Chapter VI (1)

RENEWED WAR WITH FRANCE LATE IN 1628--RECONCILIATION WITH ENGLAND--THE PALATINATE AGAIN--COTTINGTON IN MADRID--HIS RECEPTION AND NEGOTIATIONS WITH OLIVARES AND PHILIP--FETES IN MADRID FOR BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES--DEATH OF SPINOLA--TREATY OF CASALE--A "LOCAL PEACE" WITH FRANCE--SPAIN AND THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR--POVERTY AND MISERY OF THE COUNTRY--UNPOPULARITY OF OLIVARES--HIS MONOPOLY OF POWER--HIS GREAT ENTERTAINMENT TO THE KING--HIS INTERVENTION IN PHILIP'S DOMESTIC AFFAIRS--"DON FRANCISCO FERNANDO OF AUSTRIA"--THE BUEN RETIRO--HOPTON IN MADRID--HIS DESCRIPTIVE LETTERS--THE INFANTES--PHILIP'S VISIT TO BARCELONA--DISCONTENT OF THE CORTES--THE INFANTE FERNANDO LEFT AS GOVERNOR--DEATH OF THE INFANTE CARLOS--DEATH OF THE INFANTA ISABEL IN FLANDERS--THE INFANTE FERNANDO ON HIS WAY THITHER WINS BATTLE OF NORDLINGEN--GREAT WAR NOW INEVITABLE WITH FRANCE

[Sidenote: Richelieu and Olivares]

The Spaniards for all their poverty had never ceased to send men and money in plenty to the Emperor for his eternal war against freedom of conscience in Germany, and to the Infanta Isabel {215} against Holland. But Richelieu, hampered with a war with England about the unfulfilled conditions of Henrietta Maria's marriage contract, had kept the peace with Spain since January 1626. An English fleet co-operated with the Huguenots at Rochelle, but Richelieu was equal to the occasion, and he and Marshal Schomberg together sent back Buckingham and his fleet disgraced and defeated, with a loss of two-thirds of his force, after which--late in 1628--Richelieu, relieved of the terrible siege of Rochelle, could turn his attention again to the doings of Olivares and the Spaniards. The pretext for fighting this time was the old question of the duchy of Mantua, which, being vacant, was claimed by a French and an Italian imperial pretender; and Olivares, thinking in any case to grab something for Spain, seized the strong place of Casale in Montferrat, aided and abetted on this occasion by the Duke of Savoy, who, greedy and discontented as usual, had again changed sides. As soon as Richelieu was partially free from the struggle with the Huguenots, he sent a French army to oust the invaders from Mantuan territory; and once more Philip saw himself pledged to a national war with France for a cause which was of no interest whatever to his Spanish subjects; a war in which if he were victor he could gain little or nothing, whilst if he were vanquished he might lose enormously.

Olivares began by concentrating his resources, recalling Spinola from Flanders to meet the French in Italy; and once more smiling upon England, where Buckingham, smarting under his ignominious defeat at Oleron by Richelieu, in the previous year, {216} was raising another fleet at Portsmouth to relieve Rochelle. He was assassinated by Felton in August 1628, and the fleet under Lord Lindsay arrived too late to succour the heroic Huguenots, who had been at last obliged to surrender in October 1628. France was then free to launch her whole force against Spain, and peace with England, which had been desirable for Spain before, became an absolute necessity. The need was a bitter one for Olivares, for friendship and alliance with a heretic power was an open confession to the world that Spain's proud claim to the possession of a divine mandate to crush heterodoxy throughout the world could not be enforced.

[Sidenote: Reconciliation with England]

But past insincerities and present inconsistencies on the part of Spain weighed but little with Charles I. of England against the flattering vision of obtaining for his German brother-in-law the restoration of the Palatinate by the influence of Philip, and he welcomed the informal approaches which for some time past had been made to him by Olivares. The plotting with the Irish Catholics, which had been busily carried on from Madrid, through O'Sullivan (Count of Bearhaven), Burke (Marquis of Mayo), the agents of Tyrone and Tyrconnel and the Irish friars,[1] was suddenly cooled by Olivares, much to the disgust of the exiles; and the Irish Dominican who had been sent from Spain to sound Charles I., reported that peace might now be easily settled in England. Simultaneously Father Scaglia, an Italian friar, had been sent from Turin by the Earl of Carlisle to Madrid {217} upon a similar mission, and reported that he had seen Olivares, and that everything was ready for Cottington's arrival in Spain to settle terms.[2] Rubens also took a hand in the game. He was painting industriously in Madrid, and was in high favour with Philip, but held secret credentials from Charles I., and wrote enthusiastically about the approaching friendship of the two countries.[3] The preliminaries were not altogether easy to arrange. The Irish exiles in Madrid were still clamorous for armed Spanish aid to their desired rebellion, and were discontented at Olivares' _volte face_, whilst Charles I. himself, who had been tricked before by the Count-Duke, wanted something definite about the Palatinate before he sent Cottington openly to Spain. Scaglia tried hard and hopefully all through 1628 to get matters in train. Olivares was graciousness itself in his usual non-committal way;[4] but when the need for peace became pressing, he tired at last of this slow progress, and decided to send Rubens to London in the summer of 1629 with the rank of Secretary of the Council and Ambassador.

At length, thanks largely to Rubens' personality, {218} all the thorny preliminaries were settled, and Cottington started in November 1629, but with strict orders from Charles that he was not to ask for audience until the Spanish ambassador Coloma, who was being sent from Brussels but had been delayed, should present himself in London. For Charles was still distrustful of Olivares, and feared a trick to make him appear the suppliant for peace. Rubens was prompt in conveying this suspicion to Olivares, who was quite shocked that anyone should doubt his sincerity. His letter to Cottington, received by the latter when he landed at Lisbon, elaborately explains the delay in Coloma's arrival in London by the necessity for the ambassador to remain with the Infanta in Flanders for a time until the Marquis of Aytona arrived there, owing to the loss of Bois le Duc, and ends in a holograph postscript deploring that he should be so distrusted: "You cannot think how this business has distressed me!"[5]

[Sidenote: Cottington's mission, 1630]

Nothing was left undone by Olivares to win Cottington, always a pro-Spaniard. He was offered as a present the whole of the customs dues (£5000) on a great English ship's cargo of goods, allowed by special licence to enter Lisbon at the same time as he did, which gift he refused, and all along the road from Lisbon to Madrid evidence of thought for his comfort met him. On the other hand, Charles I. could not do enough to honour Coloma when he came to a state dinner at Whitehall on Twelfth Day, 1630, where there were so many ladies to do him honour, writes Lord Dorchester to Cottington, "that there were many fallings out {219} amongst them for spoyling one another's ruffs, by being so close ranked."[6] But amiable as were the appearances, the distrust was deep, especially on the side of the English. When Cottington arrived within a day's journey from Madrid, he sent his coadjutor, Mr. Arthur Hopton, ahead to discover what preparations were made to receive him. He learnt, to his surprise, that Philip was absent from the capital, having gone to escort his sister, the Infanta Queen of Hungary, on her way to her new home, and that Olivares had been left behind to do the honours to the English envoy. Cottington was determined that this should not be, so he dodged the host of grandees, who had been sent out with coaches and guards to welcome him, and entered Madrid secretly by night. No sooner had he arrived at his lodging than Olivares presented himself, but the Englishman flatly refused to receive him there, and, entering a coach, drove off to the palace to offer his respects to the Queen in the absence of the King, and seek audience through Olivares as first minister.

There, in his apartment, Olivares kept Cottington in converse until midnight, using all his blandishments to persuade the Englishman that he meant to deal straightforwardly this time. "All my art of fence," wrote Cottington, "could not keep him from entering into the principal business, yet but flashed and intermixed with other points. He could not doubt, he said, that I had brought orders to renew the peace negotiations at least. I said yes, if I found good resolutions to give satisfaction to my King (Charles) and his friends {220} and allies. I know your meaning, he said, ye would have restitution of the Palatinate. Yes, said I; but that is not all. You know that my King has made a league with the States, and their interests must also be considered." The protestations and heated disputes continued between them thus for hours; the point of Olivares evidently being to secure the marriage of the Palgrave's son with a daughter of the Emperor or other Spanish nominee without a prior restitution of any part of the Palatinate. At last Olivares rose, and, taking Cottington by the hand, said: "The King of England shall do the greatest work in Christendom, for by his means the Palatinate shall be entirely restored, and by his means also the King of Spain shall find peace in those northern parts."[7]

Whilst the two statesmen were talking, the Countess of Olivares entered with a message from the Queen, to ask after the health of King Charles. Cottington was rigid. King Charles, he said, had sent a letter to the Queen by him, though she had not written to him for a good many years; and when he delivered the letter he had a good mind to tell her so, as King Charles was very much offended. Both Olivares and his wife were much concerned at this, and asked Cottington what had better be done. You may tell the Queen, he replied, that she might write a letter to King Charles, and send it to the Spanish Ambassador in London before the King of England's letter was delivered to her. This was promised, and when finally Cottington was led to the Queen he found her all smiles and {221} kindness for the ambassador of her brother-in-law, for matters were complicated terribly by the fact that she was the sister of Queen Henrietta Maria.

[Sidenote: Cottington in Madrid]

Philip was not expected to return to Madrid for several days, and in the meantime it was necessary for Olivares somehow to worm out the nature and extent of the Englishman's instructions. On Monday, two days after the interview just described, Olivares made the excuse of taking Cottington out hawking, to get him quietly in the country and alone all day from morn till dark. But they had no sport, says Cottington ruefully, for the Count-Duke was so eager in his talk that he forgot all about the hawks. The disputations, now on horseback, now in a coach, often waxed angry. The States would not have a peace, but wanted a truce, said Olivares. They will not have either, replied the Englishman, unless my King's demands are granted. How can we restore the Palatinate? blustered Olivares, which is held mostly by Bavaria. Then Cottington in a rage said he should go back to England immediately, as he saw they had been deceived. If you do, retorted Olivares, we will make a league of half Europe against you.[8]

On Friday the King arrived in the capital, and great efforts were made to persuade Cottington to leave Madrid, and make a state entry, but this he refused to do. The next best thing was to send the whole Court in its finest garb to accompany him to the palace for his first audience with Philip. Nothing could exceed the honour paid him, though {222} on that occasion nothing political was discussed. But on the next day, in private conference, Cottington came to close quarters with Philip. The great question, of course, was that of the Palatinate. Philip assured Cottington that he would give every satisfaction on that point if he only had patience until powers came from Germany. As the Englishman left only half convinced, Philip called him back and asked him why the English would not accept a suspension of hostilities. Because, replied Cottington, it would look like a surrender of the point about the Palatinate. There can be no peace, he said, until that question is settled.

[Sidenote: Cottington's negotiations]

The weeks dragged on, every trifling point being utilised by Olivares to keep the negotiations afoot, and relieve Spain of the strain of war with England, without ceding--what it was clear they could not cede--the restoration of the Palatinate, which was mostly held by the Germans. An interminable wrangle took place about the titles to be given to the King of England: whether he should be called Majesty, which the Spaniards always gave grudgingly to any king but their own. Then it appeared that the draft protocols sent by Coloma from London gave Charles the style of "King, etc.," without his full titles, and "Defender of the Faith." Although it was late at night when the courier arrived, Cottington hurried off to complain to Philip of this. The King of England shall be given whatever style he likes, laughed Philip. Then there was a lengthy squabble about the styles to be used by the two sister-Queens in writing to each other. When that was settled, Cottington {223} grumbled incessantly at all this intriguing with the Catholic Irish rebels, and at Tyrone's presence in Madrid. Again and again Cottington, tired of Olivares' shilly-shally, was for returning to England post haste, but the Count-Duke always managed to smooth matters over by assuring him that they would really use all their influence to get the Palatinate restored if he only had patience.

But at length, in March 1630, Cottington's long-suffering gave way. He saw, he says, that he was being played with, and he sent Hopton to England to ask permission for him to come home. Charles was loath to give up hope, but he too was beginning to doubt the good faith of Philip and his minister, and sent instructions that there must be no more delay. Spain wants peace, but before peace can be made by England, Philip must say clearly and promptly what portion of the Palatinate he will guarantee to restore. When this message from England was brought to Madrid by Hopton in the middle of May, Philip and Olivares took fright, for a continuance of the war with England whilst they were at war with France meant certain ruin for Spain, and yet they could not take the Palatinate from Catholic hands and restore it to Protestant Frederick.

So again the blandishments re-commenced. "Pray tell me your real opinion," asked Philip of Cottington. "My real opinion, sire, is that I shall return at once, unless some means be found for making peace with the Hollanders and raising the ban against Palgrave," replied the Englishman. Philip very rarely showed anger or emotion of any sort, but he grew impatient and cross at {224} Cottington's insistence, which he attributed to his personal desire to return home for domestic reasons. Rojas, the friend of Velazquez, and Olivares' factotum, came and implored Cottington as a friend to deal plainly with him, and tell him whether he was really going home; and Olivares himself sent for him late at night to ply him with remonstrances and expostulations.[9]

[Sidenote: Peace with England]

And thus the juggle went on for months, until at last Charles I., himself sorely needing peace, gave way and sent instructions to Cottington to make a treaty with Spain, leaving all questions still unprejudiced, like the agreement of 1604, with which this book began. Thenceforward all was straight sailing, for Olivares had once more worked his way, and attained the peace that was necessary for Spain, and yet pledging Philip to nothing. Whilst yet the final terms were being settled, with which Rubens was to be sent to London, news came to Madrid of the birth of a son and heir to the King of England. On the 15th June, Philip received Cottington in full state to congratulate him upon the news. Never in the brightest time had the old palace of Madrid put on a braver aspect, for now that in the essential matter of peace the King had gained his point, in that of ceremonial rejoicing he Was determined there should be no shortcoming. Surrounded by a full gathering of grandees in gold chains, Philip stood under his canopy dressed in his military garb, almost English in fashion, as he stands in the Dulwich Gallery portrait, with a splendidly embroidered scarlet {225} ropilla doublet, a broad lace collar and "paned" hose, his breast covered with rich jewels and with a great feather in his hat. As Sir Francis Cottington approached him the King expressed his joy at the news. He was as glad, he said, as if the son had been his own; and he had prayed upon his knees for the happiness of the young prince. Then the delighted Englishman visited the two Infantes to receive their good wishes, they being, as Cottington says, "no less brave in attire" than their brother. In the afternoon another state visit was paid to the Queen, and to the baby Prince Baltasar Carlos, "in cap and feathers and loaded with charms and jewels." Solemn proclamation of the news was made by heralds in the public squares; the Calle Mayor and the Plaza were illuminated as bright as day with wax torches, and a great firework display was made before the palace. Every religious house in Madrid held a solemn service of thanks, and all the priors visited the English ambassador with their congratulations. Four days afterwards, one of the big royal bull-fights, in honour of the birth of a Prince of Wales, was given by Philip in the presence of Cottington in the Plaza Mayor, at which twenty bulls were killed, with many horses and three men.[10] At length the treaty of peace, the real object of all the plausibility, was settled. Olivares had won the game again. England and Spain were at peace, with the Palatinate still unrestored, and Cottington left Spain, that he knew so well, outwitted for the second time by the bland procrastination of Spanish diplomacy.

{226}

Once more the rivals, Richelieu and Olivares, France and Spain, were face to face in North Italy; the Pope, Venice, and the new Duke of Mantua (Nevers) being on the side of France. Richelieu was victorious almost everywhere over the Spaniards, Germans, and Savoyards. Carlo Emmanuele sank to the grave broken hearted, leaving his ancient duchy in the occupation of the French conquerors, and Spinola died of grief before Casale at the scant support and ungenerous treatment he received from Spain. His successor, Santa Cruz, patched up an ignominious treaty with the French in the field, to the violent indignation of the Spaniards at home; for the country which had paid most for the war had gained nothing by the peace. But the treaty of Casale was merely a local pacification between France and Spain. The house of Austria must be crushed, if France were to be raised to the first rank amongst the nations. Olivares unhappily could not shake off the imperial traditions which had been the ruin of Spain; and for many years to come Spanish men and money wrung from starving Castile were still poured in an endless stream to fill the armies of the Emperor. Year after year the deadly struggle went on in Central Europe. Sweden and the Protestants with France on the one side, the house of Austria and the Catholics of Germany on the other; with Spain and Spanish Flanders as the milch cow to provide the wherewithal to face all the progressive elements of Europe.

[Sidenote: The Thirty-Years' War]

With the vicissitudes of this epochal war between antagonistic civilisations the present book is not directly concerned, but only with such echoes and influences of it as reached the Court of Spain. {227} Battles and sieges, the death of heroes and the fall of kings, seared their deep brand upon the page of history. Spain, bereft of commerce and almost of industry, might in its agony protest with passionate tears that it could suffer no more, and lower its dark brows when the arrogant minister who ruled the fainéant King was mentioned.[11] But through it all Madrid laughed and rioted with ghastly gaiety and pagan fatalism, eating, drinking, and making merry, lest before to-morrow it should die. Outside its mud walls the fields lay bare and arid, in the provincial cities sloth and apathy ruled supreme over grass-grown market squares and empty streets; but in the Court, "the only Court," the Madrileños boastfully called it, shameless waste ran riot still; flaunting finery elbowed aside the squalid parasites that sought its smiles and struggled for its scraps; vain shows and vainer posturings filled the hollow days, and the witling who had pompously declaimed a turgid epic upon the nation's glory was held a hundred times a greater hero than he who starved in Flemish dykes, or rotted of putrid fever in overcrowded hosts before a German city, fighting and dying, as scores of thousands of them did, for the vague mirage of Spanish honour, of which the Court of Philip the Great was the centre and the source.

[Sidenote: The Policy of Olivares]

There is no doubt that deep discontent {228} smouldered throughout the country at the results of Olivares' policy. Spaniards were ready enough to acclaim the privilege and duty of their country to set all the world right about religion, and to interfere in the quarrels of Central Europe. The boastful vainglory of Spanish superiority and the hollow pretence of the King's irresistible power and wealth were as popular as ever, though evidence of their falsity was patent in every house in the land. But though by most Spaniards the dire effect was not traced to its true cause, and they never thought of blaming themselves for their sufferings, the minister who was the protagonist of the system was held personally to be the cause of all the trouble. Already the outer realms, Aragon, Catalonia, Valencia, and Portugal, understood clearly that Olivares aimed at destroying their ancient autonomy,[12] and were seething in anger against him and the triflers at Madrid. The greater nobles, even in Castile itself, disgusted at the monopolous arrogance of Olivares, stood ostentatiously aloof from him, only awaiting an opportunity to retaliate. The minister had taken care to place in the councils persons entirely subservient to him, or those whose age or feebleness of character made them innocuous. His principal {229} subordinate ministers were his own kinsmen,--the Count of Monterey; the Marquis del Carpio; Marquis of Leganes; the Marquis of Aytona; the Marquis of Heliche, who had married his only daughter, but to Olivares' intense grief had been left a widower within the year; and the Duke of Medina de las Torres; Cardinal Zapata, the Inquisitor-General and member of many Councils, who was old, weak, and foolish; and the King's confessor, Sotomayor, was a man of no character, and entirely sold to the minister.

It will be seen, therefore, that Philip was quite inaccessible to anyone not in the interests of Olivares. The Queen resented her husband's isolation, but the minister and his wife kept her also well under subjection, and her love of pleasure made her almost as easy to manage as the King.

If it had been possible, even now, for the whole truth to be told to Philip as to the real causes of the poverty and wretchedness that afflicted the country, a prompt reversal of the policy that caused it might have arrested the ruin. But, in any case, it was unlikely that such change should be made; for Philip himself failed to see, as did the friends as well as the foes of Olivares, that only by a frank acceptance of the fact that Spain must abandon all her old flighty notions and impossible claims, could prosperity be brought back to the country. To prevent the danger of Philip's either discovering for himself or being told by others how deep and growing the discontent of the country was, Olivares plunged the idle young King more completely than ever in the pleasures and distractions that occupied most of his time and thoughts. Hunting, {230} play-going, religious ceremonies, literary amusements, and other entertainments left no opportunity for investigation and sustained application to business by the King. It is evident that now, whatever may have been the case at the beginning of the reign, the minister deliberately promoted this waste of time for his own ends; and his efforts to distract the King increased as the discontent in the country and Court grew.

[Sidenote: A sumptuous feast]

On the 1st June 1631, for instance, the Countess of Olivares gave a sumptuous entertainment to the sovereigns, as she was in the habit of doing on every possible pretext, in the gardens of her brother, the Count of Monterey;[13] and this is represented by the contemporary chronicler, who describes both fetes to have aroused the emulation of her husband to give another entertainment to the King and Queen on the night of St. John, three weeks later, that should eclipse all similar occasions. The document from which I am quoting, written by a whole-souled admirer of Olivares, is too long and tedious for reproduction entire here, but a few extracts from it may be interesting as showing now desperately the Olivares tried to please.

"Although there were but few days to arrange everything, the Count-Duke was determined to show the extreme love and care with which he serves our Lord the King, and how easily he conquers the most difficult tasks by means of it. As a beginning of the preparations for the feast, which {231} was, amongst many other things, to include two new comedies not yet even thought of, much less written, his Excellency ordered Lope de Vega to write one, which he did in three days, and D. Francisco de Quevedo and D. Antonio de Mendoza the other, which they wrote in a single day, and the comedies were handed to the companies of Avendaño and Vallejo, the two best now on the boards, to study and rehearse."

Notwithstanding his constant state occupations, Olivares is said to have worked night and day in personally making the preparations for the great fete. Not only the garden of Monterey, but those on each side of it[14] were appropriated; and a great Italian architect, who had designed the wonderful jasper pantheon of the Kings at the Escorial, was commissioned to build a beautiful open-air theatre and a series of improvised edifices for the accommodation of the principal guests. Like magic, thanks to lavish expenditure, there sprang up in the shady gardens a gorgeously upholstered chamber or bower with chairs of state for the King and his two brothers, and the customary cushions for the Queen, placed in a projecting balcony from which the stage could be seen, with two similar apartments, one on each side, for the suite, and retired nooks or niches between them, we are told, in which the Count and Countess of Olivares might watch over the comfort of their guests. A {232} stage, surrounded and crowned by a multitude of lights in crystal globes, and decked with flowers, faced the royal pavilions, and on each side seats were provided for the ladies of the Court, but no gentleman was allowed to be present. By the wall separating the gardens from the Prado great stands were erected to accommodate the six orchestras and choirs that were ordered to be present, and the gentlemen guests, none of whom were asked to the garden itself. To each of Olivares' great kinsmen already mentioned was assigned a department: one was to superintend the rehearsals, another was to take charge of the marshalling of the coaches and the reception of the royal guests, another had under his care the refreshments, and so on.

On the day before the fête the Countess of Olivares dined in the garden, and witnessed a full dress rehearsal of the whole entertainment; and Madrid was agog with excitement when, after dark on the night of St. John, all the grand folk from the palace in their heavy coaches lumbered down to the Prado to attend the fête. At nine o'clock the royal party were received by the Countess at the entrance pavilion which had been erected for the purpose, the united choirs chanting a pæan of welcome as the King and Queen advanced to the chamber whence they were to see the comedies. Gentlemen of the Count-Duke's household on their knees offered to the royal guests and their suite of ladies perfumes in crystal and gold flasks, scented lace handkerchiefs, bouquets, scented clay crocks,[15] {233} fans, etc., on silver salvers. Then, after a flourish of trumpets and an overture on the guitars, Quevedo's and Mendoza's new comedy was performed by Vallejo's company. "_Who Lies Most Thrives Most_" was the name of the piece, and we are told that it was crammed "with the smart sayings and courtly gallantry of Don Francisco de Quevedo, whose genius is so favourably known in the world." The principal actress was the famous Maria de Riquelme,[16] who in verse welcomed the great guests, and praised the King in a manner that, if he had not been case-hardened to adulation, would have made an archangel blush, whilst at the same time several strong hints were introduced that the Count-Duke himself was only one degree less divine than his master.

For two hours the stage entertainment went on, with comedies, dances, poetry and music, all present agreeing that Don Francisco de Quevedo had in his one day's work put more wit and humour than other authors would consider sufficient for a dozen comedies. At one of the intervals, when the first comedy was finished, the King and Queen were conducted to the adjoining garden of the Duke of Maqueda, where they found a series of {234} beautiful chambers communicating with one another, and constructed entirely of flowers and leaves. One of these was for the King and his brothers, another for the Queen, and the third for the ladies in attendance, and in each of the rooms were disguises for the guests. For the King had been provided a long brown cloak, trimmed with great scrolls of black and silver, and closed by frogs and olives of wrought silver, a white hat with white and brown plumes, a shield of scented leather and silver, and a white falling Walloon collar; similar but diverse disguises being provided for the two princes. Upon a side table in each flower chamber was a precious casket of morocco leather and gold filled with choice sweetmeats, a variety of perfumes, and some of the scented clay vessels of which Spanish ladies of the day fancied the taste to nibble and even sometimes to swallow. The Queen's disguise was like that of the King, but with much more adornment in the way of spangles and the like; and when the whole party had covered their ordinary garb with these unusual additions, "strange in shape and fashion," they were led in stately procession with much attitudinising to see the second comedy, in which, says the awestricken chronicler, "they lost no jot of the majesty which is not the least of their inestimable virtues and perfections."

The assumption of these fantastic disguises by the royal personages is elaborately apologised for by the chronicler, by whom it was considered apparently as a somewhat risky and undignified experiment; especially as, owing to it, no male person except Olivares and his household was admitted to the gardens themselves; the gentlemen {235} of the Court being relegated to the stands by the Prado wall, in order that they might not see the King unbend sufficiently to don a disguise. When Lope de Vega's new comedy, "_The Night of St. John_," was finished, the royal party retired to a banqueting-room constructed of flowers in the other garden on the north. Here a sumptuous supper was served at midnight, the King and Queen at their high table being served by Olivares and his wife, everything being done with perfect silence and order,--"though a multitude of dishes were carried to the musicians, singers, and gentlemen in the orchestra stands." By the time the lights were dimming, and the sky was turning to pearly grey beyond the trees of St. Geronimo, the whole stately company turned out in their coaches for a drive up and down the Prado; and then back to the palace, doubtless to sleep.[17] When the dawn broke fully, it was found that, notwithstanding the prohibition, a perfect host of people, men and boys, had surreptitiously found their way in from the Prado, and, hidden in the copses and under the stagings, they had witnessed the whole show, including the questionable proceeding of risking the majesty of monarchs by a fancy dress; whereupon the chronicler attributes the quietness and {236} patience of these intruders to the awe and reverence inspired by a king, no matter how dressed.[18]

As will be seen by this curious account, the hand of Olivares was everywhere. From handing the King his shirt in the morning and drawing his bed curtains at night, to deciding peace and war for the nation, the Count-Duke did everything. The King's amusements and amours were as much his affairs as were the routine duties of Government; and I unearthed some years ago, and described fully in a former book of mine,[19] a curious series of original manuscript documents which prove that at the period now under review (1630-1635) the most secret domestic concerns of the King were settled by Olivares as a matter of course. The first document of the series[20] is a note written by Olivares to the King in 1630, saying that it was high time that a certain little boy, whose age is given as four years, should be concealed, and taken away from the people he was then with; so that all trace of him may be broken. He has, he says, been thinking very deeply how this is to be done, and, as was usual with him, had found objections to every solution that has presented itself. But he thinks, upon the whole, that the child should be secretly put in the care of a certain gentleman of his acquaintance living at Salamanca, named Don Juan de Isasi Ydiaquez; and the Count-Duke proposes that this gentleman should be summoned to Court without telling him why he was wanted; and "after seeing him, your Majesty may decide." {237} Across this document Philip has written in his big straggling hand: "It appears very necessary that something should be done in this matter, and I approve of your suggestion."

[Sidenote: One of Philip's sons]

The rest of the papers unfold the poor sad little mystery. The babe in question was one of Philip's illegitimate children, christened Francisco Fernando, and he was probably his first son; born, as we are told in these papers, at the house of his grand-parents, who were gentlefolk, between eleven and twelve at night on the 15th May 1626; Don Francisco de Eraso, Count of Humanes,[21] leading the midwife thither and being present at the birth, the infant being conveyed immediately afterwards to the house of Don Baltasar de Alamos, Councillor of the Treasury, where a nurse awaited him, in whose care he remained until he was delivered by Olivares to his new keeper, the hidalgo of Salamanca, who belonged to a notable bureaucratic and secretarial family. The subsequent short career of the infant does not enter into our present subject; but it is fully detailed in the documents: the periodical reports of the child's progress, the grave discussions of Olivares with physicians and keepers as to his diet and health; the provisions for his proper education, his clothing and diversions, his infantile ailments, the most trivial circumstances of the child's life, are all considered and passed in review by the minister, upon whose bowed shoulders the whole work of the State rested. The little left-handed royalty, for all the care with which his life was surrounded, failed to resist the bleak air {238} of Salamanca, and on the 17th March 1634 the King's Secretary of State, Geronimo de Villanueva, of whom we shall hear again, wrote to the hidalgo Isasi Ydiaquez, saying "that his Majesty had received with the deepest grief the news of the death of Don Francisco Fernando, who showed such bright promise for his tender years, and his Majesty highly appreciated all the care that had been taken with him."[22] And a few days later, the little corpse, dressed in a red and gold gown, and enclosed in a black velvet coffin, was carried with all secrecy to the Escorial, where, in the presence of the inevitable Don Geronimo de Villanueva, the secretary and confidential agent of the King, the "body of Don Francisco Fernando, son of his Catholic Majesty Don Felipe IV.," was handed to the bishop of Avila in the porch of the church, and buried by the friars in the vaults of their monastery.

The frowning old Alcazar on the cliff overlooking the Manzanares, so often mentioned as the scene of Philip's festivities, was unfit for gaiety, and offered but few attractions to him. The Escorial for similar reasons was never a favourite residence of his; and Aranjuez was always insalubrious except in the spring. The Court therefore was usually in residence in Madrid itself, or in the neighbouring hunting seat of the Prado. But there was in the extensive and beautiful grounds attached to the monastery of St. Geronimo at the east gate of the capital a suite of apartments used {239} by the royal family for religious or mourning retreats, or for an occasional guest house. It occurred to Olivares in 1631 that this place might be made more attractive, and used more frequently as a relief to Philip from the stern mediæval palace at the other end of the town. The idea began with the mere levelling of an inequality here, the clearing of a lawn there, and the building of an aviary and a few fountains and summer houses. But very soon the Count-Duke's ambition grew, and he and Philip became fascinated and absorbed in the building of a palace which became to the reign of Philip what Versailles was to that of Louis XIV.

[Sidenote: The Buen Retiro]

The palace of the Buen Retiro was intended by Olivares, and truly was, a fit setting for the elegant, chivalric, and poetic surroundings of the King, a light and pretty retreat in the midst of enchanting gardens, where upon stages under the trees or in high and gilded halls the witty dissolute comedies might be played to an audience of the elect. Nothing that the inspiration of genius, the efforts of flattery, or the exercise of unrestrained expenditure could compass was spared by Olivares in making the Buen Retiro perfect for its purpose of keeping the King diverted. An immense territory, in addition to the monastery grounds, was appropriated for the purpose,[23] and Olivares exhausted all the horticultural knowledge of the time in laying out {240} the grounds with lakes, grottoes, and cascades; whilst in a very short time there arose in all its beauty the palace that in future was to be the symbol of Philip's elegant, picturesque, but useless reign.

Even before the building itself was finished, the place was inaugurated by a ceremony characteristic both of Philip and his minister. On the 1st October 1632, the King paid his visit to see the preparations being made for the festival to be held in celebration of the birth of an heir to his sister the Queen of Hungary. When he approached the new royal house, he was met by Olivares, who had conferred upon himself the post of honorary Constable of the Palace, bearing upon a silver salver the gold master-keys of the Buen Retiro.[24] Kneeling, he handed them to the King, who, touching them with his hand, signified that the bearer should retain them; and when, later, the festivities commenced in the recently built rooms, to continue thereafter for many days, Philip and his wife fairly fell in love with the place, whose lightsome grace was a revelation to them after the dark old Alcazar.

First there was a showy cane tourney, in which the King on horseback, with Olivares at his side, led a glittering troop of riders, Philip taking part in the festivities, as the flattering poet said, "not as a king but as a most gallant skilful gentleman." This splendid show the greatest poet of his time, Lope de Vega, then rapidly sinking into the grave, celebrated in verse. "The Vega del Parnaso," {241} dedicated to the first festival of the new palace, was an appropriate swan's song of the great dramatist, whose inexhaustible wit and invention had done so much to lead the thoughts of his countrymen to the theatrical expression of which this new fairy palace was to be the apotheosis. Afterwards there was one of the usual bull-fights; then running at the ring, with rich prizes of silver plate, of course won by the King, and afterwards a ball was held in the unfinished halls, at which, as at a modern cotillon, "perfumed purses of ducats and rich dress lengths" were given to the lady dancers.[25]

[Sidenote: Baltasar Carlos]

Only a few months before this, the Church of St. Geronimo had been the scene of another of those stately ceremonials which were the birthright of Spanish princes. There, upon a splendidly decked staging before the high altar, the tiny Prince Baltasar Carlos, who had been carried thither the day before, received the oaths of the Commons of Castile as heir to the throne. There were two violent altercations for precedence between nobles, even in the King's presence, before the ceremony; but all was silence as the chubby princeling, in crimson plush embroidered with gold, toddled up the nave to the staging, held in leading strings by his two uncles Carlos and Fernando; the first in a few months to sink into the grave, a silent, amiable young enigma to the last. The little Prince, we are told, carried a miniature sword and dagger covered with enamel and diamonds, and wore a black hat trimmed with bugles and diamonds, and adorned by scarlet plumes. It is {242} to be remarked that in most of these festivities Philip himself was faithful to his love of brown for his dress; and on this occasion is described as wearing light brown velvet embroidered with gold thread, and wearing the collar of the Golden Fleece, whilst he rested his hand upon the shoulder of his gentleman-in-waiting, the Count de Galve, clad smartly in crimson satin and gold.[26]

[Sidenote: Financial exactions]

In the meanwhile, over the tinkling of all this courtly gaiety, there echoed the distant rumbling of the storm. Mr. Arthur Hopton, the new English ambassador, left in Madrid to look after English commercial interests, and to push the eternal question of the Palatinate, wrote to Lord Dorchester in February 1631: "All the Spanish Barbary garrisons are starving, but the want of corn here is so great that every grain from Andalusia is sorely wanted for Castile."[27] But the extravagant expenditure on the Buen Retiro and on the never-ending war had to be met somehow, and Olivares had to incur increased odium by inventing new exactions. "The Count of Olivares," continues Hopton, "being the most industrious man in his master's service, and more so in the matter of his revenue than anything else, hath made him an instrument by directing a new imposition on salt, making the King the owner of all the salt that is spent, and delivering it out at 40 reals the fanega (_i.e._ 1½ bushels), whilst remitting 12 per cent. on the wine and oil excise that had nine years to run. This is a pretty way of imposing {243} taxation on the clergy and religious without the leave of the Pope."[28]

But the salt monopoly was much more than that, as Hopton soon found by the bitter complaints of the English shipmasters, who, now that the trade was reopened, had hoped to do a large business again with salt from Andalucia to England. Olivares replied suavely to all his remonstrances, that he wished to treat the English better than any others, but the King _must_ have money, and he hoped the increased price of salt would not alter the new friendship. It soon turned out that the new tax was to be in addition to, and not in place of, the wine and oil excise ("the millions," as it was called); and Hopton displays almost admiration at the financial resource of Olivares.

"He means to keep the millions too, now that he has got the other voted. I think it may be truly claimed that the inventor of this project hath discovered a way to bring a greater revenue to this King's purse than Columbus did that discovered the West Indies. Aragon has not yet consented, but probably will do so, as the tax is to be imposed on strangers (_i.e._ those who bought Spanish salt for export). When I was last with Olivares he let fall a word that makes me think they mean to satisfy his Majesty (_i.e._ King Charles of England) in another way. I said it would require good consideration to instruct their ambassador what reasons to make the imposition appear to be no breach of the _Article_. {244} He said: 'Doubt it not.' I said it would be fit to do it presently, for it would be better to come to his Majesty (Charles) by way of reason than complaint. He replied, 'We are providing some papers to send to the King (of England) that will not be unwelcome.'"[29]

What this "secret affair," as Hopton calls it, was does not appear; but doubtless it was one of Olivares' usual mystifications to keep the English complaints from being pushed too urgently, for the hosts of English shipmasters so long kept out of Spain by the war, but who were now crowding into Spanish ports to trade, were clamorous about the extortion and injustice to which they were subjected. Hopton bribed Olivares' subordinates heavily, and besieged the minister himself; but the resources of delay in Spanish diplomacy were infinite, and little redress could be obtained. Of sweet words Hopton found an abundance from Olivares, who was always ready to flatter in furtherance of his aims, and Hopton was inclined to be boastful of English prowess. "All the rest of the world must pardon me," said Olivares once to him, in answer to a bit of innocent brag, "but I hold no nation fit to fight in a royal Armada but England and Spain."[30]

Money, and ever more money, was Olivares' constant cry. "His time is principally taken up," says Hopton, "in arranging loans." The price of salt had been raised to 35 or 40 reals 1½ bushel for inland consumption or export, an enormous increase "which will bring an exorbitant revenue {245} if they can enforce it in all the kingdoms. They are also decreeing a tax on all royal grants, titles, and appointments, which will also bring a vast revenue." Writing to Lord Dorchester in August 1631, Hopton mentions the excessive price of all commodities in Madrid. "I can assure your Lordship that only in regard of the value of brass money, wherein all the trade of this country is done, what was last year at 30 per cent. and upwards is not now worth 10 per cent., the charge of living here since last year is one in five increased."[31]

[Sidenote: Spain's responsibilities]

Dire news too came from Central Europe, which foreshadowed the need of yet greater sacrifices for Spain. The meteoric Swede, Gustavus Adolphus, had entered the field on the side of France (January 1631), and was sweeping all before him. One imperial city after the other opened its gates to him, and some of the Emperor's feudatories who had been considered the most loyal rallied to the victorious enemy. The empire was altogether inadequate to face the strong new combination against it, and could only, as usual, appeal to Spain for resources. Looking back at the position with our present lights, it is impossible to understand the besotted folly that led Philip and his minister to assume the main burden of a war such as this. They had nothing material to gain by it. The religion, and even the territorial disputes, of the German princes were of no real importance to Spain, and a nation in the terrible financial and industrial condition of the latter was not justified in further consummating its ruin for the sake of an already outworn sentiment.

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[Sidenote: Fresh embarrassments]

Another trouble almost as pressing as the Emperor's war loomed also in the near future. The old Infanta Isabel was rapidly sinking to her grave childless; and in accordance with the calamitous agreement of 1598, the Flemish dominions of the house of Burgundy were to revert in that case to the crown of Spain, a fatal inheritance, the Flemish States being open to attack from France on one side and Holland on the other, and destined to keep Spain at war until the final catastrophe overwhelmed both nation and dynasty. Olivares had kept the two Infantes in the background until now; though, as we have seen by his paper of six years before, he had always foreseen the ultimate necessity of sending Fernando, the young Cardinal, to Flanders as his brother's representative. Carlos, silent, amiable, unambitious, and lacking in vitality, gave the minister little cause for anxiety; but Fernando was by far the cleverest of his house. The nobles of Castile were already looking to him as a possible leader against Olivares; and at last it was decided that Fernando should go to Flanders, to be near his aunt, and succeed as Governor for his brother when the Infanta should die. Carlos being, as he said, a man of arms, for once plucked up spirit to protest and claim his right, as senior, to go to Flanders, but Olivares said that after Baltasar Carlos, "who had growne sickly of late, and there is some doubt whether the King will have any more children,"[32] he (Carlos) was his brother's heir, and could not be allowed to go far away. He was mollified by promises that were never kept, that {247} he should be sent to command in Portugal or Catalonia; but in the summer of next year, 1632, as will be told, he sickened and died unmarried, greatly, no doubt, to the relief of Olivares, who dreaded the possibility of his being made a figurehead by his enemies.[33]

It was not easy to send Fernando to Flanders, even after it was decided to do so, and many months passed before even the money could be raised and preparations made for his going. Hopton wrote in August 1631: "The Infante Cardinal hastens his going to Flanders, and has arranged to borrow of the Fucars 240,000 ducats at 40,000 per month. The matter is so forward that the brokers have received the first payment, but I do not believe that he will go; for if he do it will be no easy matter to stay Carlos going to Portugal, and it is not likely that the King will leave the realm so destitute of his brothers, _and expose them to the familiarity with those who may be dangerous to him_." A month later he reported that, after all, the young Cardinal was not to go that year, "but may slip away secretly, in imitation of our King's coming hither."

In fact, serious news had suddenly reached Olivares from Central Europe. The battle of Breitenfeld, in which the Emperor's best General, Tilly, had been routed by Gustavus Adolphus, had made the latter master of Germany, and if he chose to march on, Vienna itself was at his mercy. Dismay reigned amongst the imperialists at this crushing blow, and as soon as Olivares received {248} the news at the end of September he sent for Hopton, late at night. The Englishman found him in great agitation. "There is no time for words," he said, "but for God's sake send to England post haste, telling them to send to Vienna at once every offer that may facilitate an arrangement with the Emperor. I speak out of my goodwill to England, and I am sending to Vienna with the same object." The real end of Olivares' move is evident. In the critical position of the imperialists, with most of the Emperor's feudatories falling away and John Frederick of Saxony in arms against him, joined to Sweden and France, this was the opportunity, if ever, for England to strike an effectual blow for the Palatinate. It is true that the Marquis of Hamilton and some Scottish mercenaries were already with Gustavus Adolphus, but this was not national war; and if England could be diverted into diplomatic negotiations during this time of the imperialists' adversity, all might be well, but if she joined the allies the house of Austria was ruined; and for the next few weeks, whilst the danger lasted, nothing could exceed the amiability of Olivares to the English.[34]

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