CHAPTER II. The Lover and the Confidant
CHAPTER III. A Rival
CHAPTER IV. Civil Ambition, and Ecclesiastical
CHAPTER V. The true Fate of Morgana
CHAPTER VI. Web upon Web
CHAPTER VII. The open Countenance, the concealed Thoughts
CHAPTER VIII. The Escape
CHAPTER IX. The Counterplot
CHAPTER X. We reap what we sow
CHAPTER XI. Howsoever the Rivers wind, the Ocean receives them All
CALDERON, THE COURTIER.
A TALE.
CHAPTER I. THE ANTE-CHAMBER.
The Tragi-Comedy of Court Intrigue, which had ever found its principal
theatre in Spain since the accession of the House of Austria to the
throne, was represented with singular complication of incident and
brilliancy of performance during the reign of Philip the Third. That
monarch, weak, indolent, and superstitious, left the reins of government
in the hands of the Duke of Lerma. The Duke of Lerma, in his turn, mild,
easy, ostentatious, and shamefully corrupt, resigned the authority he
had thus received to Roderigo Calderon, an able and resolute upstart,
whom nature and fortune seemed equally to favour and endow. But, not
more to his talents, which were great, than to the policy of religious
persecution which he had supported and enforced, Roderigo Calderon owed
his promotion. The King and the Inquisition had, some years before our
story opens, resolved upon the general expulsion of the Moriscos
the wealthiest, the most active, the most industrious portion of the
population.
“I would sooner,” said the bigoted king--and his words were hallowed by
the enthusiasm of the Church--“depopulate my kingdom than suffer it to
harbour a single infidel.” The Duke de Lerma entered into the scheme
that lost to Spain many of her most valuable subjects, with the zeal of
a pious Catholic expectant of the Cardinal’s hat, which he afterwards
obtained. But to this scheme Calderon brought an energy, a decision,
a vehemence, and sagacity of hatred, that savoured more of personal
vengeance than religious persecution. His perseverance in this good
work established him firmly in the king’s favour; and in this he was
supported by the friendship not only of Lerma, but of Fray Louis de
Aliaga, a renowned Jesuit, and confessor to the king. The disasters
and distresses occasioned by this barbarous crusade, which crippled
the royal revenues, and seriously injured the estates of the principal
barons, from whose lands the industrious and intelligent Moriscos were
expelled, ultimately concentred a deep and general hatred upon Calderon.
But his extraordinary address and vigorous energies, his perfect
mastery of the science of intrigue, not only sustained, but continued to
augment, his power. Though the king was yet in the prime of middle age,
his health was infirm and his life precarious. Calderon had contrived,
while preserving the favour of the reigning monarch, to establish
himself as the friend and companion of the heir apparent. In this,
indeed, he had affected to yield to the policy of the king himself; for
Philip the Third had a wholesome terror of the possible ambition of his
son, who early evinced talents which might have been formidable, but for
passions which urged him into the most vicious pleasures and the most
extravagant excesses. The craft of the king was satisfied by the device
of placing about the person of the Infant one devoted to himself; nor
did his conscience, pious as he was, revolt at the profligacy which his
favourite was said to participate, and, perhaps, to encourage; since the
less popular the prince, the more powerful the king.
But all this while there was formed a powerful cabal against both the
Duke of Lerma and Don Roderigo Calderon in a quarter where it might
least have been anticipated. The cardinal-duke, naturally anxious
to cement and perpetuate his authority, had placed his son, the Duke
d’Uzeda, in a post that gave him constant access to the monarch.
The prospect of power made Uzeda eager to seize at once upon all its
advantages; and it became the object of his life to supplant his father.
This would have been easy enough but for the genius and vigilance of
Calderon, whom he hated as a rival, disdained as an upstart, and dreaded
as a foe. Philip was soon aware of the contest between the two factions,
but, in the true spirit of Spanish kingcraft he took care to play one
against the other. Nor could Calderon, powerful as he was, dare openly
to seek the ruin of Uzeda; while Uzeda, more rash, and, perhaps, more
ingenuous, entered into a thousand plots for the downfall of the prime
favourite.
The frequent missions, principally into Portugal, in which of late
Calderon had been employed, had allowed Uzeda to encroach more and more
upon the royal confidence; while the very means which Don Roderigo had
adopted to perpetuate his influence, by attaching himself to the prince,
necessarily distracted his attention from the intrigues of his rival.
Perhaps, indeed, the greatness of Calderon’s abilities made him too
arrogantly despise the machinations of the duke, who, though not without
some capacities as a courtier, was wholly incompetent to those duties of
a minister on which he had set his ambition and his grasp.
Such was the state of parties in the Court of Philip the Third at the
time in which we commence our narrative in the ante-chamber of Don
Roderigo Calderon.
“It is not to be endured,” said Don Felix de Castro, an old noble, whose
sharp features and diminutive stature proclaimed the purity of his blood
and the antiquity of his descent.
“Just three-quarters of an hour and five minutes have I waited for
audience to a fellow who would once have thought himself honoured if I
had ordered him to call my coach,” said Don Diego Sarmiento de Mendo.
“Then, if it chafe you so much, gentlemen, why come you here at all? I
dare say Don Roderigo can dispense with your attendance.”
This was said bluntly by a young noble of good mien, whose impetuous and
irritable temperament betrayed itself by an impatience of gesture and
motion unusual amongst his countrymen. Sometimes he walked, with uneven
strides, to and fro the apartments, unheeding the stately groups whom he
jostled, or the reproving looks that he attracted; sometimes he paused
abruptly, raised his eyes, muttered, twitched his cloak, or played with
his sword-knot; or, turning abruptly round upon his solemn neighbours,
as some remark on his strange bearing struck his ear, brought the blood
to many a haughty cheek by his stern gaze of defiance and disdain. It
was easy to perceive that this personage belonged to the tribe--rash,
vain, and young--who are eager to take offence, and to provoke quarrel.
Nevertheless, the cavalier had noble and great qualities. A stranger to
courts, in the camp he was renowned for a chivalrous generosity and an
extravagant valour, that emulated the ancient heroes of Spanish romaunt
and song. His was a dawn that promised a hot noon and a glorious eve.
The name of this brave soldier was Martin Fonseca. He was of an ancient
but impoverished house, and related in a remote degree to the Duke de
Lerma. In his earliest youth he had had cause to consider himself
the heir to a wealthy uncle on his mother’s side; and with those
expectations, while still but a boy, he had been invited to court by
the cardinal-duke. Here, however, the rude and blunt sincerity of his
bearing had so greatly shocked the formal hypocrisies of the court, and
had more than once so seriously offended the minister, that his powerful
kinsman gave up all thought of pushing Fonseca’s fortunes at Madrid, and
meditated some plausible excuse for banishing him from court. At this
time the rich uncle, hitherto childless, married a second time, and was
blessed with an heir. It was no longer necessary to keep terms with
Don Martin; and he suddenly received an order to join the army on the
frontiers. Here his courage soon distinguished him; but his honest
nature still stood in the way of his promotion. Several years elapsed,
and his rise had been infinitely slower than that of men not less
inferior to him in birth than merit. Some months since, he had repaired
to Madrid to enforce his claims upon the government; but instead of
advancing his suit, he had contrived to effect a serious breach with
the cardinal, and been abruptly ordered back to the camp. Once more he
appeared at Madrid; but this time it was not to plead desert and demand
honours.
In any country but Spain under the reign of Philip the Third, Martin
Fonseca would have risen early to high fortunes. But, as we have said,
his talents were not those of the flatterer or the hypocrite; and it was
a matter of astonishment to the calculators round him to see Don Martin
Fonseca in the ante-room of Roderigo Calderon, Count Oliva, Marquis de
Siete Iglesias, secretary to the King, and parasite and favourite of the
Infant of Spain.
“Why come you here at all?” repeated the young soldier.
“Senor,” answered Don Felix de Castro, with great gravity, “we have
business with Don Roderigo. Men of our station must attend to the
affairs of the state, no matter by whom transacted.”
“That is, you must crawl on your knees to ask for pensions and
governorships, and transact the affairs of the state by putting your
hands into its coffers.”
“Senor!” growled Don Felix, angrily, as his hand played with his
sword-belt.
“Tush!” said the young man, scornfully turning on his heel.
The folding-doors were thrown open, and all conversation ceased at the
entrance of Don Roderigo Calderon.
This remarkable personage had risen from the situation of a confidential
scribe to the Duke of Lerma to the nominal rank of secretary to the
King--to the real station of autocrat of Spain. The birth of the
favourite of fortune was exceedingly obscure. He had long affected
to conceal it; but when he found curiosity had proceeded into serious
investigation of his origin, he had suddenly appeared to make a virtue
of necessity; proclaimed of his own accord that his father was a common
soldier of Valladolid, and even invited to Madrid, and lodged in his
own palace, his low-born progenitor. This prudent frankness disarmed
malevolence on the score of birth. But when the old soldier died,
rumours went abroad that he had confessed on his death-bed that he
was not in any way related to Calderon; that he had submitted to an
imposture which secured to his old age so respectable and luxurious an
asylum; and that he knew not for what end Calderon had forced upon him
the honours of spurious parentship. This tale, which, ridiculed by most,
was yet believed by some, gave rise to darker reports concerning one on
whom the eyes of all Spain were fixed. It was supposed that he had
some motive beyond that of shame at their meanness, to conceal his
real origin and name. What could be that motive, if not the dread of
discovery for some black and criminal offence connected with his earlier
youth, and for which he feared the prosecution of the law? They who
affected most to watch his exterior averred that often, in his gayest
revels and proudest triumphs, his brow would lower--his countenance
change--and it was only by a visible and painful effort that he could
restore his mind to its self-possession. His career, which evinced
an utter contempt for the ordinary rules and scruples that curb even
adventurers into a seeming of honesty and virtue, appeared in some way
to justify these reports. But, at times, flashes of sudden and brilliant
magnanimity broke forth to bewilder the curious, to puzzle the examiners
of human character, and to contrast the general tenor of his ambitions
and remorseless ascent to power. His genius was confessed by all; but
it was a genius that in no way promoted the interests of his country.
It served only to prop, defend, and advance himself--to battle
difficulties--to defeat foes--to convert every accident, every chance,
into new stepping stones in his course. Whatever his birth, it was
evident that he had received every advantage of education; and scholars
extolled his learning and boasted of his patronage. While, more
recently, if the daring and wild excesses of the profligate prince were,
on the one hand, popularly imputed to the guidance of Calderon, and
increased the hatred generally conceived against him, so, on the other
hand, his influence over the future monarch seemed to promise a new
lease to his authority, and struck fear into the councils of his foes.
In fact, the power of the upstart marquis appeared so firmly rooted,
the career before him so splendid, that there were not wanted whisperers
who, in addition to his other crimes, ascribed to Roderigo Calderon
the assistance of the black art. But the black art in which that subtle
courtier was a proficient is one that dispenses with necromancy. It
was the art of devoting the highest intellect to the most selfish
purposes--an art that thrives tolerably well for a time in the great
world!
He had been for several weeks absent from Madrid on a secret mission;
and to this, his first public levee, on his return, thronged all the
rank and chivalry of Spain.
The crowd gave way, as, with haughty air, in the maturity of manhood,
the Marquis de Siete Iglesias moved along. He disdained all accessories
of dress to enhance the effect of his singularly striking exterior.
His mantle and vest of black cloth, made in the simplest fashion, were
unadorned with the jewels that then constituted the ordinary insignia of
rank. His hair, bright and glossy as the raven’s plume, curled back from
the lofty and commanding brow, which, save by one deep wrinkle between
the eyes, was not only as white but as smooth as marble. His features
were aquiline and regular; and the deep olive of his complexion seemed
pale and clear when contrasted by the rich jet of the moustache and
pointed beard. The lightness of his tall and slender but muscular
form made him appear younger than he was; and had it not been for the
supercilious and scornful arrogance of air which so seldom characterises
gentle birth, Calderon might have mingled with the loftiest magnates of
Europe and seemed to the observer the stateliest of the group. It
was one of those rare forms that are made to command the one sex and
fascinate the other. But, on a deeper scrutiny, the restlessness of
the brilliant eye--the quiver of the upper lip--a certain abruptness of
manner and speech, might have shown that greatness had brought suspicion
as well as pride. The spectators beheld the huntsman on the height;--the
huntsman saw the abyss below, and respired with difficulty the air
above.
The courtiers one by one approached the marquis, who received them with
very unequal courtesy. To the common herd he was sharp, dry, and bitter;
to the great he was obsequious, yet with a certain grace and manliness
of bearing that elevated even the character of servility; and all
the while, as he bowed low to a Medina or a Guzman, there was a half
imperceptible mockery lurking in the corners of his mouth, which seemed
to imply that while his policy cringed his heart despised. To two or
three, whom he either personally liked or honestly esteemed, he was
familiar, but brief, in his address; to those whom he had cause to
detest or to dread--his foes, his underminers--he assumed a yet greater
frankness, mingled with the most caressing insinuation of voice and
manner.
Apart from the herd, with folded arms, and an expression of countenance
in which much admiration was blent with some curiosity and a little
contempt, Don Martin Fonseca gazed upon the favourite.
“I have done this man a favour,” thought he; “I have contributed towards
his first rise--I am now his suppliant. Faith! I, who have never found
sincerity or gratitude in the camp, come to seek those hidden treasures
at a court! Well, we are strange puppets, we mortals!”
Don Diego Sarmiento de Mendoza had just received the smiling salutation
of Calderon, when the eye of the latter fell upon the handsome features
of Fonseca. The blood mounted to his brow; he hastily promised Don Diego
all that he desired, and hurrying back through the crowd, retired to his
private cabinet. The levee was broken up.
As Fonseca, who had caught the glance of the secretary, and who drew
no favourable omen from his sudden evanishment, slowly turned to
depart with the rest, a young man, plainly dressed, touched him on the
shoulder.
“You are Senior Don Martin Fonseca?”
“The same.”
“Follow me, if it please you, senor, to my master, Lou Roderigo
Calderon.”
Fonseca’s face brightened; he obeyed the summons; and in another moment
he was in the cabinet of the Sejanus of Spain.