This event, so unexpected and awfully sudden, was occasioned by a fever, brought on by too violent exercise at a game of ball, at an entertainment made for Philip by his favourite, Manuel, in Burgos, where the court was then held. Through the unskilfulness of his physicians, as it was said, who neglected to bleed him, the disorder rapidly gained ground, and on the sixth day after his attack, being the 25th of September, 1506, he breathed his last.[67] He was but twenty-eight years old, of which brief period he had enjoyed, or endured, the “golden cares” of sovereignty but little more than two months, dating from his recognition by the cortes. His body, after being embalmed, lay in state for two days, decorated with the insignia—the mockery of royalty, as it had proved to him—and was then deposited in the convent of Miraflores, near Burgos, to await its final removal to Granada, agreeably to his last request.
Philip was so distinguished for comeliness both of person and countenance that he is designated on the roll of Spanish sovereigns as Felipe el Hermoso, or the Handsome. His mental endowments were not so extraordinary. The father of Charles V possessed scarcely a single quality in common with his remarkable son. As he was naturally indolent and fond of pleasure, he willingly reposed the burden of government on others, who, as usual, thought more of their own interests than those of the public. His early education exempted him from the bigotry characteristic of the Spaniards; and had he lived he might have done much to mitigate the grievous abuses of the Inquisition. As it was, his premature death deprived him of the opportunity of compensating, by this single good act, the manifold mischiefs of his administration.
Juana’s condition had become truly deplorable. During her husband’s illness she had never left his bedside, but neither then, nor since his death, had she been seen to shed a tear. She remained in a state of stupid insensibility, sitting in a darkened apartment, her head resting on her hand, and her lips closed, as mute and immovable as a statue. When applied to for issuing the necessary summons for the cortes, or to make appointments to office, or for any other pressing business which required her signature, she replied, “My father will attend to all this when he returns; he is much more conversant with business than I am; I have no other duties now but to pray for the soul of my departed husband.” The only orders she was known to sign were for paying the salaries of her Flemish musicians; for in her abject state she found some consolation in music, of which she had been passionately fond from childhood. The few remarks which she uttered were discreet and sensible, forming a singular contrast with the general extravagance of her actions.
Finding it impossible to obtain the queen’s co-operation, the council at length resolved to issue the writs of summons in their own name, as a measure justified by necessity. The place of meeting was fixed at Burgos in the ensuing month of November; and great pains were taken that the different cities should instruct their representatives in their views respecting the ultimate disposition of the government. Long before this, indeed immediately after Philip’s death, letters had been despatched by Ximenes and his friends to the Catholic king, acquainting him with the state of affairs, and urging his immediate return to Castile. He determined, however, to continue his voyage to Naples. The wary monarch perhaps thought that the Castilians, whose attachment to his own person he might with some reason distrust, would not be the less inclined to his rule after having tasted the bitterness of anarchy.
Juana
While Ferdinand was thus occupied in Naples, the representatives of most of the cities, summoned by the provisional government, had assembled in Burgos (November, 1506). Before entering on business they were desirous to obtain the queen’s sanction to their proceedings. A committee waited on her for that purpose, but she obstinately refused to give them audience.
She still continued plunged in moody melancholy, exhibiting, however, occasionally the wildest freaks of insanity. Towards the latter end of December, she determined to leave Burgos and remove her husband’s remains to their final resting-place in Granada. She insisted on seeing them herself before her departure. The remonstrances of her counsellors, and of the holy men of the monastery of Miraflores, proved equally fruitless. Opposition only roused her passions into frenzy, and they were obliged to comply with her mad humours. The corpse was removed from the vault; the two coffins of lead and wood were opened, and such as chose gazed on the mouldering relics, which, notwithstanding their having been embalmed, exhibited scarcely a trace of humanity. The queen was not satisfied till she touched them with her own hand, which she did without shedding a tear or testifying the least emotion. The unfortunate lady, indeed, was said never to have been seen to weep since she detected her husband’s intrigue with the Flemish courtesan.
The body was then placed on a magnificent car, or hearse, drawn by four horses. It was accompanied by a long train of ecclesiastics and nobles, who, together with the queen, left the city on the night of the 20th of December. She made her journeys by night, saying that a widow, who had lost the sun of her own soul, should never expose herself to the light of day. When she halted, the body was deposited in some church or monastery, where the funeral services were performed as if her husband had just died; and a corps of armed men kept constant guard, chiefly, as it would seem, with the view of preventing any female from profaning the place by her presence. For Juana still retained the same jealousy of her sex which she had unhappily had so much cause to feel during Philip’s lifetime.
In a subsequent journey, when at a short distance from Torquemada, she ordered the corpse to be carried into the courtyard of a convent, occupied, as she supposed, by monks. She was filled with horror, however, on finding it a nunnery, and immediately commanded the body to be removed into the open fields. Here she encamped with her whole party at dead of night; not, however, until she had caused the coffins to be unsealed, that she might satisfy herself of the safety of her husband’s relics; although it was very difficult to keep the torches, during the time, from being extinguished by the violence of the wind, and leaving the company in total darkness.[68]