MARIANA DE AUSTRIA: SECOND WIFE OF PHILIP IV.
From a portrait by Velazquez at the Prado Museum

In the meanwhile, Mariana, the depository of all these hopes, was diverting herself as best she could, in girlish romps with Maria Teresa, and in the constant shows, comedies, and masques which were offered for her pleasure. Once more the Buen Retiro rang with mirth and blazed with lights. The playhouses of the capital again were allowed to open their doors; and the Madrileños did their best to evade, bit by bit, the sumptuary enactments that had kept them in sober garb and outward gravity of demeanour for seven years of war and trouble. Neither the war nor the trouble was yet over, for the plague came almost to the doors of Madrid, and scourged whole provinces; whilst the war with the French still went on in Catalonia and Flanders, and Portugal continued to defy successfully the arms of Philip. But, withal, the drain upon Castile, bad as it still was, became somewhat less pressing; for Mazarin had his hands full in France with the revolt of the Fronde, which, of course, Spain helped to the extent of her possibilities; and the Catalans were far less enamoured with their French masters than they were at first. Don Juan, the King's son, moreover, who was now in command in Catalonia, was doing well, and winning popularity on all sides, whilst the recognition of Dutch independence by Philip had freed his Indies fleets from their greatest danger.

The novelty of the King's honeymoon soon wore off, and in his letters to the nun he refers to his wife thenceforward kindly and with solicitude, but as it seems somewhat wearily, and usually in connection with her many more or less disappointed hopes of maternity, or to her love for shows and festivities; which it is quite evident from his tone now palled upon him. Pleasure and the joy of living absorbed most of Mariana's attention, and, immersed as the King was in business and devotion, he could have little in common with his young wife. His own habits were absolutely fixed, and an observer at his Court at the time says that it was possible to foretell a year beforehand exactly what the King would do on a given day and hour.[[35]] His demeanour in public was like that of a statue, and when he received ambassadors or ministers it was noticed that no muscle of his face moved but his lips, and he rarely showing any emotion, even by a smile. Already the haughty disillusionment, represented by Velazquez so finely in the later portraits, had been fixed indelibly upon his features, and his eyes had grown blear with remorseful tears.

In 1651 a daughter was born to Philip and Mariana, and christened with the usual extravagant pomp Margaret Maria,[[36]] but, though oft expected, the longed-for son came not. Mariana felt her husband growing colder, and guessed his infidelity. Then she fell homesick and disappointed, and Philip became anxious. A splendid series of festivities were arranged at the Buen Retiro to solace and enliven her, an ingenious Florentine being requisitioned to invent novelties to attract her attention. But it was all dust and ashes to Philip now. He speaks in his secret letters always gently of his young wife, sometimes even almost with enthusiasm of her goodness; but it is plain to see that there was little sympathy between them,[[37]] for his terrible remorse at his moral fragility and evil life, and his grief at the troubles he firmly believed he was bringing upon his people by his own backsliding, show that the struggle between the spirit and the flesh had begun again as severely as ever, and that Mariana was powerless to keep him entirely faithful to her. She, on her side, had soon learnt the lesson of the Court. Her face grew cold and haughty, and her ostentatious German sympathies and repellent Austrian manner cooled the warm-blooded spontaneous Spaniards towards her. Thus, with all stately dignity, decorum, and solemnity in outward seeming, the ill-matched pair lived: passing from Madrid to Aranjuez and the Escorial at stated seasons, wearily going through the dull, depressing tale of prearranged devotions and duties; the Queen seeking such distraction as was possible in comedies and the like, the King spending much time at his desk, reading the never-ending reports of his Councils brought to him by Don Luis de Haro, and scribbling in his big straggling hand on the margins "Como parece," or some similar sentence signifying his acquiescence in the conclusions arrived at by his advisers.

Philip's changed life

And behind this dreary changeless round there was, unknown to all but one lonely cloistered woman, a human soul in mortal pain for transgressions real and imaginary, which it was unable to avoid, and yet was convinced were dragging the man it animated and millions of the people that he loved and pitied to suffering and sorrow. Philip's constant correspondence with the nun had changed him much; for it is evident, whatever may have been his shortcomings, that her exhortations to him to be brave, dutiful, and faithful, and her wise insistence upon unceasing work and prayer, had made the King watchful of his own weakness, and kept him from sinking into indifference. It is highly probable, indeed, that in his constant self-reproach his failings at this time were exaggerated by him, as those of his father had been on his deathbed. Certainly, from this time forward he tried his best, according to his lights and strength, to live worthily, and to rescue his country from the trouble into which the policy of his ancestors and himself had dragged it; though still there was no glimmering of true statesmanship such as was needed in circumstances so difficult. Philip's spirit was a poor one; and his faith, notwithstanding his devotion, was far from robust. He continued to look upon himself and his country as doomed irrevocably by the Almighty to suffer for his personal sins and those of his generation, and the only remedy presented to his mind was to plead fervently for mercy through a saintly soul untouched by the sins of the time. Of the efficiency even of this resource he needed constant reassurance, and for ever foresaw disaster whilst he was frantically praying for triumph.

Lacking in statesmanship as were Philip and all his advisers, it would nevertheless be unjust to attribute to their ineptitude alone the troubles that overwhelmed Spain. It has been pointed out that Philip inherited both his policy and his methods; and so fixed were they upon the tradition of Charles V. and Philip II., that nothing short of a real genius or a sudden great catastrophe could have altered them. But Philip was specially unfortunate in the international circumstances of his time. The deadly rivalry between the house of Austria and the house of France had existed since the earliest years of the sixteenth century; and wars between them had been frequent since that period. But England had always provided a check to prevent such wars being fought to the bitter end. It had been a fixed canon of English foreign policy that the Flemish dominions of the house of Burgundy, that had descended to the Spanish Kings, must never be allowed to fall into the hands of France, and when such a danger threatened, England invariably interfered in favour of Spain; whilst any aggressive action of France against England, either in Scotland or elsewhere, usually brought Spain to the side of the English sovereigns. But the revolutionary war which had overthrown the monarchy of the Stuarts had for years doomed England to impotence in the struggles of Europe; and Richelieu and his successor Mazarin had been able to disregard an influence which had always previously stepped in to prevent the final humiliation of Spain. Without this immunity from England's interference, France would never have been free to foment rebellion in Catalonia and Portugal; and it may be said that Philip to a great extent owed the extremity of his tribulation to the internal disturbance in England.

Philip and England

It will be recollected that after the diplomacy of Olivares had secured the neutrality of England in the war with France, Sir Arthur Hopton remained in Madrid as English ambassador, having little to do but to press the constant complaints of English shipmasters against the authorities of Spanish ports, and other maritime questions. But in the late summer of 1641, Olivares had sent to Hopton, and in a long interview with him had complained that Charles I. had received an ambassador from the Duke of Braganza, the usurping King of Portugal. Hopton says[[38]] that the Count-Duke spoke modestly and without much bitterness in the matter, and the English envoy at once pointed out that Charles did not presume to judge of the Duke of Braganza's right to the crown, but that as English interests in Portugal were very large, it was needful that he should negotiate with the power wielding effective control in the country. Sir Arthur, moreover, slyly pointed out that words only had passed between his King and the Portuguese envoy, whereas it was with much more than words that the King of Spain had aided Bavaria to keep the Palatinate. Indeed, with the exception of constantly harping on the Palatinate in his discussions with Philip and his ministers, and complaining of the action of the Spanish ambassador in London, Don Alonso de Cardenas, against Charles I., Sir Arthur Hopton confined himself practically to the negotiation of shipping claims,[[39]] until affairs in England and his lack of money necessitated his return home in 1644.