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