History of The Reign of Philip The Second King of Spain History of the Reign of Philip the Second, King of Spain Part 50

And that inquisitive gossip-monger, Brantome, 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 a.s.sertion 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 a.s.signed 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 a.s.sert, 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 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sailing. It is the hard fate of a person so situated, that even truth from his lips fails to carry with it conviction.[1523]

[Sidenote: SUSPICIOUS CIRc.u.mSTANCES.]

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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sage 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, 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 a.s.sa.s.sination of the prince of Orange, the secret a.s.sa.s.sination 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 pa.s.sages 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 f.a.gots 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 pa.s.sing in an adjoining gallery of the palace. A quarrel arose there between two courtiers,--one of them a young cavalier, Don Antonio de Leyva, the other Don Diego de Mendoza, a n.o.bleman who had formerly filled, with great distinction, the post of amba.s.sador 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, n.o.bili. "The king," he adds, "has even a mind to cas.h.i.+er his guard for allowing them to escape." Philip, however, confined the punishment of the n.o.bles 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 princ.i.p.al grandees. In the court-yard of the palace was a large gathering of the members of the religious fraternities, dignitaries of the church, foreign amba.s.sadors, n.o.bles 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]

[Sidenote: HIS OBSEQUIES.]

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 mult.i.tude. 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 n.o.bles 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 Zuniga, his amba.s.sador 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] Zuniga 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 amba.s.sador and his attendants, who were dressed in the deepest black; and twenty-one cardinals, one of whom was Granvelle, a.s.sisted at the solemn ceremonies.[1535] But no funeral panegyric was p.r.o.nounced, 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 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 n.o.blest 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.

DEATH OF ISABELLA.

Queen Isabella.--Her Relations with Carlos.--Her Illness and Death.--Her Character.

1568.

Three months had not elapsed after the young and beautiful queen of Philip the Second had wept over the fate of her unfortunate step-son, when she was herself called upon to follow him to the tomb. The occurrence of these sad events so near together, and the relations of the parties, who had once been designed for each other, suggested the idea that a criminal pa.s.sion subsisted between them, and that, after her lover's death, Isabella was herself sacrificed to the jealousy of a vindictive husband.

[Sidenote: HER RELATIONS WITH CARLOS.]

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 pa.s.sion for his step-mother.[1539] Brantome tells us 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 ravis.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sailing 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 cla.s.sic myths of early Grecian history.[1543]

Fortunately, we have the power, in this case, of establis.h.i.+ng 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, a.s.sociated 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 amba.s.sadors 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]

[Sidenote: HER RELATIONS WITH CARLOS.]

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, 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 a.s.serting 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 pa.s.sion that he felt for Isabella, and certainly it received no encouragement from her, if, as Brantome 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 amba.s.sador in Madrid, writes to the queen-mother in emphatic terms of the affectionate intercourse that subsisted between Philip and his consort. "I can a.s.sure you, madam," he says, "that the queen, your daughter, lives in the greatest content in the world, by reason of the perfect friends.h.i.+p 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 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 b.a.l.l.s 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, Brantome, 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 fas.h.i.+on 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.

[Sidenote: HER ILLNESS.]

In the preceding chapter, we have seen the pain occasioned to Isabella by the arrest of Carlos. Although so far a gainer by it as it opened to her own posterity the way to the succession, she wept, as the amba.s.sador Fourquevaulx tells us, for two days, over the misfortune of her step-son, until forbidden by Philip to weep any longer.[1554] During his confinement, as we have seen, she was not permitted to visit him,--not even to soften the bitterness of his dying hour. And how much her presence would have soothed him, at such a time, may be inferred from the simple memorandum found among his papers, in which he a.s.signs her the first place among his friends, as having been ever the most loving to him.[1555] The same affection, however we may define it, which he had borne her from the first, he retained to the last hour of his life. All that was now granted to Isabella was the sad consolation of joining with the Princess Joanna, and the few friends who still cherished the memory of Carlos, in celebrating his funeral obsequies.

Not long after that event, it was announced that the queen was pregnant; and the nation fondly hoped that it would find a compensation for the loss of its rightful prince, in the birth of a new heir to the throne.

But this hope was destined soon to be destroyed. Owing to some mismanagement on the part of the physicians, who, at an early period, misunderstood the queen's situation, the medicines they gave her had an injurious effect on her const.i.tution.[1556] It is certain that Isabella placed little confidence in the Spanish doctors, or in their prescriptions.[1557] There may have been good ground for her distrust; for their vigorous applications savor not a little of the Sangrado school of practice, directed quite as much against the const.i.tution of the patient as against his disease. About the middle of September a fever set in, which, though not violent, was so obstinate as to defy all the efforts of the physicians to reduce it. More alarming symptoms soon followed. The queen frequently swooned. Her extremities became torpid.

Medicines were of no avail, for her stomach refused to retain them.[1558] Processions were everywhere made to the churches, and young and old joined in prayers for her recovery. But these prayers were not heard. The strength of Isabella continued rapidly to decline, and by the last of September her life was despaired of. The physicians declared that science could go no further, and that the queen's only hope must be in Heaven.[1559]--In Heaven she had always trusted; nor was she so wedded to the pomps and glories of the world, that she could not now willingly resign them.

As her ladies, many of them her countrywomen, stood weeping around her bed, she endeavored to console them under their affliction, kindly expressing the interest she took in their future welfare, and her regret that she had not made them a bitter mistress;--"as if," says a contemporary, who has left a minute record of her last moments, "she had not been always more of a mother than a mistress to them all!"[1560]

On the evening of the second of October, as Isabella felt herself drawing near her end, she made her will. She then confessed, partook of the sacrament, and, at her desire, extreme unction was administered to her. Cardinal Espinosa and the king's confessor, the bishop of Cuenca, who were present, while they offered her spiritual counsel and consolation, were greatly edified by her deportment; and, giving her their parting benediction, they went away deeply affected by the spirit of Christian resignation which she displayed.[1561]

Before daybreak, on the following morning, she had her last interview with Philip. We have the account of it from Fourquevaulx. "The queen spoke to her husband very naturally," says the amba.s.sador, "and like a Christian. She took leave of him for ever, and never did princess show more goodness and piety. She commended to him her two daughters, and her princ.i.p.al attendants, beseeching him to live in amity with the king of France, her brother, and to maintain peace,--with other discourse, which could not fail to touch the heart of _a good husband, which the king was to her_. He showed, in his replies, the same composure as she did, and promised to obey all her requests, but added, he did not think her end so near. He then withdrew,--as I was told,--in great anguish, to his own chamber."[1562] Philip sent a fragment of the true cross, to comfort his wife in her last moments. It was the most precious of his relics, and was richly studded with pearls and diamonds.[1563] Isabella fervently kissed the sacred relic, and held it, with the crucifix, in her hand, while she yet lived.

Not long after the interview with her husband, the amba.s.sador was summoned to her bedside. He was the representative of her native land, and of the dear friends there she was never more to see. "She knew me,"

writes Fourquevaulx, "and said, 'You see me in the act of quitting this vain world, to pa.s.s to a more pleasant kingdom; there, as I hope, to be for ever with my G.o.d. Tell my mother, the queen, and the king, my brother, to bear my death with patience, and to comfort themselves with the reflection, that no happiness on earth has ever made me so content, as the prospect now does of approaching my Creator. I shall soon be in a better situation to do them service, and to implore G.o.d to take them and my brothers under his holy protection. Beseech them, in my name, to watch over their kingdom, that an end may be put to the heresies which have spread there. And I will pray Heaven, in its mercy, to grant that they may take my death with patience, and hold me for happy.'"[1564]

The amba.s.sador said a few words of comfort, endeavoring to give her, if possible, some hopes of life. But she answered, "You will soon know how near I am to my end. G.o.d has given me grace to despise the world and its grandeur, and to fix all my hopes on him and Jesus Christ. Never did a thought occasion me less anxiety than that of death."