In all this the historian must admit there is but little evidence of positive value. The authors—with the exception of Antonio Perez, who had his account, he tells us, from the prince of Eboli—are by no means likely to have had access to sure sources of information; while their statements are[{486}] contradictory to one another, and stand in direct opposition to those of the Tuscan minister and of the nuncio, the latter of whom had, probably, better knowledge of what was passing in the councils of the monarch, than any other of the diplomatic body. Even the declaration of Antonio Perez, so important on many accounts, is to a considerable degree neutralized by the fact, that he was the mortal enemy of Philip, writing in exile, with a price set upon his head by the man whose character he was assailing. It is the hard fate of a person so situated, that even truth from his lips fails to carry with it conviction.[1523]
SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES.
If we reject his explanation of the matter, we shall find ourselves again thrown on the sea of conjecture, and may be led to account for the rumors of violence on the part of Philip by the mystery in which the whole of the proceedings was involved, and the popular notion of the character of the monarch who directed them. The same suspicious circumstances must have their influence on the historian of the present day, as with insufficient, though more ample light than was enjoyed by contemporaries, he painfully endeavors to grope his way through this obscure passage in the life of Philip. Many reflections of ominous import naturally press upon his mind. From the first hour of the prince's confinement it was determined, as we have seen, that he was never to be released from it. Yet the preparations for keeping him a prisoner were on so extraordinary a scale, and imposed such a burden on men of the highest rank in the kingdom, as seemed to argue that his confinement was not to be long. It is a common saying,—as old as Machiavelli,—that to a deposed prince the distance is not great from the throne to the grave. Carlos, indeed, had never worn a crown. But there seemed to be the same reasons as if he had, for abridging the term of his imprisonment. All around the prince regarded him with distrust. The king, his father, appeared to live, as we have seen, in greater apprehension of him after his confinement, than before.[1524] "The ministers, whom Carlos hated," says the nuncio, "knew well that it would be their ruin, should he ever ascend the throne."[1525] Thus, while the fears and the interests of all seemed to tend to his removal,[{487}] we find nothing in the character of Philip to counteract the tendency. For when was he ever known to relax his grasp on the victim once within his power, or to betray any feeling of compunction as to sweeping away an obstacle from his path? One has only to call to mind the long confinement, ending with the midnight execution, of Montigny, the open assassination of the prince of Orange, the secret assassination of the secretary Escovedo, the unrelenting persecution of Perez, his agent in that murder, and his repeated attempts to despatch him also by the hand of the bravo. These are passages in the history of Philip which yet remain to be presented to the reader, and the knowledge of which is necessary before we can penetrate into the depths of his dark and unscrupulous character.
If it be thought that there is a wide difference between these deeds of violence and the murder of a son, we must remember that, in affairs of religion, Philip acted avowedly on the principle, that the end justifies the means; that one of the crimes charged upon Carlos was defection from the Faith; and that Philip had once replied to the piteous appeal of a heretic whom they were dragging to the stake, "Were my son such a wretch as thou art, I would myself carry the fagots to burn him!"[1526]
But in whatever light we are to regard the death of Carlos,—whether as caused by violence, or by those insane excesses in which he was allowed to plunge during his confinement,—in either event the responsibility, to a great extent, must be allowed to rest on Philip, who, if he did not directly employ the hand of the assassin to take the life of his son, yet by his rigorous treatment drove that son to a state of desperation that brought about the same fatal result.[1527]
While the prince lay in the agonies of death, scarcely an hour before he breathed his last, a scene of a very different nature was passing in an adjoining gallery of the palace. A quarrel arose there between two courtiers,—one[{488}] of them a young cavalier, Don Antonio de Leyva, the other Don Diego de Mendoza, a nobleman who had formerly filled, with great distinction, the post of ambassador at Rome. The dispute arose respecting some coplas, of which Mendoza claimed to be the author. Though at this time near sixty years old, the fiery temperament of youth had not been cooled by age. Enraged at what he conceived an insult on the part of his companion, he drew his dagger. The other as promptly unsheathed his sword. Thrusts were exchanged between the parties; and the noise of the fracas at length reached the ears of Philip himself. Indignant at the outrage thus perpetrated within the walls of the palace, and at such an hour, he ordered his guards instantly to arrest the offenders. But the combatants, brought to their senses, had succeeded in making their escape, and taken refuge in a neighboring church. Philip was too much incensed to respect this asylum; and an alcalde, by his command, entered the church at midnight, and dragged the offenders from the sanctuary. Leyva was put in irons, and lodged in the fortress of Madrid; while his rival was sent to the tower of Simancas. "It is thought they will pay for this outrage with their lives," writes the Tuscan minister, Nobili. "The king," he adds, "has even a mind to cashier his guard for allowing them to escape." Philip, however, confined the punishment of the nobles to banishment from court; and the old courtier, Mendoza, profited by his exile to give to the world those remarkable compositions, both in history and romance, that form an epoch in the national literature.[1528]
A few days before his death, Carlos is said to have made a will, in which, after imploring his father's pardon and blessing, he commended his servants to his care, gave away a few jewels to two or three friends, and disposed of the rest of his property in behalf of sundry churches and monasteries.[1529] Agreeably to his wish, his body was wrapped in a Franciscan robe, and was soon afterward laid in a coffin covered with black velvet and rich brocade. At seven o'clock, that same evening, the remains of Carlos were borne from the chamber where he died, to their place of interment.[1530]
The coffin was supported on the shoulders of the prince of Eboli, the dukes of Infantado and Bio Seco, and other principal grandees. In the court-yard of the palace was a large gathering of the members of the religious fraternities, dignitaries of the church, foreign ambassadors, nobles and cavaliers about the court, and officers of the royal household. There were there also the late attendants of Carlos,—to some of whom he had borne little love,—who, after watching him through his captivity, were now come to conduct him to his final resting-place. Before moving, some wrangling took place among the parties on the question of precedence. Such a spirit might well have been rebuked by the solemn character of the business they were engaged in, which might have reminded them, that in the grave, at least, there are no distinctions. But the perilous question was happily settled by Philip himself, who, from an open window of the palace, looked down on the scene, and, with his usual composure, gave directions for forming the procession.[1531]
HIS OBSEQUIES.