The Court of Philip IV.: Spain in Decadence

by Martin A. S. Hume

CHAPTER V

RISE OF THE PARTY OPPOSED TO OLIVARES—THE QUEEN AND THE INFANTES CARLOS AND FERNANDO—OLIVARES REMONSTRATES WITH PHILIP FOR HIS NEGLECT OF BUSINESS—PHILIP'S REPLY—ILLNESS OF THE KING—FEARS OF OLIVARES—PHILIP'S CONSCIENCE—ASPECT OF MADRID AT THE TIME—HABITS OF THE PEOPLE—A GREAT ARTISTIC CENTRE—MANY FOREIGN VISITORS—VELAZQUEZ—PHILIP'S LOVE OF ART, LITERATURE, AND THE DRAMA—CONTEMPORARY DESCRIPTION OF A PLAYHOUSE—PHILIP AND THE CALDERONA, MOTHER OF DON JUAN OF AUSTRIA—BIRTH AND BAPTISM OF BALTASAR CARLOS—PHILIP'S FIELD SPORTS—GENERAL SOCIAL DECADENCE

On the King's return to Madrid in the spring of 1626 almost simultaneous baptism of another short-lived infant Princess and the betrothal of the Infanta Maria, the erstwhile "Princess of Wales," to the King of Hungary, heir to the empire, gave other pretext for one of those interminable rounds of pompous shows in which Philip delighted. The marriage of yet another Princess of the Spanish branch of Hapsburg to a future emperor was a provocation flung in the face of Europe, and so Richelieu understood it; and again patiently knitted his plans for taking up the challenge in due time, and defeating finally the threatened hegemony of the house of Austria to the detriment of that of Bourbon.

The enemies of Olivares

During the absence of the Court at Aragon, the party against Olivares had taken courage in Madrid; for already it was seen that the young Queen, full of spirit as she was, chafed under the complete subjection in which the King was held, and the almost equal tutelage which the Countess of Olivares endeavoured to exercise over her. Isabel loved diversion as much as her husband did, though her amusements were less intellectual than his; but she could not help seeing, even if there had not been those who were eager to tell her, that the high hopes that the domination of Olivares had first aroused were very far from being fulfilled, and that the distress in the country was greater than ever with the increased drain of the never-ending war. Olivares, moreover, took no pains to conciliate the Queen, and his attitude towards ladies in general was frankly insolent and contemptuous. He was determined, in any case, to brook no possible interference with his supremacy, and deliberately endeavoured to lessen the Queen's influence by encouraging the formation of other ties by Philip. Not that Philip, indeed, needed much encouragement; but a regular network of agents in the principal cities kept the favourite informed of the appearance of any new and charming actress on the provincial stage, in order that she might be brought to the theatres of the capital and placed before the eyes of the King.

The Infantes

Nor was the Queen the only person of the family whose influence Olivares was determined to check. The two young Infantes, the King's brothers, were now growing into manhood, the elder, Charles, born in 1607, being twenty years of age, and the Cardinal Infante Fernando two years younger. A curious memorandum from Olivares to the King on the subject of his brothers is extant,[[1]] and shows plainly the method by which Olivares kept his hold upon the King by arousing suspicion of all others, even of the members of the royal family. It appears that at the instance of the minister Philip had appointed a commission, headed, of course, by Olivares, to consider and report upon what should be done for the future of the King's brothers; and the series of memoranda referred to set forth the result of their deliberations. The points to be settled, says the document, are full of difficulty, and though there has been a period of nineteen years to consider it (i.e. since the Infante Carlos was born), it is as full of perplexity as ever. The great danger and risk is to make a choice of servants for the Princes. "We must approach this by taking into account the characters and dispositions of their Highnesses. We consider Don Carlos to be of easy and yielding disposition, and that he will tend the way that those who are near him may desire. But in Don Fernando may be seen a greater natural vivacity, which, with a little help, might be inflamed to a point that would cause serious harm, which we must try to prevent." It is far better, says Olivares and his colleagues, to face the matter now than to let it drift until it becomes unmanageable. "The best thing will be for Fernando to continue in the ecclesiastic state; but not to take higher steps in it than at present, in view of the succession.[[2]] Let him have sufficient money, but let us be careful not to arouse his spirit and ambition by giving him the power that too much money bestows, and do not let us in our generosity to him defraud the poor flocks and the other bishops. Or else give him the bishopric of Oran and arouse his zeal in Africa, like Cardinal Ximenez."[[3]] This project was not approved of by the commission, as the desire for arms and conquest might set him against his profession. "Or we might make him Inquisitor-General, in order to introduce him into government affairs, as was done with Prince Henry the navigator. But the worst of that is that he is yet very young, and the Inquisition is a very serious matter. Or we might send him to Flanders, or even put him into the Council of State here; but if we did that we must put Carlos in too, and we can see many reasons against doing so. Carlos, of course, must be married or set to some active exercise, to keep him employed and out of mischief until God shall point out to us what had better be done with him. At present there is no available princess for him." Several princesses are then suggested, such as one of the Savoy cousins, a younger daughter of the Emperor, and a sister of the Duke of Lorraine; but all are rejected, and after an interminable prologue the final recommendation of Olivares is reached, namely, to get Fernando, evidently the one he dreaded most, out of the way by sending him to Flanders. But even this is full of suspicion and difficulty. The people there want a Prince of their own. The old Infanta might leave him the throne when she died, and the Flemings might use the Infante to conquer and hold independence of you with your (i.e. Philip's) own arms, and that, of course, must be avoided. If the States of Flanders could be left without a master when the Infanta dies, that would be best, but as it cannot be your Majesty must keep them.[[4]] Or if your Majesty thought well, you might make him Grand Admiral and Prince of the Sea. In that capacity, as the authority would be so much divided, it would not be easy for him to do anything to your Majesty's detriment, especially as he will be surrounded by persons of unquestionable fidelity. But it is difficult to know how we can do this. If he were appointed to supreme command, both in the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, with both ships and galleys under him, he would have to depute much of his authority, and we think this would be good. But still, it would be putting vast power into the lad's hands. Besides, perhaps he would not be contented with the place unless a viceroyalty like that of Sicily was attached to it.

And so every possibility is discussed at length, and every suggestion either rejected altogether or approved of with many qualifications and drawbacks, pointing out the danger of giving power to princes. But though the commission could come to no decided conclusion, Olivares, in a private letter to Philip, recommended that Carlos should eventually be made Viceroy of Sicily, and Fernando sent to Flanders with a wise old household, although, for the present, it was decided that nothing should be done, except to keep the Princes quiet and as much apart from affairs as possible.

I have given to these curious documents perhaps more space than their intrinsic importance deserved, because they seem to me to illustrate exactly the almost diabolical distrust that Olivares sought to instil into the young King, even of his own brothers. Philip's, however, was an affectionate nature, and he was never soured against his brothers, as Philip II. by similar Machiavellian counsels from Perez was fatally estranged from his. Distrust was the note struck everywhere by Olivares: distrust of relatives, of nobles, even of councillors, except those who were creatures of his own; and it is evident that on the return of the Court to Madrid, after the absence of five months in Aragon, the favourite found the atmosphere less grateful to him than before. The Queen, as Regent in Philip's absence, had enjoyed an increase of power and consideration, and the nobles, priests, and ladies around her had been able to speak more boldly whilst they were relieved of the alarming presence of the Count-Duke.

Philip's idleness

Olivares soon struck a blow to regain any power or prestige that he had lost and to fill his enemies with confusion. The King, as we have seen, was indolent and pleasure-loving, leaving all the hard work of the Government to Olivares, upon whom he depended absolutely. The minister knew full well that without his guidance his master would be utterly at sea, and the threat of his retirement always brought Philip to heel. No step, therefore, could have been more effectual in stopping the mouths of the carpers opposed to the favourite, than for the latter himself to protest against the King's neglect of his duties. The State paper in which Olivares remonstrated with the King in the autumn of 1626 for his lack of attention to work, and the King's reply, have been printed several times in Spanish; but they deserve to be quoted here as specimens of the consummate skill of the minister in facing the situation in which he found himself and his clever management of the young King.[[5]]

The document is headed, "Paper from the Count-Duke to his Majesty, in which he urges him to consider and despatch current and private affairs himself, without obtaining the opinions of the junta, and, above all, the opinion of the Count-Duke, so that the King himself may, by a step later, take entire control of affairs of State and Government." "Your Majesty is good witness of the many times during the long period I have served you, that I have told you how important it was for your best interests that people should not only see the result of your own actions, but that they should also recognise them as such, and give you the full credit for them, thus also endowing with force those actions upon which you must needs take counsel. For it is certain, sire, that in the present state of this republic no other course will remedy our ills. Let people recognise in your Majesty attention, resolution, a determination to be obeyed, and if this be not sufficient, let it be recognised in the orders you give, and even in your own person in insignificant acts, nay in the most private actions in your own chamber, where most of the fears which the people entertain have their origin. I have also on many occasions begged your Majesty to give me leave to retire, and to recognise how impossible it is for me to succeed in any of my efforts to serve your Majesty, without your own attention, resolution, and application to the papers. Feeling, as I do, the weight of the duty and love I owe to your Majesty, I have tried to impress this need upon you in the preamble of my various requests; and to show you how indispensable it is for your Majesty's conscience, for your reputation, and for the redress of the evils of the Government, that you should work, or everything will sink to the bottom, no matter how desperate my efforts may be to keep things going. I have decided, therefore, to make a last appeal to you, because during the last few months affairs have become so urgent that there really is no other course but that your Majesty should put your shoulder to the wheel, or commit a mortal sin. I must protest, with due respect to your Majesty, as your humble slave and faithful minister, that if your Majesty will not at once adopt this resolution, I shall be looked upon as a traitor if I continue in this place, knowing as I do that, however I may strive, it is quite impossible, without the personal aid and support of your Majesty, for me to do what is necessary for the State, and this is being proved now to me by daily experience. It may be that the reason why your Majesty will not consent to work and do as I beg you, arises from the entire confidence you place in me, and that if I were not here you might apply yourself more to work, because you might not trust others as you trust me. This thought, together with the zeal and desire, as God knows, I have to serve your Majesty, have brought me to the point of saying resolutely, that if your Majesty will not do as I ask you, I will go away at once without asking your leave or even letting you know I am going, even though your Majesty may punish my disobedience by sending me to a fortress, because, God forbid that I, who owe what I do to your Majesty, should with my eyes open fail to act as I believe for the best, even at the risk of ruin to myself and all my kin, a loss which would be well repaid if it resulted in inducing your Majesty to do what is necessary to remedy the evils which demand the personal attention of your Majesty. I have said all that a subject may say, clearly and boldly; I would rather risk your anger than fail in my duty. The evil is great. Reputation has been lost, the treasury has been totally exhausted, ministers have grown venial and slack, taught to neglect the execution of the laws or to administer them with laxity, and this is one of the great causes of the evils that afflict the country and justice. Take, I pray you, sire, the work into your own hands. Let the very name "favourite" (privado) disappear. I will continue to urge your Majesty to shoulder this burden that God Himself has cast upon you, to labour with it, if you will, without overworking yourself, but not without work at all. 4th September 1626."

Philip promises to work

The appeal sounds genuine, and no doubt to some extent it was so, for it did not suit Olivares to be the person to be held solely responsible for the grave state of things that was already arousing even long-suffering Castile to passionate protest; and the privation and misery of the greater part of the population were, it must have been evident to the Count-Duke, powerful instruments against him in the hands of his enemies, now growing daily bolder. Philip always wanted to do well, that was the tragedy of his life, and if good resolutions had sufficed, no better ruler could have been desired. Any appeal, moreover, to his conscience always found an immediate echo, though a fleeting one; and in his reply to the minister the weakness as well as the rectitude of his character are touchingly displayed. In his own great sprawling hand Philip wrote on Olivares' letter—

"COUNT,—I have resolved to do as you ask me, for the sake of God, of myself, and of you. Nothing is boldness from you to me, knowing, as I do, your zeal and love. I will do it, Count, and I return you this paper with this reply, so that you may make it an heirloom of your house, that your descendants may learn how to speak to kings in matters that touch their fame, and that they may know what an ancestor they had. I should like to leave it in my archives to teach my children, if God grant me any, and other kings, how they should submit to what is just and expedient.—I, THE KING."

Whatever may have been Philip's intention, and it is impossible to doubt his sincerity, his good resolutions, as Olivares probably foresaw, did not last long; but the cavillers for a time were silenced, and Olivares at any future crisis could and did always point to his letter, and shift a full share of his responsibility upon the King. The responsibility, in good truth, was a heavy one. The constant drain of men and money to Germany, Italy, and Flanders fell mainly upon the realms of Castile, where the poverty was greatest. The expulsion of the Moriscos (1610), the most ingenious and industrious craftsmen in the land, had already produced its dire effects, and skilled industry, which formerly paid most of the taxes, had well-nigh disappeared. Without doing anything to revive manufactures in Spain itself, the Government of Olivares now began the fatal policy of prohibiting commerce of all sorts with the countries at war with Spain, which soon meant all maritime Europe; and the consequence was a complete dearth of commercial movements, a terrible rise in prices, universal contraband and untold suffering, which the purblind minister sought to remedy by the puerile device of suddenly reducing by one half the value of copper money (May 1627), and fixing a maximum price at which farmers might sell food stuffs!

Illness of the king

Anxiety and dissipation acted upon a physique never strong, and Philip, in the summer of 1627, fell seriously ill in Madrid. The last baby girl had died, and though the Queen was pregnant, the next heir, failing issue to the King, was his brother Carlos, a gentle, easy-going young man, in appearance and character wonderfully like his elder brother. But for all his gentleness Carlos was no friend of Olivares, who had taken from his side all the friends he depended upon, most of them, be it said, kinsmen of Lerma, whose sister had been the Prince's governess.

Young Fernando, the cardinal, as we have seen, was much more able and ardent than his brother; and when courtiers began to shake grave heads and doctors doubted of the King's recovery, it was Fernando rather than Carlos who took the lead in resenting the attempts of Olivares to isolate the King.[[6]] By means of his wife, also, Olivares endeavoured to set the Queen against her brothers-in-law, and to extract a pledge from her that if the King died she would retain the minister in his place in the interests of her unborn child. As Philip grew worse, and himself despaired of recovery, the Infantes, strengthened now by a large party of nobles, made no secret of their anger with Olivares, and the latter lost heart and fell ill (or, as spiteful Novoa says, feigned illness), giving himself up for lost, and groaning that everyone hated him so much that they even wished the King dead in order to get rid of him. The palace of Madrid became a buzzing nest of intrigues, in which, however, the principal song was that of gleeful anticipated vengeance on Olivares and all his kin; though, unknown to his foes, arrangements had been made by him and his party to seize the Government and propitiate the Queen and Don Carlos the moment the King died, as he was expected to from one hour to the other.[[7]]

Whilst Olivares still kept his bed from illness and fear, an attendant entered and said that the King had recovered consciousness and showed signs of improvement. "Who says so?" cried Olivares, springing up in his bed. "Dr. Polanco." "Then send Dr. Polanco to me immediately." Dr. Polanco bore no love to the arrogant favourite, and he came tardily to the call, and gave a dry and reticent statement of the King's condition. His Majesty, though better for the moment, he said, could hardly survive another crisis. But there were other royal physicians more courtly than Dr. Polanco, and one soon entered the Count-Duke's room with the welcome news that the King was really better, and had asked for Olivares. The Count-Duke's malady left him as if by magic at the news, and in a few minutes he was at Philip's bedside. On the opposite side of it stood the young Cardinal Infante, who exchanged with him a glance of undisguised enmity, whilst Carlos at his side was all mildness, only unselfishly delighted that the King was better. After a few words of greeting only from the King, who said he was very ill and in want of rest, Olivares retired, disturbed and uneasy at the open hatred of him shown by the Cardinal Infante. In the present state of uncertainty he dared not quarrel with the King's brother, the cleverest member of the family, and by submissive diplomacy and professions of devotion soon managed to patch up a reconciliation with him,[[8]] whilst resolving in his own mind to lose no opportunity that offered of getting away from Madrid so inconvenient a Prince.

Philip recovers

Again the King's life was despaired of, when, after many mouldering relics had been piled up fruitlessly, until the King's bedroom looked like a rag and bone warehouse, the prayed-for miracle was worked by a shoeless Austin friar, "who brought that admirable and miraculous relic of the little loaves of St. Nicholas, which the King took from the hands of the friar with fervent prayers and supplication for divine help and mercy, and the King recovered."[[9]] Olivares did not spare those who had thrown him into such a panic whilst the King lay ill, and the plans for the future made by the minister's enemies were represented to Philip as treason against himself. "Ah, sire," he said on his first long conversation after the King's recovery, "we have had an anxious time. In future must keep our eyes open." "Yes, no doubt," assented the King languidly. "As for me," continued the minister, "I considered myself as already being almost thrown out of the window. The Infante Fernando, sire, is in very bad hands!" "And how about Carlos," asked the King, "is he in any better hands?" But though Philip listened to the whispers of treason against all but those who were the creatures of Olivares, he was too amiable and kind to allow any harsh measures against his brothers, and Olivares had to postpone for the present the greater part of his vengeance.[[10]]

Philip's conscience

Philip's tender conscience had, as usual, plagued him during his illness and convalescence. In later years, as calamity after calamity fell upon him and his, it became his settled conviction that the wrath of heaven poured upon his country and upon those whom he loved best in the world was the awful retribution exacted for his personal transgressions; but even in this, his first severe illness, apparently the same idea assailed him, and as soon as he recovered he addressed a curious and characteristic document to each of his many councils, treating the administrative actions of his reign as a case of conscience for himself. The document is dated 14th August 1627, and the preamble states that it is drawn up for the discharge of the King's conscience after his serious illness.[[11]]

"1. If I have caused any damage or loss of property to anybody by any act or order of mine or otherwise, I desire that redress shall be given to the sufferers.

"2. If by any means or way property belonging to any person be unjustly taken or withheld by any act of ours, I command that the wrong be righted at once.

"3. Consider the means that can be devised to pay all my debts, so that in this respect my conscience may be clear, and in future as far as possible let all necessary expenses be justly met and paid.

"4. Consider whether any of the contributions payable by my vassals can be abolished, and what reform is possible, both as to the amounts levied and the mode of collection.

"5. If any minister of your Council does any unjust act, if he fails to administer justice righteously, or if any grievance is inflicted by him on my subjects, severe punishment must be meted out to him. Great vigilance must be exercised by you in this respect.

"6. If, in order to favour or benefit me, any injustice has been done, it must be redressed at once, regardless of every other consideration.

"Consider all this maturely, and report to me.—I, THE KING."

However well intentioned such decrees as this might be, in the existing state of the country they were absurd. If a foreign policy was persisted in which brought Spain into conflict with every progressive and prosperous country in Europe, which shut the ports of Spain to foreign commerce, and excluded Spanish ships from foreign harbours; if a system of finance were persisted in which ruined taxpayers and paralysed production; if industry was a disgrace and idleness respectable; if corruption existed from the base to the summit of the administration at home and abroad, and ostentation, vanity, greed, and self-indulgence permeated every class of society in the capital, the heart from which flowed the tainted life-blood of the nation, it was futile to order redress to be given for individual wrongs, and for the surface administration to be cleansed, whilst the mass was corrupt; and it is needless to say that the King's conscience was rapidly lulled to rest again, leaving matters much as they were before, and as they remained for years to come, whilst Madrid was the artistic and literary centre of the world, and the rest of Spain was sunk in utter misery and debasement.

Madrid in 1627

A glance at the material and moral aspect of society in Philip's Court during this period, the flower of his reign and life, will be necessary in order to understand what followed. After the restoration to Madrid of its rank as the capital in 1606, the increase in the size and population of the town had been extraordinary; and it was at this period that Madrid assumed the extent and appearance that it retained with little change until the middle of the nineteenth century. As now, the great palace on its bold spur looking over the Manzanares and the plains of Castile to the snow-capped Guadarramas, formed the conspicuous boundary of the capital on the west, and the precipitous slope on that side to the bridge of Segovia, then recently built, checked expansion in that direction. But to the north and east the new streets stretched forth in a way which was at the time looked upon as prodigious. The Puerta del Sol, the present centre of the capital, had even in Philip's time begun to acquire importance as leading to the broad new street of Alcalá, which afforded a less congested approach to the promenade of the Prado than the ancient and narrow Carrera de San Geronimo. The Calle Mayor, leading from the palace to the Puerta del Sol, was not, as now, one broad street in its entire length, the wide portion being, indeed, only the newer stretch near the Puerta del Sol, but in the greater part of its length consisted of a continuous line of narrow and somewhat tortuous streets called by different names. This, however, being the road to and from the palace, was the fashionable promenade, especially for the great swaying coaches then the rage in Madrid. In hot summer nights the dry bed of the Manzanares attracted fashionable promenaders to enjoy such coolness as could be found there; whilst the Prado itself, from the street of Alcalá to the Atocha, on certain occasions, especially on saints days, church festivals, and in the evenings of spring, was the crowded resort of the idlers. The Plaza Mayor, or great square, standing much as it does to-day, had been built in the previous reign, the houses that enclosed it being capable of accommodating in their lines of balconies as many as fifty thousand spectators to the bull-fights, autos-de-fe, or equestrian shows, which were held there on great occasions.[[12]]

The construction of the houses, for the most part rapidly run up to meet the sudden increase of the population—the Court, as has been explained, attracting everybody in Spain with brains, ambition, or money—was extremely mean and shabby, the heavy ostentatious palaces of the nobles, many of which still stand, being surrounded by wretched little shanties with mud walls and filthy exteriors.[[13]] The windows towards the street were heavily grated, and mostly small, which gave a gloomy dungeon-like appearance to the buildings, whilst the total absence of drainage made the roadways a mere middenheap, through which the heavy coaches ploughed, and bespattered the pedestrians. To the enormous number of strangers and foreigners whom curiosity, politics, or business brought to Madrid at this period, the filthy condition of the streets became a byword. The gutters of the houses projecting far out from the eaves threw great jets of water when it rained into the middle of the narrow roadways, and with the mere warning of "Agua va" all the house garbage, debris, and excrement were cast forth into the open street, there to fester until the salutary sun had deodorised it and reduced it to dust.

In these streets, and especially in the portion of the Calle Mayor near the Church of St. Philip and the Puerta del Sol, the idlers of the capital, which meant the greater part of the population, loved to promenade for hours every day, preferably in coaches, bandying coarse jests with the people on foot. This objectless promenading and gossiping was so characteristic that a special verb was coined to describe it, namely, to ruar. Everybody pretended to be wealthier, more highly placed, and better dressed than he really was; and though sumptuary pragmatics and decrees, announced by heralds in the Calle Mayor, constantly threatened transgressors with all sorts of pains and penalties, the people, especially the women, continued to defy the law in their dress and behaviour. The insolent dames would wear outrageous garments; flattened farthingales (guardainfantes) so immensely wide as to be indecent, starched ruffs, pattens so high with jingling heels as to be like musical stilts, and would still insist upon covering their faces, all but one eye, the more to pique curiosity and indulge with impunity in their not too delicate badinage.

The large spaces occupied by the frowning religious houses, whilst adding to the gloom of the city, must have increased its salubrity, in consequence of the large shady gardens that they usually enjoyed. At twelve o'clock, when the angelus sounded, the monastery gates opened, and there came forth a lay brother with an immense cauldron of soup and a basket of bread, which formed the principal meal of many hundreds of poor people and idlers all the year round. The students, real or pretended, who in token of their dependence on these eleemosynary meals wore a wooden spoon tucked into the brim of their hats, formed a considerable portion of those who attacked the garlic broth with avidity. Broken soldiers and led captains, gamblers out of luck and varlets out of place, fought too for the food with the maimed and diseased beggars who crowded the most frequented streets at fashionable hours.[[14]] In addition to these charity meals given by the religious houses, there were numerous lay brotherhoods established to relieve the sick and impotent; and one particular brotherhood, which went its rounds at night, especially in the outer districts of the capital, was called by the people the "bread and egg watch," because the brethren carried with them baskets of bread and eggs to distribute to the needy whom they found exhausted and homeless by the way.

It may be asked if Madrid was so forbidding in appearance, as it was certainly difficult of access and lacking in comfort and convenience, what was the attraction that drew to it at the time not only the enriched Spaniards from the Indies, and the ambitious and idle of the Peninsula itself, but the immense number of foreign visitors who now frequented it. So far as the Spaniards were concerned, it has already been explained that by the time of which we are writing the Court had, in fact, drawn to itself all that was left of available wealth in the country. There alone could the Spanish love of ostentation be indulged; there alone could bravery of dress and demeanour find the attention and emulation it always seeks; there alone could advancement in any unlaborious career be found, for where all the patronage, wealth, and taste were, there also must be those who sought patronage or provided things that taste and wealth alone could buy, and so the Court—"la Corte" as Madrid was always called—shone brightly, like the last phosphorescent spot in a decaying body, and attracted by its brilliancy when all the rest of Spain was dark.

An artistic capital

The fame of the splendid shows of Philip's Court, the traditional wealth of the monarch, and the reputation for gallantry and gaiety which the place obtained, brought to it pleasure-seekers from all Europe. The close connection with Austria naturally attracted Germans to Spain in numbers; Flemish Catholics were, of course, almost as much at home in Madrid as in Brussels; whilst the marriage of Philip's sister Anna of Austria in France had made the romantic view of Spain fashionable there. The war with France somewhat restricted the French incursion, but Burgundian and Franche-Comtois craftsmen were numerous, and the enemies of Richelieu always found a welcome in the Spanish Court. Italians, especially Neapolitan and Milanese subjects of Philip, who served in his armies and provided his finest weapons, were frequent visitors to his capital. It was, moreover, a dilettante age, when all over Europe, and particularly in Madrid, where for a century the monarchs had been generous patrons of art, a perfect craze had seized wealthy people to collect and display rare and beautiful artistic objects of all sorts, and the ostentatious nobles who surrounded Philip IV., many of whom had lived in Italy, had shared the King's love of such objects, and had made their palaces perfect museums of art treasures of every description.

Olivares himself exacted from viceroys and Spanish officers abroad presents of tapestries and articles of virtu.[[15]] The Count of Monterey and the Marquis of Leganes, both kinsmen of the Count-Duke, had crammed their palaces with rarities,—clocks, mirrors, enamels, medals, marqueterie, and paintings; and Monterey, who had been viceroy of Naples, had brought back with him to Madrid a whole cargo of silver repoussé work, tapestries, ivory carvings, gems, and such treasures as the red chalk drawing of the cartoon of Michael Angelo's famous "Bathers."[[16]] V. Carducho, who lived in Madrid at the time, describes in his Diálogos the regular meetings there of connoisseurs and patrons of art, to inspect, exchange, or criticise paintings, models and other rare and beautiful things; where, he says, "originals by Raphael, Correggio, Titian, Tintoretto, Palma, Bassano, and living painters were admired, and where much taste and knowledge were displayed." Besides paintings, he continues, there were to be seen at these meetings "coats of armour and weapons of famous armourers, damascened swords and daggers, rock crystal work and pyramids and globes of jasper and glass." On one particular occasion Carducho mentions that the host of the meeting-place was engaged in arranging some articles for an exchange he was negotiating with the Admiral of Castile, a great art patron, whom he was expecting. They comprised an original by Titian, six heads by Antonio Mor, two bronze statues and a small culverin, whilst the admiral had left with the host a good copy of a painting by Caracci; and Carducho mentions that Monterey had there at the same time an original Madonna by Raphael from the convent of Discalced Carmelites at Valladolid.[[17]]

The agglomeration of such works of art at Madrid during a long period naturally led to the dispersion of the great collections on the death or fall of the noble owners, and this was effected by the usual Spanish form of sale still common, called an almoneda, such articles as are for sale usually remain in situ, but on public view, with the prices marked; and the German ambassador, Count Harrach, mentions no less than twenty of such almonedas of artistic collections belonging to Madrid nobles within the space of five years, at a somewhat later period of Philip's reign than that of which we are now writing.[[18]] Of one such noble collector in Madrid (Juan de Espina) Quevedo says: "For years his house was an epitome of the marvels of Europe, visited by strangers, to the great honour of our nation, for they had often nothing to tell of Spain except their recollections of him."

I have mentioned that one of the presents given by Olivares to the Prince of Wales on his departure was a set of paintings, but these were by no means the only pictures that Charles took back with him to enrich the royal galleries of England. The unfortunate murdered Count Villa Mediana's great collection was still being dispersed by almoneda at the time, and here Charles bought several specimens. Lope de Vega says that the Prince "collected with remarkable zeal all the paintings that could be had, paying for them excessive prices." He was unable to persuade Quevedo's friend Espina to sell him the gem of his collection, two volumes of original drawings by Leonardo da Vinci, which, however, eventually came to England as the property of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel.[[19]] Many other paintings and precious objects were secured by Charles during his stay by purchase and gift; and it may be fairly assumed that so great an art lover as he must have found his principal solace for his long absence from home in the inspection and acquisition of objects he prized so highly. In the Calle Mayor, against the wall of the Oñate Palace, opposite Liars' Walk, on the raised path along the side of St. Philip's Church, the Spanish painters of the day, on the lookout for patrons, were wont to exhibit their canvasses for sale,[[20]] and some of the modern Spanish pictures that Charles took home with him were doubtless seen and bought in the course of his daily promenade through the fashionable street of the capital.

Valezquez in Madrid

There was one young painter of the day, a stripling of twenty-four, though already married and with two children when he arrived in Madrid at the same time as the Prince of Wales, who at least had no need to seek purchasers for his canvasses upon the rough side walk, though he did exhibit them there for the admiring criticism of the connoisseurs opposite. To have come from Seville, as he did, was, to begin with, a good credential in the time of Olivares, whose own noble house was of Andalucia, and who himself was Sevillano to the marrow. But this young man, Diego Velazquez, had married the daughter of his master, Pacheco, the best known painter in Seville, and the bosom friend of Francisco de Rojas, the literary henchman and devoted adherent of Olivares. Three years before this, Diego had come to Court full of high hopes and ambitions; for the painting of convent altar-pieces in Seville was a narrow field for genius, and Diego yearned for the wide recognition that the "Court" alone could give. But though he had the help of the Sevillians who abounded in Olivares' household, and notably that of Dr. Fonseca, the Court chaplain and King's "curtain-drawer" in the royal chapel, business was so pressing, both for King and minister, in the early days of the reign, that there was no time to be spared for portrait painters, and Velazquez returned home disappointed.

But in the spring of 1623, whilst Charles Stuart was in Madrid, Fonseca, at Olivares' bidding, wrote to the artist telling him that he might now with good hope return to Madrid, and sending him fifty ducats for his travelling expenses. He needed no further urging, nor did his famous father-in-law, who, if he was not a genius himself, at least realised genius when he saw it, and together they set forth, with the assurance that young Diego was going to conquer Madrid. There was no heart-breaking struggle for him, though his triumph was not so immediate as he would have wished. The effort to get to the palace, the fountain of all patronage, was universal; and the rivalry of competitors was keen. Poets, dramatists, actors, placemen, and artists were all struggling eagerly to catch the eye of royalty, or the ministers of royalty, and for a time even Fonseca could not secure for his protégé an admission to the King's presence. In the meanwhile Velazquez painted a portrait of the priestly patron Fonseca, in whose house he lived. As soon as it was finished the chamberlain of the Cardinal Infante Fernando, the Count de Peñaranda, visited the house by chance, saw the picture, and insisted upon carrying it off with him to the palace. Everybody at Court knew the reverend "royal curtain-drawer" in chapel, and within an hour the portrait had been seen by all the palaciegos, from the King downward, and praised to the skies.

Promises were sent to the young painter that he should be commissioned to portray the King and his brother; but the King's work and play, more momentarily pressing, still delayed the anticipated honour until the end of August, when Philip, on his prancing charger—for the King was a splendid and intrepid horseman—carracoled in the garden of the palace before the grave, lean young painter with the jet black hair and flashing Andaluz eyes, who for the first time fixed there upon canvas the face and form which his genius was to immortalise. Philip was a good judge of art, and when he saw the picture, though no muscle of his impassive face moved, he expressed his satisfaction with courteous condescension. Olivares, vehement as usual, and proud that a Sevillian should have succeeded, swore that no one else had ever painted the King as he was, and that in future Diego Velazquez alone should paint his Majesty. When the last touch was given to it, the great life-sized equestrian portrait of Philip was exhibited upon the pavement opposite Liars' Walk, not for sale, but for the astonishment and delight of loyal Madrileños.[[21]]

Diego Velazquez's fortune was made. Within a few weeks he was appointed Court painter, with a salary of twenty ducats a month, with extra payment for each picture and a studio in the palace, and thenceforward pensions and favours of all sorts testified to Olivares' pride in his fellow-countryman and the King's recognition of a genius. From the time of the great Emperor and his son the tradition had existed that intimate familiarity was permissible between the King of Spain and those household servants whom he cared thus to honour. Both the Emperor and Philip II. had allowed the greatest liberty to their jesters, dwarfs, and body servants, and had extended their friendship to the artist craftsmen who had served them. Philip IV. bettered the instruction, for he at heart was a poet and an artist himself; and whilst he delighted in the company of clever people generally, he distinguished with life-long regard and considerate kindness the young artist, only a few years older than himself, who did so much to ennoble and illustrate his Court. In Velazquez's studio in the palace a leather armchair was always kept sacred for the King, who was wont to come in unannounced when the fancy seized him, and watch the painter at work. Indeed, during his stay in Madrid he hardly missed a day in his visits, and would often come accompanied by his wife to the studio. There he witnessed, gradually growing under the magic brush, the counterfeit presentments of those who made up his life, his wives, brothers, and children, the latter in their chubby babyhood, stiff with irksome splendour; the distorted and deformed beings who ministered to the merriment of those whose surroundings were otherwise far from merry; the poets who solaced his life, the women he loved, the famous captains of his armies; Spinola, Pimentel, Pulido-Pareja, and the rest of them; the great Olivares himself, and all the rout of glittering satellites who revolved around the Planet King.

A literary court

Philip enjoyed almost as much the society of Quevedo as that of Velazquez, but the satiric wit was less careful than the painter, and his medium was more risky; so that, though his biting verse and malicious prose had in the King an appreciative listener, the poet was almost as often in exile as in favour.[[22]] The literary contests and discussions which amused Philip as he grew older always, when Quevedo was not in disgrace, benefited by his ready wit. Philip himself took part in these literary orgies in the palace, frequently proposing a subject for an impromptu play in the facile blank verse which comes so trippingly upon Spanish lips. The subject would sometimes be a sacred one, in which case the treatment was such as would shock modern ears, though for abject lip devotion the persons who spoke so slightingly of sacred things were never surpassed. It is related that on one such occasion Philip set the Creation of the World as the subject for an impromptu play, assigning to himself the character of the Maker. The poet, whom he had cast for Adam, made his part unduly long, and Philip elaborately expressed his grief, as the Eternal Father, that ever he should have afflicted the world with such a long-winded Adam. But though these literary diversions had already become attractive to him at the period at which we are now writing (1626-1630), the gloomy old Alcazar was not a congenial setting for frivolity; and it was not until later, when the new suburban palace of the Buen Retiro was specially devised by Olivares for the purpose, that the poetic and dramatic exercises of the Court reached their zenith, as will be related in a future chapter.

But from the first Philip's devotion to the theatre never wavered, and in this his people, high and low, agreed with him. The two public theatres of the capital, the Corral de la Pacheca (on the site of the present Teatro Espanol) and the Corral de la Cruz, in the street of the same name, were crowded every day, and sometimes twice a day; the performance before noon being attended mainly by women, and that of the afternoon by men, and women of a better class. The appurtenances of the stage were extremely rough, and the scenery widely adaptable where it existed at all, as the constant changes of comedy made special scenery impossible. The plays presented, hundreds of which are still extant, are marvellous in the inventive fertility of their plots; the intrigues that spring from mistaken personality, marital wiles, and lovers' stratagems furnishing the foundations of most of them. The speeches, according to modern ideas, appear intolerably pompous and long, but the mere sound of the flowing rhythm pleased the ears of Spaniards, as similar speeches do to-day, and the Madrileños never grew weary of their shows.

Madrid theatres

The following lively description of one of the theatres in the reign of Philip IV. will give an idea of the scene they presented on a holiday.[[23]]

You must dine hurriedly at noon, and not stay long at table if you are going in the afternoon and wish to find a seat. The first thing you do when you arrive at the door of the theatre is to try to get in without paying. Many work and as few pay as possible. That is the actor's first misfortune. It would not be so bad for twenty people to get in for four farthings, if many more did not try to imitate them. As it is, if one person gets in without payment others expect to do the same. Everybody wishes to enjoy the privilege of free admission, in order that people may see that they are worthy of it. For this reason they strive so hard to enjoy it that it gives rise to endless disputes and altercations; with all the more reason that by these means they usually succeed in their aim. When once a person gets entrance without payment he adopts it as a general rule, and never wants to pay. A fine way this to remunerate those who merit some return for their work in trying to amuse them. And perhaps you will think that he who pays not is more easy to please. On the contrary, when the actor is not properly dressed, those who have not paid insult and hiss him most. At last our man gets into the theatre, and asks those who are seated on the benches to make room for him.[[24]] They tell him that there is no seat for him, but that perhaps one of those who have paid for a seat will not come, so he had better wait until the guitar players appear and he may then occupy the vacant seat. This being agreed upon, our friend goes to the dressing-room to amuse himself in the meanwhile. There he finds the actresses taking off their usual clothes and assuming those necessary for their characters; they being sometimes as naked as if they were going to bed. He stops and stares before one of them, who, having come through the streets on foot, is changing her boots by the aid of her servant. This cannot be done without some sacrifice of decorum, and the poor actress is much put out, but she dares not protest, because, as her main object is to gain applause, she is afraid of offending. A hiss, however unjustified, discredits an actor, because people in general incline more to the censure of others than to their own judgment. The actress consequently does not suspend the changing of her boots, and suffers the importunity of the visitor patiently. In the meanwhile the blockhead never takes his eyes off her.

"After that he looks from the stage to see what is happening with the doubtful seat he covets. It is still vacant, and in the hope that the legitimate owner of it will not come he runs to occupy it. The moment he does so the owner appears and defends his claim. The other does the same, and both grow heated and come to blows. The last comer, as he has come to the theatre for amusement, and finding no amusement in shouting and fighting, thinks it better to stand for three hours than to continue clawing, and retires from the fray, another seat being provided for him by those who have intervened and pacified the dispute. When this hurly-burly has ended, our intruder settles down quietly and casts an eye upon the cazuela,[[25]] and passes in review the women who fill it. He takes a sudden fancy to one of them, and begins to manifest his feelings by making signs to her. But, my good friend! you have surely gone to the theatre to see the play, not the cazuela.

"It is four o'clock in the afternoon by this time, and the performance has not begun yet. Our friend, looking vaguely about him, first on one side and then on another, suddenly feels that someone is pulling at his cloak. He turns his head and sees an orange-seller, who, bending towards him between the two spectators behind, whispers in his ear that the lady who is tapping her knee with her fan has watched with sincere pleasure the spirit he showed in the quarrel about the seat, and that it would be a gracious thing if he bought her a dozen oranges in recognition of her sympathy. Our friend scans the cazuela again, and sees that the lady in question is the one that caught his fancy before; so he pays for the oranges, and tells the orangeman to let the lady know that he will willingly pay for anything else she would like. When the orangeman disappears with this message, our friend thinks of nothing else than how he shall approach the lady when they leave the theatre, cursing the comedy in the meanwhile, which appears to him interminable, such is his impatience. He signifies his disapproval aloud, and groans without cause, exciting the musqueteers[[26]] below to imitate him and to break forth in offensive cries. This is not only rude and uncultivated, but monstrously ungrateful, for, of all men, actors are those who strive hardest to gain applause. What a bad time they pass, and how laborious whilst they rehearse a piece. And when the first representation comes, any of them would give a year's wage to be applauded for his part. What anxiety assails them, what inexpressible yearning they feel on the stage to please the public. When they have to cast themselves down from some precipice, they throw themselves off the painted canvas rock with desperation; when they have to represent a dying man and to writhe in agony, how they soil their clothes, which have often cost much money, and tear their hands with the nails and splinters of the boards!"

The rest of the chapter is more concerned with the evils of the actor's life than with the audience, which is the point most interesting to us; but it is clear from what has been quoted that the comedies, witty and facile as they were, nevertheless did not form the only attraction that drew crowds daily to the theatres of the Court. In the first place, they were a pretext for the prevailing idleness, and the sure sign of decadence which manifests itself in the inactive many gazing upon and criticising the hired exertions of the active few. But the "corrales" of Madrid are also shown in the above extract, and in hundreds of allusions in the comedies themselves, to have been places of assignation and incentives to promiscuous gallantry.[[27]] The King himself, behind the impenetrable window grating of a first-floor private room (aposento) first saw many of his mistresses, they were not mistresses in the sense that prevailed at the Court of the French Bourbon kings. None of them ever aspired to, or attained, political or social power, for the distance between the sacrosanct sovereign and common humanity was too great for that to be possible in Castile. They were just the creatures Of Philip's caprice, and the momentary playthings of his passions, none of them retaining hold upon him but for a very short time.

"The Calderona"

Of his thirty and more illegitimate children, of whom eight were recognised, the only one that was given princely rank was that Don Juan of Austria who was beloved by his father above all others of his offspring. From the theatre, at the period which we are now writing, Don Juan of Austria sprang. It was at the Corral de la Cruz in 1627 that Philip first set eyes upon the girl whom one of Olivares' agents had sent from the country to act upon the Madrid stage. Her name was Maria Calderon, and at the time she appeared in the capital she was not more than sixteen years of age. She was no great beauty, but her grace and fascination were supreme, and her voice was so sweet and her speech so captivating that Madrid fell in love with her at once.[[28]] The King from his aposento was enamoured of her the first time he saw her, and for him to desire was to enjoy. She was immediately summoned to the private apartment, that the King might listen more closely to her lovely voice, and when he heard it the King's love grew fiercer still. From the corral to the palace was but a step when Philip willed it, and thenceforward the Calderona became the King's best beloved mistress. She still acted upon the stage, though gifts and tokens of affection were piled upon her by the love-lorn King. She, proud of the ineffable honour vouchsafed to her, became rigidity itself in her virtue, and turned a hard face to all other lovers.

Birth of Baltasar Carlos

The tradition in Spain made the position of King's mistress not by any means one to be coveted by most women, since it was understood that when the liaison ended the lady must immure herself in a convent for the rest of her life, to prevent such a sacrilege as for the King to have a successor in any woman's regards. It is told of one young lady of the Court to whom Philip was making unmistakable advances, that she shut herself behind a locked door when she knew the amorous King was seeking her, and cried out to him from the inside: "No, no, sire; I don't want to be a nun!" The Calderona had no such scruples, either from natural devotion or because she really felt the honour of the King's love to be overwhelming. Her son by the King was born on the 17th April 1629, and as soon as the Calderona could leave her room she sought the King, and, throwing herself at his feet in tears, prayed for his permission for the mother of his son to sin no more. For it was enough, she said, to have borne a child to the greatest monarch on earth, and nothing more was left for her but to devote the rest of her life to cloistered sanctity. Philip was deeply in love with her still; all his children by the Queen, none of whom had been sons, had expired at, or soon after, their births, and this boy by the Calderona was held to be the most beautiful and perfect child ever seen. Philip tried hard to alter the resolve of his mistress, but she absolutely refused to cohabit with him again; and at last, but with sorrow, he gave way, and the actress Maria Calderon became the abbess of a remote convent, whilst her child was sent with semi-royal surroundings to be educated with exquisite care at Ocaña, with a view to his future greatness.

This was the background: a vast conspiracy of make-shift and of make-believe, before which the Court of Philip IV. alternately prayed and postured unconvinced. An utterly decadent society, of which each individual was striving to get as much as possible out of life without giving anything in return; a society which combined besotted superstition and abject servility to priests and ritual with appalling impiety, a society that lived from day to day for such pleasures as it could grasp, knowing that all was crumbling to dissolution beneath its feet, that squandered and lavished money, mostly ill-gotten, in empty splendour, whilst the whole nation beyond the mud walls of the "Court" was sunk in carking penury. And amidst the festivities and stage plays, the poetical recitals, the battues that stood for sport, and the autos-de-fe that stood for holiness, "Philip the Great" moved like a demigod, knowing in his heart of hearts that all was hollow—his wealth a lie, his dignity a mask, and he himself but a poor sinning trifler whose coward conscience denied him even pleasure in his sin.

Philip's love for ostentation had full opportunity for its exercise in October 1629, when, six months after the birth of his son by the Calderona, an heir was born to the Spanish crowns. The month had begun with splendour, for on the 3rd October the Prince of Guastalla had entered the capital as the envoy of the Emperor to marry by proxy the Infanta Maria for the King of Hungary, heir to the imperial crown. The whole of the grandees of Spain had gone out to receive him, and his train of thirty-six pages and lackeys in liveries of black velvet and gold, and his thirty-six baggage horses with crimson and gold horse-cloths, the Spanish nobles being so numerous and smart, as Soto says, that "Madrid looked like another Indies for richness." Before the splendours of Guastalla's welcome had become dim, the prince of so many prayers was born, and Madrid settled down to another orgy of festivities. The magnificence of the baptism in the Church of St. John near the palace need not be detailed in full; suffice it to say that a temporary staircase and gallery splendidly adorned with tapestries descended from the great balcony over the palace portico to the church. Down this corridor, in a sedan chair of silver and crystal, preceded by heralds and followed by crowds of nobles, the child was carried very slowly to its baptism on the lap of the Countess of Olivares. On the left hand of the chair marched Olivares himself, strangely dressed, as was remarked at the time, in a long robe of cloth of silver with sleeves reaching to the ground, his breast crossed by a crimson baldric—some ceremonial dress, it was thought, of the house of Austria. Then came the new Queen of Hungary, her nephew's godmother, and the rest of the high personages, to attend the ceremony. It was against the etiquette for the King to be there, but he was too proud and happy to forego the pleasure of seeing the show secretly, which he did from a closely curtained pew reached from the adjoining house. The Countess of Olivares, as supreme in the palace as her husband was in the Government, held the child at the font, seated upon "a chair of rock crystal, the most costly piece of furniture ever seen in Europe," whilst cardinals and bishops did their best to make Prince Baltasar Carlos of Austria a member of the Christian Church. As soon as the Queen was able to appear, which was on her birthday, she was feted in her turn as she had never been feted before. Masked equestrian contests, torchlight parades, bull-fights, and balls succeeded each other day after day, and in all of them the King and his brother, Don Carlos, made a gallant appearance.[[29]]

Philip's field sports

The fact that both Philip and Olivares were accomplished horsemen made equestrian pastimes and field sports specially fashionable in this the best period of Philip's reign. At least two realistic representations exist of hunting battues in which Philip was seen to great advantage, reproducing from the brush of the great painter the exact aspect of such diversions. That in the Ashburton Collection portrays one of the deer hunts in the leafy glades of Aranjuez, Philip's spring palace on the Tagus, twenty-eight miles from Madrid. In the wooded park the afternoon sun glints through the dark verdured trees against the cloudless sky, and upon a wide stretch of sward a great white canvas enclosure is erected. Into its gradually narrowing limits the frightened deer are being driven by beaters, and at the narrow end of the funnel, the only outlet from the enclosure, the "hunters" are stationed on prancing steeds. Over the narrowest part of the funnel neck a leafy bridge or balcony is built, decked with crimson hangings and furnished with soft cushions, upon which the Queen and her ladies sit, dressed in brilliant colours. Just beneath them, on horseback, are the King, his brother Carlos, and the inevitable Olivares; and as the terrified deer rush past them underneath the ladies' bower, the cavaliers, with big sharp hunting-knives, slash at them, killing some, laming others, and leaving those they miss to the mercies of the hounds that await them beyond. The ground beneath is drenched with blood, but the ladies smile approvingly upon the butchery. The exercise demanded a firm seat in the saddle, and great agility and dexterity in the management of the horse, and it was universally admitted that no one in Spain shone so brilliantly at these battues as Philip himself,[[30]] though Olivares, courtier like, was only just inferior to him.

The other picture by Velazquez, which is in the National Gallery in London, presents a sport somewhat less repugnant to English eyes. The scene in this case is the hunting seat of the Pardo, a few miles out of Madrid, and the King, within the canvas walls of the vast enclosure, is, from the saddle of his caracoling steed, which he sits like a centaur, thrusting his forked javelin into the flank of the boar as it rushes past, Olivares being close by, whilst other mounted courtiers in different parts of the enclosure are participating in the sport. Inside the enclosure there are stationed some of the heavy leather-curtained coaches then in use, filled with ladies. The mules in every case have been unharnessed and put out of the way of a charge from an infuriated boar; but as the boars were agile when aroused, and had been known to leap into the carriages themselves, the ladies inside are armed with dainty little javelins to repel any such attempt; not very easy to happen, one would imagine, as the heavy leather aprons or screens that cover the footplate and serve as doors are closed.

To look upon these pictures is to view the very life of Philip's Court; the posturing gentlemen outside the enclosure, the prancing gentlemen inside. Beyond agile showy horsemanship and well-trained steeds, nothing was called for on the part of those who joined in the sport. There was no danger, and little exertion needed from the "hunters," for the quarry was all driven into the enclosure, and could not get away. One sees that ostentation and "show-off" are the main attraction and object of the sport; and in the sports, as in the pleasures and devotions, the same inevitable note is struck: that of selfish epicureanism that seeks to enjoy sensuously without risk or labour. Each poor mortal is marked out in his own esteem as the central point of a brilliant show, and gorges the best of life's banquet to the end, careless of who pays the scot.

[[1]] British Museum, Egerton MSS 2081, p. 261. Some of the papers in question were also published many years ago by Valladares in the Semanario Erudito.

[[2]] Fernando was as yet only a deacon, not a full priest, and the King when this was written had only one child, an epileptic girl infant, who died soon afterwards.

[[3]] i.e. the great minister of Isabel and Ferdinand.

[[4]] This was the worst possible advice, and its ultimate adoption consummated the ruin of Spain. Philip II. had left the sovereignty of Flanders to his daughter the Infanta Isabel and her husband the Archduke Albert, in the hope that they might remain Catholic and friendly, but separate thenceforward from the Spanish crown. The Infanta had no children, and when she died the resumption by Spain of the sovereignty of Flanders, on the advice of Olivares, was disastrous. Fernando, in effect, became Governor of Flanders for his brother a few years afterwards on the death of the Infanta, and turned out a Prince of great promise, and a military commander of real distinction, but he died young, and of course unmarried, in Flanders, after years of ceaseless war.

[[5]] Contemporary transcripts are in British Museum, Egerton MSS. 338, fol. 571.

[[6]] Novoa says that Olivares turned Fernando out of his bedroom, which adjoined that of the King, in order that he (Olivares) might occupy it during the King's danger.

[[7]] The principal conspirator with Olivares is represented by Novoa to have been the Marquis of Hinojosa who had until recently been the ambassador in London, and had specially signalised himself by his bitter enmity against Buckingham, whom he had tried to ruin by means of statements damaging to him, and impugning his loyalty to King James. See the correspondence in Cabala.

[[8]] Novoa.

[[9]] Ibid.

[[10]] An important series of letters from Olivares to the King soon after his illness, mainly about the Infantes, their characters, their friends, and their proceedings, is in Egerton MSS., British Museum, 2081, from which I have already quoted some papers on the same subject of an earlier date. The whole object of the letters is evidently to arouse the suspicion of the King against his brothers.

[[11]] Contemporary draft, British Museum MSS., Add. 10,236 f. 382.

[[12]] All one side of the great square was destroyed by fire a few years after the time of which we are writing (in 1631).

[[13]] The fact of so many of the wretched houses of the capital having only one storey is explained by the oppressive arrangement which placed at the disposal of the Court one entire floor of every house of more than one storey, a right grossly abused by Court hangers-on to quarter their relatives and friends rent free upon the citizens. In Philip IV.'s time this oppressive right had been partially commuted to a payment of 250,000 ducats annually by the municipality, which was estimated to be one-sixth of the rental value of such houses. Mesonero Romanes, El Antigua Madrid.

[[14]] A vivid picture of Madrid of the time is given in El Diablo Cojuelo, by Velez de Guevara, a judge, and favourite of Philip IV.

[[15]] In this he only followed the recognised rule of Spanish ministers. Quevedo, writing from Madrid to his patron the Duke of Osuna, Viceroy of Sicily, shortly before Philip's accession, says: "Men here are like strumpets, every one of them has to be bought.... The Marquis of Siete Iglesias (i.e. Calderon) would like a present for his cabinet, and it would be worth while to send some trifle for his cell to the King's confessor." The "trifle" he did accept was a diamond reliquary worth 20,000 reals and a splendid altar jewel.

[[16]] Carl Justi.

[[17]] Carl Justi.

[[18]] Ibid.

[[19]] When Sir Francis Cottington went to Spain to negotiate peace in 1629, Endymion Porter asked him to try and buy these drawings by Leonardo da Vinci from D. Juan de Espina, whom everybody knows, for Lord Arundel. The half-Spanish Porter gave a good many other commissions to Cottington on his departure: some paintings by Titian, some orange-flower water, some orange confection, a dozen baskets of oranges, six barrels of large Seville olives, caraways, figs, chestnuts, marmalade, wine, gloves, perfumes, matting, wine, dried peaches, fine crocks, etc., in considerable quantities. (Record Office SP. Spain MS. 34, November 1629.)

[[20]] At a somewhat later period Murillo sprang into fame and fortune through Philip seeing a picture of his exposed for sale here.

[[21]] Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura.

[[22]] He offended Olivares somehow in 1627, and remained in exile until the minister fell.

[[23]] Zabaleta, El dia de fiesta, Coimbra, 1666.

[[24]] The mere admission to the theatre was, and still is in Spanish theatres, paid for separately from the seat. And from the extract quoted it would appear that the bench seats at the time were sometimes booked beforehand, as they may be to-day. The entrada in Spanish theatres gives the right to the run of the house, but nothing more. The noble army of deadheads appears to have been as numerous and unblushing three hundred years ago in Spain, as they are in England at the present time.

[[25]] The side gallery where the women were seated.

[[26]] The men who had only paid for the entrance and stood at the back of the patio (or pit) were so called, but they soon became a recognised paid claque.

[[27]] The rooms in the top floors were called desvanes. The attic rooms were often occupied by priests.

[[28]] Contemporary Italian MS. in British Museum, MSS. Add. 8703. "Ritratto della nascitá qualitá ed accioni di Don Juan d'Austria."

[[29]] All are described ad nauseam in the Soto y Aguilar MS.

[[30]] Most of the Spanish kings have been fanatical devotees of the chase in various forms. During the reign of Philip's father it used to be said that "Lerma and the woods were King." Philip IV. spent much time in field sports. In a letter from the Venetian ambassador in Madrid, enclosed in one from Dermond O'Sullivan Bear to an Irish correspondent (March 1628), the following passage occurs: "The King is so inclined to horse exercise and hunting, that Olivares manages to keep him at it all day, thus leaving the King no time to do anything but sign the decisions of the Councils, which suits Olivares perfectly." Record Office, S.P. Spain 34, MSS.