The king, meanwhile, was scarcely less a prisoner than his son; for, from the time of the prince's arrest, he had never left the palace, even to visit his favorite residences of Aranjuez and the Prado; nor had he passed a single day in the occupation, in which he took such delight, of watching the rising glories of the Escorial. He seemed to be constantly haunted by the apprehension of some outbreak among the people, or at least among the partisans of Carlos, to effect his escape; and when he heard any unusual noise in the palace, says his historian, he would go to the window, to see if the tumult{479} were not occasioned by an attempt to release the prisoner.[1493] There was little cause for apprehension in regard to a people so well disciplined to obedience as the Castilians under Philip the Second. But it is an ominous circumstance for a prisoner, that he should become the occasion of such apprehension.

Philip, however, was not induced by his fears to mitigate in any degree the rigor of his son's confinement, which produced the effect to have been expected on one of his fiery, ungovernable temper. At first he was thrown into a state bordering on frenzy, and, it is said, more than once tried to make away with himself. As he found that thus to beat against the bars of his prison-house was only to add to his distresses, he resigned himself in sullen silence to his fate,—the sullenness of despair. In his indifference to all around him, he ceased to take an interest in his own spiritual concerns. Far from using the religious books in his possession, he would attend to no act of devotion, refusing even to confess, or to admit his confessor into his presence.[1494] These signs of fatal indifference, if not of positive defection from the Faith, gave great alarm to Philip, who would not willingly see the soul thus perish with the body.[1495] In this emergency he employed Suarez, the prince's almoner, who once had some influence over his master, to address him a letter of expostulation. The letter has been preserved, and is too remarkable to be passed by in silence.

Suarez begins with reminding Carlos that his rash conduct had left him without partisans or friends. The effect of his present course, instead of mending his condition, could only serve to make it worse. "What will the world say," continues the ecclesiastic, "when it shall learn that you now refuse to confess; when, too, it shall discover other dreadful things of which you have been guilty, some of which are of such a nature, that, did they concern any other than your highness, the Holy Office would be led to inquire whether the author of them were in truth a Christian?[1496] It is in the bitterness and anguish of my heart that I must declare to your highness, that you are not only in danger of forfeiting your worldly estate, but, what is worse, your own soul." And he concludes by imploring Carlos, as the only remedy, to return to his obedience to God, and to the king, who is his representative on earth.

But the admonitions of the honest almoner had as little effect on the unhappy youth as the prayers of his attendants. The mental excitement under which he labored, combined with the want of air and exercise, produced its natural effect on his health. Every day he became more and more emaciated; while the fever which had so long preyed on his constitution now burned in{480} his veins with greater fury than ever. To allay the intolerable heat, he resorted to such desperate expedients as seemed to intimate, says the papal nuncio, that, if debarred from laying violent hands on himself, he would accomplish the same end in a slower way, but not less sure. He deluged the floor with water, not a little to the inconvenience of the companions of his prison, and walked about for hours, half naked, with bare feet, on the cold pavement.[1497] He caused a warming-pan filled with ice and snow to be introduced several times in a night into his bed, and let it remain there for hours together.[1498] As if this were not enough, he would gulp down such draughts of snow-water as distance any achievement on record in the annals of hydropathy. He pursued the same mad course in respect to what he ate. He would abstain from food an incredible number of days,[1499] and then, indulging in proportion to his former abstinence, would devour a pastry of four partridges, with all the paste, at a sitting, washing it down with three gallons or more of iced water![1500]

No constitution could long withstand such violent assaults as these. The constitution of Carlos gradually sank under them. His stomach, debilitated by long inaction, refused to perform the extraordinary tasks that were imposed on it. He was attacked by incessant vomiting; dysentery set in; and his strength rapidly failed. The physician, Olivares, who alone saw the patient, consulted with his brethren in the apartments of Ruy Gomez.[1501] Their remedies failed to restore the exhausted energies of nature; and it was soon evident that the days of Charles were numbered.

To no one could such an announcement have given less concern than to Carlos; for he had impatiently looked to death as to his release. From this hour he seemed to discard all earthly troubles from his mind, as he fixed his{481} thoughts steadfastly on the future. At his own request his confessor, Chavres and Suarez, his almoner, were summoned, and assisted him with their spiritual consolations. The closing scenes are recorded by the pen of the nuncio.

"Suddenly a wonderful change seemed to be wrought by divine grace in the heart of the prince. Instead of vain and empty talk, his language became that of a sensible man. He sent for his confessor, devoutly confessed, and, as his illness was such that he could not receive the host, he humbly adored it; showing throughout great contrition, and, though not refusing the proffered remedies, manifesting such contempt for the things of this world, and such a longing for heaven, that one would have said, God had reserved for this hour the sum of all his grace."[1502]

He seemed to feel an assurance that he was to survive till the vigil of St. James, the patron saint of his country. When told that this would be four days later, he said, "So long will my misery endure."[1503] He would willingly have seen his father once more before his death. But his confessor, it is said, dissuaded the monarch, on the ground that Carlos was now in so happy a frame of mind, that it were better not to disturb it by drawing off his attention to worldly objects. Philip, however, took the occasion, when Carlos lay asleep or insensible, to enter the chamber; and, stealing softly behind the prince of Eboli and the grand-prior, Antonio de Toledo, he stretched out his hand towards the bed, and, making the sign of the cross, gave the parting benediction to his dying son.[1504]

Nor was Carlos allowed the society of his amiable step-mother, the queen, nor of his aunt Joanna, to sweeten by their kind attentions the bitterness of death.[1505] It was his sad fate to die, as he had lived throughout his confinement, under the cold gaze of his enemies. Yet he died at peace with all; and some of the last words that he uttered were to forgive his father for his imprisonment, and the ministers—naming Ruy Gomez and Espinosa in particular—who advised him to it.[1506]

Carlos now grew rapidly more feeble, having scarce strength enough left to listen to the exhortations of his confessor, and with low, indistinct murmurings to adore the crucifix which he held constantly in his hand. On the twenty-fourth of July, soon after midnight, he was told it was the Vigil of St. James. Then suddenly rousing, with a gleam of joy on his countenance, he intimated his desire for his confessor to place the holy taper in his hand: and{482} feebly beating his breast, as if to invoke the mercy of Heaven on his transgressions, he fell back, and expired without a groan.[1507]—"No Catholic," says Nobili, "ever made a more Catholic end."[1508]

Such is the account given us of the last hours of this most unfortunate prince, by the papal nuncio and the Tuscan minister, and repeated with slight discrepancies by most of the Castilian writers of that and the following age.[1509] It is a singular circumstance, that, although we have such full reports, both of what preceded and what followed the death of Carlos, from the French ambassador, the portion of his correspondence, which embraces his death has been withdrawn, whether by accident or design, from the archives.[1510] But probably no one without the walls of the palace had access to better sources of information than the two ministers first mentioned, especially the papal nuncio. Their intelligence may well have been derived from some who had been about the person of Carlos. If so, it could not have been communicated without the approbation of Philip, who may have been willing that the world should understand that his son had died true to the Faith.

A very different account of the end of Carlos is given by Llorente. And as this writer, the secretary of the Inquisition, had access to very important materials; and as his account, though somewhat prolix, is altogether remarkable, I cannot pass it by in silence.

According to Llorente, the process already noticed as having been instituted against Carlos was brought to a close only a short time before his death. No notice of it, during all this time, had been given to the prisoner, and no counsel was employed in his behalf. By the ninth of July the affair was sufficiently advanced for a "summary judgment." It resulted from the evidence, that the accused was guilty of treason in both the first and second degree,—as having endeavored to compass the death of the king, his father, and as having conspired to usurp the sovereignty of Flanders. The counsellor Muñatones, in his report, which he laid before the king, while he stated that the penalty imposed by the law on every other subject for these crimes was death, added, that his majesty, by his sovereign authority, might decide that the heir apparent was placed by his rank above the reach of ordinary laws. And it was further in his power to mitigate or dispense with any penalty whatever, when he considered it for the good of his subjects.—In this{483} judgment both the ministers, Ruy Gomez and Espinosa, declared their concurrence.

To this the king replied, that, though his feelings moved him to follow the suggestions of his ministers, his conscience would not permit it. He could not think that he should consult the good of his people by placing over them a monarch so vicious in his disposition, and so fierce and sanguinary in his temper, as Carlos. However agonizing it might be to his feelings as a father, he must allow the law to take its course. Yet, after all, he said, it might not be necessary to proceed to this extremity. The prince's health was in so critical a state, that it was only necessary to relax the precautions in regard to his diet, and his excesses would soon conduct him to the tomb! One point only was essential, that he should be so well advised of his situation that he should be willing to confess, and make his peace with Heaven before he died. This was the greatest proof of love which he could give to his son and to the Spanish nation.

Ruy Gomez and Espinosa both of them inferred from this singular ebullition of parental tenderness, that they could not further the real intentions of the king better than by expediting as much as possible the death of Carlos. Ruy Gomez accordingly communicated his views to Olivares, the prince's physician. This he did in such ambiguous and mysterious phrase as, while it intimated his meaning, might serve to veil the enormity of the crime from the eyes of the party who was to perpetrate it. No man was more competent to this delicate task than the prince of Eboli, bred from his youth in courts, and trained to a life of dissimulation. Olivares readily comprehended the drift of his discourse,—that the thing required of him was to dispose of the prisoner, in such a way that his death should appear natural, and that the honor of the king should not be compromised. He raised no scruples, but readily signified his willingness faithfully to execute the will of his sovereign. Under these circumstances, on the twentieth of July, a purgative dose was administered to the unsuspecting patient, who, as may be imagined, rapidly grew worse. It was a consolation to his father, that, when advised of his danger, Carlos consented to receive his confessor. Thus, though the body perished, the soul was saved.[1511]

Such is the extraordinary account given us by Llorente, which, if true, would at once settle the question in regard to the death of Carlos. But Llorente, with a disingenuousness altogether unworthy of an historian in a matter of so grave import, has given us no knowledge of the sources whence his information was derived. He simply says, that they are "certain secret memoirs of the time, full of curious anecdote, which, though not possessing precisely the character of authenticity, are nevertheless entitled to credit, as coming from persons employed in the palace of the king!"[1512] Had the writer condescended to acquaint us with the names, or some particulars of the characters, of his authors, we might have been able to form some estimate of the value of their testimony. His omission to do this may lead us to infer, that he had not perfect confidence in it himself. At all events it compels us to trust the matter entirely to his own discretion, a virtue which those familiar with his inaccuracies in other matters will not be disposed to concede to him in a very eminent degree.[1513]{484}

His narrative, moreover, is in direct contradiction to the authorities I have already noticed, especially to the two foreign ministers so often quoted, who, with the advantages—not a few—that they possessed for obtaining correct information, were indefatigable in collecting it. "I say nothing," writes the Tuscan envoy, alluding, to the idle rumors of the town, "of gossip unworthy to be listened to. It is a hard thing to satisfy the populace. It is best to stick to the truth, without caring for the opinion of those who talk wildly of improbable matters, which have their origin in ignorance and malice."[1514]

Still, it cannot be denied, that suspicions of foul play to Carlos were not only current abroad, but were entertained by persons of higher rank than the populace at home,—where it could not be safe to utter them. Among others, the celebrated Antonio Perez, one of the household of the prince of Eboli, informs us, that, "as the king had found Carlos guilty, he was condemned to death by casuists and inquisitors. But in order that the execution of this sentence might not be brought too palpably before the public, they mixed for four months together a slow poison in his food."[1515]

This statement agrees, to a certain extent, with that of a noble Venetian, Pietro Giustiniani, then in Castile, who assured the historian De Thou, that "Philip having determined on the death of his son, obtained a sentence to that effect from a lawful judge. But in order to save the honor of the sovereign, the sentence was executed in secret, and Carlos was made to swallow some poisoned broth, of which he died some hours afterwards."[1516]

Some of the particulars mentioned by Antonio Perez may be thought to receive confirmation from an account given by the French minister, Fourquevaulx, in a letter dated about a month after the prince's arrest. "The prince," he says, "becomes visibly thinner and more dried up; and his eyes are sunk in his head. They give him sometimes strong soups and capon broths, in which amber and other nourishing things are dissolved, that he may not wholly lose his strength and fall into decrepitude. These soups are prepared privately in the chamber of Ruy Gomez, through which one passes into that of the prince."

It was not to be expected that a Castilian writer should have the temerity to assert that the death of Carlos was brought about by violence. Yet Cabrera, the best informed historian of the period, who, in his boyhood, had frequent access to the house of Ruy Gomez, and even to the royal palace, while he describes the excesses of Carlos as the cause of his untimely end,{485} makes some mysterious intimations, which, without any forced construction, seem to point to the agency of others in bringing about that event.[1517]

Strada, the best informed, on the whole, of the foreign writers of the period, and who, as a foreigner, had not the same motives for silence as a Spaniard, qualifies his account of the prince's death as having taken place in the natural-way, by saying, "if indeed he did not perish by violence."[1518]—The prince of Orange, in his bold denunciation of Philip, does not hesitate to proclaim him the murderer of his son.[1519] And that inquisitive gossip-monger, Brantôme, amidst the bitter jests and epigrams which, he tells us, his countrymen levelled at Philip for his part in this transaction, quotes the authority of a Spaniard of rank for the assertion that, after Carlos had been condemned by his father,—in opposition to the voice of his council,—the prince was found dead in his chamber, smothered with a towel![1520] Indeed, the various modes of death assigned to him are sufficient evidence of the uncertainty as to any one of them.[1521] A writer of more recent date does not scruple to assert, that the only liberty granted to Carlos was that of selecting the manner of his death out of several kinds that were proposed to him;[1522]—an incident which has since found a more suitable place in one of the many dramas that have sprang from his mysterious story.

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]

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]

{489}

The king did not accompany it. Slowly it defiled through the crowded streets, where the people gave audible utterance to their grief, as they gazed on the funeral pomp, and their eyes fell on the bier of the prince, who, they had fondly hoped, would one day sway the sceptre of Castile; and whose errors, great as they were, were all forgotten in his unparalleled misfortunes.[1532]

The procession moved forward to the convent of San Domingo Real, where Carlos had desired that his ashes might be laid. The burial service was there performed, with great solemnity, in presence of the vast multitude. But whether it was that Philip distrusted the prudence of the preachers, or feared some audacious criticism on his conduct, no discourse was allowed to be delivered from the pulpit. For nine days religious services were performed in honor of the deceased; and the office for the dead continued to be read, morning and evening, before an audience among whom were the great nobles and the officers of state, clad in full mourning. The queen and the princess Joanna might be seen, on these occasions, mingling their tears with the few who cherished the memory of Carlos. A niche was excavated in the wall of the church, within the choir, in which the prince's remains were deposited. But they did not rest there long. In 1573, they were removed, by Philip's orders, to the Escorial; and in its gloomy chambers they were left to mingle with the kindred dust of the royal line of Austria.[1533]

Philip wrote to Zuñiga, his ambassador in Rome, to intimate his wish that no funeral honors should be paid there to the memory of Carlos, that no mourning should be worn, and that his holiness would not feel under the necessity of sending him letters of condolence.[1534] Zuñiga did his best. But he could not prevent the obsequies from being celebrated with the lugubrious pomp suited to the rank of the departed. A catafalque was raised in the church of Saint James; the services were performed in presence of the ambassador and his attendants, who were dressed in the deepest black; and twenty-one cardinals, one of whom was Granvelle, assisted at the solemn ceremonies.[1535] But no funeral panegyric was pronounced, and no monumental inscription recorded the imaginary virtues of the deceased.[1536]

Soon after the prince's death, Philip retired to the monastery of St. Jerome, in whose cloistered recesses he remained some time longer secreted from the eyes of his subjects. "He feels his loss like a father," writes the papal nuncio, "but he bears it with the patience of a Christian."[1537] He caused despatches to be sent to foreign courts, to acquaint them with his late{490} bereavement. In his letter to the duke of Alva, he indulges in a fuller expression of his personal feelings. "You may conceive," he says, "in what pain and heaviness I find myself, now that it has pleased God to take my dear son, the prince, to himself. He died in a Christian manner, after having, three days before, received the sacrament, and exhibited repentance and contrition,—all which serves to console me under this affliction. For I hope that God has called him to himself, that he may be with him evermore; and that he will grant me his grace, that I may endure this calamity with a Christian heart and patience."[1538]

Thus, in the morning of life, at little more than twenty-three years of age, perished Carlos, prince of Asturias. No one of his time came into the world under so brilliant auspices; for he was heir to the noblest empire in Christendom; and the Spaniards, as they discerned in his childhood some of the germs of future greatness in his character, looked confidently forward to the day when he should rival the glory of his grandfather, Charles the Fifth. But he was born under an evil star, which counteracted all the gifts of fortune, and turned them into a curse. His naturally wild and headstrong temper was exasperated by disease; and, when encountered by the distrust and alienation of him who had the control of his destiny, was exalted into a state of frenzy, that furnishes the best apology for his extravagances, and vindicates the necessity of some measures, on the part of his father, to restrain them. Yet can those who reject the imputation of murder acquit that father of inexorable rigor towards his child in the measures which he employed, or of the dreadful responsibility which attaches to the consequences of them?

CHAPTER VIII.

One will in vain look for this tale of horror in the native historians of Castile. Nor does any historian of that day, native or foreign, whom I have consulted, in noticing the rumors of the time, cast a reproach on the fair fame of Isabella; though more than one must be allowed to intimate the existence of the prince's passion for his step-mother.[1539] Brantôme tells us{491} that, when Carlos first saw the queen, "he was so captivated by her charms, that he conceived from that time, a mortal spite against his father, whom he often reproached for the great wrong he had done him, in ravishing from him this fair prize." "And this," adds the writer, "was said in part to have been the cause of the prince's death; for he could not help loving the queen at the bottom of his soul, as well as honoring and reverencing one who was so truly amiable and deserving of love."[1540] He afterwards gives us to understand that many rumors were afloat in regard to the manner of the queen's death; and tells a story, not very probable, of a Jesuit, who was banished to the farthest Indies, for denouncing, in his pulpit, the wickedness of those who could destroy so innocent a creature.[1541]

A graver authority, the prince of Orange, in his public vindication of his own conduct, openly charges Philip with the murder of both his son and his wife. It is to be noticed, however, that he nowhere intimates that either of the parties was in love with the other; and he refers the queen's death to Philip's desire to open the way to a marriage with the Princess Anne of Austria.[1542] Yet these two authorities are the only ones of that day, so far as I am aware, who have given countenance to these startling rumors. Both were foreigners, far removed from the scene of action; one of them a light, garrulous Frenchman, whose amusing pages, teeming with the idle gossip of the court, are often little better than a Chronique Scandaleuse; the other, the mortal enemy of Philip, whose character—as the best means of defending his own—he was assailing with the darkest imputations.

No authority, however, beyond that of vulgar rumor, was required by the unscrupulous writers of a later time, who discerned the capabilities of a story like that of Carlos and Isabella, in the situations of romantic interest which it would open to the reader. Improving on this hint, they have filled in the outlines of the picture with the touches of their own fancy; until the interest thus given to this tale of love and woe has made it as widely known as any of the classic myths of early Grecian history.[1543]{492}

Fortunately, we have the power, in this case, of establishing the truth from unsuspicious evidence,—that of Isabella's own countrymen, whose residence at the court of Madrid furnished them with ample means of personal observation. Isabella's mother, the famous Catherine de Medicis, associated with so much that is terrible in our imaginations, had at least the merit of watching over her daughter's interests with the most affectionate solicitude. This did not diminish when, at the age of fifteen, Elizabeth of France left her own land and ascended the throne of Spain. Catherine kept up a constant correspondence with her daughter, sometimes sending her instructions as to her conduct, at other times, medical prescriptions in regard to her health. She was careful also to obtain information respecting Isabella's mode of life from the French ambassadors at the court of Castile; and we may be quite sure that these loyal subjects would have been quick to report any injurious treatment of the queen by her husband.

A candid perusal of their despatches dispels all mystery,—or rather, proves there never was any cause for mystery. The sallow, sickly boy of fourteen—for Carlos was no older at the time of Isabella's marriage—was possessed of too few personal attractions to make it probable that he could have touched the heart of his beautiful step-mother, had she been lightly disposed. But her intercourse with him from the first seems to have been such as naturally arose from the relations of the parties, and from the kindness of her disposition, which led her to feel a sympathy for the personal infirmities and misfortunes of Carlos. Far from attempting to disguise her feelings in this matter, she displayed them openly in her correspondence with her mother, and before her husband and the world.

Soon after Isabella's arrival at Madrid, we find a letter from the bishop of Limoges to Charles the Ninth, her brother, informing him that "his sister, on entering the palace of Madrid, gave the prince so gracious and affectionate a reception, that it afforded singular contentment to the king, and yet more to Carlos, as appeared by his frequent visits to the queen,—as frequent as the etiquette of a court, much stiffer than that of Paris, would permit."[1544] Again, writing in the following month, the bishop speaks of the queen as endeavoring to amuse Carlos, when he came to see her in the evening, with such innocent games and pastimes as might cheer the spirits of the young prince, who seemed to be wasting away under his malady.[1545]

The next year we have a letter to Catherine de Medicis from one of Isabella's train, who had accompanied her from France. After speaking of her mistress as sometimes supping in the garden with the Princess Joanna,{493} she says they were often joined there by "the prince, who loves the queen singularly well, and, as I suspect, would have no objection to be more nearly related to her."[1546]—There is nothing improbable in the supposition that Carlos, grateful for kindness to which he had not been too much accustomed, should, as he grew older, have yielded to the influence of a princess whose sweet disposition and engaging manners seem to have won the hearts of all who approached her; or that feelings of resentment should have mingled with his regret, as he thought of the hard fate which had placed a barrier between them. It is impossible, too, when we consider the prince's impetuous temper, that the French historian, De Thou, may have had good authority for asserting that Carlos, "after long conversation in the queen's apartment, was often heard, as he came out, to complain loudly of his father's having robbed him of her."[1547] But it could have been no vulgar passion that he felt for Isabella, and certainly it received no encouragement from her, if, as Brantôme tells us, "insolent and audacious as he was in his intercourse with all other women, he never came into the presence of his step-mother without such a feeling of reverence as seemed to change his very nature."

Nor is there the least evidence that the admiration excited by the queen, whether in Carlos or in the courtiers, gave any uneasiness to Philip, who seems to have reposed entire confidence in her discretion. And while we find Isabella speaking of Philip to her mother as "so good a husband, and rendering her so happy by his attentions, that it made the dullest spot in the world agreeable to her,"[1548] we meet with a letter from the French minister, Guibert, saying that "the king goes on loving the queen more and more, and that her influence has increased threefold within the last few months."[1549] A few years later, in 1565, St. Sulpice, then ambassador in Madrid, writes to the queen-mother in emphatic terms of the affectionate intercourse that subsisted between Philip and his consort. "I can assure you, madam," he says, "that the queen, your daughter, lives in the greatest content in the world, by reason of the perfect friendship which ever draws her more closely to her husband. He shows her the most unreserved confidence, and is so cordial in his treatment of her as to leave nothing to be desired."[1550] The writer quotes a declaration made to him by Philip, that "the loss of his consort would be a heavier misfortune than had ever yet befallen him."[1551]

Nor was this an empty profession in the king, as he evinced by his indulgence of Isabella's tastes,—even those national tastes which were not always in accordance with the more rigid rules of Castilian etiquette. To show the freedom{494} with which she lived, I may perhaps be excused for touching on a few particulars, already noticed in a previous chapter. On her coming into the country, she was greeted with balls and other festivities, to which she had been accustomed in the gay capital of France. Her domestic establishment was on a scale of magnificence suited to her station; and the old courtier, Brantôme, dwells with delight on the splendid profusion of her wardrobe, and the costly jewels with which it was adorned. When she went abroad, she dispensed with her veil, after the fashion of her own country, though so much at variance with the habits of the Spanish ladies. Yet it made her a greater favorite with the people, who crowded around her wherever she appeared, eager to catch a glimpse of her beautiful features. She brought into the country a troop of French ladies and waiting-women, some of whom remained, and married in Castile. Such as returned home, she provided with liberal dowries. To persons of her own nation she was ever accessible,—receiving the humblest as well as the highest, says her biographer, with her wonted benignity. With them she conversed in her native tongue. But, in the course of three months, her ready wit had so far mastered the Castilian, that she could make herself understood in that language, and in a short time spoke it with elegance, though with a slight foreign accent, not unpleasing. Born and bred among a people so different from that with whom her lot was now cast, Isabella seemed to unite in her own person the good qualities of each. The easy vivacity of the French character was so happily tempered by the gravity of the Spanish, as to give an inexpressible charm to her manners.[1552] Thus richly endowed with the best gifts of nature and of fortune, it is no wonder that Elizabeth of France should have been the delight of the courtly circle over which she presided, and of which she was the greatest ornament.

Her gentle nature must have been much disturbed, by witnessing the wild, capricious temper of Carlos, and the daily increasing estrangement of his father. Yet she did not despair of reclaiming him. At least, we may infer so from the eagerness with which she seconded her mother in pressing the union of her sister, Catherine de Medicis' younger daughter, with the prince. "My sister is of so excellent a disposition," the queen said to Ruy Gomez, "that no princess in Christendom would be more apt to moderate and accommodate herself to my step-son's humors, or be better suited to the father, as well as the son, in their relations with each other."[1553] But although the minister readily adopted the queen's views in the matter, they met with little encouragement from Philip, who, at that time, seemed more inclined to a connection with the house of Austria.