyond their control or understanding.

Anna of Austria broke down into piteous tears when she saw the unhappy

face of her brother; and, after a few low-spoken words of comfort had

passed between them, there came tiptoeing silently behind the Cardinal

and Don Luis, who stood behind Queen Anna, a handsome young man with

aquiline features and a nascent black down upon his upper lip. He

wore, in the French fashion of the time, high red heels to his shoes;

and a flowing black curled periwig fell upon the wide Walloon collar of

fine lawn that covered the shoulders of his satin skirted-coat.

Peeping over the shoulders of those before him,[35] himself supposed to

be unseen, thus Louis XIV. first looked upon his bride, and upon the

King the ruin of whose realm and dynasty was to make way for the

supremacy of France and the Roi Soleil.

[Sidenote: The wedding]

At length, on Sunday, 6th June, all was ready for the ceremonial

meeting and delivery of the bride to her new country. At a signal both

{483} monarchs stepped into their boats at the same time, Philip in

Fuenterrabia and Louis in St. Jean de Luz, followed soon by crowds of

other boats filled with courtiers as fine as silks and satins and

bullion tissues could make them, for sumptuary decrees were all thrown

to the winds now; whilst strong armed forces, 12,000 troops in all,

with loaded arms and new uniforms, stood upon each side of the tiny

stream, as many as 4000 cavalry being arrayed on the French bank, with

numbers of pikemen and guards; "all smart looking troops, but both men

and horses small," said a Spanish expert, who thought Philip's fine

array of red and yellow guards "better troops, smarter and with better

horses."[36] As far as the eye reached on either side, crowds of

people stood upon the banks, and far away upon the hills overlooking

the scene, which for most of them promised peace and renewed

prosperity; whilst the ante-rooms of the conference hall which was to

be the scene of the interview were packed to suffocation by a

privileged crowd of nobles and courtiers of both nations.

At the same moment the two Kings landed upon their respective ends of

the island, and at the same moment they and their suites entered the

conference hall by opposite doors, Philip leading his daughter,

followed by Haro and a great household, and Louis his mother with

Mazarin, and forty ladies-in-waiting behind. Advancing to the line

that divided the room, Louis made as if to kneel to Philip, who

prevented him from doing so by clasping him in his arms. "My son,"

said Philip, "I {484} welcome you. For me this has been the happiest

day I have ever known or shall know; for I see your Majesty is as well

as I can wish"; and then, pointing to the Infanta, he continued: "the

only person after your Majesty who could have brought me on this

journey is this piece of my own heart, that I have brought to give you

for your wife; and I trust that your Majesty will hold her in the

esteem she deserves, not only as Queen of France and my daughter, but

also in consideration of the goodwill with which I give her to

you."[37] Anna of Austria was weeping copiously the while; but Louis

himself, not to be outdone in courtesy, was fully equal to the

occasion. "My father," he said, "only the favours I am receiving from

the generous and potent hands of your Majesty could force me to confess

myself not only unworthy to be the son of so powerful a monarch, but

also your humble vassal," and with that he warmly returned his uncle's

embrace.

Much more flattering talk there was about Philip's potency and

strength, and the obligation of France to him. It pleased the

Spaniards vastly; for words with them ever took the place of deeds when

their pride was touched, and every courteous word of the Frenchmen was

as balm in Gilead to men who, in their heart of hearts, knew that

poverty, humiliation and defeat had befallen them and their country.

Many tears there were, too, when Philip formally handed his daughter to

her new husband, and the four sovereigns took their seats side by side

on thrones arranged for them across the {485} line. Then Mazarin came

forward with a missal in his hand, upon which Philip on his knees swore

to keep the terms of the peace, and the Patriarch of the Indies

administered a similar oath to Louis. The public act being thus ended,

the hall was cleared of the crowds of nobles that encumbered it, and

for four hours the royal party gave themselves up to familiar

intercourse; after which Louis with his Court, "the most enchanting

sight ever seen in the world," says the Spanish chronicler, rode off to

St. Jean de Luz, and Philip returned by Irun to Fuenterrabia.

Of the costly presents on both sides, of the overwhelming magnificence

of the subsequent ceremonies in St. Jean de Luz, where the personal

marriage took place,[38] and of the delight of the gallant Spanish

courtiers at the nice French fashion of kissing all the ladies, it

boots not here to tell; but as Philip and his cumbrous Court slowly

wended their way home again to Madrid, the younger courtiers of both

sexes, at all events, took back with them something like a contempt for

the old Spanish fashions which had persisted so long.[39] The

_golilla_ was voted stiff and {486} ungraceful when compared with the

fine lace cravats of the French; black-framed goggles looked frumpish;

the ropilla and close doublet were not half so modish as the full

skirted long tunics, open in the front and showing a smart vest, that

Louis and his gentlemen had worn; and who would care to wear thin lank

hair, even when a topknot on the brow and _guedejas_ before the ears

adorned it, when he could buy a splendid flowing curly periwig such as

made the French look so stately? It is true that the change of fashion

that began on the banks of the Bidasoa did not go very deep or far away

from Court; for the common people clung to the old modes still, and the

wars that divided Spain forty years afterwards caused French fashions,

or anything but Spanish, to be loathed by all ranks as unpatriotic.

But, nevertheless, this great transmigration of Spanish courtiers to

the French frontier in 1660 was the first opening of the door by which

some glimpses of light from a new Europe entered Spain, the first

inkling to Spaniards that anything outside their own frontiers could be

estimable and worth imitating.

[Sidenote: Death of Don Luis de Haro]

Philip was welcomed back to Madrid by his wife and his people, with

great rejoicing for his safety, on the 26th June, and even poor

suffering little Philip Prosper, tricked out in a military uniform with

a sword by his side, was carried in his nurse's arms to greet his

father as he ascended the stairs of his palace, though the child fell

into a series of exhausting fevers immediately afterwards. The King's

base-born son, Don Juan, of whom Queen Mariana was bitterly jealous,

was impatiently waiting outside Madrid[40] {487} for troops and means

to be provided for him to conquer Portugal; Don Luis de Haro, who had

ignominiously failed in the task himself, not being at all active in

forwarding Don Juan's ambition. It was six months more before an army

was at last got together, and, early in 1661, Don Juan crossed the

frontier with 20,000 men, whilst Osuna's force of 15,000 co-operated

with him in the north. But the marriage of Charles II. of England with

a Portuguese wife had given to Portugal the aid of England; and though

Don Juan fought well, he had now Marshal Schomberg with an English

force to cope with, in addition to the Portuguese, and he made but

little way. Bitter complaints came from him to his father that Haro

would not provide him with the resources necessary for the task he had

to do. But Haro died at the end of the year 1661,[41] and after that

Mariana's influence against him crippled Don Juan more than ever,

though at one period the civil dissensions in Portugal enabled him to

overrun for a time some of the central provinces of the country.

The loss of Don Luis de Haro affected Philip greatly. The minister was

not a strong man, but his conciliatory manner and quiet industry had

prevented the existence of such violent antagonism to him as had ruined

his predecessors. The nun of Agreda had never ceased to urge upon

Philip the need for hard work on his part, and the King had wearily

defended himself, again and again, by saying {488} that it was

impossible for him to do everything. Indeed, the whole system was so

cumbrous that under it the monarch's whole time was taken up in

reviewing the interminable reports of the various Councils, and signing

papers placed before him, leaving him no opportunity for initiating

policies. When Count Castrillo, Haro's uncle, entered the King's

chamber one morning late in 1661, and announced Haro's sudden death, he

told the King that all the official papers had been locked up, and

requested the King's instructions as to who should take charge of the

key. Philip meditated for a while, and then replied: "Put it on that

table," much to Castrillo's disappointment, as he expected to be

appointed chief minister. Philip, however, thought this time really to

do without an all-powerful vice-king, such as he had had all his life;

and as soon as Haro was buried he issued decrees dividing the

administration between Castrillo, the Duke of Medina de las Torres, the

Inquisitor-General, and himself, and ordering that every question from

all quarters should be submitted to him before decision. Entering the

Queen's apartments a few days afterwards, he found all the ladies

chattering upon the floor, as usual, about what a bold preacher had

said in the pulpit that morning: that the King was going to show the

Councils now that he was really King. Hearing this talk, Philip said:

"I am quite old enough now to see things for myself, and I shall be

glad if those who know of anything that needs remedying will advise me

of it, and I will see to it. Things are not going on as they had been

doing."

[Sidenote: Heliche's plot]

There appears, indeed, to have been a dead set against Haro's family as

soon as he died. The {489} Marquis of Heliche, his son and heir,

claimed, amongst other lucrative offices held by his father, the

Keepership of the Retiro. This offended Philip, who refused him the

office, and gave it to the Duke of Medina de las Torres. Heliche was

soon afterwards accused of a plot to blow up the Retiro, which brought

him and his family into the deepest disgrace. One morning in March

1662, three packets of gunpowder, connected by a train with a slow

match, was found under the stage of the Retiro Theatre among a lot of

heavy stage machinery, which had been used in a comedy recently

represented, and designed and paid for by Heliche, but which was now to

be used for a play to be produced before the King and Queen under other

auspices. As soon as the discovery, was made (in time to avert

disaster), five underlings connected with the theatre, two of them

being Moorish slaves, were arrested; and when Heliche heard of it he

went to the gaoler, saying that as one of the Moors had been punished

by him, and had his ears cut off, he would probably say that he,

Heliche, had prompted the crime. He therefore offered the gaoler a

bribe to kill the Moor, by giving him a slight wound and anointing it

with a poisonous unguent which Heliche would send. The gaoler divulged

the plot, and the page of the Marquis was captured with the unguent in

his possession. The Marquis was then arrested, and though great

efforts were made by his kinsmen to obtain his release, four Duchesses

kneeling before Philip at one time to beg for mercy, the King refused

to interfere, though he said he was sorry the lad had not escaped. In

the end the Marquis was let off with a term of banishment, apparently

on the ground that he was {490} bewitched. His own excuse for the

crime was that he did not wish his scenery and stage effects to be used

by the Duke of Maqueda. The whole case is an interesting illustration

of the morals of the time.

Soon Madrid had something more piquant to talk about even than this;

though for days no one dared to whisper it above his breath. But by

and by Liars' Walk became bolder, and, with the accompaniment of many a

sign of the cross, the story ran through the city, growing ever larger

with additions as it ran, that devilish arts were being practised upon

the King. It appears that a certain alcalde suspected that the house

in Madrid of a lady, the sister of a judge at Granada, was being used

as a factory of base money; and on going thither to search the premises

and arrest the inmates, he discovered amongst the instruments for

counterfeit coining, two engraved metal plates, each of which bore the

device of a heart pierced with an arrow, one being inscribed with the

name of "Philip IV., son of Philip III. and Margaret," and the other

with the name and parentage of Don Luis de Haro, with other words taken

from the Scriptures; the hearts themselves bearing the words, "I am

thine, and thou art mine."[42] The alcalde thought that this looked

serious, and carried the incised plates to the Inquisition, which

promptly decided that it was a case of witchcraft, and at once sent its

hosts of familiars to worm out the rest of the dreadful story, whilst

sweeping into their silent dungeons all who might be suspected of

complicity or knowledge, and giving occasion thus for all Madrid to

invent its own details. The case dragged on in secret, as {491} was

the wont of Inquisition investigations, but thenceforward until his

death the awe-stricken whisper was never long silent that the King lay

under a maleficent charm; and grave heads were shaken knowingly, and

crossed fingers kissed devoutly, when any fresh misfortune befell him.

[Sidenote: Death of Philip Prosper]

Evil fate, indeed, gave Philip little truce from sorrow. The frail

life of his only son Philip Prosper flickered out on the 1st November

1661, and a week later the bereaved father wrote to the nun--

"The long illness of my son and my constant attendance at his bedside

have prevented me from answering your letter, nor has my grief allowed

me to do so, until to-day. I confess to you, Sor Maria, that my grief

is great, as is natural after losing such a jewel as this. But in the

midst of my sorrow I have tried to offer it to God, and to submit to

His divine will; believing most earnestly that He will order all things

for the best, which is the most important thing. I can assure you that

what grieves me even more than my loss is that I see clearly that I

have angered God, and that these punishments are sent in retribution

for my sins. I only yearn to know how to amend myself, and to fulfil

the divine will by avoiding transgression, with which end I will try my

hardest, surrendering my life, if necessary, in order to succeed. Help

me, as a true friend, with your prayers to placate the ire of God, and

supplicate Him, since He has taken away my son, to send a safe delivery

to the Queen, whose confinement we expect every hour; to protect her

and grant that her offspring should be for His service, for otherwise I

desire it not. The Queen has borne {492} the blow as a true Christian,

though sorrowfully. I am not surprised at this, for she is an angel.

O Sor Maria! if I had been able to carry out your doctrines, perhaps I

should not find myself in this state. Pray to God that my eyes may be

opened, so that I may comply with His will in all things."

And then in a postscript, written a day later, the King, full of

gratitude, conveys the happy news to his friend that another son had

been born to him.

"Our Lord has deigned to send me back my son, by bringing me another;

for which I am as grateful as so signal a boon and mercy demands. Help

me, Sor Maria, to prostrate myself at His feet and beseech Him to

preserve this pledge, if it be for His service, otherwise I desire it

not, but to bow my head to His will. The Queen and the child are well,

and I am content."

[Sidenote: Fresh attempts at reform]

The child that was born to Philip's old age was greeted, as his many

predecessors had been, by violent rejoicings in the capital, though the

King took little or no part in them beyond the religious ceremonies;

for he really was trying hard now to do without a minister, working

early and late at the drudgery of administration, drafting new stern

pragmatics to reform the corruption of his capital, which had become

more scandalous than ever, and bringing to book many of those who had

grown rich under Don Luis de Haro. Money was needed for the Portuguese

war, and the coinage was again debased; clothes were ordered to be

plainer than ever, no silk was to be worn by officials, and no one was

to have more than two mules to his coach; {493} the owners of carriages

were to pay for the paving of the streets of Madrid, which had become

simply quagmires, whilst, to the joy of the populace, the taxes on food

entering Madrid were reduced by one half. The speculators who farmed

these dues cried out that they were being defrauded, and they were

recompensed by a cession to them of half the 10 per cent. property tax

on Madrid.

Thus, with reforms in judicial procedure, the cancelling of grants and

pensions which could not be justified, and desperate efforts to

suppress the open vice that paraded the capital, Philip, for the third

time in his life (in 1661-1662), tried to carry into effect the saintly

precepts in which he believed. Much of this new zeal for reform was

evidently owing to the insistence of Sor Maria, who was never tired of

pointing her lesson. Soon after Haro's sudden death she wrote--

"Let your Majesty order your ministers strictly to punish the rich and

powerful people who cheat the poor by usurping their property, make

your inferior ministers do justice with equity and impartiality, let

them punish foul vices and all sorts of sin, and let the superior

government of your Court assume a better form. And, for God's sake,

moderate some of the taxes the poor people pay, for I know that

villages have been depopulated in consequence of them; and that the

poor people only keep body and soul together on barley-bread and the

herbs of the fields.... So many changes in the coinage, too, are most

injurious."[43]

Philip did his best, but he was sick and weary, {494} and soon

slackened in his personal efforts. Nothing that he did, indeed, seemed

to prosper, and in his constant letters to Sor Maria his despairing

references to his own sins being the cause of all his troubles became

increasingly poignant. With infinite trouble and scraping together of

resources, he managed to raise another army and full campaign material,

with which his son Don Juan was to reconquer Portugal for the

crown.[44] At first in the spring of 1663 all went well with Don Juan,

who invaded Portugal and captured the important city of Evora, but he

was met near that place by the English and Portuguese and defeated on

the 8th June. Attempting to retreat into Spain, he was overtaken, and

again the Spanish army suffered a disastrous rout, with a loss of 8000

men, with baggage, standards, and arms. Don Juan himself fought

bravely, pike in hand, but was borne away in the flight, and with

difficulty escaped to Badajoz. He was then recalled to Madrid, and in

long conferences with his father's ministers[45] arranged a new

campaign for the {495} following year, though it was evident now to

everyone that the reconquest of her lost dominion was beyond the

material and moral strength of Spain.

Ever since the Restoration in England, Charles II. had been making

tentative efforts to bring about peace with Spain. Philip it was

certain would not officially recognise the independence of Portugal;

but perhaps a _modus vivendi_ might be arranged, by means of a long

truce or otherwise, so that direct trade between England and Spain

might be restored, and the mutual injuries inflicted at sea be stopped.

The advantage to Spain would, of course, be great, because the silver

fleets were constantly preyed upon by English privateers; but the

English shipmasters and merchants also had felt severely the

deprivation of Spanish trade; and after the crushing defeat of Don Juan

at Amegial, just referred to, in June 1663, it seemed a good

opportunity for Charles II. to suggest directly to Philip the

advisability of an agreement.

[Sidenote: Fanshawe's embassy]