Book 4 — 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 passion subsisted between them, and that, after her lover's death, Isabella was herself sacrificed to the jealousy of a vindictive husband.

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 passion for his step-mother.[1539] Brantôme 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 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]

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]

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 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 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.

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 ambassador 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 assigns 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 constitution.[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 constitution 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 ambassador, "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 principal 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 ambassador 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 pass to a more pleasant kingdom; there, as I hope, to be for ever with my God. 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 God 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 ambassador 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. God 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."

HER OBSEQUIES.

"She then listened to the exhortations of her confessor, remaining in full possession of her consciousness, till a few minutes before her death. A slight restlessness seemed to come over her, which soon subsided, and she expired so tranquilly that it was impossible to fix the moment when she gave up the ghost. Yet she opened her eyes once, bright and glancing, and it seemed as if she would address me some further commands,—at least, her looks were fixed on me."[1565]

Not long before Isabella's death, she was delivered of a daughter. Its birth was premature, and it lived only to be baptized. The infant was laid in the same coffin with its mother; and, that very evening, their remains were borne in solemn procession to the royal chapel.[1566] The tolling of the bells in the churches and monasteries throughout the city announced the sad tidings to the people, who filled the air with their cries, making everywhere the most passionate demonstrations of grief;[1567] for the queen, says Brantôme, "was regarded by them not merely with feelings of reverence, but of idolatry."[1568]

In the chapel were gathered together whatever was illustrious in the capital,—the high ecclesiastics, and the different religious bodies, the grandees and cavaliers of the court, and the queen's ladies of honor. At the head of these stood the duchess of Alva, the mistress of the robes, with the duchess of Feria—an English lady, married to the Spanish ambassador at the court of Mary Tudor—and the princess of Eboli, a name noted in history. The coffin of the deceased queen, covered with its gorgeous pall of brocade, was placed on a scaffold shrouded in black, and surrounded with numerous silver sconces bearing wax tapers, that shed a gloomy lustre over the scene.[1569] The services were performed amidst the deepest stillness of the audience, unless when broken by the wailings of the women, which mingled in sad harmony with the chant of the priests and the sweet and solemn music that accompanied the office for the dead.[1570]

Early on the following morning the coffin was opened in presence of the duchess of Alva and the weeping ladies of her train, who gazed for the last time on features still beautiful in death.[1571] The duchess then filled the coffin with flowers and sweet-scented herbs; and the remains of mother and child were transported by the same sorrowing company to the convent of the barefooted Carmelites. Here they reposed till the year 1573, when they were borne, with the remains of Carlos, to the stately mausoleum of the Escorial; and the populace, as they gazed on the funeral train, invoked the name of Isabella as that of a saint.[1572]

In the course of the winter, Cardinal Guise arrived from France with letters of condolence from Charles the Ninth to his royal brother-in-law. The instructions to the cardinal do not infer any distrust, on the part of the French monarch, as to the manner of his sister's death. The more suspicious temper of the queen-mother, Catherine de Medicis, is seen in her directions to Fourquevaulx to find out what was said on the subject of her daughter's death, and to report it to her.[1573]—It does not seem that the ambassador gathered any information of consequence, to add to his former details.

Philip himself may have had in his mind the possible existence of such suspicions, when he told the cardinal that "his best consolation for his loss was derived from his reflection on the simple and excellent life of the queen. All her attendants, her ladies and maids, knew how well he had treated her, as was sufficiently proved by the extraordinary sorrow which he felt at her death. Hereupon," continues the cardinal, "he broke forth into a panegyric on her virtues, and said, were he to choose again, he could wish nothing better than to find just such another."[1574]—It was not long before Philip made the attempt. In eighteen months from the date of his conversation with the cardinal, the thrice-widowed husband led to the altar his fourth and last wife, Anne of Austria,—like her predecessor, as we have seen, the destined bride of his son. The facility with which her imperial parents trusted the young princess to the protection of Philip maybe thought to intimate pretty clearly that they, at least, had no misgivings as to the king's treatment of his former wife.

Isabella, at her decease, was but twenty-three years of age, eight of which she had been seated on the throne of Spain. She left two children, both daughters;—Catherine, afterwards married to the duke of Savoy; and Clara Eugenia, who became with her husband, the Archduke Albert, joint ruler of the Netherlands, and who seems to have enjoyed a greater share of both the love and the confidence of Philip, than he ever vouchsafed to any other being.

Such is the story of Queen Isabella, stripped of the coloring of romance, for which, in truth, it has been quite as much indebted to the pen of the historian as to that of the poet. From the whole account, it appears, that, if Carlos, at any time, indulged a criminal passion for his step-mother, such a passion was never requited or encouraged by Isabella, who seems to have felt for him only the sentiments that were justified by their connection, and by the appeal which his misfortunes made to her sympathy. Notwithstanding some feelings of resentment, not unnatural, when, in the words of Brantôme, "he had been defrauded of so fair a prize," there is yet little evidence that the prince's passion for her rose higher than the sentiments of love and gratitude which her kindness might well have awakened in an affectionate nature.[1575] And that such, with all his errors, was the nature Carlos, is shown, among other examples, by his steady attachment to Don John of Austria, his uncle, and by his devotion to his early preceptor, the bishop of Osma.

HER CHARACTER.

There is no proof that Philip was, at any time, displeased with the conduct of his queen, or that he regarded his son in the light of a rival. Least of all is there anything in the history of the time to show that he sacrificed his wife to his jealousy.[1576] The contrary is well established by those of her own countrymen who had free access to her during her lifetime,—some of them in the hour of her death,—whose correspondence with her family would not have failed to intimate their suspicions, had there been anything to suspect.

Well would it be for the memory of Philip the Second, could the historian find no heavier sin to lay to his charge than his treatment of Isabella. From first to last, he seems to have regarded her with the indulgence of an affectionate husband. Whether she ever obtained such an ascendancy over his close and cautious nature as to be allowed to share in his confidence and his counsels, may well be doubted. Her temper would seem to have been too gentle, too devoid of worldly ambition, to prompt her to meddle with affairs for which she was fitted neither by nature nor education. Yet Brantôme assures us, that she exercised a most salutary influence over her lord in his relations with France, and that the value of this influence was appreciated in later times, when the growing misunderstandings between the two courts were left to rankle, without any friendly hand to heal them.[1577] "Her death," he continues, "was as bitter to her own nation as it was to the Spaniards; and if the latter called her 'the Queen of Peace and Goodness,' the former with no less reason styled her 'the Olive-branch.'"[1578] "But she has passed away," he exclaims, "in the sweet and pleasant April of her age,—when her beauty was such that it seemed as if it might almost defy the assaults of time."[1579]

The queen occupies an important place in that rich gallery of portraits in which Brantôme has endeavored to perpetuate the features of his contemporaries. In no one of them has he traced the lineaments with a more tender and delicate hand. Even the breath of scandal has had no power to dim the purity of their expression. Of all that illustrious company which the artist has brought in review before the eyes of posterity, there is no one to whom he has so truly rendered the homage of the heart, as to Elizabeth of France.

But from these scenes of domestic sorrow, it is time that we should turn to others of a more stirring and adventurous character.

END OF VOLS. I. AND II.

LONDON C. WHITING, BEAUFORT-HOUSE, DUKE-STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.