Now Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired
her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don
Carlos, he who was afterwards called "the mad" and "the cruel." And
Philip had no love for his wife.
The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the
maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.
Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning
of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did
likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble
ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.
Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain
sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge:
He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden
statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay
the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed
at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather
destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.
He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured
most piteously and condemned to be burnt alive. During the torture
they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he
passed along from the prison to the stake: "Cut my feet off! For
God's sake cut my feet off!"
And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled
he never a smile.
Queen Marie's dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at
the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess
of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear
to witness the spectacle.
So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts,
equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a
long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles
of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the
sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake
in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.
And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he
was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.
Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there
alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on
a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon
and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made
her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.
"Alas!" she cried, "would that there were some one to carry me back
into bed that I might get warm again!"
Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:
"Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!"
"Ah!" said the Queen, "is that some dog or other baying at my death?"
It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none
but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders,
the land of valorous men, and he crossed his arms on his breast,
and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards
the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing
upright there, still with his arms crossed:
"This," cried he, "this is how the men of Flanders can die in the
face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut off their feet--not mine--that
they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for
ever! Flanders for ever!"
And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of
his proud look.
And he died.
And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth
chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms
and legs grew stiff, and she said:
"Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed."
So she died.
And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good
sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds
of death, and blood, and tears.