Osuna continued viceroy of Naples, and it began to be suspected that he intended to arrogate power independent of the king his master. His success at sea against Venice raised him many enemies, as he gained it through the destruction of all fair trade, and also by the imposition of vast and burthensome taxes. The Neapolitan nobility were, in a body, inimical to him; and all those disaffected to the Spanish rule made him the apparent object of their hatred and complaints. He, aware of their aversion, endeavoured to crush them; he visited all those crimes severely which they had hitherto, under shadow of their rank, committed unpunished. He excluded them from all offices of power and trust, and took occasion when he could, to confiscate their property. He encouraged a spirit of sedition among the common people; he surrounded himself by foreign troops; he encouraged men of desperate fortunes—he commanded the sea—and his power became unbounded. He utterly despised the king his master, calling him the great drum of the monarchy, as if he had been a mere tool and instrument, and possessed no real authority.
With all this it is not probable that he really conspired to seize on Naples. He wished to rule absolutely and unquestioned, but did not go beyond into forming designs of putting his power on a new and independent foundation. His wild projecting brain was well known, and caused many of his acts to pass unnoticed; but his enemies increased, and their complaints at court were frequent. They fabricated accusations to his dishonour, exaggerated his weaknesses and faults, and combined together for his overthrow. Finding that he became aware of their attempts, they, fearful of his revenge, renewed them with increased fervour. Men of the highest rank in Naples visited Madrid, and put themselves forward to misinterpret his actions. They art-fully represented that the ruin of commerce, and the desolation of the kingdom arose from his dissolute life and misrule. The king and his ministers gave ear to these representations, and commanded Osuna to return to Madrid. This was a great blow to the duke: though he received it with apparent constancy, he neither liked to lose his place, nor, above all, to lose it under dishonourable imputations, and he delayed obedience. Thus colour was given to the idea that he meant to assert his independence. The court of Madrid, therefore, proceeded more warily: they contrived to get possession of his galleys and other vessels of war; and orders were despatched to cardinal don Gaspar de Borgia, who was named his successor, to proceed instantly from Rome, where he was residing, to Naples, and to seize on the government. Borgia arrived at Gaëta, but still Osuna protracted his stay under various pretences. The nobles represented that he was endeavouring to raise an insurrection among the populace and soldiers; and Borgia, to put an end to the struggle, having gained the support of the governor of the Castel Nuovo, introduced himself into that fortress by night. The following morning the discharge of artillery proclaimed his arrival, and Osuna was obliged to submit. He returned by slow journies to Spain. He presented himself at court, and the king turned his back on him. Osuna eyed his sovereign with contempt, muttering, "The king treats me not as a man, but as a child." Not long after, Philip III. died. The enemies of Osuna were not idle; fresh accusations of his treasonable intents at Naples were perpetually made; and one of the first acts of the reign of Philip IV. was to throw him into prison. The distress of his mind increased the disease of which he was the victim, and he died in prison of a dropsy, in the year 1624.
1620.
Ætat.
40.
Quevedo was enveloped in his ruin. He had been a zealous and laborious servant to Osuna and to his government. He had, by his attention to the finances discovered various frauds, and brought large sums into the treasury. He crossed the sea seven times as ambassador to the court of Madrid, and fulfilled the same employment at Rome. He had been rewarded by the gift of the habit of Santiago. He loved and revered Osuna, and testified his attachment by writing several sonnets in his honour. One is on his death, in which he says, "The fields of Flanders are his monument—the blood-stained Crescent his epitaph: Spain gave him a prison and death; but though his country failed him, his deeds were his defence."[116] He wrote three other sonnets as epitaphs[117]: Ortiz mentions them as containing an epitome of the duke's life. He says of him that he was "The terror of Asia, the fear of Europe, and the thunder-bolt of Africa. His name alone was victory, there where the Crescent ruled. He divorced Venice and the Sea." In another he sums up his achievements against the Turks:—"He liberated a thousand Christians from the galleys; he assaulted and sacked Goletta, Chicheri, and Calivia: the Danube, and Moselle and the Rhine paled before his armies." The fall of Osuna included his own. There can be no doubt that he was innocent of all participation in any treasonable designs of the viceroy, but innocence was a slight resource in Spain against powerful accusers. He was arrested and carried to his villa of Torre de Juan Abad, and imprisoned there for three years and a half. He was confined with such rigour, that in default of medical aid he fell severely ill, so that he wrote to the president of the council, to represent the miserable state of his health, and obtained leave to attend to his cure in the neighbouring city of Villa Nueva de los Infantes. A few months after he was liberated, under the restriction that he was not to appear at court. But the total absence of all proof against him, caused this sentence to be taken off soon after. Unfortunately he was not satisfied with freedom from persecution. His fortunes had suffered during his imprisonment, and he sought to mend them by claiming the arrears of his pension, the payment of which had been suspended during his disgrace. This lighted again the fire of persecution, and he was again exiled, and retired to his villa of Torre Juan Abad, till after the lapse of another year he was allowed to return to Madrid. No longer persecuted, and restored to his proper place in society, he resided for some time at court, where he enjoyed the reputation his talents, prudence, and conduct commanded, so that the king, to reward his services, and compensate for his sufferings, named him one of his secretaries.
1632.
Ætat.
52.
But such honours had ceased to charm Quevedo. Misfortune and disgrace had taught him to look with aversion on public employments; his long imprisonment had accustomed him to study, and engendered a love of tranquillity. Several places were offered him by the count-duke Olivarez, minister and favourite of Philip IV., such as minister for state despatches, and the embassy to Genoa, but he declined them and gave himself up to study and philosophy. His writings were many, and gained for him a high reputation; he was in correspondence with all the most learned men of Europe, and was enriched by the revenue of several benefices; thus for several years he enjoyed reputation and prosperity. 1634.
Ætat.
54. He gave up, however, his church preferments for the sake of marrying. His wife was donna Esperanza de Aragon y la Cabra, Señora of Cetina, and she belonged to one of the highest families in the kingdom. With her he retired to Cetina; but he was not long allowed to enjoy the happiness he promised himself: his wife died within a few months, and this last misfortune, destroying the fabric of felicity he had erected, and counted upon possessing to the end of his life, was the heaviest blow of all. His resource and consolation was retirement and study. He took up his abode at Torre Juan Abad, and gave himself up to the cultivation of literature and poetry.
Several of his poems are expressive of the delight he felt at leaving Madrid for the solitude of his villa which was placed in the Sierra of La Mancha. One of his romances describes his progress from Madrid through Toledo, la Mancha, and the Sierra, to his estate: the poem is burlesque, and in ridicule of all he sees; but there are others in which he dwells with satisfaction on his tranquil occupations. "Retired to the solitude of these deserts," he writes, "with few but wise books, I enjoy the conversation of the dead, and with my eyes listen to those who are no more. The press gives into our hands those great souls whom death has freed from injury. The hour takes its irrevocable Sight, but that is spent best which improves us by reading and study."[118]
He was an excellent landlord, and a kind master; he exerted himself in acts of charity towards his vassals, and conducted himself with Christian humility and mercy. For a few years he was permitted to enjoy this tranquillity; it was a sort of calm after storm, where the absence of sorrow is called happiness. His active mind furnished him with occupation, while his piety and philosophy taught him content. He might now hope that he was assured of such a state of peace to the end of his life,—for he had relinquished every ambitious project, and limited his views to the narrowed sphere immediately around him. But Quevedo was one of those men marked by destiny for misfortune. He playfully, and yet with some bitterness, alludes to his evil fate, in a poem before quoted. He says: "My fortunes are so black, they might serve me for ink: I might be used as an image of a saint;—for, if the country people want rain, they have but to turn me out naked, and they are sure of a deluge; if they want sun, let me be covered by a mantle, and it will shine at night; I am always mistaken for some object of vengeance, and receive the blows intended for another. If a tile is to fall, it waits till I pass under. If I wish to borrow from any one, he replies so rudely, that, instead of borrowing, I am obliged to lend my patience. Every fool prates to me; every old woman makes love; every poor person begs; every prosperous one takes offence. When I travel, I always miss my road; when I play, I always lose; every friend deceives, every enemy sticks to me; water fails me at sea,—in taverns I find it in plenty, mingled with my wine. I have given up all employments, for I know that if I turned hosier, people would go bare-legged; if physician, no one would fall ill. If I am gallant towards a woman, she listens to or refuses me,—both are equally disastrous. If a man wished to die neither by poison nor pestilence, he has but to intend to benefit me, and he will not live an hour. Such is the adverseness of my star, that I submit and try to propitiate its pride by my adoration."[119]
1641.
Ætat.
61.
But worse luck was in store for him, and a misfortune so heavy, as to put an end to his life, after exhausting him by suffering. He was suspected of being the author of certain libels against the court, and to the injury of public morals;—and an accusation was brought against him, either by some malicious enemy, or officious and mistaken medler. Happening to visit Madrid for some cause, and being in the house of a grandee, his friend, he was arrested at eleven at night, in the month of December 1641, and imprisoned in a dungeon of the royal Casa de San Marcos de Leon, and his possessions seized on. His confinement was cruel as well as rigorous,—his dungeon was damp;—a stream flowed through it close to his pillow. He was allowed no money, and lived by charity; his clothes became rags, and he could not renew them. This frightful situation produced sores on his body, and not being allowed medical aid, he was forced to dress them himself.