D. John did not lightly accept the words of the Moors, well knowing how crafty and untruthful they could be. He took leave of them, however, in a kindly manner, and ordered them to return to Tunis, and to say there that he was coming at once at the head of his army, and that, with the help of God, he would take it at once, whether or not it opened its gates. He also commanded his gentlemen to take the Moors and give them food and make much of them, so as to give them time to see the formidable engines of war which were then being disembarked, and to take an account of them back to Tunis.

The next day, the 10th of October, D. John selected 1500 old soldiers of those who formed the garrison, and sent them on to Tunis, under the command of the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz, to find out and confirm the truth of what the Moors had said. Four hours later the rest of the army set out, in orderly formation, and as equipped and ready as if they were to meet an enemy at each step. The heat was stifling, in spite of its being already October; the soil was sandy and shifting, and the soldiers marched overcome by the weight of their heated armour and by the thirst which became burning. To set an example, D. John, as his father Charles V did in other days, went up and down the lines on horseback, in full armour and carrying his baton as Captain-General. Fr. Miguel Servia, who also took part in this expedition, says in his journal, "All the way His Highness went on his horse, ordering people and forbidding them to disband, showing himself first to the vanguard and then to the rearguard, at times commanding the artillery to march, and ordering the people to march in great order."

At last they reached the famous olive yards on the road to Tunis, where the veterans of Charles V had done such brave deeds, and there D. John ordered them to encamp round the wells, so that the soldiers were able to slake the burning thirst which devoured them. In all the march they had not seen a sign of the enemy, or of other human beings, except an old goatherd, who fled towards the mountains; this confirmed the news that the Turks and Moors had left the town.

Meanwhile the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz and his veterans had reached the gates of Tunis and found them wide open. But still fearful of the cunning and treachery of the Moors, they did not enter the town without great precautions. The soldiers walked one by one, in two long rows, close to the houses of the narrow lanes, arquebuses at their shoulders, pointing at the doors and windows, which seemed absolutely deserted. In many cases they saw signs of the recent sacking by the Turks, broken doors and shutters, and the beautiful courtyards with their arches and columns and marble cisterns in the centre, surrounded by orange trees and pomegranates loaded with fruit ruined.

In this way they crossed the town, and began to mount the Alcazaba, which was on a height to the west. It was spacious, and had very strong walls, and in one block of them, against a closed door, were to be seen about twenty Moors surrounding a fat old man, who was making signs with a piece of white linen, whom they guessed to be the Alcaide. The MarquÉs went forward on horseback, with four of his veterans, and, standing up in his stirrups, shouted out to know for whom the fortress was held.

The old man replied for the King Muley Hamida; but, as he had fled to Goletta, to put himself under the protection of the Lord D. John of Austria, the speaker was willing to give up the fortress to the said Lord D. John when he should appear. The MarquÉs was satisfied with this, and refused to take the keys, reserving this honour for D. John of Austria, to whom he sent a messenger at once, announcing the fact, and collected his troops in the arsenal, which was in the lower part of the town, there to await the arrival of the army. The soldiers went back with less caution, and, as they on their part committed no acts of violence, the people remaining in Tunis were reassured, and at the openings of the shutters began to appear sun-burnt childish faces, the forms of veiled women and old men, who came to the doors bowing to the invaders. There was also a great number of domestic animals, fowls above all, which wandered about the streets, seemingly having escaped from open farm-yards or deserted stables.

D. John of Austria received the message from the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz at a deserted place called Diana, two miles from Tunis, where he had camped. He ordered a crier to announce at once that the town of Tunis was given over to be sacked, on the understanding that no one was to be either wounded, killed, or taken as a slave. Then he continued the march, and arrived at Tunis at two o'clock. He left the army drawn up in front of the walls, and entered the town accompanied only by his captains, to reconnoitre it for himself, arrange barracks and billets to avoid misbehaviour on the part of the soldiery and give courage to the Moors who showed themselves, which were all those left in Tunis. The Alcaide of the Alcazaba came with the other principal Moors, and delivered up the keys of the fortress, with a humble but dignified address. D. John listened courteously, without alighting from his horse, and did not take the keys which the Alcaide offered on his knees. He made a sign to the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz that he should take them, as he was the first to enter the place.^[16] Then he wrote at once from the Alcazaba to his brother Philip II, announcing that His Majesty was Lord of Tunis without a shot having been fired. At last he gave the signal to sack the town. The loot was plentiful, and as far as it was possible the sack was orderly, without other outrage than the death of an old man who had taken refuge in a Mosque, and several fires, due to the Italians, whom D. John punished without loss of time, causing four of them to be hanged. "They found in the town," says the journal of Fr. Miguel Servia, "much wheat, barley, wool, butter, oil, and many garments; pimento, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, beautiful porcelain and veils. From the wells, cisterns and caverns they drew rich garments, gold, silver and other things; and these first days they all ate nothing but fowls, because there were countless numbers of them. The soldiers divided the spoil among themselves in their barracks afterwards, and nothing else was heard but digging in various parts of the town, and then selling what was found, clothing being sold for a low and wretched price. Some parts of the town the Italians set on fire, which much annoyed His Highness, but many people came up, and it was remedied."

A very extraordinary thing happened to D. John at the Alcazaba. This castle, which, as we have said, was big and strong, had within its walls large cloistered court-yards, orchards, and gardens, comfortable rooms richly furnished in the Moorish fashion, with pavements and fountains of white marble. These were the rooms of the King Muley Hamida, and in them D. John lived. There was a winding staircase by which to descend to a shady little garden, with hedges of myrtle and beautiful flower borders, and oranges and lemons, quinces and pomegranates. Beyond were the baths, and behind these the old ruined part of the Alcazaba. The day after his arrival D. John went to this garden, at the hour of siesta, in search of coolness. He was accompanied by Gabrio Cervelloni, Captain-General of the artillery, and by Juan de Soto, and they sat down on a sort of seat of Moorish tiles, under the shade of some creepers. The heat, the hour, the noise of running water, and the sweet peacefulness of this enchanting spot soon overcame the feeble conversation, and they were in that comfortable, charmed state which precedes sleep. Suddenly Cervelloni jumped up from his seat and put his hand on his dagger, D. John and Soto doing the same: along one of the myrtle-edged paths they saw slowly advancing an enormous lion with a tangled mane. The animal seemed astonished to see these persons, and paused for a moment, gazing about as if surprised, with one paw poised in the air. Then it quietly continued its walk, and went up to D. John, who had gone to meet it, rubbing against his legs like a dog, and throwing itself humbly at his feet. Then a Nubian slave appeared from the side of the baths, and explained by picturesque signs that his beautiful animal was a tame lion for the solace of King Hamida, and that it lived familiarly with all the dwellers of the Alcabaza. D. John then gently caressed the mane, and such a current of sympathy passed between the lion of Austria and the lion of the desert, that the latter became the devoted slave of the former, and thus the great knight D. Luis Zapata de Calatayud describes it, having often seen it: "D. John gave it his own name of Austria," says the already quoted Zapata in his Miscellany, "and neither by day nor by night, like a faithful captain, did it ever leave its post. When transacting business at Naples he had it lying at his feet like a greyhound, its head on the ground, and satisfied with the attention paid to it. When he dined it was at the table, and ate what D. John gave it. It came when he called it, and on the galley, the boat was its dwelling-place. When he was riding, it ran at his stirrups like a lackey, and if he went on foot, behind like a page. There was nothing in his royal house at which this gentle and obedient lion was not present, to the point of being by day or by night of those of his bed-chamber; and if it was cross with anyone who took hold of it, in order to rouse it, a word from the Lord D. John, calling, "Austria, quiet, come here," pacified it, and it went to throw itself on his bed. This beautiful and rare animal, when D. John left Naples for Flanders, gave such sighs and roars that it saddened and astonished all those of that kingdom, until at last, from sorrow for the loss and absence of its master, eating much and eating little, it died."

It is this lion which is painted in various portraits of D. John, whose gay, chivalrous nature made him sign himself for fun in the letters to his two great friends, D. Rodrigo de Mendoza and the Conde de Orgaz, as the Knight of the Lion, and in another letter to Gian Andrea Doria, lamenting his work in Flanders, he says, "The Knight of the Lion does not in the least envy the good life of Genoa, and its coast, as his life is as laborious as that of the Knight at Ease is peaceful."

D. John, according to Philip II's instructions, made a thorough examination of the fortifications and strategical position of Tunis, and had long talks about it with Gabrio Cervelloni, who was well versed in such matters; but, far from settling to dismantle the town, as the King thought, he decided to build a new fort, capable of holding 8000 men, to complete its defence. Tunis is situated on the banks of a lagoon, which is so shallow that it is called "el estaÑo" (the pond), which is no other than the ancient and famous port of Carthage, silted up by the centuries, and the carelessness and the filth of all Tunis which emptied itself there. The mouth of the lagoon is a narrow channel in the Gulf of Tunis, and it is in this opening that Goletta is situated, defending the entrance. On the opposite side there is an island, separated by another channel from Tunis, and it is here that D. John thought to build the new fort, with a covered communication with the Alcazaba. Most of those consulted warmly applauded the project, a few condemned it, faint-hearted ones or toadies, to whom not to agree with the King was openly to disobey him. But D. John, firm in his idea, ordered Gabrio Cervelloni to put it into execution without delay; which fact was not overlooked, and later the crafty Antonio PÉrez, always on the watch, knew how to make capital out of it.

Meanwhile the Moors were reassured by the humane and generous conduct of D. John. They trusted him absolutely, and daily the fugitives returned to their houses, and Moors of the country descended from the mountains to sell bread, meat, eggs, olives, fish, beef, mutton, and a thousand other things, as peacefully and with as much confidence and security as they would in an ordinary market. There still remained, however, a garrison of Turks in Biserta; but the Moor Horrus, who was the Alcaide, surprised them with a few neighbours, and beheaded them all. He then took a fine Turkish galley which was in the port, killing some of the crew, making slaves of others, and giving liberty to the 156 Christian captives on board. Having accomplished this feat, the twenty-two Moorish magnates went to Tunis, with the Christian captives, to deliver them up to D. John, and to make their submission to him.

This happened on the 13th of October, and on the 14th D. John, satisfied as to the submission of the kingdom, publicly gave it over to the Prince Muley Hamet; not with the title of King of Tunis, but with that of Governor in the name of His Catholic Majesty D. Philip II, King of Spain. He also wrote the same day to Goletta, giving D. Juan de Cardona orders to embark on a galley for Palermo, and gave another as an escort to the dethroned King Muley Hamida and his son, and all the other Moors of his suite who cared to follow them. At first the proud Moor refused to embark, but, convinced by his son and by those about him that resistance would be futile, he allowed himself to be taken on the galley without resistance. He was wrapped in a long mulberry-coloured cloak, with a white burnous over it, with the hood drawn, hiding his face with its swollen features. He was swarthy, with an evil countenance and a scanty beard. He walked slowly and with much dignity, his arms crossed, and his eyes fixed on the African soil which he was treading for the last time. When he embarked on the galley from the boat he received a salute of two cannons, and the crew gave theirs also, which they called "de forzado." Then his African impassiveness broke down, and he burst into tears, saying bitterly in Arabic, "King without a crown, man without freedom, salutes are unbecoming to you." Such was the King Muley Hamida, whom Cervantes calls "the cruellest and bravest Moor in the world."

Tunis quieted and the Moors content with their new government, D. John returned to Goletta and began the preparations for his departure. He left 8000 men divided between Goletta, Tunis, Biserta and the island where they were beginning the new fort, and named as Generals of these garrisons D. Pedro Portocarrero, Gabrio Cervelloni, D. Francisco de Avila, and D. Juan Zagonera. This done, he embarked on the 24th of October in the evening, taking with him all the remainder of the army, except the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz, who remained with the galleys under his command as rearguard. At Palermo he learnt of the death of Princess Juana, which had taken place at the Escorial on the 8th of September. The loss of this beloved sister affected D. John very much, and those of his household saw him, in the privacy of his room, cry like a child, which proves that bravery and energy are not weakened by feelings and the tears which spring from pure and tender affections. He ordered funeral rites in the churches, and the fleet to go into mourning, painting and hanging with black the masts, yards, oars and bulwarks of the ships.

This mourning, however, did not prevent the great reception D. John received in Naples. It was something like the solemn triumphs of the Roman conquerors of old; nor did the procession lack captive kings and princes, to wit, Muley Hamida and his son, or strange wild beasts of other countries, represented by the lion Austria, who walked at D. John's stirrups, led by two strong Nubians who waited on it, without its seeming surprised or put out by the bands, salutes, or the shouting of the mixed multitude which accompanied D. John all the way from the mole to the palace.

D. John entered Naples on the 12th of November, and on the 13th Juan de Soto left for Rome on a secret mission, to tell the Pope from D. John that the Tunis expedition was ended as far as it concerned him, and that if the Pope still intended to give him the kingdom as he had offered to do, that he should interpose his good offices with Philip II, so that D. John might accept it without any disloyalty and with Philip's absolute consent. The ambassador D. Juan de ZÚÑiga knew of the arrival of Soto in Rome, and although he did not know the reason, he hastened to apprise Philip II of the fact, who by it was filled with suspicion and fresh jealousy. He was, however, soon enlightened, as in a day or two the Nuncio Ormanetto, Bishop of Padua, presented himself on a special mission on behalf of Gregory XIII, and explained very minutely the Pope's plans for the kingdom of Tunis and for D. John, urging strongly that they should be approved and favoured. D. Philip listened attentively, and as if these plans were not for the good of all Christendom, but only for the benefit of D. John of Austria. He thanked His Holiness very much for the interest that he took in his brother, and charged the Nuncio to say so to Gregory XIII.

Three days later he wrote a letter to his brother, of which Lorenzo Vander-Hammen makes a precis thus:

"That he was not to be anxious about his person or promotion, as he would see to that as of one so near to him, but that this was not the time until it was seen what would be the result of the past expedition, nor could it be of use or value, but rather a great vexation and care to all; that he would consider the matter well as the case demanded, and if it were advisable he would be the first to assist in its execution, as he desired it."

Philip II was much annoyed at the result of his interview with the Nuncio Ormanetto, because he saw that the Pope was seriously thinking of raising D. John from his dependent position by giving him a crown, and that D. John, on his part, would go as far as his chivalrous loyalty permitted. Antonio PÉrez confirmed the King's fears, making him see that the preservation of the forts of Tunis contrary to D. Philip's opinion, and Juan de Soto's secret journey to Rome, were acts of real independence; and, although he did not dare to accuse D. John openly, he threw the blame on the secretary Soto, attributing everything to his influence and intrigues, and again insisted on the necessity of separating D. John from such a dangerous adviser, and of substituting for him an energetic, temperate man, who would know how to moderate these fiery ambitions. This temperate, energetic man whom PÉrez now ventured to propose was Juan de Escovedo, a former retainer of the Prince of Évoli and completely his creature, who was then secretary of the King at the Treasury.

All this irritated and perplexed D. Philip. He did not wish to vex the Pope, whose disinterestedness and holy aims he well knew; nor did he wish either to deprive his brother of all hope, because, although he did not doubt D. John's loyalty, he was afraid, having become suspicious, of subjecting it to undue proof.

In this difficulty he judged very wisely that the danger would cease with the opportunity, and he resolved to get rid, as far as possible, of "this care and worry of Tunis," and in this sense wrote to D. John the letter which we have already quoted. He also decided to follow the advice of Antonio PÉrez, appointing Juan de Escovedo as secretary to D. John; and as his natural prudence and judgment saw no reason for injuring Juan de Soto, or motive for depriving himself of Soto's useful services elsewhere, he confirmed him in the appointment of Commissary of the Fleet in Italy, which was both an honourable and lucrative post.

So Juan de Escovedo set out to join D. John at Naples, bearing express orders from the King and strong recommendations from Antonio PÉrez, to moderate D. John's ambitious aspirations, and reduce him to a mere instrument of the policy of his brother, without any views of his own. This man, celebrated afterwards for the gloomy drama of which he was the victim, was then between forty-five and fifty years old. He appeared rather a clownish peasant from anywhere than a noble of the Asturias. He was of middle height, thick-set, with heavy shoulders, and so swarthy and bilious-looking, that in the secret correspondence of Philip II and Antonio PÉrez he is often designated by the name of "verdinegro" (the dark green one). However, he compensated with interest for his rough ways and absolute want of manners by his generous, unselfish nature, his sterling honesty, clear understanding, and energetic activity, which rendered him capable of facing all obstacles. Ruy GÓmez and Luis Quijada esteemed him much and the latter honoured him not a little in his lifetime, and DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa had retained, in her retirement, such a happy recollection of his honesty and uprightness, that no sooner did she hear of his new appointment than she hastened to write him the following letter:

"Illustrious Sir; I desire to write to you to tell you the pleasure that it gives me to see you in the company of the Lord D. John, because I desire nothing in the world so much as to see such persons about him, for I know the necessity he has of this, and how he will profit by it, and as H.H. does not neglect to keep me informed, I have begged him to make the duty over to you, whom I ask to write by every post whatever you think that I might care to hear about D. John and what he does, and I also beg of you that no post should leave without bringing me information, because if this is not carried out, and the post comes with nothing, it gives me a great shock, and you can send the letters to the house of D. Pedro Manuel, and I will reply by the same means or as you may direct; and because I think that, although it will be a trouble to you, you will do it as a favour to me, I end by praying Our Lord to give you as good a journey and as much success as I wish you. May Our Lord keep and prosper your illustrious person as I wish. At your service,

---

Gregory XIII, on his part, never wavered in his ideas, and losing all hope that Philip II would help him in his plans for the kingdom of Tunis, he turned to another scheme which had been a failure in the time of Pius V, but which he desired to resuscitate with fresh life and vigour by confiding its execution to D. John of Austria, "because of his valour and good fortune," quoth the Pontiff, who matured in silence his secret project, which was to bring so much good to Christendom and so much glory to D. John, and until he could divulge it he contented himself with lavishing proofs of esteem and affection on him, such as were then only shown to kings and reigning princes.

In March of that year, 1574, he sent to Naples by his Chamberlain the Golden Rose, blessed on Palm Sunday, which, according to ancient custom, the Pope was in the habit of sending to the king or queen who had deserved the most gratitude from the Holy See during the year. This unusual honour frightened the Viceroy of Naples, Cardinal de Granvelle, who was no friend of D. John, and he hastened to apprise Philip II of the fact. The Chamberlain arrived at Naples with the Golden Rose on the 24th of March, and on the 25th the solemn presentation took place in the church of St. Clara. The friars of St. Clara, great admirers of D. John, put a crimson velvet carpet on the Gospel side, to receive him, with a chair and curtain, as they would have done for an Infante of Spain. Granvelle knew of this, but held his tongue and let it pass, in order to have something against D. John, if he had accepted the honour; but he, warned in time, ordered the canopy to be removed and another chair to be placed at the left of his own for Granvelle.

Great was the enthusiasm in Naples over the new honour bestowed on D. John, and all wished to take part in it. It was a point of honour with the ladies to go to the festival with symbolical roses in their head-dresses and at their breasts, and they bombarded everyone, from the Cardinal to the smallest acolyte, with demands for seats. It was, however, impossible to satisfy them all, and on this day noble ladies were seen in the gutter, crowded on the stairs, in the doorways, and even in the recesses of the chapel, anxious to see everything and to be seen.

There were faintings from lack of air, cries of protest, bad-tempered pushing, crumpled ruffs, crooked caps, creased petticoats, unfastened shawls, lost jewels, and heaps of petals from the roses that had occupied such honourable positions. The necklace of the wife of an important Councillor was broken; it was a string of pearls, and only half a dozen could be recovered.

D. John came between the Cardinal Granvelle and the Archbishop of Monreale, and was followed by all the numerous princes, marquises and counts who were in Naples, and by a crowd of gentlemen. A Bishop celebrated the Mass, and the Bishop of Castellamare, who was Chaplain to the King, gave D. John the Pax and presented him with the Gospels to kiss. The Pope's Chamberlain was on the Epistle side, on a seat without a back covered with crimson velvet. He wore a black velvet cassock, and over it a crimson garment. The Golden Rose was displayed on the high altar in a big silver jar. It was of massive gold, with its foliage a foot high; it had diamonds sprinkled over it like drops of dew, and the green leaves were made of emeralds, some of enormous size. Mass over, the Chamberlain took a brief of the Pope and gave it to D. John to kiss, and then to a secretary to read aloud. The reading finished, D. John knelt down on a cushion of crimson velvet before the Bishop who had celebrated the Mass, and who, taking the Golden Rose from the hands of an ecclesiastic, gave it to D. John, saying, "Our Holy Father, Gregory XIII, Very Serene Prince, sends you this consecrated rose, in token of his benevolence and paternal love. By his orders I give it to your Highness."

To which D. John replied, "I kiss the feet of His Holiness for so great a favour, and I receive the rose with the veneration due to something so sacred, sent by the Vicar of Christ, universal Shepherd and head of the Church."

At this time there broke out in Genoa the famous disturbances between the old and the new nobility, called respectively "the Porch of St. Luke" and "the Porch of St. Peter," and Philip II, who held the protectorate of this republic, hastened to send D. John of Austria with a few galleys to pacify the insurgents with skill and cleverness; and if it were not possible to quiet them by any other means, to do so by force of arms. The Pope heard of his passing Gaeta, which was only twenty leagues from Rome, and on the pretext of greeting him, sent his son Jacobo Boncompagni, who carried secret instructions to apprise D. John of those mysterious plans over which the Pope had long been meditating. Marco Antonio Colonna accompanied Jacobo on his own account, as also did the Spanish ambassador in Rome, D. Juan de ZÚÑiga.

The three illustrious personages came to visit D. John on the 18th of April on board his galley with a numerous and brilliant suite, and the next day D. John landed to give them a royally sumptuous banquet in the house of the Governor of Gaeta. The long, wide table was set in the principal saloon, with two places side by side laid with services of rich plate, D. John giving the place of honour to Jacobo. On the right, but at a respectful distance, was a similar place for Marco Antonio Colonna, and at an equal distance on the left another for D. Juan de ZÚÑiga. One hundred and twenty-three dishes were served with all the viands and exquisite sauces for which Italian cooking was then so famous, without counting dessert, which covered the table three times, with different conceits of towers, tournaments, castles, and wild beasts, with pastry and delicious sweetmeats; more than forty kinds of wine were passed round. The merriment and good temper of the illustrious guests never flagged for a moment, and the crowd of noble gentlemen, who stood respectfully watching the banquet, snatched a mouthful at the sideboard, and were satisfied with abundant cups of wine.

At the end of dinner Boncompagni asked D. John's permission to present him with the gift that Gregory XIII had sent: some very rich tournament armour, a great black velvet pouch full of gold medals that had been blessed, which D. John divided among those present, and a little chest of red velvet containing a beautiful group of the Crucifixion, of great artistic merit. The Pope kept this chest in his rooms, and it was enriched with numerous indulgences.

In return for these presents D. John gave Boncompagni a horse worth 500 ducats, and its trappings which cost 2500, and a sword ornamented with gold worth 800 ducats.

The next day, on board the galley "Real," under the awning of striped red and white damask which stretched in front of D. John's cabin, Boncompagni confided to him the mysterious enterprise which Gregory XIII proposed to undertake with D. John's help. D. John listened attentively in silence, from time to time his blue eyes flashed with enthusiasm. It was a question of setting at liberty a beautiful captive queen and snatching a kingdom from the heretics.

Meanwhile the capture of Tunis had made patent to all Europe how deep was the wound that the credit and power of the Ottoman Empire had received at Lepanto. This great defeat was no doubt a disaster for the Turks; but a glorious disaster, both on account of the deeds of valour they had performed, and the titanic efforts it cost the victors to gain the triumph. The flight from Tunis without firing a shot, at the mere presence of D. John two years after this rude warning, showed how deeply rooted was the terror in the souls of the infidels, and how the renown of the Christian bravery had been enhanced, especially that of the Spaniards. All this cruelly wounded the overweening pride of Selim, and he was consumed with the desire of avenging himself by reconquering Tunis and Goletta. He was urged, with malicious eagerness, to undertake this enterprise by Aluch Ali and the renegade Mustafa, one of the engineers who built Goletta in the time of Charles V. The name of this traitor was Jacobo Zitolomini. Resenting the treatment he had received from Philip II, he fled to Algiers to Aluch Ali, who took him to Constantinople, where he revealed to Selim a sure and secret way of taking Goletta.

At the beginning of May, 1574, D. John received an urgent message from Gabrio Cervelloni, to say that the Turks were preparing a very powerful fleet; that it was feared that they would fall suddenly upon Tunis, and that, in consequence of this, funds should be sent as quickly as possible to finish the new fort, which was not yet completed. D. John was at Genoa, quieting the disturbances there, and he hastened to send the Commissary of the Fleet Juan de Soto to Madrid, to warn Philip II of the danger which threatened. The King was not much alarmed about this, and, perhaps, saw a prompt and certain opportunity of ridding himself of this care and worry of Tunis. At any rate, his answer makes it clear that this new conquest was the least of his cares, and while writing to Cardinal Granvelle, Viceroy of Naples, and to the Duque de Terranova, Regent of Sicily, that they were to guard the ports and reinforce the garrisons, especially in Messina, Augusta, Syracuse, Trapani and Palermo, he contented himself with adding that they were not to forget to help his brother, and to look after the coast of Barbary. He also ordered D. GarcÍa de Toledo and the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz to watch how D. John was garrisoning Goletta, and to the latter the King wrote that he was to do what he judged best in the matter, but that he was to remember that he had said that 2000 foot soldiers were enough to defend Goletta. D. John then sent D. Juan de Cardona with all the galleys under his command to Tunis without loss of time, taking the help for which Gabrio Cervelloni craved. This was not sufficient, and those in Tunis reiterated their request. D. John then exhausted all his resources, and sent D. Bernardino de Velasco with twenty Neapolitan galleys and four companies of Italian infantry. With these comings and goings summer was getting old, and on the 13th of August, at the Cape of Carthage, appeared the dreaded Turkish fleet of 300 ships and 60,000 soldiers, the fleet being commanded by Aluch Ali, and the troops by Selim's son-in-law Sinan Pasha, the renegade.

A great outcry arose at the extreme peril of the Barbary Christians, and by every means in their power they sent to ask help from Granvelle, Terranova, and, above all, from D. John of Austria, in virtue of his office and Christian piety. He wished to fly to their aid, abandoning everything. He wrote first, however, to the Duque de Sesa, "To urge the Cardinal to send people to help Goletta, as that province was in his charge." But the imperturbable Granvelle replied coldly, "That he had much to guard in the Kingdom, and that it did not suit him to divide his forces." "This was," says Vander Hammen, commenting on the fact, "to give colour to the excuse. The real reason was Granvelle's dislike to support D. John, jealous of his favours with Mars and Venus, and because he was a foreigner, and because his brothers conspired in the Flemish rebellion;" and Luis Cabrera de CÓrdoba expresses himself in similar words, equally severe, not forgetting Mars and Venus. And D. John himself wrote to his sister Donna Margarita: "In short, Lady, everything goes badly; and in truth it is not entirely the fault of His Majesty, except for permitting those who govern his States to forget that those in their vicinity, or those that are not, are as much His Majesty's as those which each minister has charge of."

Meanwhile D. John, tired of waiting for orders, troops and money which did not come, and making it a point of honour to go to Tunis, moved with desperate activity from Genoa to Naples, Messina and Palermo, recruiting soldiers everywhere, chartering ships, and pledging for all this his plate, his jewels, and even his word, until he had collected at Messina a moderate fleet with no lack of fighting men. He was all ready to sail for Africa, when he met with another obstacle, more powerful than the calculated coldness of Philip II, or the jealous hatred of the Cardinal. The sea! The terrible sea which rose in a furious storm which threw him to Trapani, much against his will, and kept him there days and days, giving time for Christians to perish and for the Turks to become victorious. Three times he tried to leave the port, defying the storm, and as often had to retire before the surging waves. Then he sent four galleys without quarter-decks and platforms on the forecastles to take the mere hope of help to Goletta, but the implacable tempest prevented this by destroying two of them. At last the weather improved; but before D. John could put to sea, a French galley, without masts and knocked about by the storm, was driven into the port of Trapani. On board of her was D. Juan Zagonera, with fifty soldiers, all that remained at liberty of the garrison that D. John had left in Barbary. From them he heard of the terrible disaster. The Turks were in possession of Tunis; three thousand soldiers were dead, and the rest wounded or captives; Pagano Doria had been beheaded; Gabrio Cervelloni, D. Pedro Portocarrero and D. Francisco de Avila were the slaves of Sinan; the new fort razed before it was finished; and Goletta, the glorious legacy of Charles V, blown up by mines, and erased from the African soil by Aluch Ali, as the wind of the desert obliterates footprints.

Those who were jealous of D. John blamed him for this catastrophe, with which he had had nothing to do; the sensible public opinion, at times so right and sharp, blamed Granvelle, and songs, which have come down to us, were sung on the subject in the streets. A few, but very few, said in a whisper, as in those days it was necessary to do, that the Cardinal was not responsible, since in refusing aid to Goletta he had obeyed secret orders from Madrid. Of this, however, absolutely no proof exists.

The energetic nature of D. John was not depressed by this bad news; but it awoke a thousand different sentiments in his mind, and under the impression of disgust, sorrow and wounded dignity, and, above all, his loyal frankness, which always urged him to treat questions openly and in a straightforward manner, he resolved to go to Spain to confer with his brother Philip II face to face about three different questions which were connected with each other—as to his remaining permanently in Italy as Lieutenant-Governor of those States, his recognition as Infante of Castille, and the mysterious scheme that Gregory XIII had proposed to him.

So it fell out, and by January, 1575, D. John was already in Madrid. On the 15th of February he wrote to his sister Donna Margarita:

"Lady, I, praised be God, arrived a few days ago at this Court, where I have received such kindness from His Majesty that only to have gained this I consider that I have spent my life well. Since my arrival I think that he understands Italian affairs very differently from what he did before. I had thought, as I had prayed His Majesty, to stay some time in Madrid; but in the end he is resolved to order me to return to those parts, and is in a great hurry to send me off. I think that I shall start in the middle of the coming month, and I also think that I go to begin a new sort of service according to what suits His Majesty. Meanwhile one has to overcome difficulties and hasten on the things required for this summer's campaign.

"To all this I pay so much attention that each day, in councils and out of them, I do nothing else. It is already drawing so near summer, that I am satisfied with nothing that I do not see. Here, Lady, everything is councils; every day I hold two, besides a thousand other occupations, which leave me no time that I can call my own."

D. Philip was under the spell of the fascination that D. John always exercised, and, notwithstanding the groundless suspicions of Antonio PÉrez, he received his brother with loving affection and the gratitude and graciousness due to a leader who had added such lustre and glory to the arms and name of Spain. He listened long, and with great interest, to D. John's information about Italian affairs, changing his opinion much about them. He agreed with D. John in blaming the Ministers and Viceroys of those States, especially Granvelle and the Duque de Terranova. He talked over and fixed the loans which should be made to the various councils to enable them to guard themselves that summer against the Turk, whose pride had to be humbled after the recent capture of Tunis; and finally appointed him, with the approval of the whole council, and to the secret horror of Antonio PÉrez, his Lieutenant-General of all Italy, with authority over all the Viceroys and Ministers who governed those States. This, however, was to remain a secret, to spare the reputations and prestige of these functionaries, and was only to be manifested in case of abuse of authority or boast of independence. "This for Y. Highness only, I beg for many reasons," wrote D. John from Naples to Donna Margarita. "I also bring an order that everyone has to act with obedience; but this is only to be used when some Minister persuades himself to the contrary, which I do not think will happen, as by letters they have learnt what concerns them."

D. John, encouraged by this, dared to present the second part of his programme, which was that, in order to wound no one and to give an outward sign of this supremacy over the Italian Ministers, the King should concede to him the rank and title of Infante, which was spontaneously given him by all, great and small. D. Philip did not like to refuse this well-deserved favour, but with excuses made D. John understand that the time was not ripe for this. He did not do this out of ill-will, or from miserly stinginess, or still less from jealousy of his fame and renown, as some say, but because it was one of the maxims of this prudent King, inherited from his father Charles V, to stimulate the services of the Grandees with a reward in proportion to their rank; and without giving D. John a crown, which Philip did not wish to do, there remained no other reward worthy of him but the title of Infante, and it seemed premature to give him this now, considering the many and important services Philip hoped to obtain from him in the future.

As to the project of Gregory XIII, D. John did not have to broach the subject to his brother. D. Philip himself began it, having already talked over and settled it with the Nuncio Ormanetto.

Four years before these events, in June, 1571, a little old, nervous and active Italian arrived in Madrid. He called himself Giulio Benasai, a merchant from Genoa; he stopped at an inn, near the gate of the Viper, now the Puerta Cerrada, and very early the next day began his visits, which were anything but commercial ones. He visited Monsignor Ormanetto, the Pope's Nuncio; Dr. Milio, governor, in the Duke's absence, of the Alba estates; the secretaries Zayas and Mateo VÁzguez, and lastly, five days after his arrival, on the 28th, he visited the King, Philip II, at the Castle. This visit, however, was very different from the others, it was paid secretly at night, and once inside the Castle he no longer called himself Giulio Benasai, or a native of Genoa, or a merchant. His name was Roberto Ridolfi, a banker in London, and secret agent of His Holiness Pius V in that heretic country.

Ridolfi gave three letters, substantially alike, into Philip's own hands. These begged him to give Ridolfi his entire confidence, and to undertake what he would explain, granting all the resources he deemed prudent in order to further the enterprise. They were from no less personages than Pius V, the Queen of Scots, Mary Stuart, then a prisoner in England, and the third one from the Duke of Norfolk.

The project was this; to capture the heretic Queen of England, Elizabeth, and the lords of her Council, and shut them up in the Tower of London; to marry the lawful Queen, Mary Stuart, to the Duke of Norfolk, and in this way to re-establish Catholicism in England and Scotland. Philip's aid was sought for the plan, and they had already obtained the support of the most influential English lords and of Mary's partisans in Scotland, who were then numerous and powerful. The Pope had prepared the way by hurling his terrible Bull against Elizabeth, declaring her to be an obstinate heretic and an abettor of heresy, deposing her from the English throne and absolving her subjects from their oaths of fealty and obedience. He promised, moreover, all the funds that the Holy See had at its disposal.

For this enterprise the Duke of Norfolk asked the King of Spain for 6000 arquebusiers, 4000 arquebuses, 2000 cuirasses and 25 pieces of artillery, with the necessary money and ammunition. He promised, for his part, to raise in England 3000 horsemen and 2000 foot soldiers and to undertake the dangerous task of capturing the Queen and her Councillors and of setting Mary Stuart free. He also promised to remain on his estates in Norfolk, facing the coast of Holland, to protect the landing of the troops that the Duque de Alba was to send from Flanders. The Duque had talked to Ridolfi in Brussels and approved of the plan, with certain reservations, and even thought it an easy one, once Elizabeth was either captured or dead; he waited, however, for the orders and consent of his Sovereign.

Philip II listened to Ridolfi with his usual reserve and caution, and sent him to the Escorial, where the Duque de Feria examined him at length, and where an important council was held on the 7th of July, the minutes of which are preserved in the archives at Simancas. They all approved of the plan and agreed to order its prompt execution by the Duque de Alba. But such was the slowness of Philip in settling the details and such was his indecision about dictating the last orders, that time was given for Norfolk to be denounced, tried, and publicly beheaded in London.

It was this scheme, ruined by the death of Norfolk, which Gregory XIII wished to resuscitate. He sent another Bull, similar to the one of Pius V, giving the sovereignty of England to her legitimate Queen, Mary Stuart, and marrying her to D. John of Austria, who was to command the Spanish hosts which were to invade England. The Pope had already consulted the English and Scotch lords and other magnates who were willing to support Norfolk's movement, and they undertook to perform all that they had previously promised to the unhappy Duke. To reinstate the plan in the same advantageous position it had held in the days of Pius V only the consent and help of Philip and D. John were lacking. At his interview at Gaeta with Jacobo Boncompagni D. John enthusiastically gave his consent, subject to his brother's will, which was for him an unbreakable law. But Philip, on his part, received the proposal coldly when it was unfolded to him in the name of Gregory XIII by the Nuncio Ormanetto; he very courteously thanked the Pope for the favour shown to his brother, but excused himself from helping the enterprise because of the necessity there was of concentrating large armies in Italy for fear of the Turk, who had been heartened by the triumph of Tunis, and in Flanders where the rebels were also encouraged by the departure of the Duque de Alba. And as the Nuncio argued, pointing out the truth so well known to the politicians of the day, that the focus of the rebellion had to be stamped out, not in Flanders, but in England, where the Queen was always stirring it up and helping the rebels in every way, D. Philip answered that this was true and that he knew it full well; but that all the same he could not remove a single pike from Flanders until the new policy of gentleness and reconciliation, which he had entrusted to the Knight Commander Requesens, had taken effect. Then he would consider whether or no the expedition to England would suit him.

Philip gave his brother the same answer when they treated of the circumstance, adding other reasons, all tending to bind D. John tighter to his service, without disappointing him or at once dissipating the dreams he might have woven round such a romantic plan as conquering a kingdom by setting a beautiful captive queen at liberty, which must have appealed so strongly to D. John's chivalrous fancy. So D. Philip promised, without any intention of fulfilling it, according to Antonio PÉrez, or as we think, meaning to do so if it suited the plans of his policy to favour Gregory's scheme when the danger of a fresh war with the Turk, which then threatened, was over.

And as if to bring D. John down from the sphere of heroic ideas, where genius usually dwells, to the petty weaknesses among which most mortals struggle, in the next line the King spoke of what in certain ways was the only thing which could humiliate and shame D. John, and which embittered his life—the conduct of his mother—which had reached such a pitch that no one frequented her house but low persons, among whom was an Englishman, supposed to be on too intimate terms with her. The Duque de Alba, who, though severe, was not straitlaced, had upbraided her without success several times, and, tired out, had decided to write the following letter to the secretary Zayas:

"Very magt. Sir. An affair is taking place here which much troubles me, because I have tried by every means to remedy it, without success, and it has reached such lengths, that it would be well if H.M. should quickly cure it. You will be doing me a favour to tell H.M. that the mother of D. John lives with so much liberty, in a manner so unlike that in which the mother of such a son should live, that it is necessary to put a stop to it, as the affair is so public and so free and open that they tell me that no honourable woman will enter her doors. Things have come to such a pass that they are changing the servants every week, and in my absence she has gone so far, that most days there are dances and banquets. She has turned out the two honourable old spinsters I placed near her and has filled their places with low women. She is dreadful and very obstinate. His Majesty will order what he wills, I had resolved to take her by night and put her in a convent, but I did not like to do so without first consulting him."

D. Philip answered the Duque de Alba by the following letter written in cipher.

"The King.

"Duke and Cousin. Cayas has shown me the letter you wrote about my brother D. John's mother, which, for reasons you mention and enter into, grieves me much, because she does not live with seemly modesty and respectability; and it appears to me, as it does to you, that the only thing to do is to bring her here, and her son is also of the same opinion, to whom I have sent Juan de Soto, to say I have done it for her welfare, these States being in the condition they are, without saying more, as there was no need to do so, and, as I understand the journey is to be by sea, if they were to tell her beforehand, it is very likely that she would do something foolish; it would be well to keep her in the dark until a safe ship is found, and then, everything being ready and the weather fine, to put her on board, whether she likes it or not, with a suitable retinue, giving orders that everything necessary for the journey should be provided, and that during it she should be well treated. Let me know in time, that she may be met at the port, and from there taken to the nearest and most suitable convent, which I have not yet decided on."

It was not the first time that the brothers had talked about this painful subject; but now D. John knew all, without palliation or reserve. D. Philip told him in wise and tactful words, like a kind surgeon, who, without wishing to pain, probes a wound, and suggested the remedy like a father who discusses a sad family matter. As there was no other way, they determined to remove Barbara Blombergh from Flanders by deceiving her, and to bring her to Spain, where, by D. John's proposal, she should be given into the charge of DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa, that this noble lady should settle her in her own proximity, wherever, in her prudence, discretion and charity, she deemed best. This idea appeared an excellent one to D. Philip, and a few days later D. John set out for Abrojo, where DoÑa Magdalena was expecting him.

Never had the mourning figure seemed so dignified to him, or had he found such sweet and deep repose in her company, or thought that he saw in her still beautiful eyes such intense love, such maternal solicitude, or such tender grace as when she showed him the big coffers of linen which she had ready for him, neckties of Flemish point which she herself tried on, and the full starched ruffs, very full as she knew that he liked them.

And it was his yearning for a mother, exasperated by the disillusion about his own parent, that was comforted by the pure love and great virtues of that other whom a merciful Heaven had sent to him. D. John stayed four days at Abrojo, confiding everything that was on his mind to DoÑa Magdalena, joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, triumphs and disappointments, errors and repentances; and when she said good-bye at the convent door, she thought, as she did the first time she saw him on the staircase of Villagarcia, "It is a pity he is not really my son!" And he said to himself with infinite bitterness, as he kissed her hand for the last time, "It is a pity that she is not really my mother."

D. John left Abrojo with the profound regret and vague mistrust that a wanderer feels who sets out on the desert sand after a day's rest in an oasis. A friendly voice, however, encouraged him all that day, telling him that a glorious future was his, if he fought with firmness and waited with patience, which is the advice constancy gives that fiery activity should achieve its purpose: that Gregory XIII's idea was certain to be realised because it was great and just, and easy and feasible, and in the end he would share the throne with the hitherto unfortunate Queen of Scots; the England of D. John and the Spain of Philip being the two strong pillars of the Holy Catholic Church.

He who spoke thus to D. John was Escovedo, whom Philip had commissioned to moderate D. John's ambitious thoughts. And the most strange thing is that Escovedo was clever and honest and was talking seriously.

Antonio PÉrez relates in his famous "Memorial" that at first the secretary Escovedo served the King very well in moderating the ambitious ideas of D. John, but that "as time went on it was evident that he not only did not fulfil the purpose for which he had been sent (to Italy), but that his boldness, like that of Juan de Soto, increased, and that in particular it was known that he began to have communication with Rome for some benefit or grandeur for D. John, without informing his Majesty."

There is truth in all this, mingled with much falsehood, as is the case with all the contents of this venomous book. Escovedo never thought that D. John was acting through vulgar ambition; although vulgarity is found in all spheres, it was distasteful to his heroic nature; but he really thought, as Antonio PÉrez assured him, that D. John was blinded by his ambitious ideas, and was craving the protection of Rome to carry into effect visionary plans, which, to say the least, would hamper his brother's policy, and that, in short, he was a brave youth, flushed by his victories, whom it would be necessary to lead by the hand along the beaten path of common sense, that he should not engulf his own great qualities in the abyss of daring and fantasy. This is what Escovedo believed about D. John when he went for the first time to Italy in the capacity of secretary: but, learning to appreciate the frank charm of his ways and the simple cheerfulness of his loyal character, he retracted this opinion, and, little by little, the more he knew of D. John and his affairs, the more he became convinced that what Antonio PÉrez called his foolhardy notions were really vigorous flights of genius; and that what he named fantastic plans were the well-considered schemes of two Pontiffs like Pius V and Gregory XIII, who were those that thought of and upheld the project of conquering England; and that, quite contrary to what PÉrez said, the solicitations at Rome, far from being humiliating to the King of Spain, were honourable offers made, times and again, to D. John by the Popes, who were enchanted by his bravery and valour, and were convinced that this John, sent by God, was called to be one of the firmest pillars of the Catholic Church.

Then the same thing occurred which had happened to Juan de Quiroga and afterwards to Juan de Soto. Escovedo became as devoted to D. John as they had been; he was converted into a sincere admirer, who loudly sang D. John's praises and began to favour his plans with all the force of his energetic and passionate nature, giving a strange instance, which proves so much, of three men of recognised merit, of unimpeachable honour and upright intention, all warned by Antonio PÉrez against D. John's ambitious plans, falling, one by one, under the spell of his charm, and, against their own interests, devoting themselves to serving and helping him. A great proof that the spell D. John used to throw over these people to draw them to him was, without any doubt, his own worthiness.

This change in Escovedo was effected very quickly, and Madrid knew of it at once, as by June, 1575, it was already an anxiety there, as is shown by the following note written, according to that prudent Monarch's habit, by Philip on the margin of a letter of Mateo VÁzguez's. "The arrival of Escovedo is certain, as you will see by this letter, and although it appears he is not coming to ask for money, I am, to the last degree, broken-hearted and tired out by it: although it will be well to send him on at once, I cannot help thinking that he is encouraging him and that that is why he is sent and no one else."

Escovedo did not come to Spain in search of money, although this was very scarce, as it always was in all D. Philip's undertakings: D. John sent him to notify to the King a new complication which had arisen in Genoa, due to the intervention of the Pope in these circumstances, and to ask for instructions on so delicate a matter.

Having overcome the danger of the Turk in the summer of 1575, D. John gave himself up with perseverance all the rest of that year and the next to ending these quarrels which might undermine the influence of Spain in Italy and even drag her into a war with France. He therefore watched the trend of affairs, sometimes in Naples, sometimes in Genoa itself, finding time and opportunity in both places to give himself up to gay amusements, even to culpable excesses, to which his youth disposed him and the relaxed morals of the day incited him.

It is to this period of his life that must be assigned his intrigues with the unhappy Zenobia Saratosio, who ended by crying over her sin in the convent of St. Mary of Egypt, and with DoÑa Ana de Toledo, the proud and domineering woman, who, perhaps, would have been the ruin of D. John, had he not by an effort of his strong will, sharpened by a sense of duty, torn himself in time from her evil influence. Luckily these flowery chains did not bind D. John's manly soul; he broke at every step all that impeded his indomitable temper, or what was insisted on by the disquieting voice of remorse.

One night D. John was supping in the palace of DoÑa Ana de Toledo with several others of those who screened and upheld his evil ways. Suddenly one of his captains of the guard entered hurriedly with the news that on one of the galleys, taken at Lepanto, the "Renegada," the crew, formed of one hundred captive Turks, had risen, killed four soldiers on guard and a boatswain, and had fled with the galley. Crimson with rage, D. John jumped up, leaving his cup of wine half drunk, and ordered the captain to go before him to the mole to warn the galley "Real" that he was at once setting out to pursue the fugitives. In vain DoÑa Ana begged him not to go, but to send one of the 160 galleys anchored in the port. D. John answered her that it would all be the work of a moment, and that in less than three hours he would return to finish his half-drunk cup. The wilful and tyrannical woman insisted with tears, wishing to bend him to her caprice and menacing him with a cessation of her favours if he refused her. But without saying more D. John dashed into the street, preceded by two pages with torches, calling out to all the soldiers he met on the way, "Quick! Soldiers! Quick! They have taken a galley from us."

He only met a dozen foot soldiers and one sergeant, Rivera, and with them went to the mole, jumped on the "Real," and left the port. The night was dark and the sea rough, and the "Real" flew along, with her lanterns unlighted, impelled by the rowers, who were encouraged by the great rewards offered by D. John.

They overtook the "Renegada" off the entrance of Capri. Seeing the "Real" suddenly appear and deeming it an ordinary galley, the crew prepared to defend themselves; but when they recognised the ship, fear paralysed the fugitives and they did not dare to do so, which explains how fourteen men took a ship on which were a hundred by boarding her; they killed the Turks, overcoming and binding those who survived and took them back to Naples. A little before dawn D. John disembarked in the port, and once more turned his steps to the palace of DoÑa Ana. He found it all open and lighted up, as if he were expected; but not a single living soul did he see in it; astonished, he reached the dining-room, and there noticed, to his surprise, that the table was cleared, and on it a small, black velvet cloth; at the corners were four silver candlesticks, in which lighted tapers were burning, and in the centre a small golden salver with the half-emptied cup, as D. John had left it. D. John understood that the proud DoÑa Ana wished to show by this means, very typical of the period, the funeral of her love, and so he accepted it; he drained the cup of wine at a draught and placed it, mouth downwards, on the table again. As he left the house a duenna, placed there, no doubt, by her lady, called to him from one of the grated windows; but D. John never turned his head nor darkened the doors again.

At this time (March, 1576) the Knight Commander Luis de Requesens died in Brussels, from a carbuncle on the back, leaving Flanders, by his death, without a Governor and these States in more danger than ever, as the Provinces had risen and only Luxemburg remained faithful to Spain. "It is to be observed," says a famous historian, "that whenever a grave danger threatened or a state was about to be lost, Philip II turned to his brother D. John of Austria, and confided to his bravery and talent the most arduous enterprises and the causes which seemed the most hopeless, as to one whom he held capable of rectifying what the imprudence, faults or ill-fortune of others seemed to make difficult or almost impossible to remedy."

Thus it was now; in this difficulty Philip II named D. John Governor and Captain-General of the States of Flanders, and until he could arrive to take up the command, entrusted the government of them absolutely to the Senate of Flanders. This last fatal advice was given to Philip by Joachin Oppier, or Hoperus, as others call him, a Fleming who was Secretary for the affairs of Flanders in Madrid.

D. John's new appointment was secretly opposed by Granvelle from Naples and by Antonio PÉrez in Madrid. The secretary was much perturbed lest all his efforts to discredit D. John with the King had come to naught; because, although there was no doubt that distrust had entered and still existed in Philip's naturally suspicious mind, still the embers required much fanning to kindle them into a blaze capable of consuming all the great esteem and confidence evinced by this appointment. So vigorously did Antonio PÉrez fan them that if documents in his own writing did not prove it, never would it be credited to-day that a man of his astuteness and talent should have been so blinded by his evil passions as to dare to write to Philip II that for D. John, thunderbolt of war, victor of the Moors, terror of the Turk, pacifier of Genoa, and hero of Lepanto, "a clerical habit would be best suited and orders, so that he should not go too far or ever be able to transgress."

D. John of Austria received the news of his appointment in a letter from the King, written on the 8th of April, 1576, just as he had sent the secretary Juan de Escovedo to Rome, having been importuned by further appeals from Gregory XIII about the English expedition. D. John, therefore, deferred replying to this letter until the return of the secretary, presuming with reason that his acceptance or refusal would depend on the news brought from Rome by Escovedo. This delay, however, joined to the information he had received of the secretary's journey and of his interviews with various personages, gave Antonio PÉrez an opportunity of continuing his evil work of setting the King against his brother. On the 16th of June he wrote with this intention to Philip, "I am rather worried, Sir, at the way D. John's messenger tarries, because ours must have arrived forty-two days ago, and I have seen a letter of the 8th of May, from Naples, from Lorenzo Spinola, in which he answers those written to him by the post by land and by Santiago; so that more than twelve or fifteen days have gone by without answering, which is a great delay, and makes one suspect the affair is being disputed over by the leagues and congregations there, not that I doubt the obedience of the Lord D. John, but the delay will cause trouble."

On the margin of this letter Philip replied: "Certainly there is much delay about this answer and it is very annoying, since I am hoping that everything will be settled by it, and this delay is very bad for Flemish matters, principally because I had hoped to send this decision by the MarquÉs de HavrÉ; but as the answer does not arrive and he must start, I am sending someone by whom to forward it, and thus he must go with a promise, which it will be very undesirable not to fulfil with all dispatch."

Antonio PÉrez narrates, with much cynicism, in his "Relaciones" that the King ordered him to pretend to favour the plans of Escovedo and D. John, in order to learn their secrets, if there were any. He needed no command from Philip to do this; but whether or no he had one, it is certain that at this date he was already playing this vile part, as the following letter to Escovedo proves, in which can be seen all the falseness and perfidy of the man, who a few days previously had been advising the King to invest D. John with a priest's dress.

"Truly, Sir, with reference to that of England (the projected expedition), about which your Grace was employed in Rome, I thought that it would be well for H.H. to be at hand and occupied in such serious business for H.M.; the more because I wish to see the Lord D. John in some great appointment, in which he would be master of all, so that H.M. might know his worth, and the good account he would give of such a government, free from embarrassment or rivalry of other Ministers; and it is not a small thing for H.H. to see himself quit of this."

The King sent D. John of Austria his commission and instructions to Lombardy, ordering him to go direct from Milan to Flanders with the haste and caution that the disturbance of these States demanded. But this, however, was not D. John's idea; he wished, beyond anything, to come to Spain, and, avoiding the dishonesty of intermediaries, to treat in person with his brother about the resources on which he might count, and the soldiers he could dispose of in his new and difficult command; he wished also to learn D. Philip's schemes about the English expedition, of which the Nuncio had already spoken to him a second time, because, although it was D. John's greatest wish, he did not desire to do anything in the least against his brother's will; and, lastly, he wanted to plead for his recognition as "Infante," in order to have some rank which would give him sufficient authority as Governor of Flanders, also in England, if the expedition took place. So he wrote to Antonio PÉrez announcing his arrival; but the secretary, fearing frank and clear explanations between the two brothers, as much as the King himself did, planned, with him, to stop D. John's arrival by this letter from D. Philip:

"I sent you a messenger by land ordering you to prevent this, and, above all, your coming here, because of the great mistake it would be. I wish to repeat here, and to charge you that in nowise or for any reason whatever you should come, and when your coming will be suitable, nobody will know it or inform you better than I."

D. John, however, was so firm in his intention that, without hesitating even after such a peremptory order, he sent Escovedo on ahead with letters to announce his coming, and himself embarked at Genoa in a galley belonging to Marcelo Doria, with another as escort, so as to arrive at the beginning of September at Barcelona. D. Philip showed his displeasure by sending the following note to meet him:

"Last night Escovedo gave me your letter and advised me of your arrival at Barcelona, and I cannot help saying that great as is the pleasure and wish to have you here, you have taken away much of the joy that it will give me."

D. Philip did even more; he was at the Escorial, where he had spent the summer with his family, and he prolonged his stay later than usual, in order not to be in Madrid when D. John arrived, bidding Antonio PÉrez receive and lodge him in the latter's celebrated country house "La Casilla." This is how Antonio PÉrez refers to this remarkable incident in the "Memorial": "And truly I must add here, without waiting to go into details, that the reason why Antonio PÉrez was the host of D. John in his "Casilla" for a few days was, that the King did not wish to concede the title of Infante, or refuse it, because hope would give D. John better heart to settle things in Flanders. It is a usual habit of princes to obtain fruit from hopes, as it is found in those inspired by them and is generally wanting when the favour has been granted. And since D. John had naturally to be in Madrid for his own private affairs and did not wish to be in a hired house, but in the Palace, as a beginning of his treatment as Infante, the King resolved not to return to Madrid until D. John had left for Flanders, so that in this way and at Antonio PÉrez's expense the blow to D. John's hopes should be disguised."

Accordingly Antonio PÉrez set out to meet him, going as far as Guadalajara, where the Duque del Infantado already awaited D. John, together with the Duque's brothers D. Rodrigo and D. Diego, the Conde de Orgaz, the Duque de Medina de Rioseco, and other intimate friends, who escorted him all that day's journey until they left him at Antonio PÉrez's "Casilla." This was the celebrated villa, the wonder of the Madrid of that day, which stood on the site at present occupied by the convent of St. Elizabeth, in the street of the same name. It is now hardly possible to imagine that it was then surrounded by shady gardens, big orchards, and by a green, dark wood more than a league in circumference. The house was large and square, with four towers at the corners, and its big windows with their beautifully wrought gratings opened in two symmetrical rows; the entrance was by a great paved courtyard, in which were rough-stone seats and two cisterns of granite and many iron rings, in the form of heads of wild beasts, horses and dogs, fixed in the wall for tieing up animals. The dining-room and rooms for gaming and diversion were on the right hand; on the left were the guest chambers, and the front of the house was taken up by a suite of saloons, furnished as no house belonging to a Grandee in Madrid, was, with pictures, tapestries, Venetian glass, furniture of precious woods and massive silver, and thousands of other valuable things which made the house an object of wonder and gossip for the whole Court: they asked each other how Antonio PÉrez could afford luxury greater than that displayed by the most powerful Grandee, as he had no fortune either acquired or inherited, and they whispered about, and even plainly mentioned, bribes, falsehoods, intrigues, and infamous mean acts, the truth of which was proved, years afterwards, in the celebrated trial of the secretary.

It was in the five front rooms that D. John was lodged; they were furnished with all that was best and richest to be found, and as a perfidious compliment from the false PÉrez to the future King of England, he placed canopies and attributes of royalty in each of them. In the first room there was a rich gold and silver tapestry of the sacrifice of Abraham and a canopy of tawny velvet, adorned with plates of gold and hammered silver. In another room, arranged for the times when D. John wished to dine alone, there was a similar tapestry with the story of Joseph, a canopy and chairs embroidered in different colours, and a wooden dais with a rich carpet. Then came the ante-room with gold and silver tapestry, with scenes from the Æneid, and a canopy of gold and silver embroidered in relief in different colours, and inlaid writing-tables with their implements of gold and silver beautifully wrought. The bedroom was next, with tapestry of brocaded green gold (verde auro), a silk carpet, and tables and chairs of silver; the bed was also of silver, with angels on the posts holding tablets with this inscription: "The Lord D. John sleeps. Enter softly." Joining the alcove was a closet, hung with gold and silver tapestry, which did not reach the ground, with a bath with perfumes, a dressing-table of silver, and all the necessary implements of the same metal. All over the house were scent-burners with different sweet perfumes, even the courtyard held two of them, under the care of as many lackeys, who perfumed the cloths of the horses as they came in and out. "And to such lengths," says Luis de Zapata de Calatayud naÏvely, "did his luxury and ostentation reach, that there was the wherewithal to clean the shoes of those who entered his house on foot, who did not fail to leave them at the door, as the Moors do on entering a mosque."

Antonio PÉrez gave up the "Casilla" to D. John and his household, and retired with his wife and sons to his other magnificent and sumptuous house "La Villa," which had belonged to the Conde de PuÑonrostro, and was contiguous to the church of St. Justin (the site now occupied by the military school). Every day, however, he went to the "Casilla," to pay his court to D. John and to attend him on his visits, business, and pleasures. Antonio PÉrez wasted no time; he had already on the way from Guadalajara exaggerated D. Philip's displeasure, and had offered to go post-haste to the Escorial to try to placate the King with some pretext which he would invent. This he did as soon as he had installed his illustrious guest in the "Casilla," and at the Escorial the King and the secretary decided together that D. John should present himself there as soon as possible, in order not further to delay his departure for Flanders, and that PÉrez should boast of the friendly act in having smoothed the annoyance of the King, the more to confirm D. John's incautious confidence, which PÉrez was so treacherously acquiring.

D. Philip received his brother with the greatest affability, and without making the slightest allusion to the annoyance the coming of D. John had caused him; he rose on seeing D. John enter the room, and at once gave his hand to be kissed, embracing him tenderly, and then, what always happened when the two brothers met face to face, occurred. The ice melted, suspicion was calmed, and D. John's loyal frankness and lovable charm penetrated and even overthrew D. Philip's cold reserve. It is nowhere related that D. John spoke at that time, as he meant to have done, about his title of Infante: perhaps the artful PÉrez had dissuaded him, or maybe he forebore of his own accord, in view of D. Philip's determination to organise the English expedition, according to the plans of Gregory XIII, as soon as Flanders should be pacified. D. Philip's promises were so clear and definite that it is impossible to believe, as Antonio PÉrez asserts, that it was simply a strategy to animate D. John by these hopes, without supposing in Philip a falseness and bad faith capable of sweeping away and treading everything under foot. Because it was not only D. John who was taken in by this strategy; it was also the Sovereign Pontiff, the instigator and principal upholder of the English enterprise, and the English and Scotch lords and all the Catholics in these kingdoms, who were risking their lives and properties; and it was, above all, the unlucky Queen of Scots who, deceived by these false hopes, would lose time and the opportunity for using surer means of freeing herself from captivity and death.

Moreover, Philip II did not restrict himself to making these promises privately to D. John, or only by word of mouth; he also made them in writing in two letters which he sent to him in Flanders. Here are the two important documents, which should be read with the greatest attention, because they contain the standard of D. John's loyal conduct in that appointment.

"By another, which goes with this, you will see what I think about the English business. In this I have desired to tell you that the good-will I always have towards you as a brother is such and so great that, after the service which I wish to render to Our Lord in converting this kingdom to the Catholic religion, I wish more than you can estimate, that this should succeed as a way in which I can prove how much I love you; and as a sign and proof of this, from this moment, I assure you that, the business of this kingdom settled, it will be my delight to see you in possession of it, marrying you to the Queen of Scotland, if she be still alive, freeing her and setting her on her throne, which seems to be her desire, and it will be more than due to him who has delivered her from all this peril and placed her in freedom and possession of her throne; even if your rank and quality were not equal to hers, your bravery makes you well deserve each other. And though if this happens there are some things to settle and agree about, it seems to me useless to do so before the time, and it suffices, at present, to tell you, as above, what are to be the ways and conditions which seem to me best for my service and for the welfare of our affairs and States."

The other letter of the same date, alluded to in the one above, says:

"Having considered the orders and advice that I gave you regarding what should be done for the absolute pacification of Flanders, and particularly about removing the Spaniards, if it be necessary, and what to do with them, since you left I have thought what it would be well to do with these soldiers in that case, and whether at this juncture it would be desirable to undertake the English affair, representing to myself, on the one hand, that no better time could offer for taking the Queen of that kingdom unawares and for withdrawing these soldiers from my States with honour, and of the great service it would be to Our Lord to convert that kingdom to the Catholic religion, and other considerations which occurred to me; and, on the other hand, of the responsibilities we undertake in beginning, without much reason or certainty of success, of the difficulties which may arise in this undertaking, and of the great troubles which might be caused by upsetting Christendom and all the world. I wished to advise you about all I think of this affair and my wishes concerning it. First, you must not by any means embark on this business until all is quiet and peaceable in those States. Moreover, it must be well considered how much the help of the English can be counted on in this enterprise, as there is no kingdom, however small, that can be gained without the help of that kingdom, nor should anyone try to do so. Besides this, we must consider whether the said Queen is suspicious about your going to those States, and has taken precautions and begun to live with greater care for her safety and that of the kingdom, because if this were so there would be no use in thinking of the business. To allay the said Queen's suspicion and distrust that the seeing you in those States may have caused her, it seems to me that it would be well to continue to make much of her and to be on good terms with her as opportunity offers."

Philip appeared much pleased by his brother's visit to the Escorial, and, contrary to what he had told PÉrez, accompanied him to Madrid on the 22nd of September, and ordered the prelates of the religious orders to make public rogations and processions for the success of D. John's journey and Governorship. D. John took advantage of the days during which D. Philip lingered over dispatching him to enjoy the company of his friends, and this he did at the sumptuous suppers which Antonio PÉrez gave daily at the "Casilla," followed by much gambling and picnics at Los Chorrillos, a delightful spot in the wood, to which the great ladies of the Court also came. The most sought after of these was the Princess de Évoli, then a widow, about whose intimacy with Antonio PÉrez people had begun to whisper. This gossip had not yet reached the ears of D. John, but it was then brought by the MarquÉs de Fabara, an ill-natured busybody, who had fought under his orders in the Alpujarras, and who now followed him about, wishing to be taken to Flanders. The MarquÉs said much about the lady's light conduct and the presumption of the haughty plebeian, and ended by consulting D. John whether as a relation of the Princess he ought to beat Antonio PÉrez or give him a thrust with his sword. D. John cut him short by saying that he did not understand questions of casuistry, only war; but what Fabara said made him remember certain strange familiarities he had noticed between the secretary and the Princess, on the several visits that he had paid her in her house in the lane of St. Mary, always accompanied by PÉrez. A simple event happened the next day which ended by convincing him of these impure loves which were to bring about the terrible drama which Antonio PÉrez was preparing.

In the wood of the "Casilla" there was a delightful place called Los Chorrillos, from the springs which burst forth there. Antonio PÉrez had built a cottage there, rustic in appearance, but in reality costly and luxurious, and had made in front of it a wide space, on which cane jousts could be held, or tilting at the ring, or even bull-fights and other games of the period. Before D. John left, Antonio PÉrez gave a picnic to the ladies at the Chorrillos, and to amuse and please them the gentlemen were to tilt at the "estafermo." This game consisted in a big figure of an armed man, with a shield in his left hand, and in his right some straps, from which bags of sand hung. The figure was placed on a pole, above an axle, so that it could turn round; when a rider, coming at it with his lance couched, struck the shield and made the figure turn quickly, it gave him a heavy blow with the bags if he were not very quick; to avoid the blow with dexterity was the first point in the game.

The ladies arrived at the "Casilla," some in coaches, others in litters, and the humbler ones among them on horseback, all very smart and accompanied by gallants; at the head of them was the Duquesa de Infantado, DoÑa Juana de Coello, the wife of Antonio PÉrez, and the Princess de Évoli. From the "Casilla" to Los Chorillos, a distance of about half a league, the ladies went in carts prepared by Antonio PÉrez; these were adorned with tapestries and brocades and soft cushions, and the oxen were caparisoned with crimson and had their horns gilded; the herdsmen were dressed in shepherd's garb of brocade and fine skins, and velvet caps, and in their hands were long wands of wood with silver rings. The gentlemen rode around the carts, going from one to the other with merry talk and seemly jests. The "estafermo" was erected in the middle of the ground; it was a grotesque and corpulent warrior, armed like a Fleming, a caricature of the Prince of Orange, the redoubtable leader of the rebels in Flanders. And that no one should doubt the meaning there was written in big letters on the support of the "estafermo," "The Silent," which was the nickname given to Orange.

It happened that, when tilting at the "estafermo," Honorato de Silva, a gentleman much liked by D. John, gave such a hard thrust that one of the bags fell off and by ill-luck knocked Antonio PÉrez on the head, who fell, stunned and unconscious from the blow. Everyone was upset; they carried him to the rustic cottage, and the first fright over went back to the game, laughing over the violence of the Prince of Orange. Antonio PÉrez remained resting in a little room apart. After a long while D. John went to see him; at the door he met one of the Princess de Évoli's duennas, named DoÑa Bernardina, sitting on a bench. She was much perturbed at seeing him and wished to prevent his entering, saying that the Lord Antonio was asleep; but as at that moment D. John heard laughing behind the curtain, the duenna darted into the room to give warning; unfortunately, as she lifted the curtain, D. John could plainly see Antonio PÉrez lying on a low sofa and the Princess de Évoli kneeling before him, and with great liveliness, amid the laughter of both, putting medicated cloths on his head, which she wetted in a silver bowl placed on the ground. D. John pretended to have seen nothing, neither did he dare confide the matter to anyone for fear of showing up the weakness of a lady and the peccadilloes of a friend. But many months later, away in Flanders, while he was talking one day to Escovedo about certain demands of the Princess de Évoli, which the secretary wished to grant, he was obliged, in order to convince Escovedo of the shamelessness of the case, to tell him of Fabara's gossip and the scene at the Chorrillos. D. John himself thus, unconsciously, unchained the winds of the terrible storm of reproaches, hatred and shame in which Escovedo perished.

The King arranged D. John's journey with great caution and mystery, to prevent his departure being known in Flanders, lest they should guard against his coming. He set out at the end of October, without saying farewell to anyone, and, as the story goes, went to the Escorial to return again to Madrid, where Escovedo awaited him, arranging with the Treasurer Garnica the necessary funds for paying the troops in Flanders. At the Escorial D. John took leave of his suite, and with only Octavio Gonzaga and Honorato de Silva went by post to Abrojo, where he was expected by DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa. D. John had written to tell her he had prepared for the visit "a ceremonial which delights your Grace, as you are so holy, and for the great love you have for me, the like of which certainly I have never found or ever shall find in my life."

This "ceremonial" which D. John had arranged was one of the proofs of his tender affection, knowing the highly religious feelings of the noble lady. The day of his arrival he confessed fully to the old Fr. Juan de Calahorra, and on the next, in the Prior's private oratory, he communicated humbly and devoutly at DoÑa Magdalena's side, partaking of the same wafer as she did, as on the first occasion of his approaching the holy table, led by the hand of DoÑa Magdalena, twenty years before, away in Villagarcia. Tears of quiet joy streamed over the old lady's wrinkled cheek, as she understood that in this way D. John wished to show her that his faith and his love for her were unchanged, and tears also ran down the face of the hero of Lepanto as he reflected that, although his faith and filial love were unaltered, yet that he could not kneel by the side of that saintly woman wearing, as before, the white stole of innocence, but rather the rough, dark sackcloth of penitence.

Then he gave her several Bulls and briefs obtained by him from the Roman Pontiff, conceding graces and privileges to the church and house of the Jesuits, founded by DoÑa Magdalena at Villagarcia, and the drawings of the beautiful alabaster "retablo" representing the Passion of Our Lord, which he had ordered for the same church, in which lay buried "his uncle and father Luis Quijada," and in which a sepulchre for DoÑa Magdalena was open and ready. Too soon for everyone came the moment of departure. D. John was to make the rest of the journey disguised as the servant of Octavio Gonzaga, and for this purpose donned a coat of brown homespun, a cap of the same, and high boots of Cordovan leather; he also wished to cut off his moustaches but DoÑa Magdalena cried out against this profanation of D. John's manly beauty and the sacrifice of those fair hair, she had seen slowly grow. She offered herself to stain his hair and beard black with some dye he had brought, and did so, taking great pains, holding D. John's head in her lap as when he was a child, amid peals of laughter on his part and no small amusement and tenderness on hers. Her work finished, DoÑa Magdalena contemplated it, and thought D. John as comely as a black-haired servant as he was as a fair-haired Prince, and, smiling complacently, she said, half pleased and half nervous, "It must be a very obtuse person that Y.H. takes in—they will all say, 'Under this sackcloth there is ——'"

DoÑa Magdalena mounted a tower on the wall which surrounded Abrojo, to see the last of him, with Fr. Juan de Calahorra, the Prior, and the other monks, and, bathed in tears, to watch him turn his head and smile at the last bend of the road, her kind heart not guessing that he was disappearing for ever, that she would never see him again, and that in less than two years all this youth, gallantry and greatness would be dust, and that this deep, pure love would be nothing but a memory in her old age.

D. John of Austria wished to make up for his delay in starting by the haste with which he accomplished the journey, and so rapidly did he make it, and so arduous was it, that with his usual good humour he could with reason write to his great friends the Conde de Orgaz and D. Rodrigo de Mendoza, "Octavio is very stiff, and the same would your lordships have been, if you had slept as little, hurried as much, and gone through all that we have, which made us often call out, Ah! D. Rodrigo! Ah! Conde de Orgaz!"

On the 20th of October he wrote to the King from Ventosa; and again on the 24th from Irun, to announce that he was crossing the frontier alone with Octavio Gonzaga, as he had left Honorato de Silva ill at Fuenterrabia. On the 31st, at six in the morning, he wrote from Paris, complaining of the dreadful roads and bad horses, and of having journeyed two days with a French merchant, who had given him his trunk to carry for three stages, being quite taken in by his disguise of servant. On the 3rd of November they at last reached Luxemburg at night, from where he wrote first to the Council in Brussels, which held the temporary Government, representing the Senate, and afterwards to the Spanish soldiers, notifying them of his arrival and the command he brought from the King. He wrote also to D. Philip, telling him of the dreadful disorder of these provinces, of the complete isolation of his servants, friends and partisans, and the difficulties which offered themselves with regard to handing over the command to him.

In truth, the arrival of D. John could not have been at a more difficult or dangerous time. On the 3rd of November, the day he first trod Flemish soil, Antwerp was taken, and its horrible sack by the Spanish and German troops took place. These furious and mutinous men then took in a cruel and evil way the pay which the Council of Brussels maliciously held back from them. The Council, terrified, authorised all citizens to arm themselves, and ordered the expulsion of all foreign troops from the States. At this juncture D. John's letters reached the Council in Brussels and the victorious and mutinous troops at Antwerp. These obeyed at once, laying down their arms as their beloved and respected General ordered, and there was great rejoicing among them that he had come as Governor and Captain-General. But the Council was divided within itself, some refusing to hand over the command to D. John; others feared such disobedience against the authority of the King, and they were only agreed in asking the advice of William the Silent, Prince of Orange, the oracle and shrewd instigator of all these more or less disguised rebels.

The answer of Orange was precise: liberty bought at the price of so much blood could not be given up by making over the command to D. John of Austria; and if the Council lacked the courage to retain it, they were first "with pride and arrogance" to exact from D. John that he would confirm on oath the "Pacification of Ghent," one of whose articles was the expulsion of all foreign troops from Flemish soil. This "Pacification of Ghent" was in itself an act of rebellion and independence, for it was resolved upon at a peace conference between the Prince of Orange and the Council of Brussels, as provisional Government, in the name of the King, but without the knowledge or authority of Philip II.

The Council agreed to the latter part of Orange's answer, not having the courage to oppose D. John openly, and sent it to him by the senator Iskio; but couched in such haughty and insolent language that the ambassador was in difficulties, not knowing which to fear the more—the wrath of the Senate, if he refused to take it, or the anger of D. John, if he did. He took counsel of a guest in his house, who said, "Take my advice, Iskio, for this Gordian knot use the sword of Alexander: when you are alone with the Austrian, draw the steel with dexterity, and bury it in the body of this man who is fraudulent and baneful to Flanders. By his death you will free yourself from his annoyance, and will be certain of the thanks of the States." Iskio understood with horror that this was the general wish in Flanders, and resolved to take the message to D. John on his own account, softening its terms as much as possible. But such was the dignity and politeness of D. John in giving his refusal, and such the graciousness of his reception of Iskio, understanding his good intentions, that the messenger, completely subjugated and full of enthusiasm, warmly praised D. John to the Senate when he returned to Brussels, which brought him insults and bad treatment from many, and, over-excited by such conflicting emotions, in a few days he went mad.

His arguments, however, had impressed the Council, and they decided to send D. John a second message by John Funk, this time a very respectful and courteous one, begging him to deign to ratify the "Peace of Ghent." D. John answered with equal politeness that he must have time to think it over and to study thoroughly the eighteen articles of the said convention: he suspected that there might be something against the Catholic religion, and wished to submit it to the opinion of theologians. D. John was also very perplexed about the expulsion of the Spanish troops, and on this subject asked the opinion of the only two confidential advisers he had there, Octavia Gonzaga and Juan de Escovedo.

Gonzaga replied at once without hesitation, as a man full of an idea who takes the opportunity of displaying it, that he thought that it was neither prudent nor seemly to send away the Spanish regiments; it was not seemly, as the Governor was the King's representative, and he should submit to no conditions save those imposed by the King; it was not prudent, because once the soldiers had left Flanders, the royal authority and the person of D. John, who represented it, would be helpless, alone and without support in this country of shameless rebels, secret enemies and lukewarm friends who could, with impunity, laugh at the one and ruin the other whenever they wished. Escovedo, on the other hand, thought that the Spanish regiments should leave Flanders as soon as possible, because the King wished for peace at all costs, giving in to everything which was not against religion or the royal authority; and the expulsion of the Spaniards was against neither the one nor the other, and was necessary to obtain peace in the actual state of affairs. It also seemed to him that the noble confidence with which D. John placed himself in the hands of the Flemings would oblige them the more to act loyally, and in the opposite case that Gonzaga imagined, they were not so badly off for German troops that they would not be able to resist, nor the Spaniards so far off that they could not return there in time. Escovedo also urged secretly, and pressed D. John with this other argument; if, as the Council believed, the expulsion of the Spanish regiments would assure the peace of Flanders, they could at once undertake the expedition to England and use these famous and dreaded troops, as Philip II remarked in a letter written from the Pardo which D. John received from him just then.

D. John pondered over and weighed these arguments. He could clearly see that Gonzaga was thinking of the dignity of Spain and Escovedo of his own golden dream, the expedition to England, and he did not dare to decide for himself, fearing lest his own wish and feelings should carry him away, so he loyally submitted it for Philip II to decide. At the same time he sent the opinions of four Bishops, twelve Abbots, fourteen theologians eminent in offices and dignities, nine doctors and professors, and five jurists of Louvain, that there was nothing prejudicial to religion or the royal authority in the eighteen articles of the "Peace of Ghent."

Meanwhile deputations of the clergy and nobility of those parts, who publicly acknowledged themselves loyal to Spain and Philip II, came to welcome D. John in Luxemburg, and these also urged that the Spanish troops should be dismissed as soon as possible, adding arguments and proposals, warnings, and presumptuous, even rude advice, which clearly showed to what an extent the very name of Spain was distasteful and even hated in Flanders. On one of these deputations came the Bishop of Arras, with the Baron of Liquerque and the Marquis de HavrÉ, who was brother to the Duke of Arschot and had been to Spain several times, and to whom Philip had shown much favour and proof of confidence. When the Marquis saw that his companions were amusing themselves or pretending to do so at the end of the room, he took D. John apart to the opposite end, and there point-blank, without fear of God or respect for himself, proposed that he (D. John) should rise with all and rule over the States, and they would help him. The shame and anger which showed in D. John's face cut the speech short, and mechanically he put his hand to his dagger, according to what Vander Hammen and PorreÑo say, referring to this deed of D. John's, "That, not being able to suffer this blow, which touched his fidelity to the quick, he drew out his dagger and wounded him with great indignation."

D. John was more heroic than this, as, from prudence and loyalty to the King, he was silent and swallowed the affront; and thus Escovedo refers to it in a letter to the King, written on the 21st of January, 1577: "And to advise Y.M. that Y.M. should see what good and loyal vassals Y.M. has here, and how much they love you. Know that the Marquis de HavrÉ, on his own part and that of others, tempted the Lord D. John, offering all this for himself, and that he should not lose the chance, and although he tried to change the subject, pretending not to understand, he was so bold and shameless that he repeated it. He answered that God save Y.M., that they had a very good King, and that it would not be well for them to alter, and he swore to me that he was moved to box his ears, and that he would have done so, if it would not have done harm to the main business."

D. John speaks of the matter in a very veiled way in one of his letters to D. Rodrigo de Mendoza:

"Lately came a deputation and embassy from the States, among others the Marquis de HavrÉ, strangely without shame and respect even, since he openly spoke of everything, trusting everything and everybody without any respect, as I say."

At last Philip's reply arrived, ordering D. John to sign, without demur, the "Pacification of Ghent," and to send the Spanish regiments at once away from Flanders. D. John felt greatly humiliated and discouraged, because before sending away the regiments it was necessary to pay them, and D. Philip did not mention this or send any money whatever.

Amid the struggles and anxieties which caused D. John to know contempt and humiliations for the first time, he had one pleasure, which, in spite of there being much to embitter it, must still have been a great one, that of making the acquaintance of his mother, and of embracing her for the first and last time. No sooner had he arrived in Luxemburg than he wrote to her at Ghent, where she then was, inviting her to come and see him, as he could not, as he ought to do, visit her at that moment; and as the cold, shallow Barbara Blombergh neither came nor answered the letter, he sent a second message, this time accompanied by everything necessary for her to perform the journey in a suitable and comfortable way. She came, and the mother and the son met. We do not know what she felt on finding herself in the presence of this brilliant and renowned son, who up to now had inspired her with nothing but indifference. As to D. John, apart from the natural love and respect due to her name of mother, she made a disagreeable impression on him, perhaps because his ideals of mothers and widows were formed on the austere and refined model of that great lady DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa.

Barbara Blombergh was then over fifty, and she preserved traces of her great beauty, which she tried to enhance with cosmetics and fine clothes, unsuited to her age or situation. She, however, lacked that inborn distinction and dignity which then, even more than now, characterised ladies of noble lineage; because education, which to-day refines, polishes and levels manners to a certain extent, belonged then exclusively to dames of high degree. Barbara Blombergh certainly did not belong to this privileged class, although several historians have asserted it, in order to exalt D. John's maternal descent. She was simply a girl of the middle class, daughter of a citizen of Ratisbon of moderate fortune. Three years after the birth of D. John she married Jerome Kegel, who was not a noble gentleman either, but a poor "hÉre," as Gachard calls him, who for a humble position at the Court of Queen Mary, the Regent of Flanders, compromised himself by giving her his name and sheltering her dishonour.

Madam Blombergh, as from this time she began to call herself, was left a widow in June, 1569, and then it was that her cold, shallow, hard, extravagant and ungenerous character began to show itself freely. "As vapid as obstinate," said the Duque de Alba. But what is really surprising about her is the indifference that she always showed for her son D. John, who by the greatness of his name would have seemed called to be her glory and pride, and by his love, respect and solicitude for her, her delight and good fortune. In the Alba archives there is a letter from D. John to his mother, the only one known, which begins in this way: "Lady, it is many days since I had news of you, which worries me, having written and begged, last from Messina, that you should always remember to advise me about your health and of what is your pleasure, as besides the obligation I am under to procure it for you as your son, I also much wish to give it to you, being certain that I owe it to the good mother and lady you are to me." Compare this letter with another from D. John to DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa, and it will be plainly seen that if Barbara Blombergh was in fact his mother, the one who responded to his filial affections was the illustrious widow of Luis Quijada: "Lady, I kiss your hands for the trouble you take in always answering my letters, but principally because what I wish is to hear continually of your health and welfare."

When Kegel died D. John begged Philip II to come to his mother's assistance, and the King sent the Duque de Alba, then Governor of the Low Countries, to visit Madam Blombergh, and to suggest to her that, having such a son as hers in Spain, she should make her residence there. Madam Blombergh replied that although, doubtless, she would much like to see her son, it was of no use talking to her about going to Spain, for she well knew the way women were shut up there, and wild horses would not make her go to such a country. Philip II then gave her an income of 4944 florins, with which she installed herself with a luxury and parade it was impossible to support on these means. Her household consisted of a duenna and six waiting-maids, a steward, two pages, a chaplain, a butler, four servants, and a coach with all its paraphernalia of grooms and horses. She then began the gay, but not very decorous, life of festivities and banquets which caused the warnings and complaints of the Duque de Alba, and first the admonitions and later the violent measures of Philip II, which, however, on account of the political disturbances, could not be carried out until the arrival of D. John in Flanders. This made Barbara Blombergh's departure more than ever necessary, so as not to compromise the authority of D. John at this difficult moment by her frivolities and imprudences. But as neither by prayers nor by wise persuasion could he overcome his mother's invincible obstinacy about going to Spain, he resolved to use the stratagem he had devised long ago with his brother Philip II.

He told her that his sister Donna Margarita of Austria much wished to know her, and had invited her to spend a few months at the palace of Aquila in the Abruzzi. This invitation from such a personage as the Duchess of Parma gratified Madam Blombergh immensely, and she accepted at once, only bargaining to settle afterwards to live where she wished. D. John agreed, and Madam Blombergh set out for Italy with all her household the middle of March, 1577. As extra steward D. John sent a confidential person called Pero SÁnchez, who was used to travelling, and who carried secret instructions. On arriving at Genoa they found a luxurious galley which Pero SÁnchez said was ready to carry them to Naples, and thence they could journey overland to the Abruzzi. Without any mistrust the embarkation was made, and after a disagreeable voyage of some days' duration they sighted the grey mountains of Vizcaya, so different from the blue Neapolitan coast, where they thought to arrive. The galley had gone to Spain and was at Laredo.

Barbara Blombergh was met at this port by DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa, who had been warned of her advent by D. John, and at San Cebrian de Mazote she was awaited by DoÑa Magdalena's brother and sister-in-law, the Marqueses de la Mota, who wished to help the illustrious widow of Luis Quijada over this difficult meeting. In truth it needed all DoÑa Magdalena's tact, patience, and love for D. John to tame the furious wild beast who was disembarked at Laredo on the 3rd of May in the form of Barbara Blombergh. DoÑa Magdalena took her at once to the castle of San Cebrian de Mazote, where the MarquÉs de la Mota and his wife received her very kindly, and entertained her splendidly, and such pains did the good and discreet DoÑa Magdalena take, that in the three and a half months Madam Blombergh was with her, the angry, wild animal was changed into a gentle lamb, and when the hour of farewell came she herself asked to retire to the Dominican convent of Santa Maria la Real, in the village of San Cebrian, where DoÑa Magdalena had prepared for her a comfortable, separate apartment, so that she could go in and out.

From the 3rd of May, 1577, when she disembarked at Laredo, until the end of July, 1579, when, after D. John's death, Philip II gave her an income of 3000 ducats, all the expenses of Barbara Blombergh were borne by DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa. This is shown, without any shadow of doubt, by the paper presented by this lady in the testamentary accounts of D. John of Austria, which exists in the Alba archives, signed and with this label:

"That which I, DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa, have paid in virtue of two letters from the Very Serene D. John of Austria, God rest his soul, one dated from Louvain the 23rd of April, 1577, the other from Brussels the 4th of July of the same year, about the expenses of Madam Blombergh his mother, also arranging her apartment and her ordinary expenses, and her extraordinary personal ones, servants and wages and clothes and other things, some furniture indispensable and necessary for her use, the which I gave over to her servants, and that which I gave for this is the following."

A detailed account of the money made over to Madam Blombergh and her stewards follows, divided into thirty-six items; then comes the reimbursement by the same DoÑa Magdalena in three items by the hand of Melchor de Camago, Juan de Escovedo, and Antonio PÉrez, and this curious document concludes by making the following balance and protest: "So what I have paid by order of His Highness, according to the said letters relating to the building of the house and other things belonging to it, and providing for the said house and servants of the said Madam his mother, comes to one million three hundred and forty thousand one hundred and ninety-two maravedis, which as I have said in the items by God and my conscience I gave over to Madam and her servants, and what I have received on account of this amounts to nine hundred and seventeen thousand and eighty-eight maravedis: so that it is more than the goods of the said Lord D. John by four hundred and twenty-two thousand and five hundred and four maravedis; and I certify that the account and items, of the receipt as of the fact, by my conscience are certain and true, and that the said amount is due to me, and I have not received it, nor has anything been given to me on account, and this being true, I sign this with my hand and with my name, this date at Valladolid, fourteenth of July, one thousand five hundred and eighty-two."

Thus it is proved that D. John, helped by DoÑa Magdalena, provided everything necessary for his mother until his last hour; and when he was dying he commended her to his brother D. Philip through his confessor P. Dorante, for which reason Philip II granted her an income of 3000 ducats for her life. No sooner was D. John dead, however, than Madam Blombergh presented a memorial to the King, claiming D. John's estate as sole and lawful heiress. This was granted to her without hesitation, as D. John had no private property, and his debts amounted to much more than the value of the jewels and furniture he possessed.

Barbara Blombergh lived peaceably at the convent of Santa Maria la Real for several years; but as regularity and quietness were not her strong point, she became bored, and begged Philip II to move her to some other place. As the house of the unfortunate Escovedo at Colindres was at Philip's disposal at that time, she retired there, and there died the same year as Philip (1598), leaving directions that she was to be buried at the Franciscan convent in the town of Escalante.

By her marriage with Jerome Kegel Barbara Blombergh had two sons. The younger drowned himself in a cistern in his own house, eight days after his father's death; the elder, who was named Conrad, took the name of Pyramus, which his father bore, joined to that of Kegel. He began to study for the Church, well supplied with funds by D. John, at whose death he abandoned these studies, owing to his love of arms. He joined the army, being helped by Alexander Farnese, and became a colonel. He married the Baroness de St. Martin, and died before his mother, during whose lifetime his widow came to Spain, and died there; but where or when we do not know.

D. John of Austria at last signed the "Peace of Ghent," called the "Perpetual Edict," on the 14th of February, 1577, with his heart full of shame and depression. He was full of shame, because it was humiliating for Spain, for his King, and for himself as Philip's representative to give in to the rude and insolent demands of that band of rebels and dissembling heretics; and it depressed him, because, in signing the paper, he destroyed with a stroke of the pen, for a doubtful gain, the brilliant hope of his golden and chivalrous dream—the expedition to England.

At that moment the key of the situation of the whole expedition was the departure of the Spanish regiments from Flanders. D. John could send them along the coast of Holland, and from there descend on England, where everything was ready for their reception. But the Prince of Orange, afraid lest these redoubtable soldiers should approach the two provinces he had usurped, Holland and Zeeland, vigorously opposed the plan of embarkation, and prevailed on the States to inform D. John, with their usual rudeness, that the troops should not leave by being embarked on the north, but should march towards Italy. A violent altercation took place between the Council in Brussels and D. John, and all the negotiations that had been made were on the point of being broken off, because D. John was at the end of his patience, and the Council at the limit of the insolence with which they endeavoured to tire and exasperate him. But Philip, frightened lest the peace, which was his only desire, should be endangered, stopped the quarrel by ordering D. John to dispatch the troops by land, as the States wished.

D. John bowed his head and signed the "Perpetual Edict," thus sacrificing by his obedience the hopes of a kingdom, then more than ever well founded, as Monsignor Filippo Sega, Bishop of Ripa Trazone, had just arrived at Luxemburg, sent to Flanders by Gregory XIII as Nuncio to D. John. The ostensible object of the mission was to counsel and guide him, that in his treaties with the heretics there should be nothing prejudicial to the Catholic Church; but in reality it came to give him the Bulls from Gregory XIII, conceding him the kingdom of England, and to give him the 50,000 golden crowns which the Pope sent to help the enterprise, and offering 5000 well-armed infantry which the Holy See would provide, and which only waited for D. John's signal to start for England. This unhoped-for assistance from the Pope, joined to the news from the English and Scotch lords that everything was ready, promised such success to the expedition that it made it all the harder and more disappointing to give it up.

All the same, D. John sacrificed his hopes just as they were coming true, and thus cruelly humbled his own personal pride, and smothered his own legitimate aspirations, in order to obey the King, his brother, loyally; and without loss of time he ordered the Spanish regiments to assemble at Maestricht, to leave Flanders for Italy. It happened, as D. John had foreseen, that the troops obeyed, because it was he who ordered them; but they did so murmuring against the King, grumbling at the way he treated them, promising that very soon he would call for them again, and claiming, with great justice, their overdue pay before leaving.

D. John then found himself in a fresh quandary; the States, who should have paid the troops, refused to pay more than a third part of what was due, and, by an unreasonableness which showed their bad faith, at the same time refused to acknowledge D. John as Governor, or give him the command so long as the troops did not leave Flanders. On the other hand, in spite of D. John's repeated petitions and Escovedo's violent letters, no money came from Spain, nor could D. John have found, by begging in all the exchanges and banks, any to lend him the necessary sum, because the King of Spain's credit was very bad in Flanders.

In this difficulty D. John told Monsignor Sega, and, showing him all the trouble of the situation, asked him to lend the 50,000 golden crowns destined by Gregory XIII for the unlucky expedition to England, to pay the soldiers, pledging his word and oath, in the name of his brother, that they should be quickly and surely returned. Escovedo was able to negotiate, for his part, by pledging his credit and oath, for the rest of the amount that remained to pay off this dangerous debt, at the cost of D. John's hopes and the self-denial of the secretary. By these means the famous troops at last left Flanders for Italy, commanded by the Count de Mansfeld, amid the great rejoicing of the Flemish rebels, who then saw the coast clear for the further treasons they were plotting.

This put an end to the pretext for not receiving D. John and making over the command to him, and he was proclaimed Governor at Louvain amid a crowd of gentlemen, and the real joy of some and the false and feigned enthusiasm of the rest. From there he went to Brussels, in spite of the fact that the loyal Count of Barlaimont warned him that they were conspiring against his life and liberty. He came in sight of the city on the 4th of May, and an hour before his entry an insurrection broke out, promoted by the followers of the Prince of Orange. One Cornelius Straten, a known agent and leader of highwaymen, began to harangue the crowd, telling them that they should not let the Austrian traitor enter Brussels, who, with falseness and deceit, was bringing them death. Upon this a mass of riotous people dashed towards the gates of the city, overthrowing the guards, and lowered the portcullis. The magistrates arrived in haste, and, arresting Straten, quieted the tumult and cleared the gates. D. John arrived a few minutes later, calm and quiet, showing his bravery and greatness by dismissing his guard of halberdiers, as a proof of his confidence in the people. This is how Famiano Strada refers to D. John's entry into Brussels and his first acts as Governor:

"But the Austrian, at the time the Spaniards left, entered Brussels with extraordinary pomp, between the Pontiff's delegate and the Bishop of LiÉge and a complete deputation of all the States. It was he who made the brilliance of the show, with his debonair person—he was not thirty-two—laden with fame and triumphs by land and sea, and with these adornments representing his father, the CÆsar Charles, beloved and popular name among Flemings. Having solemnly sworn at the beginning of his government, he started to fulfil these promises with incredible clemency, rare affability, and all sorts of kindnesses, and an unheard-of liberality, exercised towards those who had the least claim, to such an extent that the citizens, attracted by his gentle bearing, forgetting their first ideas, and how much they had said against him, outbid each other in praising him, principally for having seen him one day without the foreign militia, and they congratulated themselves that the Austrian had brought its former happiness back to Flanders."

Philip II wrote to thank D. John for his trouble, very pleased with his conduct, and letting him plainly understand that there was no reason for definitely giving up the English plan.

"On the 14th of last month," he says, "I told you of the arrival of Concha, and of the receipt of the dispatches which he brought, and how pleased I was to learn the good state of affairs through the arrangement you have made with the States, and the satisfaction everything you have done has given me, and this to the extent that I do not content myself with what I wrote then, without again thanking you for it, and certifying that it has given me such satisfaction, that, although nothing could add to the love I have for you, the desire to prove to you how much I esteem your work, and the fruit and success which has followed from it in all the business of my service, that I shall praise you more each day, and my care will grow for all that concerns you, knowing that every day you are putting me under fresh obligations by remaining in the same cares and work as heretofore, in order that the affairs of these States may become settled, and that which is best for the service of God and my service may be established; and although what you have done hitherto is much, what is before you is indescribably more. And as I know this, you may believe that it gratifies me much to show you the good-will which I have towards you in all that occurs, and that things will go on in such a way that that of England will be effected."

In the next line, and as if it were a means of arriving at this conquest, so desired by D. John, he insinuates his approval of the new and strange plans, invented by we know not whom, of substituting the marriage of D. John and Mary Stuart, which would cost blood and money, for that of D. John with Elizabeth of England, to which she seemed inclined.

"As to the marriage with the Queen of England, what I can tell you is that if in this way and with this view it could be treated of and brought about, it would be doing a great service and sacrifice to Our Lord, converting this kingdom to the Catholic Religion, which is in itself such an honour and glory that nothing can surpass it."

But D. John did not desire to be King of England by any and every means, but by those of justice and nobleness, conquering the kingdom with his sword, setting the lawful Queen, Mary Stuart, at liberty, and sharing her throne by her own wish. He therefore protested against this short cut of ignominy, which would lead him peaceably to the English throne, with no more exertion than that of joining his fate to that of a usurper, by her own apostasy and vices the scandal of Europe. "The favours the Queen of England is everywhere conferring," answered D. John to his brother, "are not so unimportant as to be disregarded and steps not taken to prevent them; as the world is so full already of heretics, she has very efficient ministers everywhere. It is natural to those whom God rejects to take much thought for things here, and thus does this unhappy Queen and her followers, of whose life and morals I have heard and hear so much, that I do not care to jest even about marrying her."

The summer was drawing on, and the letters from Madrid began to grow fewer in a strange way, and nothing was said in them of the absolute want of money, or of the loans which D. John and Escovedo had raised, pledging their own word and credit, until at last D. John decided to send the secretary to Rome, and from there to Spain, to tell Gregory XIII everything about the English expedition, and to require from the King the prompt acknowledgment and repayment of the debt contracted with the Pope, and of the letters honoured by Escovedo, compromising his credit and honour.

Escovedo set out at the beginning of July, and D. John said good-bye to him at Mechlin, little thinking he was sending him to be treacherously killed by a sword-thrust in a lane at Madrid.

There was so much brave daring in D. John's act of entering alone a country, for the most part rebel and not a little heretical, his Spanish troops already dismissed, and without other guards than the Duke of Arschot's Flemings, that the Prince of Orange and his followers were amazed and understood that nothing would stop D. John if he were not deprived of life or liberty. They determined, therefore, to effect one or the other, and the numerous agents of Orange, helped by those of the Queen of England, went about the country spreading clever calumnies against him, to prepare the way, maliciously interpreting all his acts and gradually making him and his government hated. Faithful to the policy of peace which had been enjoined on him, D. John wished to confer with Orange, and sent the Duke of Arschot to tell him that the Provinces of Holland and Zeeland were the only two which had not signed the "Perpetual Edict," and as they were under his command D. John confided this task to him. Orange then threw off that mask, which had gained for him the surname of "Silent," and with which he had covered his ambitions and mischievous designs, and answered Arschot that Holland and Zeeland would never sign the "Perpetual Edict," as both these provinces were Calvinistic and neither would promise to keep the Roman faith, and taking off his hat and showing his bald head, he said to the Duke, with a smile, "You see my head is bald (calva)! Then know that it is not more so than my heart." This play upon words signified that the traitor meant he was also a Calvinist, and his apostasy being now known, all hopes of agreement were at an end. In truth, Orange continued his infamous war of calumnies and perfidious intrigues against D. John even more openly from this time, and with the greatest effrontery as also all that he had hitherto done in secret to the Catholic Church in the provinces of Holland and Zeeland: persecuting the clergy, expelling monks and nuns, destroying temples and altars, melting bells to make cannon, confiscating ecclesiastical revenues for his own purse or those of his partisans, and from the pulpits of Catholic churches making heretic ministers preach the doctrines of Calvin. At such impious insolence D. John proposed to the States to join their troops with those of the King, and make war on Orange and seize the provinces he had usurped; but the States put off his proposal with such shallow excuses that D. John could easily see that mutual and secret confidence existed between them and Orange. Meanwhile, in Brussels, the want of confidence and even the hatred which the agents and partisans of Orange the Silent had sown against the Austrian, grew more and more. These men became so barefaced that they wore special caps and medals with allusive letters, and the authorities and deputies became so arrogant that they ordered D. John to be called the Magistrate of Brussels, as if he were what we should now call the Mayor. He answered that they must come and see him, because it was not usual for the Magistrate to hear anyone outside the HÔtel de Ville.

The solemn festivity which the magistrates were accustomed to hold in the HÔtel de Ville, a banquet, always presided over by the Governor-General, was about to take place. D. John received several warnings not to attend it, as something was being contrived against his person; but he, even more afraid of showing that he distrusted the magistrates, came to occupy his place, accompanied by eighty musketeers of his guard, who had orders that, happen what might, they were to wound nobody. Half-way through the banquet a crowd of seditious people attacked the HÔtel de Ville, intending to enter by force, uttering insults and threats against the Austrian. The musketeers drove them back without wounding any, but many of them were hurt. D. John retired with those who remained uninjured, leaving the magistrates to deal with the guilty ones, but they overlooked this and let them go free, to show D. John that they did not consider an affront to his person worth punishing. Then it came to D. John's knowledge that the Baron of Hesse and Count de Lalaing, with two other great lords, confirmed heretics, had assembled one night in the house of another noble, and had arranged with the English ambassador and more than 500 neighbours to take D. John at the first opportunity and to kill him if he resisted. They thought that the procession of the Holy Sacrament, called in Brussels the "Miracle," might afford a good one. It took place on the 3rd of July and was always presided over by the Governor-General. D. John did not wish to break with the States, who were consenting to all this, and preferred to avoid the danger by going to Mechlin on the pretence of settling the pay of the German troops, who were asking for their money, which was in arrears. But his friends did not think him safe there and so they told him; because the conspirators, furious at their prey having escaped them, armed the militia and took the road to Luxemburg, which was a quiet place where D. John and Alexander Farnese could take refuge, and to which the Spanish troops could return. With great patience D. John thought it wise still to dissimulate, and found another plausible excuse for leaving Mechlin and not returning to Brussels and getting nearer to a strong and safe place. He went to Namur, very quietly and calmly, to receive the Queen of Navarre, Margaret of Valois, who was passing in order to take the waters of Spa at LiÉge. This lady was the celebrated Queen Margot, first wife of Henry IV of France, then at the summit of her vaunted beauty and in the waxing period of her coquetry, which at last degenerated, as it generally does, into shameless and complete dissoluteness.

Queen Margot entered Namur on the 24th of July in a litter entirely made of glass, a present from D. John of Austria. The glass of the litter was engraved with forty verses in Spanish and Italian, all alluding to the sun and its effects, to which the poet gallantly compared the beautiful Queen. D. John rode on her right, and their persons were guarded by the forty archers who surrounded them; they were preceded by a company of arquebusiers on horseback and one hundred Germans forming two lines, and were followed by the Princess de la Roche sur Yonne and Mme. de Tournon in litters; ten maids of honour, as pretty, coquettish and flighty as their mistress, were riding amid a crowd of gentlemen, who waited on them and flirted with them; six coaches were in the rear with the rest of the ladies, and the female servants and an escort of lancers on horseback.

Queen Margot stayed four days in Namur, entertained all the time magnificently by D. John; at eleven o'clock they dined in one of the delicious gardens of the place, and then danced till the hour of vespers, which they went devoutly to attend in some convent of friars. Then they went for a ride and supped at six o'clock, also out of doors in the gardens, when more dancing followed, or romantic walks by the river in the moonlight with delightful music. The Bishop of LiÉge, who had come there, was present at all these gatherings, also the Canons and a crowd of native and foreign gentlemen, among whom Margot made her treacherous propaganda, because this bad woman, (as she always was in many ways) was in connivance with the Prince of Orange, and was working secretly in favour of her brother the Duke of AlenÇon, whom Orange wished to appoint Governor of Flanders, D. John being a prisoner or dead. Margot knew this, and she, being very much taken with him and not wishing any harm to befall him, gave him several very useful warnings; through her he knew that the conspirators of Brussels had plans for carrying out their evil designs there in Namur, and then it was that, in agreement with the loyal Count of Barlaimont and his sons, he resolved to retire to the castle of Namur and break with the States.

He was, however, ignorant of the number of the soldiers in the castle, and how far it was safe to count on the Governor de Ives; time pressed and he then formed a scheme, the execution of which Vander Hammen refers to as follows: "Mos. de Hierges, eldest son of the Count of Barlaimont, said that he would go to sleep that night at the castle, as Mos. de Ives, the Governor, was a great friend of his; and that His Highness would come next morning to hunt, and as he passed, if he thought he could install himself in the castle, he would put his hand to his beard as a signal, and if not he was to commend himself to God and fly. They agreed on the plan and executed it the following day, without telling the Council of the States or the deputies or trusting them. He therefore pretended to go hunting, and passing by the gate of the castle asked what it was. They answered, 'One of the best in Flanders.' Monsieur de Barlaimont then said, 'My eldest son is there: would Y.H. like us to see if he wishes to go hunting?' D. John stopped and ordered him to be called. He came to the gate; His Highness asked why he had gone to sleep at a castle and had left the town, and then they began a conversation. In the middle of it he said, 'If you like to see it, it is still early and it will please them greatly,' and made the sign. D. John turned to the Duke of Arschot and the Marquis de HavrÉ, and said to them, 'It is early, let us see it.' With this he reached the door and dismounted, carrying a pistol he had taken from the saddle-bow. Twenty-four Spanish lackeys preceded him. As relations were not ruptured, Mos. de Ives ordered the few Walloons (they were old soldiers, wearied by long wars) to open the door, and the twenty-four lackeys entered and disarmed the guard. The Lord D. John, standing at the door, said, 'All who are servants of the King, my Lord, come here to me,' and turning to Ives, he told him 'not to fear, because he had taken the castle for the King, his Lord, to whom it belonged, to free himself from a conspiracy formed against him.' He gave him the keys and permission to leave to all those who did not wish to stay with him. Nobody stirred, all mounted with him. Upstairs he took Arschot and HavrÉ on one side, and told them all that had passed and the treaty they had made, and showed them his letters. The Duke, being convinced, offered, in the name of the States, to acknowledge him Lord of Flanders, and said that all would readily obey him if he liked to take them as vassals; but the Lord D. John reproved him very severely for the offer, and said many angry words. It was only his courage and loyalty which could do so heroic an action and resist such a great temptation. The talk ended by the two leaving the castle and going to the town, where their wives were; but on reaching it they, also Mos. de Capres and the soldiers who had come to capture His Highness fled, so hurriedly, that they scarcely collected their clothes, saying that there was nothing further to do there as he had escaped them. D. John's chief almoner, the Abbot de Meroles, who was crafty and untrustworthy, followed them with a few others. D. John heard of the flight of the Duke and the Marquis, and at once sent Octavio Gonzaga after them, with rather more than twenty gentlemen, to make them return, but they fled in such good earnest that he could not overtake them."

The Duchess of Arschot and the Marchioness of HavrÉ, who were at Namur, indignant at the bad conduct of their husbands, wrote to D. John protesting and offering themselves as hostages. He answered that his mission was to serve ladies, not to make them captive, and sent them 600 crowns, so that they might rejoin their husbands. So impoverished was D. John that to obtain this money he had to borrow from the gentlemen and servants who had followed him. Bad as this was, the worst part of D. John's situation was that Philip II persisted in upholding that policy of peace, which was encouraging the States more and more, forbidding the Spanish regiments to return to Flanders to continue the war, which D. John thought absolutely necessary, and as a means of forcing him to this obedience, against his opinions and wishes Philip adopted the plan of sending no money whatever to Flanders or answering the frequent and despairing letters the poor Prince wrote, which, after four centuries, give one pain to read. But what was the most extraordinary, and which immersed D. John in a sea of fears and perplexities and made him foresee grave catastrophes, was that his false friend Antonio PÉrez did not write either, and the good and loyal Escovedo preserved the same silence.

To understand properly the complicated reasons which induced Philip II to leave his brother D. John of Austria without help in such an uncalled-for way, it is necessary to disentangle the skein, among whose threads will be found the mysterious and tragic death of the secretary Juan de Escovedo. Some light has been thrown on the gloomy drama which shows that various figures are stained with this innocent blood. By these sinister signs we are able to trace, and through many winding ways to establish, the connection of certain deeds which show by themselves the characters and degree of responsibility of these persons.

We must retrace our steps to the year 1569, and on a beautiful June afternoon we shall see slowly entering Pastrana a covered waggon of the sort still called "galeras." The mysterious vehicle excited much curiosity, and a crowd of men, women and children gathered round it when it stopped at the threshold of the ducal palace of Pastrana, whose heavy doors opened to receive it, leaving the curious outside. In the first courtyard Prince Ruy GÓmez de Silva and his wife the Princess de Évoli were waiting with all their children, even down to the babies in the arms of their nurses and maids, the duennas, waiting-maids, pages and other retainers in rows, according to their standing. All eyes were fixed on the waggon, with curiosity mingled with respect, and those in the back row stood on tiptoe to see better. The curtains of the cart were at last withdrawn, and Ruy GÓmez and his wife went forward respectfully; all heads were stretched out, and an old woman, who had been in the service of the Condesa del MÉlito, the mother of the Princess, fell on her knees and beat upon her breasts. Three strange figures alighted, such as were never seen about the streets at that time; they wore tunics of coarse cloth, white cloaks of the same material, and their bare feet were shod with sandals of esparto grass; long, thick black veils covered their faces and almost all their persons. A small bundle tied up in a cloth was carried under the cloak by the last figure to alight.

All these marks of curiosity and respect, however, were well justified, as the woman who was first to get out, dressed in the coarse cloth, was St. Theresa de Jesus, who was come to found a convent of barefooted Carmelites at Pastrana. It was not two years since Ruy GÓmez had come into possession of his duchy, and he was hastening to do all he could for the material and moral welfare of his vassals. He wished to establish a monastery in his town, and the Princess a convent for women, which she had given over to Mother Theresa, attracted by the wonderful things she had heard of this marvellous woman, and anxious to flatter her own curiosity and vanity by associating herself with one with whom God held familiar intercourse and to whom He showed such stupendous wonders. The saint accepted the offer; she was just beginning her great reforms, and for this purpose went from Toledo to Pastrana, passing by Madrid, where she stayed with an old friend of ours and a devoted follower of the saint, DoÑa Leonor MascareÑes, in the Franciscan convent which DoÑa Leonor had founded and to which she had retired. She gave Mother Theresa many details of the Princess's difficult temper, having known her well at Court. Well primed with this information the saint went to Pastrana, where she arrived towards the end of June. Here, she says in her book about her foundations, "I found the Princess and the Prince Ruy GÓmez, who received me very well; they gave me a private apartment, which was more than I could have expected, because the house was so small that the Princess had had much of it pulled down and rebuilt, not the walls, but many things. We were there for three months, hard times, the Princess asking me things contrary to our religion. I had even determined to leave rather than give in, but the Prince Ruy GÓmez, in his gentle way (he was very gentle and sensible), made his wife come to reason." Besides the troubles alluded to by the saint the Princess made others from her capricious, domineering character and want of fine feeling. She had heard that St. Theresa was very beautiful, in spite of being fifty-four, and she was dying of curiosity to see her face, but the saint would not consent to show it to her, nor did she or her companions ever lift their veils before the Princess or anybody else. This exasperated the Princess, and she was always peeping through the windows and keyhole hoping to surprise Theresa in one of her trances, in which Our Lord used to appear to her. Theresa laughed at what she calls stupidities, but in the end this constant prying worried and became intolerable to her. The Princess also gave her another real cause for annoyance; knowing that her confessor had ordered her to write her wonderful life, the Princess, full of curiosity, wished to read it. Mother Theresa refused with much firmness; this piqued the capricious lady, who wrote to the saint's superiors, asking them to order her to let the Princess read the manuscript she had with her at Pastrana. They, being either very complacent or not knowing the Princess's character, did not hesitate to give the order. Theresa obeyed without delay, and then the Princess triumphed. She greedily read the ingenuous pages in which the divine marvels are told with such sublime simplicity; they excited her imagination, and, like all talkative women, feeling the necessity of imparting her feelings, she committed the breach of confidence of giving the manuscript to her duennas, waiting-maids and pages. So from hand to hand, in hall and antechamber, went the mysterious outpouring of the Virgen del Carmel, and so many comments were made that they reached the ears of the Inquisitor, who sent for the book. The severe tribunal kept it for ten years and then returned it without observation or alteration, but not before all this had caused very great annoyance.

At last the foundation was finished, and Mother Theresa left for Salamanca and the Prince and Princess for Madrid, where a year afterwards Ruy GÓmez died in his house in the lane of St. Mary. He expired in the arms of his old and faithful friend Juan de Escovedo; his last moments were aided by two barefooted Carmelite friars who came from Pastrana. The Princess gave way to paroxysms of grief, which were more like fits of temper; in the first moments she roared rather than wept over her sorrow, as she really loved the worthy man who had gratified her vanity and her senses, the only two poles which guided this lady's life. Suddenly, thinking herself like St. Theresa, inspired by Heaven, she determined at once to retire to the Carmelite convent at Pastrana and end her days in retirement and prayer. In vain the two monks, her relations and friends put before her her obligations as a mother, the duties which the will of Ruy GÓmez imposed on her by making her guardian of her children, and her strict obligation to administer the properties and fortunes of these minors.

The widow's obstinacy was fanned by this opposition, and as her only answer she requested the two friars to give her the habit. They replied that they could not do so without the permission of the superiors and the authorisation of Mother Theresa. The Princess shrugged her shoulders and ordered a new habit, but as one was not forthcoming at once, she attired herself in an old, dirty one and covered herself with a black veil, as she had seen St. Theresa do, never raising it to show her face. As the sandals of esparto grass hurt her bare feet she ordered them to be lined with the softest cloth. She also ordered a waggon covered with an awning like St. Theresa's, and with her duennas and maids set out for Pastrana, without taking leave of anyone and abandoning the body of her husband. Her mother, the Princess del MÉlito, got into the cart almost by main force, so as to accompany her to the convent. One of the friars, BartholomÉ de Jesus, seeing that she was really going, outstripped the Princess's waggon and arrived at the convent at two in the morning to warn the nuns. The Prioress, Elizabeth de San Domingo, a discreet woman of rare virtue, came downstairs, and on hearing that the Princess was arriving in a few hours, already habited as a nun and with the intention of remaining at the convent, exclaimed, clasping her hands in amazement, "The Princess a nun—then I give up this house as lost."

The author of the "History of the Reforms of the Barefooted Order of Our Lady of Carmel," Fr. Francisco de Santamaria, thus describes the arrival of the Princess de Évoli at the convent of Pastrana. "The Prioress called the nuns, got ready the house, and prepared two beds, one for the Princess, the other for her mother, who arrived at eight o'clock in the morning. The Princess changed her habit, as the one she had taken in Madrid was neither suitable nor so clean as it might have been. She rested for a while, and suddenly showing her determination wished that the habit should be given at once to the two waiting-maids she had brought with her, paying with a little sackcloth the salaries of long years. The Prioress answered that the licence of the prelate was necessary. She said, very much offended, 'What have friars to do with my convent?' Not without resentment on the Princess's part, the Mother Prioress deferred doing it until she had consulted the Father Prior. Having conferred with him she resolved to give them the habit. This was done in the parlour, the Princess being placed between the two, so that she might also attain the blessings. They took her to eat meat with her mother in a room apart. She dispensed with this service and went to the refectory, and leaving the place near the Prioress which had been prepared for her took one of the lowest, without giving in to prayers and exhortations, preserving superiority in an inferior place.

"The Prioress, considering that such self-will would cause much trouble, consulted with the Princess, her mother, that it would be better if the lady took a part of the house, where she could live with her servants and be visited by secular people, with a door to go to the cloister when she wished, but not any secular person to use it. This seemed to everyone good advice, but she thought it bad, as it was not hers, and she remained as she was in the convent.

"The next day, having buried the Prince and performed the obsequies, the Bishop of Segorbe and other persons of rank who were there came to visit her. Mother Elizabeth told her to talk to them at the grating, but she wished that they should come into the cloister, and made such a point of this that, in spite of the monks, nuns, and laymen who came to visit her, they opened the doors of the convent and many servants entered with the lords, overthrowing the decrees of the Council, the orders of the holy Mother, the silence and retirement of the nuns and all good government, because lords do not think that they need obey laws. Not content with this she insisted on having two secular maids; the Mother Prioress offered that she herself and everyone would wait on her, especially two novices formerly in her service, but nothing would satisfy her, as she thought that she should be obeyed.

"The Mother Elizabeth wrote to our Mother St. Theresa, telling her of the death of the Prince, the resolution of the Princess, and the first episodes she had gone through with her.

"Mother Elizabeth and two of the oldest nuns told her that if she went on in this way, they knew that the holy foundation would take them away and put them where they could keep their rules, of more importance in her eyes than all the Grandees in the world. Annoyed by this, she took her servants and went to a hermitage in the orchard, and remained there, having nothing to do with the nuns. They sent her, however, the novices to wait on her, they not being yet so bound by the rules of the cloister.

"From there a door opened into the street, by which she admitted everyone, modifying thereby the grief for her husband's death. Because of all this the work of the church and convent stopped and the alms which Ruy GÓmez had left for its support, so that it began to suffer great straits."

But as all this lasted too long, and since the Princess would not give in and the troubles went on, so that all peace and quiet were at an end, and the "dovecot of the Virgin," as St. Theresa called it, was turned into a nest of intrigues and gossip, the saint wrote to the Prioress that she and all the nuns were to leave Pastrana and go to the convent in Segovia. This, however, was not necessary, as the superiors of the Order went to the King, and, acting with him, obliged the Princess to leave the convent. She then retired to her country house at Pastrana, and from there carried on such a campaign against the nuns and persecuted them so cruelly that Theresa, weary of it, ordered the Prioress to leave the convent with all the nuns, taking nothing with them that had been given by the Princess. "The beds," says the saint in her "Book of Foundations," "and the little things that the nuns themselves had brought, they took away with them, leaving the village people very sad. I saw them in peace with the greatest joy, because I was well informed that the displeasure of the Princess was no fault of theirs, rather they waited on her as before she wore the habit."

The Princess then sought for a Franciscan community to establish in the empty convent, and she helped and made much of them as she had never done before to the others. She took care that this should reach the ears of St. Theresa, her small, vindictive nature thinking that human jealousies could have a place in that heart which was protected by divine love. In the midst of this wretched strife the grief of the Princess had lessened, and in 1575 she already thought of returning to Madrid, so her father the Prince de MÉlito wrote to the King's secretary Mateo VÁzguez, that he might inform Philip and gain his support in her lawsuits. According to his custom, the King answered on the margin of Mateo VÁzguez's letter, in these very severe words: "Here is the paper, which I have seen, and by the prudence, which I have exercised all my life, of not mixing myself in the affairs of these persons, it will be well to do what is said here; and the more as I do not know if for these affairs and lawsuits the coming (of the Princess) is necessary, but I am certain that for their conscience and peace, and, who knows, their honour, it is best that she should not come here; and even for keeping the friendship of her father and mother, as she herself says, that when absent they are friends, but cannot be so when they are together. And Ruy GÓmez often told me, and well I know that it was much against his will that she should come here as a widow, and that he would be sorry if he knew that she did it; and it is not reasonable that I should order a thing I know to have been so certainly against his wishes. And, moreover, I do not know if this would suit all of us of the Court, especially those who cannot leave it. Thus, although I should have to mix in such matters, I will not in this one, particularly as I have long since determined not to do so. Otherwise I should be pleased to favour Ruy GÓmez's relations, as his services deserve. This for yourself, as it cannot be said to others. And you must see how you can answer MÉlito, excusing me from interfering about his daughter's coming."

The precise date of the Princess de Évoli's arrival in Madrid is not known; we think that she came for short and frequent visits in 1575 and settled there the next year. She would then realise that it was not the same thing to be the widow as the wife of Ruy GÓmez, and many rude awakenings soured her proud spirit. The secretary Antonio PÉrez began to frequent her house at this time, and these two monsters of vanity were attracted by, and suited to, each other. He, a political puppet, sought from her the prestige that intimacy with such a great and high-born lady as the Princess could give him, for, in spite of all his grandeur and luxury and power, then at its height, he never could forget his base and lowly origin. She, on her part, sought in him what she had lost by the death of Ruy GÓmez, a share of power and influence, easier to manage from the hands of the unworthy Antonio PÉrez than from those of the level-headed Prince de Évoli: "I can do more than ever," said the Princess proudly a little later to one of her correspondents.

The lady was at this time thirty-six, and in spite of the superlative praise of her beauty that Antonio PÉrez gives in his "Relaciones," it was not then extraordinary, nor ever could have been so. None of her contemporaries mention it, and the only authentic portrait known of her represents her as a nice-looking girl, dreadfully disfigured by a black patch which covered her blind eye, and specially noticeable from the whiteness of her skin and the blackness of her hair. Antonio PÉrez was forty-two, and was, according to Luis Cabrera de CÓrdoba, "a good-looking man, with a handsome, manly face, over sumptuously and curiously dressed, perfumed, and pompous in his house." The inevitable happened: the sudden intimacy of two people, so well known, after years of slight acquaintance, caused them to be talked about, and the frequency and familiarity of the visits at unsuitable hours, and, above all, the endless exchange of presents, until mine and thine hardly existed between them, let loose among all the Court that gossip which previously had only been timidly circulated, as the MarqÚes de Fabara had whispered to D. John. Then, in the presence of Antonio PÉrez, she committed the treacherous act of a plotting woman; she called her children and told them not to be astonished at his visits or the affection he showed for them, because he was the son of Ruy GÓmez and therefore their brother.

At this historical moment Escovedo arrived from Flanders (July, 1577), sent by D. John to Madrid to represent to Philip how cut off he was, and the grave risks that these States and his own person ran. Escovedo had not forgotten, among his many preoccupations, the adventure at the Chorrillos, that D. John had told him of to moderate his zeal for the Princess de Évoli, and one of his first cares on reaching Madrid was to inform himself of the state of the case. At once he found that the fact was true, the scandal public, and the honoured memory of Ruy GÓmez degraded by the lightness of the widow and the horrible ingratitude of Antonio PÉrez, who owed everything to this great patrician. Loyal Escovedo was greatly distressed, and wishing to retrieve the honour of his dead benefactor and friend went to the house of the Princess, intending to warn and counsel her with all the regard he had for her. She was in the saloon with DoÑa Brianda de GÚzman; he waited patiently until this lady had left, and then spoke, not with his usual brusqueness, but with deep and affectionate concern, of the dreadful rumours that were going about, and said that she must close her door to Antonio PÉrez in order not to give support to them. Blind with rage on hearing him, the Princess rose, and in an unsteady voice answered that "it did not concern squires what great ladies did." And with this she turned and went to the further end of the room. All of which is told by DoÑa Catalina de Herrera, duenna to the Princess.

During this time the diabolical craftiness of Antonio PÉrez had again stirred into a flame Philip's slumbering suspicions of his brother. Absolute master of the King's confidence, and also master of that which he had treacherously obtained by pretending to favour the interests of D. John and Escovedo, it was easy for this past master of perfidy and intrigue to tangle the skein. The unfortunate troubles in Flanders had put an end to the English scheme; and Philip's tenacity in following the policy of peace when only that of war was possible helped Antonio PÉrez very much. D. John and Escovedo often wrote to him, as faithful friends pursuing the same end, telling him of their plans and their fears, grumbling to him, and begging for his powerful support with the King. For his part Antonio PÉrez took the echo of all this to D. Philip, but not as it was, sincere and frank, always loyal and noble, if sometimes violent, but changed in its meaning, exaggerated, its text even altered when deciphered by Fernando de Escobar, a creature of Antonio PÉrez. He answered them, in agreement with Philip, trying to maintain their confidence, and his hypocrisy went the length of letting disrespectful words against the Monarch slip into his letters, in the hope that seeing these they would imitate his example, which he never succeeded in making them do.

Sending one of these insidious letters for D. John to the deceived Sovereign for his approval, Antonio PÉrez wrote:

"Sir, It is necessary to hear and write in this manner for your service, because thus they fall into the net, and one is better able to judge what course to take on behalf of your Majesty. And I would ask your Majesty to be careful not to be overlooked when reading these documents, as if my artifice were discovered, I could not serve you, and should have to give up the game. For the rest, I very well know, that for my conscience and duty I am acting as I ought in this matter, and I have need of no more casuistry than I possess to know it."

The King answered PÉrez on the margin of the letter: "Believe me, I am very discreet, and my casuistry agrees with yours; and not only are you doing your duty, but you would fail in doing it towards God and everyone if you acted differently, in order that I may be well enlightened of all that is necessary according to the twists and turns of the world and its affairs, which certainly frighten me."

Thus deceiving Philip II and betraying and calumniating D. John and Escovedo, Antonio PÉrez made the false and subtle plot by which the hero of Lepanto lost his credit with the King, and honest Escovedo his life by a treacherous sword-thrust. PÉrez, in his "Memorial," shows the threads of the plot, whose falseness Philip II found out later, and which modern history has proved by many authentic documents. That D. John had disobeyed the King by refusing to dismantle Tunis, the better to raise himself in that kingdom; that behind the King's back he had sought protection from Rome; that he put the English expedition before all the King's interests; that he exaggerated the state of affairs in Flanders, in order to get aid from Spain to use in the said expedition; that, once master of England, he contemplated invading Spain at Santander, making over the castle of Mogro to Escovedo, who had solicited its lieutenancy; that the hope of the English expedition over, he thought of going to the help of the King of France at the head of the Spanish troops; that his wish to return to Spain was only to obtain a canopy and take possession of the government; that behind the King's back he had made a league with the Guise Princes, called the "Defence of the two Crowns," going back to the idea of invading England.

All these absurd, senseless plans Antonio PÉrez did not attribute entirely to D. John. As formerly he represented Juan de Soto, so now he held up Escovedo as the instigator and principal agent, and D. John as a weak prince, who, devoured by ambition and blind through his vivid imagination, allowed himself to be dragged into disloyal adventures. For this, and perhaps because he loved D. John and was frightened of him, Philip II never showed his suspicion, nor took any steps against him, and took much trouble afterwards to hide his vengeance from him; so all his wrath fell on Escovedo, and he came to look on this rough and honest mountaineer as a dangerous man, capable of every treason and every crime. It is not wonderful that Escovedo's unexpected coming to Madrid in July, 1577, which we noted in a former chapter, should have given D. Philip a great shock; writing, as usual, on the margin of the letter in which Antonio PÉrez announced the arrival of Escovedo at Santander, he says, "It will be necessary to be well prepared, and to make haste to dispatch him before he kills us."

Escovedo came, furious at what he considered the incomprehensible way D. John had been left without soldiers or money; furious also at Philip's policy of peace, which he presumed to describe as overdone, writing to the King himself, and finally determined, with all his rough energy, to claim the acceptance of the bills he had negotiated in Brussels, and the payment of the 80,000 gold crowns lent to D. John by the Pope's Nuncio, that the troops might be dismissed from Flanders. This he did with such hard words and bitter reproaches, that Philip sent one of Escovedo's letters to PÉrez, adding on the margin, "That you should see how he comes thirsting for blood." And shortly afterwards, lamenting over another letter from Escovedo, he wrote, "Certainly if he said to me what he writes, I do not know if I could have helped losing my temper as he does."

At last the news of D. John's retirement to the castle of Namur reached the Court, and the despairing letters of the distressed Prince began to arrive, in which, with such painful urgency, he craves for the return of Escovedo. "Money, money, and more money, and Escovedo," he repeats in all his letters of this date. His anxiety to have his secretary at his side, and the same feeling which was noticed in Escovedo to return as quickly as possible to Flanders, awoke in D. Philip the suspicion that something was being plotted to continue the war there against his orders, and to favour D. John's pretensions. Antonio PÉrez fanned this new fire, and henceforward Escovedo was in D. Philip's eyes a constant danger, a State criminal, who could not be sent back to Flanders, for fear lest he would carry out his work, or kept in Spain, without the risk of rousing the dreaded ire of D. John. For several days this vexed and perplexed Philip, until at last he made a resolution which Antonio PÉrez himself relates in a letter to Gil de Mesa.

One day Philip called him to his room in the Escorial. It was at an inconvenient time, and the secretary hastily ran, carrying the dispatches in a large bag. The King came to the door to meet him, and took him, with much mystery, to a distant, isolated room, where the furniture, ornaments and treasures for the still unfurnished house were stored. The King ordered PÉrez to shut the door and put the bag of papers on the table. The furniture was stacked at the two sides, leaving a passage in the middle, up and down which Philip began to walk, his hands behind his back, preoccupied and thoughtful. PÉrez kept a respectful silence, waiting for the King to break it, which he did at last, standing in front of PÉrez, and saying very slowly and in measured tones, "Antonio PÉrez, I have passed many sleepless nights on account of my brother's affairs, or rather those of Juan de Escovedo and his predecessor Juan de Soto, and the point to which their plots have come, and I consider it is very necessary to take a resolution quickly, or we shall not be in time. And I can find no better remedy, in fact there is no other, than getting rid of Juan de Escovedo. Imprisoning him would result in exasperating my brother as much as killing him would. So I have determined on it, and trust this deed to no one but you, because of your well-proved fidelity and your ingenuity, as well known as your fidelity. Because you know all the plots, and I owe the discovery of them to you, yours shall be the hand to effect the cure. Speed is very necessary for the reasons you know."

As he himself affirms, the heart of Antonio PÉrez leapt, and he answered the King with great devotion that he was entirely his, and that he had no more wish or movement than the hand as regards its owner. But, as his cunning forethought always saw a long way ahead, he at once realised the risk that he ran in a matter so secret and with so powerful an accomplice, if he did not have a witness in his interest to note the facts, if things were ever discovered, and to share the responsibilities in case of disagreement, so he craftily added, "But, Sir, let Y.M. permit me to speak with the presumption of love. I consider Y.M. outside this affair, although your prudence and presence of mind prevent your being incensed at the greatest crimes, I, as I might get angry at such offences against your person and crown, also have much interest in this. It will be well to bring in a third person to judge this determination, to justify it, and for the better ascertaining of the facts. This will be much to the point."

Then he saw the King come towards him, who, stopping, answered: "Antonio PÉrez, if it is because you do not care to run the risk of this business that you wish for a third person, it is the same to me. To settle the matter I do not require a third person. Kings in such extreme cases have to act like King's physicians and great doctors among their inferiors with patients under their care: that in grave and urgent accidents they act on their own authority with promptitude, although in other illnesses they act with and follow the consultations of other doctors. Moreover, in these matters (believe me that what I say relates to my profession) there is more danger than security in consultations."

Antonio PÉrez makes the following comment on these royal words in his letter to Gil de Mesa: "When old kings come to announcing such principles of their art, either they love much (a rare thing) or necessity opens the door of confidence (a certain fact)."

Well Antonio PÉrez must have known and measured Philip's necessity when he determined to press him to interpose a third person, and even presumed to propose his friend and boon companion the MarquÉs de los VÉlez, D. Pedro Fajardo, who was a Councillor of State and Lord Steward to the Queen DoÑa Ana. At last Philip consented, and authorised Antonio PÉrez to consult him. The secretary had little trouble in bringing the old noble to his opinion, a despot himself, a great soldier but absolutely illiterate, who considered PÉrez an oracle, and for some years had owed D. John a grudge for having usurped, as he said, the triumph over the Moors.

PÉrez talked to him, and both agreed that Escovedo deserved to die as a disturber of the kingdom who was trying to make war in Flanders; that it was impossible to arrest, judge and sentence him in the ordinary way without risk of awaking the alarm of D. John and provoking fresh conflicts; but the King, as supreme arbiter of his subjects' lives, according to the precepts and practices of those times, could judge and sentence him by the secret law of his conscience, without any legal transactions, and entrust the execution of this sentence to some person in his confidence, whom he should authorise by a paper in his own writing, "and that the best and least inconvenient way would be that with some mouthful or other similar means he should get out of the trouble, and even this with the greatest care, as the Lord D. John might not suspect it was the result of the true cause and motive, but of some vengeance and private grudge."

And then the MarquÉs de los VÉlez, with all the customary pomposity of a wind-bag, and with all the jealous rancour which he nourished, pronounced these words so often quoted by the apologists of Antonio PÉrez, "That if his opinion were asked, with the Sacrament in his mouth, who was the person it was most important to take away, Juan de Escovedo or anyone else, he would vote for Juan de Escovedo."

In conformity, then, with this interview Philip II judged Escovedo and condemned him to death by the law of his conscience, and charged Antonio PÉrez with the execution of the sentence, authorising him by a paper written by his own hand, in which he adds, "That although it may be realised that he has nothing to do with all that has happened, it will be well that there should be no doubt whatever about it."

Antonio PÉrez lost no time, and with the greatest secrecy began to arrange the means by which to give Escovedo "a mouthful," which would cause his death and give him time to confess, "so that he should not also lose his soul," according to Philip II's expressed wish. In the houses of the Grandees—and Antonio PÉrez lived as if he were one—in those days of little security, scoundrels and ruffians were attached to the household to guard its lord, in cases of attack or defence. Because of his many plots and businesses, Antonio PÉrez had several in his service, and chief among them his steward and confidential servant Diego Martinez, a wild, brave, unscrupulous man. So to Diego Martinez PÉrez went and confided his intentions, asking him to obtain a poison to kill Escovedo, and a trustworthy, capable agent to administer it. Martinez proposed a certain Antonio Enriquez, one of Antonio PÉrez's pages, a clever, determined man, and of the stuff assassins are made of. Diego Martinez interviewed him, and revealed the affair to him little by little, as had been arranged. He asked him first whether he knew of any bravo who was capable of dealing a blow that would bring much gain and little danger, as secret protection would be forthcoming.

Enriquez answered that he knew a muleteer capable of giving one for nothing, and with all risks if he undertook the engagement. Then Martinez revealed a little more, and said that it was an important personage, and that Antonio PÉrez wished for his death. For this, answered Enriquez, a cleverer man than a muleteer is wanted, and he said no more that day.

But very early the next morning Diego Martinez entered the chamber of Enriquez, holding a glass phial, as it seemed, of clear water, and holding it up to the light, said that it contained the poison to kill a certain person, who was none other than the secretary Juan de Escovedo, whose death Antonio PÉrez desired, and which was to take place at a dinner that was being prepared at the "Casilla," and it was the wish of the Lord Antonio that he, Enriquez, should administer the poison at the banquet, with all the skill and caution PÉrez knew him to possess.

To this Enriquez answered roughly that if the Lord Antonio desired to make him kill a man, he should tell him so openly and by his own mouth, otherwise he would not kill anyone. Accordingly PÉrez made an appointment at the "Casilla" one afternoon with Enriquez, according to the declaration of the same, and said, "As it is important that the secretary Escovedo should die, he had been instructed to give the poison the day that he was a guest, and in order to do so he must see and communicate with the said Diego Martinez, giving him his word and promise and friendship in all things. And with this declaration he was very satisfied, and communicated each day with the said Diego Martinez, about what was to be done." The arrangements for striking the blow were the following. The dining-rooms at the "Casilla," as we said while describing the celebrated villa, were on the ground-floor, on the right hand of the door, and the first was a square room with two cupboards, one for plate, the other for the cups, in which, according to the custom of those times, beverages were served. Next was a passage room, with much rich Cordova leather, which led into the dining-room itself. It was agreed that Antonio Enriquez should serve Escovedo with wine when he asked for it. Diego Martinez was to hide in the passage room, with the poisoned water all ready, and as Enriquez passed carrying Escovedo's full cup, Martinez was to throw in quickly and secretly enough poison to fill a nutshell, which was the prescribed quantity.

This plan was carried out, and twice during the dinner Antonio Enriquez administered the poisoned drink to Escovedo. There were eight guests that day, all great and important personages, some of them officers of the Court. Antonio PÉrez sat next to Escovedo, watching the coming and going of the page Enriquez, when he served his confiding victim with wine, even to the number of cupfuls the latter drank. But this man made of stone did not watch these sinister movements with the unrest and trepidation usual in a criminal, or with the anticipation of remorse at seeing the dagger sharpened which is to be plunged into the breast of a friend; but seemingly calm, quiet, merry, and joking with his victim, and keeping up animation among his guests with that charm, wit, and eloquence and gaiety which made the wicked secretary so attractive and delightful. At last the horrible feast came to an end, and they rose from the table to begin to play, all except Escovedo, who, saying that he had important business, at once returned to Madrid. He rode on a mule with no other escort than a groom on foot, and he leant over the mule's neck like a man either very ill or very much preoccupied. PÉrez thought that the poison was already taking effect, and, full of impatience, Antonio Enriquez says in his declaration, "he made an excuse and joined the witness and his steward in one of the chambers near the courtyard, where he learnt the amount of water that had been given to the secretary Escovedo, and then went back to play."

The next morning Diego Martinez went as if by chance to prowl about the lane of St. Mary, where Escovedo lived in a house which he had bought from the Prince de Évoli, in proximity to whose dwelling it was. It was called "of the lions" from two at the door. The steward waited for some sign of alarm or unusual movement in the house, to manifest the grave illness, at least, which he anticipated for Escovedo by this time. The most absolute calm, however, reigned in the street and house. In the wide, dark, paved courtyard Escovedo's mule was being cleaned by the groom; a servant was hanging a child's white clothes out of a window, and at the bend of the narrow lane three men, with great labour, were putting two casks through the narrow grating of the cellar. The spy drew nearer stealthily, and saw with surprise and terror that at the bottom of the cellar Escovedo himself, in doublet and breeches, and his son Pedro, were assisting by their orders, and even by their efforts, the difficult passage of the casks. There was no doubt that the poison had not taken effect, either because the patient was too strong or the dose too light.

The failure of this, his first attempt, annoyed PÉrez very much; but he was not the least discouraged, because men like him, cold, artful and wicked, never are. He at once began to think of another ambush to which to attract his victim, and this was another dinner, this time at his house in Madrid, that of the Conde de PuÑonrostro, behind the church of St. Justin. He had furnished this historical house with a luxury and magnificence much greater even than the vaunted "Casilla," and the parties given there had something courtly and serious about them, very different from the country jaunts and merry suppers of the other. The wife of PÉrez, DoÑa Juana de Coello, who always presided over them, gave the parties this character; she was a highly gifted lady, whose heroic conjugal affection has passed into history. At the dinner, where a second attempt on the life of Escovedo was made, DoÑa Juana was present, and besides Antonio PÉrez and Escovedo there were five guests, of whom two were ecclesiastics. In the declaration of the page Antonio Enriquez, he relates how the poisoning was carried out this time. He says that some porringers were served full of either cream or milk, he did not remember which. There was a porringer for each guest, and they were placed before using them in a row in a great cupboard. Diego Martinez came and threw some white powder like flour into one of the porringers. He told Enriquez to give this one to Escovedo, as it contained the poison, and not to get it mixed with the others, making him hold it, while the other pages came to fetch the rest. They all entered the dining-room together to serve the porringers, and Enriquez placed the poisoned one in front of Escovedo. Antonio PÉrez, who knew where the poison was, never took his eyes off it. Moreover, Antonio Enriquez relates that he himself several times served Escovedo at this dinner with wine mixed with the poisoned water which had been used before.

The violent and terrible effects of the poison this time did not delay in showing themselves. That same night Escovedo was seized with sharp internal pain, sickness, and putrid fever which for many days kept him between life and death. The doctors saved him without suspecting poison, and Escovedo began to get steadily better. Antonio PÉrez watched all the symptoms of the illness, and seeing that his wounded quarry was again escaping him, once more let his pack of furious hounds loose on the unlucky victim, that the crime should be perpetrated in his own honoured home.

At that time there was a scullion, "racals," as they were called, in the King's kitchen, Juan Rubio by name. He was the son of the agent of the estate of the Prince de MÉlito (father of the Princess de Évoli), who having killed a priest in Cuenca, had fled to Madrid, and taken refuge in the royal kitchens, where, disguised as a scullion, he was unrecognised. Juan Rubio was a friend of Escovedo's cook, from seeing him each day at the market, and also of Antonio Enriquez, by the mysterious sympathy which always unites villains. By this simple means Enriquez learnt about Escovedo's kitchen, and knew that during his convalescence a special stew was prepared for him, but from the caprice of an invalid inspired by certain fancies this stew was not prepared by the cook, but by an old female slave there was in the house, who was a great adept at making mince and other simple dishes.

Antonio PÉrez took advantage of all these circumstances, and ordered his followers to deal a third blow, which would destroy the life which defended itself so tenaciously. So Antonio Enriquez spoke to the scullion Juan Rubio, and with flattering promises, based on the credit of Antonio PÉrez, decided Rubio to force his way by some excuse into the kitchen of Escovedo, and throw the poison into the stew which was daily prepared for him. Enriquez gave him the poison, a white powder of a different kind from that used before. The task was not so easy as the two ruffians thought it would be, because the slave never left her fire while she was cooking the stew, and the cook was always coming to the oven. Three times Juan Rubio went in vain to the kitchen, but the fourth time he achieved his object. Early one morning he watched for the cook to go out, and then went in on an excuse of bringing some live rabbits from the Prado. The slave was by the fire-place, having just put on the stew. Juan Rubio gave her the rabbits, and as they were alive and tried to escape, the poor old woman went to shut them up in a kind of cage there was in the yard hard by. Then Juan Rubio lifted the cover of the pot and threw in the thimbleful of the white powder, which was the quantity ordered by Enriquez.

At eleven o'clock Escovedo's wife and his son Pedro, who nursed him tenderly, gave him his meal; but on tasting the first mouthful the secretary pushed the porringer from him, saying that it tasted of broom juice. The poison, no doubt decomposed by the action of the fire, gave an unbearably bitter taste to the dish, on which the poisoners had not reckoned. Everyone was amazed. They made a search, and hunting carefully through the stew at the bottom, they came on unmistakable signs of poison.

Suspicion at once fell on the unlucky slave, who in vain protested her innocence. She was taken and loaded with chains and tortured, confessing in her weakness the crime she had not committed. She afterwards retracted this confession, torn from her in her pain; but it was too late, and she was condemned to be hanged, and the sentence was carried out a few days later in the public square.

At the same time that Escovedo was escaping so wonderfully from these three attempts on his life, tidings arrived at Madrid, which had been always feared and expected, and which came to change entirely Philip II's plans and policy. War, more cruel and gory than ever, had broken out in Flanders, provoked by the rebels. D. John, having received a handful of money to animate his German troops, and joining them to some Spanish soldiers who had returned to France, and who, knowing his danger, spontaneously flew to his aid, at Gembleux gloriously picked up the glove that the rebels threw down, and gained over them that marvellous victory which placed his personal courage in as much relief as it did his talent as a leader, his prophetic political sagacity, and his real faith as a Christian. "With this sign I vanquished the Turks; with this sign I will vanquish the heretics," he had written round the cross on his standard; and to his friends D. Diego de Mendoza and the Conde de Orgaz he communicated the great news that his losses only consisted of four killed and fifteen wounded, the enemy having been 5000, adding humbly, "God did it, and His only was the day, at a time, when if it had not been done, we should have died of hunger, surrounded by a hundred thousand other dangers."

The Baron de Willy, dispatched by D. John after the battle which was fought on the 31st of January, 1578, brought the news to Philip. He also informed him of the dreadful state of unrest in these provinces, all in open rebellion, where religion was not respected, nor the King obeyed, nor any Catholic law venerated. The fortresses gave their troops, the cities, towns and even the miserable villages armed their militia, and all joined in pursuing D. John, then deprived of all aid, surrounding him, pressing him, destroying and overthrowing at the same time the strong leader and the hated Spanish yoke. The victory of Gembleux, gained by D. John, made them retire and widen the circle, like cowardly hounds who see the lion they imagined done for suddenly rise, with bristling mane and outstretched claws. Many of them never stopped until they reached Brussels, and from there some fled to Antwerp, where they imagined themselves safe. But, once they had recovered from their surprise and fright, and knew that there was abundance of nothing except valour in D. John's camp, they would return to reunite, and once again narrow the circle, advancing slowly and with great caution, until at last they would fall on D. John and annihilate him by their numbers, if the help asked for in his letters were not sent. In these letters, which the Baron de Willy gave to Philip, D. John paints a vivid picture of his situation, and asks more urgently than ever for soldiers and plenty of money. He also begs that his secretary Escovedo may be sent, in the utmost good faith and ignorance of what was happening, recommending him warmly to his brother D. Philip for certain favours, which D. John averred he very well deserved.

All these facts and circumstances brought two things, distinct but much connected with each other, to the knowledge of Philip; one, that it was high time to give up his exaggerated peace policy in Flanders and take refuge in that of force, as his brother had been urging him for months. The other, that once the war had been lighted in Flanders by the rebels the danger of Escovedo doing so had ceased, and consequently also the political reason which made Philip condemn him to death. It was hard for Philip to make practical use of these two convictions, because by the first he had to retract an opinion he had held long and tenaciously; and by the second he had to smother grudges, dislikes and petty spites, which, united, made up what he, wrongly but sincerely, conceived to be political reasons, and which had undeniably influenced him in sentencing Escovedo to death. But the iron will of the prudent King knew how to drown personal feelings, and hide at any rate dislikes and spites, and frankly and definitely to enter on another course. So he wrote to D. John by the Baron de Willy: "If before he had been tardy in not making war on the rebels, to give them time to quiet themselves, as his clemency had done nothing but irritate them, he desired to sustain his authority by arms, and in order that it could be done in his name, he sent 900,000 crowns, offering to provide in future 200,000 each month, with which D. John was to maintain an army of 30,000 infantry and 6500 horse, without any prejudice to everything he thinks should be granted."

He also sent a fresh edict, which he ordered to be published, in which, after enumerating the offences of the rebels against God and his authority, he ordered them all to obey D. John, as his lieutenant; that the deputies were no longer to sit, and that they were to return to their provinces until they were legally convoked. He annulled everything decreed by them, forbidding the Council of State and the Treasury to act so long as they did not obey his Governor-General, and ordering that all Royal Patrimony that had been usurped should be given up. At the same time he ordered the Field-Marshal D. Lope de Figueroa, with 4000 veterans who were with him, to go to D. John's camp, where Alexander Farnese already was with a part of the Spanish troops. The Duque de Fernandina and D. Alfonso de Leiva were also to go with several companies of Spaniards, also Gabrio Cervelloni, now ransomed by the Pope from the hands of the Turks, with 2000 Italians he had raised in Milan.

Everything thus arranged about the war, the King wrote regarding Escovedo, on the 8th of March, 1578, these conclusive words: "I will be careful to order the secretary Escovedo to be dispatched shortly, and as to the rest of what you write about him, as to this and as to what he deserves, I will remember that it is right in its particulars." This very important letter is in the archives of Simancas, and proves that at that time (March 8) Philip had already retracted Escovedo's sentence of death and had ordered Antonio PÉrez to hasten his departure for Flanders, as on the 12th of the same month the King answers on the margin of one of PÉrez's own letters, "and do not forget what I wrote to you to hasten with the Verdinegro (Escovedo), who knows much and will not understand."

And yet, twenty-two days later, on the 31st of March, which that year was Easter Monday, Juan de Escovedo was treacherously murdered in the lane of St. Mary. He was found run through in the street, between the wall of the church and the house of the Princess de Évoli. He had a sword-thrust in the back, and had fallen on his face, still wrapped in his cloak, which the suddenness of the blow, no doubt, did not give him time to undo.

What had happened in this short space of time? Had Philip again signed Escovedo's death warrant, or had some treacherous hand interposed to effect the retracted sentence against the will of the Monarch? An event had taken place in those days which gives the key to the mystery. This fact was shown plainly at the trial of Antonio PÉrez, eleven years later, and was attested by Andres de Morgado, brother to Rodrigo de Morgado, equerry and confidential friend and go-between to the Princess de Évoli and Antonio PÉrez. In PÉrez's letter to Philip of the 12th of March, which we have just quoted, he says that at that time Escovedo had not yet quite recovered. "The man Verdinegro," it says, "is still weak, and will never get up." However, he rose soon, in spite of Antonio PÉrez's kind wish, and a few days later, about the end of March, he went to visit the Princess de Évoli, according to Morgado's declaration. Perhaps he went to take leave, before starting for Flanders; perhaps to thank her for the hypocritical attentions she and Antonio PÉrez had shown him during his illness and convalescence. The details of this visit, as given by Antonio de Morgado, cannot be written. Enough to say that Escovedo surprised the Princess and PÉrez in circumstances so indecorous and suggestive, that, blind with rage and wounded to the quick in his love and respect for the memory of Ruy GÓmez, he broke out into invectives against the pair, and threatened to disclose all to the King. PÉrez, ashamed, crept silently from the room, but the Princess, irritated in her pride as a great lady and her passion as a bad woman, faced Escovedo, and answered him by saying things about the King, which could figure in a trial where indecency was in its element, but cannot be read elsewhere without the blush of shame mounting to the forehead.

The Princess herself was afraid of what she had done, and late that night sought Antonio PÉrez at his house, where she went secretly with a duenna and two of her bravos as escort, and together these two guilty ones, terrified lest Escovedo should fulfil his threat, settled to get him out of the way, and planned how this was to be done. Then PÉrez showed the Princess the writing signed by Philip II, which authorised him to kill Escovedo, and both decided to use this, given for State reasons and afterwards retracted, to cover and make secure the secret of their illicit amours.

We shall see how the crime was carried out.

After his second failure Antonio PÉrez lost faith in being able to kill Escovedo by poison, and with horrible premeditation had entrusted assassins to do the deed by sword or shot, if the third attempt that he was planning also miscarried. He entrusted this to his two former accomplices, the steward Diego Martinez and the page Antonio Enriquez. Martinez summoned from Aragon two merciless men whom he could trust and who were skilled in this kind of adventure; one was Juan de Mesa, uncle of the Gil de Mesa, who, when Antonio PÉrez fled to Aragon, figured so much as his ally; the other a certain Insausti, a typical Italian bravo of that time, with his quarrelsome air, his formidable sword, and his matted locks which fell over his ears and head, and could be made to cover his face like a mask, so that he should not be recognised in his exploits. For his part Antonio Enriquez recruited at once in Madrid the scullion from the royal kitchen, Juan Rubio, already an accomplice, and began to treat with his own half-brother, Miguel Bosque, who was in Murcia. Enriquez went there to fetch him, and persuaded him at last by the promise of a hundred golden crowns and the protection of Antonio PÉrez. The two brothers reached Madrid the day on which Escovedo's innocent slave was hanged in the public square.

When all were in Madrid they hid from each other, each in his hole, like reptiles that dreaded the sunlight, waiting until the hour for the crime had struck. Escovedo, then recovering from the third attempt to poison him, did not yet go out. But very soon Diego Martinez made an assignation with his gang, at a lonely tile kiln, which was about half a league from Madrid, outside the gate of Guadalajara. He told them that the Lord Antonio had gone to AlcalÁ to spend Holy Week, and had left orders to make an end of Escovedo before his return, or that of the King from the Escorial, which were to coincide. Time therefore pressed, and Diego Martinez hastened to trace out a plan of campaign. He decided that Insausti should deal the blow, as being the best hand at sword-thrusts in Aragon, and for the purpose Martinez gave him a very good sword with a wide blade, grooved to the point. To the rest he distributed daggers and pistols, if they lacked them, but most of them carried them hidden in their breeches, according to the practice of ill-doers of the time. It was also agreed that from that afternoon they should meet in the square of Santiago as a centre of operations, and from there divide into distinct groups; one, composed of Insausti, Miguel Bosque and the scullion Juan Rubio should watch the comings and goings of Escovedo in the lane of St. Mary, where he lived, and take advantage of the first opportunity of giving him a thrust; the other three, Juan de Mesa, Antonio Enriquez and Diego Martinez, were to follow them at a distance to help if necessary, at any rate to assist their flight.

In that out-of-the-way corner, which even to-day faces the Royal Palace silent and solitary as an island in the unquiet sea of Madrid, then lived the nobles, personages of the Court, Grandees and gentlemen who held appointments in it, and all the life of those days flowed through its narrow, steep lanes. So it is not extraordinary that nobody noticed these birds of ill-omen who haunted the lane of St. Mary. At last, on the 31st of March, that year Easter Monday, the much-sought opportunity presented itself. At nightfall Escovedo went down the street called Mayor, towards the gate de la Vega, on his way home. He was alone, as usual, without page or servant. By his slow, unsteady gait it could be known that he was still weak from his illness, and as it was cold, he protected himself from the air by the muffler of his black cloak. Behind him, at a considerable distance, came the three assassins Insausti, Miguel Bosque and Juan Rubio, also muffled up in their cloaks, sauntering along, but not losing a movement of their desired victim. When Escovedo arrived at the lane of St. Mary, he stopped a moment, as if to get his breath, and then began to mount the steep slope to his house. The assassins also pulled up, and after a few hurried words, separated, Juan Rubio going stealthily to the corner of the lane, then formed by the great house of the Cuevas, and there stopping to cut off Escovedo's retreat. Insausti and Miguel Bosque went hastily by what is to-day the street of the Factor, which formed the other corner of the Cuevas' house, in order to enter the lane of St. Mary by the other end, and meet Escovedo face to face. He was impeded not only by his weakness, but also by the shades of night, which were rapidly gaining possession of the dark lane, and also by the inequality of the ground, which, as in all streets of the period, was full of stones and deep holes caused by the throwing out of water; so the unfortunate secretary walked very slowly, keeping close to the wall of the church, and gave more than enough time for the villains to get round and meet him in front of the house of the Princess de Évoli, which was just at the back of the Cueva one. Insausti had an unsheathed sword under his cloak and a pistol in his left hand. Miguel Bosque had a dagger ready and another pistol. They passed Escovedo, almost brushing against him without attracting his attention, as he took them for peaceable passers-by. But all at once, turning round, Insausti rapidly and silently cast himself on Escovedo, and ran him through the back with a mighty thrust. Escovedo fell forward without a cry, without an exclamation, only giving a hoarse groan. The assassin leant over him for a moment to see if a second blow was necessary, and then at once ran away. Miguel Bosque went up the lane to get into the Castle Square, Insausti by the Street Mayor, dragging Rubio with him in his flight, and Diego Martinez, who was a long way off.

Antonio Enriquez ends this declaration by saying: "The death-blow was given on Easter Monday, the 31st of March. Juan de Mesa and I arrived in the square of Santiago later than usual; so that the others had left to lie in wait for the secretary Escovedo to pass. Juan de Mesa and I wandered round about, and here we heard the rumour that Escovedo had been killed. Then we went secretly to our houses, and on entering mine I met Miguel Bosque, wearing a jacket, because in running he had lost his cloak and pistol. Juan de Mesa met Insausti at his door, also without a cloak, because he had lost it in his flight, and he took him in to hide him, and together they threw the sword which killed Escovedo into a well in the yard; the sword was long and grooved to the point. That same night Juan Rubio went to AlcalÁ on a mule which the priest Fernando de Escobar gave him, to tell Antonio PÉrez that all was over, and he asked if anyone was taken, and hearing that no one had been he was very pleased."

The assassination of such a well-known personage as Escovedo in the midst of the streets at Madrid upset all the neighbourhood, and set all the mayors and "alguaciles" in the city to work. The next day, which was the 1st of April, they arrested everyone who tried to leave the gates, and the next day forced all the inn and hotel-keepers to furnish a detailed list of their inmates. Antonio PÉrez ordered the assassins to remain quiet in their hiding-places, and not to make any noise so long as the first hot search was being made, and until he could find means of placing them in safety. He succeeded at last, after a long period of uneasy waiting, and on the 19th of April they all left Madrid, largely rewarded. Miguel Bosque received a hundred golden crowns from the hands of the priest Escobar, and then returned to his native place. Juan de Mesa went back to Aragon, carrying a gold chain, fifty doubloons, a beautiful silver cup, and the appointment of agent for the property of the Princess de Évoli, which she herself gave him. To Insausti, Juan Rubio, and Antonio Enriquez Antonio PÉrez sent by Diego Martinez the appointment of ensign, with twenty golden crowns of pay, and without demur they went to their respective posts, Juan Rubio to Milan, Antonio Enriquez to Naples, and Insausti to Sicily, where he died shortly afterwards.

Meanwhile D. John of Austria was not losing time, and heartened by the first help that Philip II sent, set about to gain all the results possible from the victory of Gembleux. Since this defeat the rebels had fallen back towards Brussels, fearful lest D. John was going there, and he, leaving them in this belief, continued his plan of campaign with clever strategy, and in little more than a month became master of Louvain, Bouvignes, Tilemont, Sichem, Diest, Nivelles and Philippeville. There he stopped, tired out by this hard work, in which fell on him not only the anxieties of a general, but the duties of a soldier, and there, too, he received the news of Escovedo's death. This was the finishing stroke for D. John. It is not known when or through whom the information came to him; but the fatal news must have come quickly, as already on the 20th of April he wrote a beautiful letter to Philip, true transcript of his noble, generous and Christian soul^[17].

A little later, while at Namur, he writes on the 3rd of May to his friend D. Rodrigo de Mendoza: "Of the little I shall say in this, the first thing shall be how grieved I am at the death of Escovedo, the more that they do not find out from whence comes such an ill deed; because certainly, besides how greatly he was needed for H.M.'s service in what he was looking after, I also wanted him infinitely, and I have lost a great support, and even more so, I think, in the future. May God rest him in heaven, and reveal to me who killed him."

And further, he wrote to Gian Andrea Doria on the 7th of June: "Of Escovedo's unhappy death I do not know what to say, particularly from such a distance, even if I could say anything were I nearer; but in my opinion it is a case which asks for prompt action more than words: but so many suspicions and no certainty stop one's mouth and tie one's hands, so at present one can only wait and feel what one must about such a servant and a case like this death of Escovedo."

---

These are all D. John's papers about Escovedo's death which have come down to us. Though nothing in these letters shows clearly that he had sounded all the depths of iniquity hidden behind the treacherous crime, it is impossible to think to the contrary. From the first moment public opinion in Madrid pointed at Antonio PÉrez and the Princesa de Évoli as authors of the murder, and even, it is said, came near to the truth; a fact to be remembered, as those who wrote nearest the event, Van der Hammen and Cabrera de CÓrdoba, mention "that to authorise the assassination, Antonio PÉrez gave the assassins a writing signed by the King, of the sort that are given blank to ambassadors and viceroys to shorten some business." The declaration of Antonio Enriquez at the famous trial eleven years later proves that these rumours reached beyond Spain. "Antonio Enriquez said that in Italy and Flanders it was openly said that Antonio PÉrez killed Escovedo because of the Princesa de Évoli." It is impossible that these rumours should not have reached the ears of D. John, or that, with his shrewdness, he should not have put two and two together, the truth proved to him by the old story of their intrigue. One fact makes it patent that if D. John knew nothing for certain, he had at least very strong suspicions that Antonio PÉrez was the murderer of Escovedo. From this time the intimate correspondence which he kept up with the false secretary abruptly ceases, and he only replies to the honeyed, flattering letters by stiff and official dispatches such as could not be avoided between the Governor-General and the Secretary for Flanders. And further, we think D. John must then have known, at any rate in part, of the treason and calumnies of PÉrez and the absolute ruin of his credit with D. Philip effected by these means; which accounts for the depression, despondency, and presentiment of death that overwhelmed the hero of Lepanto at this time, never to leave him during his remaining months of life.

Some people censure as fantastic the scheme of invading England which the two Pontiffs Pius V and Gregory XIII were always planning, and D. John as a dreamer, for placing in this project all his aspirations and ardent desires for glory. But Lord Burghley judged otherwise. He was an immoral politician, certainly, but the most far-seeing and profound that England then possessed. In a memorandum all in his own handwriting, which exists in the British Museum in London, and from which Mignet quotes, he advises Queen Elizabeth to send prompt aid to the Flemish rebels. "If the Spaniards succeed in subduing the Low Countries, they will lose no opportunity of invading England, and will unite their forces with the malcontents of this kingdom; thus, if D. John finishes with the States, he will not tarry in turning his arms against Y.M. The correspondence which is carried on between him and the Queen of Scots since he arrived in the Low Countries, his interview with the Bishop of Glasgow, the ambassador of this Queen, and the general opinion that there is a plan of marriage between him and her, are the reasons which make for this conclusion. According to those who desire a change of religion in this kingdom, this marriage is the best and only means for the return of the kingdom to the Church of Rome. By this marriage D. John would have a claim to the crown of England, and then it would be seen that the Pope, the King of France, and the King of Spain, and all the Catholic Princes would help him; the Pope from religious motives, the King of France to please the house of Guise and to prevent England helping the French Protestants, and the King of Spain to settle his brother advantageously. Therefore, to give aid to the Low Countries is a means of preservation and defence for this realm."

These grave reasons, which did not seem fantastic to Burghley, decided Queen Elizabeth and the lords of her Council to help the Flemish rebels even more openly than they had hitherto done, not only with money, but also with English and Scotch troops, under the command of Norris. But they soon saw that the real obstacle to these ends was the person of D. John, and that nothing and nobody could dismay him or weary out his patience, or overcome his military skill, and they judged, as Orange had done before the retreat from Namur, that the shortest and safest way to conquer this obstacle was to overthrow it by treachery, taking D. John's life. One warning voice, however, God sent from a prison, and it reached the ears of D. John, and stopped this new crime.

There was a Spanish merchant in London, a native of Tarragona, called Antonio de Guaras, rich and respected. He lived in a house belonging to the Guild of Drapers, with a warehouse and wharf on the Thames, and many pedlars came there to fit themselves out with things that they afterwards sold retail, travelling about the counties. But in these humble pedlars' boats which slowly mounted the Thames, most important secrets and messages from great personages came to the house of Antonio de Guaras. The merchant was an Aragonese, and an agent of the Court of Spain since the time of Henry VIII, and since the arrival of D. John in Flanders he had constituted himself the most active promoter of the Spanish invasion of England, and the intermediary between D. John and the Queen Mary Stuart, at that time a prisoner in Sheffield Castle. D. John sent his letters for the Queen of Scots to Guaras, and she also sent him the answers; a very interesting correspondence, of which no trace remains.

Under the disguise of one of these hucksters the English Jesuit Hort, whom Gregory XIII had sent to England, together with his Scotch companion Crichton, to be Papal agent in the business of the Spanish invasion, came one day to the house of Antonio de Guaras. He came from Sheffield, and brought a letter in cipher from Mary Stuart for Antonio de Guaras. He carried it cleverly hidden in a little mirror, which in these perilous times he always had among his pedlar's wares. In this letter the Queen of Scots ordered Antonio de Guaras to tell D. John of the plot that the Council of Queen Elizabeth were scheming against his life, rumours of which reached Sheffield by one of the many advocates of the marriage of Mary and D. John, who were numerous, and were working in England and Scotland. The news was vague, however, as she only talked of this plot without giving any details, and contented herself by warning D. John to have a care for his person. "It seems to me that the Lord Don John should be very careful that he has not near him some greater spies than faithful servants, English or others."

Guaras, alarmed, hastened to communicate this warning to D. Bernardino de Mendoza, then ambassador of the Catholic King in London, and a great partisan of Mary Stuart, who, having more means of action and of espionage, at last succeeded in unravelling the mystery, as far as was necessary, and could thus write to Philip II on the 17th of May: "Here for many days there is talk in the house of Leicester of killing H.H. (D. John), the talk being renewed by the good opportunity of the war. Of this I have advised H.H., and also that this Queen on the 10th set free Edmond Ratcliffe, brother of the Earl of Sussex, who has been confined in the Tower of London for three years, and because of giving him liberty very secretly he has been exiled from this kingdom, which is a thing very seldom or never done, he resolved the moment he regained his liberty to go and serve H.H.; I have been advised that he is an intemperate youth, and daring enough for anything, they tell me, so his sudden liberation and determination can with great reason engender suspicion."

D. Bernardino did, as he notifies in this letter, write to D. John, and also sent him a portrait of Ratcliffe, that he should recognise him and be prepared at once if he came. The assassin did not fail to arrive. D. John was in his camp at Tirlemont, and when giving audiences one day, suddenly saw Edmond Ratcliffe enter his tent, humbly begging the favour of a hearing. He had entered the camp, in spite of the vigilance of the sentries, and had hidden two light Hungarian horses in a wood near to ensure his flight, in the event of his being able to strike the blow. D. John knew him in a moment, from the picture D. Bernardino had sent, and without displaying the least surprise or mistrust, graciously ordered him to speak. At the same time he called his valet Bernardino Ducarte in the most natural manner, and secretly gave him an order for the Captain of the Guard to take the gentleman, whenever he left the tent, and give him over to the Provost-General of the camp. Ratcliffe explained to D. John, with the most refined hypocrisy, who he was and what he wanted. He said that he was a son of the old Earl of Sussex and a Catholic, but having disagreed with his eldest brother on religious questions, and wishing to assure living and dying in the Roman faith, he had fled from England to offer his services to the Catholic King, and only begged D. John for a post in the army, and pay according to his grade, as he had a wife and little children to keep. And as he spoke the miscreant was waiting and calculating where to give the wound.

D. John listened to him, looking him up and down, and not losing a single one of his movements, at last answering him affably, praising his religious faith and his ideas, and promising, in the name of the King, to help him to fulfil them. While this conversation was being carried on the two walked slowly about in the tent, and Ratcliffe tried to arrange that the walk should be prolonged outside, as was D. John's custom when finishing audiences, in order that, amused by the talk, he should go on a few steps. His intention was then to plunge a poisoned dagger, which he had ready, in D. John's heart, leave the weapon in the wound, and hurry off to the wood, where his horses were waiting. But D. John, as if he liked to sport with danger, went to the door, took a step or two outside, and then returned to the end of the tent, until, intimating that the audience was over, he took leave of Ratcliffe until the next day, "when he would seek employment for him." Ratcliffe retired, promising himself to do on the second visit what he had failed to do on the first; but hardly had he set foot outside the tent than D. John's Captain of the Guard arrested him, and handed him over to the Provost. Ratcliffe protested his innocence at first, but being put to the torture he confessed fully all we have told. He was not executed during the lifetime of D. John, but after his death Alexander Farnese ordered him to be decapitated with his accomplice, also an Englishman, who waited with the horses in the wood.

On the 16th of January, 1579, D. Bernardino de Mendoza wrote to Philip II from London:

"The Prince of Parma has had justice done to the two Englishmen about whom I wrote on the 16th of May, who left here with orders to kill the Lord D. John, God rest his soul. The Queen said with much annoyance, when she received the news from Walsingham, that it was the result of advice he and others had given, and the pass to which things were brought, which words Walsingham felt so much, that he came to this place from Court the next day with fever."

At nightfall on Tuesday, the 16th of September, 1578, D. John suddenly felt the intense cold of fever and general lassitude. The fever lasted all night, and the next day, although still unwell, and with a bad headache, he got up at his usual time, heard Mass, did his business, held a council, and visited several quarters. This was at the camp of Tirlemont, where D. John had moved the royal troops after the famous battle of Mechlin, the last at which he commanded, and at which he did such valiant deeds. The plague was decimating the camp of the rebels, and although the infection had not penetrated to that of D. John, his soldiers suffered from diarrhÆa, especially the Germans, who were intemperate in what they ate, and not careful about what they drank. This, with reason, worried D. John, and he took infinite precautions to avoid the contagion, inspecting everything himself, making daily rounds, visiting the sick in their huts, helping and cheering them, and striving, above all, that none died without receiving the Viaticum, which he usually accompanied. This matter of the Sacraments, as being transcendental and eternal, he had committed to his then confessor, the Franciscan Fr. Francisco de Orantes, in order that he might urge and watch over the many ecclesiastics in the camp, because D. John, who always had taken much care of the spiritual welfare of his troops, had in these latter days, according to Vander Hammen and Cabrera de CÓrdoba, made his camp into a real convent of monks.

It was feared, therefore, that this sudden illness of D. John was the forerunner of the plague, and this fear was strengthened when the same symptoms showed themselves in three or four gentlemen of his household, of those who attended him most closely, among them the venerable Gabrio Cervelloni, who was already seventy, and was then, by D. John's orders, making a fort on the heights of Bouges, in front of the camp at Tirlemont, and scarcely a league from Namur. Alarm was ended on the fourth day, seeing that the fever and other ills left D. John. But the next day, which was a Saturday, he suddenly grew worse, and while the other invalids went on getting better and became convalescent, he showed other symptoms of a strange illness, palpitations which made him get up in bed, tremblings of the hands, arms, tongue and eyes, and red spots showed themselves, others livid and almost blue, with black, rough heads.

Then another suspicion spread through the camp, which historians of old have transmitted to us, and which the fresh facts and discoveries of modern ones make probable. They said that D. John had been poisoned during his recovery, and Vander Hammen goes so far as to point to the hand which was the instrument of the crime. "This made his household suspect," he says, "that he was poisoned, and that Doctor Ramirez had given him something in his broth." And in the diary of D. John's illness, kept by his doctor, the original of which PorreÑo inserts in his life of the hero of Lepanto, these words are to be read: "With some suspicion, the antidote for poison was used, sometimes externally, sometimes internally."

Public opinion, not only in the camp, but wherever the news reached, at once pointed to the Queen of England or the Prince of Orange as authors of the suspected crime. Ratcliffe's recent attempt and the various defeated ones of Orange justified this bad opinion, and the application of the judicial principle "cui prodest" fits like a glove either the heretic Queen or the apostate Prince.

But nobody could then suspect that the sinister "cui prodest" suits the Secretary Antonio PÉrez better than anyone else, because nobody yet knew that he, more than anyone, was interested in the disappearance from the world's stage of D. John. It must have been a nightmare for Antonio PÉrez, even to dream that D. John might return to Spain, knowing, or at least suspecting, the crimes, infamies and artifices of which he had been the victim. And once put on the scent, investigating, proving, becoming certain, with his right and terrible thirst for justice, in a single interview with the King, his brother, he could bring everything to light, and sink Antonio PÉrez in that abyss of infamy and iniquity in which the hand of God buried him later. It is, therefore, very probable that Antonio PÉrez, believing at last that D. John of Austria would return to Spain, would try to keep him away for ever with "the broth of Doctor Ramirez," or by some similar means; and it is the general opinion at present that if D. John's death were caused by crime (although it is not sufficiently proved), it might be as justly attributed to the Queen of England, or the Prince of Orange as to the secretary Antonio PÉrez; all three were capable of it, and for divers reasons all three gained great advantages by the death of the conqueror of Lepanto.

But be this as it may, it is certain that from the first moment of his relapse D. John understood that he was dying, and that his hoped-for end was coming to him—

He therefore made ready to receive death with perfect, manly courage, with the dignity of a Prince and the humility of a Christian, and his first arrangement was that he should be conveyed to the fort which Gabrio Cervelloni was then making a league away. He ordered himself to be carried on a stretcher by his servants, without order or arrangement, to prevent the soldiers having the grief of saying good-bye to him, and to cause no one alarm or trouble. There remained inside the surrounding wall of the fort the only part yet finished, a hut, or rather a pigeon house, where D. Bernardino de ZÚÑiga, D. John's Captain of Infantry, lodged, and there he ordered himself to be taken to disturb no one. "There was only," says Vander Hammen, "a pigeon house to make him a chamber." They cleared out the young pigeons, cleaned it, hung a few coverings on the ceilings and wall to exclude the light, and over them some pieces of cloth, which they sprinkled with perfumed waters, and made a wooden staircase for mounting to it. The father confessor Fr. Francisco de Orantes writes to Philip II: "He died in a hut, as poorly as a soldier. I assure Y.M. there was nothing but a cock-loft over a farm-yard, in order that in this he should imitate the poverty of Christ."

All this took place on Saturday, the 20th, and on Sunday, the 21st, very early in the morning, D. John ordered his confessor, Fray Francisco de Orantes, to be called, and with great humility and with much sorrow for his sins he made a general confession of his life, with the eagerness and fervour of one who is preparing to die; and although the doctors still held out hopes of saving his life, and tried to dissuade him, he asked for the Viaticum, and received it with great devotion and fervour, at a mass celebrated in his room by the Jesuit Juan FernÁndez. Then he sent for all his Field-Marshals to his miserable retreat, also the Councillors of State and other personages attached to the army, and before them solemnly resigned the command and gave the baton to Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, who was present, kneeling at the foot of the bed, and so overcome and afflicted because of his great love for D. John, that he buried his forehead in the bed-clothes, and the Count de Mansfeld had to lift him up and comfort him. It was an extraordinary thing, which moved and brought tears to the eyes of all those veterans, to see that thunderbolt of war, Alexander Farnese, daring and brave and of indomitable courage, afflicted and overcome like a weak woman on receiving the supreme command from the hands of his dying friend and kinsman.

Then he directed his confessor Fr. Francisco de Orantes to declare before them all what D. John had already told him privately. That he left no will, because he possessed nothing which was not his Lord and Master the King's. That he commended his body and soul to the King; his soul in order that the King should order suffrages to be made for the great need there was; his body that it might be buried near that of his Lord and father the Emperor, by which he should consider his services were repaid. But if this were not so, then that they should give him burial in the monastery of Our Lady of Montserrat. Item, he begged the King to look after his mother and brother. Item, to look after his servants, pay them and reward them, because he died so poor that he could not do so. "As to my personal debts and bills," he said at the end, "they are very few and are very clear."

He said this with great firmness, taking leave of them all with his hand, and himself taking leave of the things of earth to think and speak of nothing beyond those of heaven.

He, however, retained Father Juan FernÁndez, and showing him a little manuscript book which he kept under his pillow, said these were the prayers which he recited every day, without ever missing one in his life, and as the dreadful pain in his head troubled his sight, so that he could not read, begged the father, for the love of God and for the love of him, to do him the favour of reciting them in his name. Much moved, the father promised, and, according to his own testimony, it took him a good hour to recite those prayers which the devout Prince said "every day of his life," in the midst of the fatigues of war, the occupations of Governor, and, most difficult of all, in the midst of the dissipations of worldly pleasures. The little book was all in D. John's writing. It began with the baby prayers he had learnt in his childhood from DoÑa Magdalena de Ulloa; then followed various pious exercises, and it ended with several prayers composed by D. John himself, according as he had been inspired in the course of his life, by his difficulties, his sorrows, hopes and joys, and his warm effusions of thanksgiving. In short, it was an index, showing his attitude towards God in all the events of his life, which the grateful heart of D. John daily remembered, and which only the holy Father Juan FernÁndez had the happiness of knowing.

It was this father who, a few months later, under the command of Alexander Farnese, performed the extraordinary deed of heroism, at the same time an act of incredible charity, in the trench of Maestricht, which we have told in another place. D. John had known him in Luxemburg, on his first arrival, and astonished at his holiness, prudence and learning, and profoundly struck by his untiring zeal for the welfare of the soldiers, attached him at once to the army, and took him everywhere; and although he was not D. John's official confessor, he confessed to him often, and consulted him privately in all difficult matters. During D. John's short last illness, together with Fr. Francisco de Orantes, he assisted him all the time, and when D. John's dreadful headache and delirium left him, the father sustained him with spiritual talks which maintained the sick man in his peace and resignation, and gave the Jesuit the ineffable comfort that the just experience before the marvels of Divine Grace.

In one of these conversations D. John told P. Juan FernÁndez of his firm determination, taken four months beforehand, if God spared his life in Flanders, to retire for ever from the world to the hermitage of Montserrat, there to serve "that Lord who could and would do much more for him than his brother D. Philip." A bitter phrase this, which without, as some have thought, censuring Philip (because there would be none in supposing greater power and love in the King of heaven than in the most powerful and saintly King on earth), still reveals the profound disillusionment which had taken hold of the victor of Lepanto, for the last four months, that is to say since the death of Escovedo.

The illness gained ground rapidly; each day, even each hour, produced some new, strange and painful symptom. At times he was seized with fainting fits, in which he appeared to have drawn his last breath, at others with delirium of wild things and of war, in which he always imagined himself commanding in a battle, and from which he was only drawn by the names of Jesus and Mary, which Fathers Orantes and FernÁndez invoked in his hearing. On the 30th D. John felt so weak that he again desired to receive the Viaticum, and charged Fr. Francisco de Orantes to give him extreme unction in time, whenever he judged that the moment had come. At nightfall that day the confessor thought that the time had arrived, and administered the last Sacrament to him, which D. John received with great devotion and perfect consciousness, in the presence of all the Field-Marshals and other personages who were crowded into the narrow precincts.

No one slept that night in fort or camp, and continually messengers went to and fro, bearers of sad news. At dawn Father Juan FernÁndez said mass at the bedside, thinking D. John unconscious, as his eyes were already closed; but being told by the confessor that the Host was being raised, he quickly took off his cap and did reverence. At nine o'clock he seemed somewhat to revive, and then he was taken with a fresh delirium, in which, with extraordinary strength, he began to get angry with the soldiers, commanding in a battle, giving orders to the battalions, calling the captains by name, sending horses flying, reproving them at times because they allowed themselves to be cut off by the enemy, calling others to victory with eyes, hands and voice, always clamouring for the MarquÉs de Santa Cruz, whom he called "D. Álvaro, my friend," his guide, master, and his right hand.

"Jesus! Jesus! Mary!" implored the confessor. "Jesus! Jesus! Mary!" at last repeated D. John of Austria, and, repeating these holy names, became gradually calmer, until he sank into a profound lethargy, forerunner, doubtless, of death, with his eyes shut, his body inert, with the Crucifix of the Moors on his breast, where P. Juan FernÁndez had placed it, the only sign of life being his difficult, uneven breathing.

They all knelt, believing that the supreme moment had come, and the two priests began to recite by turns the prayers for the dying. Suddenly, about eleven o'clock, D. John gave a great sigh, and they heard him distinctly articulate in a weak but clear, sweet, plaintive voice, like a child calling to its mother, "Aunt! Aunt! My lady Aunt!"

And this was all. For two hours the lethargy lasted, and at half-past one, without effort, trouble, or any violence, he gasped twice, and the soul of "That John sent by God" fled to His bosom to render account of the mission which had been confided to him.

---

Had he really fulfilled it? Was the mission of D. John of Austria to drown in the waters of Lepanto the great power of the Turk, threat to the faith of Christ and to the liberty of Europe, or did the mission also extend to conquering the kingdom of England, and bringing back that great people to the fold of the Catholic Church, as Christ's two Vicars Pius V and Gregory XIII wished and thought?

If it were so, D. John of Austria can well liquidate his debt before the Divine Tribunal, giving for only answer those words of Christ to St. Theresa, which so alarmingly show the fearful reach of human free will: "Theresa! I wished it, but men did not wish it."

---

Eusebio Nieremberg, in his life of the P. Juan FernÁndez, relates this strange circumstance relative to D. John of Austria:

"A few days later (after D. John's death) he appeared to the father, who was at one of the colleges, and said, 'Father Juan FernÁndez, why have you forgotten friends?' 'I have not forgotten, my lord, but what have I got to do?' Then he told him that he must help him with his suffrages and do certain things. The servant of God did all he asked with much celerity and earnestness, saying masses and prayers and doing penances for him, and making others do the same. At the end of a few days he appeared again, shining and glorious, saying that he was in heaven and was very grateful for the good works they had done for him."

---

Don John was buried first in the Cathedral at Namur, but the following spring his body (except his intestines) was conveyed to Spain by orders of Philip II and buried with much pomp in the Escorial. The story of the body being cut in pieces at the joints and placed in three leather bags on the pack saddle of a horse for the journey, is too well known not to be mentioned here. Sir William Stirling Maxwell says that it was to avoid "expense and the troublesome questions which were in those days likely to arise between the clergy and magistracy of the towns through which a royal corpse was publicly carried." (Translator.)

THE WORKS OF
ANATOLE FRANCE

It has long been a reproach to England that only one volume by ANATOLE FRANCE has been adequately rendered into English; yet outside this country he shares with TOLSTOI the distinction of being the greatest and most daring student of humanity living.

¶ There have been many difficulties to encounter in completing arrangements for a uniform edition, though perhaps the chief barrier to publication here has been the fact that his writings are not for babes—but for men and the mothers of men. Indeed, some of his Eastern romances are written with biblical candour. "I have sought truth strenuously," he tells us, "I have met her boldly. I have never turned from her even when she wore an unexpected aspect." Still, it is believed that the day has come for giving English versions of all his imaginative works, as well as of his monumental study JOAN OF ARC, which is undoubtedly the most discussed book in the world of letters to-day.

¶ Mr. John Lane has pleasure in announcing that the following volumes are either already published or are passing through the press.

¶ All the books will be published at 6/- each with the exception of JOAN OF ARC, which will be 25/- net the two volumes, with eight Illustrations.

¶ The format of the volumes leaves little to be desired. The size is Demy 8vo (9 × 5-3/4), and they are printed from Caslon type upon a paper light in weight and strong of texture, with a cover design in crimson and gold, a gilt top, end-papers from designs by Aubrey Beardsley and initials by Henry Ospovat. In short, these are volumes for the bibliophile as well as the lover of fiction, and form perhaps the cheapest library edition of copyright novels ever published, for the price is only that of an ordinary novel.

¶ The translation of these books has been entrusted to such competent French scholars as MR. ALFRED ALLINSON, MR. FREDERIC CHAPMAN, MR. ROBERT B. DOUGLAS, MR. A. W. EVANS, MRS. FARLEY, MR. LAFCADIO HEARN, MRS. W. S. JACKSON, MRS. JOHN LANE, MRS. NEWMARCH, MR. C. E. ROCHE, MISS WINIFRED STEPHENS, AND MISS M. P. WILLCOCKS.

¶ As Anatole Thibault, dit Anatole France, is to most English readers merely a name, it will be well to state that he was born in 1844 in the picturesque and inspiring surroundings of an old bookshop on the Quai Voltaire, Paris, kept by his father, Monsieur Thibault, an authority on eighteenth-century history, from whom the boy caught the passion for the principles of the Revolution, while from his mother he was learning to love the ascetic ideals chronicled in the Lives of the Saints. He was schooled with the lovers of old books, missals and manuscript; he matriculated on the Quais with the old Jewish dealers of curios and objets d'art; he graduated in the great university of life and experience. It will be recognised that all his work is permeated by his youthful impressions; he is, in fact, a virtuoso at large.

¶ He has written about thirty volumes of fiction. His first novel was JOCASTA & THE FAMISHED CAT (1879). THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD appeared in 1881, and had the distinction of being crowned by the French Academy, into which he was received in 1896.

¶ His work is illuminated with style, scholarship, and psychology; but its outstanding features are the lambent wit, the gay mockery, the genial irony with which he touches every subject he treats. But the wit is never malicious, the mockery never derisive, the irony never barbed. To quote from his own GARDEN OF EPICURUS: "Irony and Pity are both of good counsel; the first with her smiles makes life agreeable, the other sanctifies it to us with her tears. The Irony I invoke is no cruel deity. She mocks neither love nor beauty. She is gentle and kindly disposed. Her mirth disarms anger and it is she teaches us to laugh at rogues and fools whom but for her we might be so weak as to hate."

¶ Often he shows how divine humanity triumphs over mere asceticism, and with entire reverence; indeed, he might be described as an ascetic overflowing with humanity, just as he has been termed a "pagan, but a pagan constantly haunted by the pre-occupation of Christ." He is in turn—like his own Choulette in THE RED LILY—saintly and Rabelaisian, yet without incongruity. At all times he is the unrelenting foe of superstition and hypocrisy. Of himself he once modestly said: "You will find in my writings perfect sincerity (lying demands a talent I do not possess), much indulgence, and some natural affection for the beautiful and good."

¶ The mere extent of an author's popularity is perhaps a poor argument, yet it is significant that two books by this author are in their HUNDRED AND TENTH THOUSAND, and numbers of them well into their SEVENTIETH THOUSAND, whilst the one which a Frenchman recently described as "Monsieur France's most arid book" is in its FIFTY-EIGHTH-THOUSAND.

¶ Inasmuch as M. FRANCE'S ONLY contribution to an English periodical appeared in THE YELLOW BOOK, vol. v., April 1895, together with the first important English appreciation of his work from the pen of the Hon. Maurice Baring, it is peculiarly appropriate that the English edition of his works should be issued from the Bodley Head.

To Mr. _____________________________

Please send me the following works of Anatole France:

for which I enclose _______________

Those who possess old letters, documents, correspondence, MSS., scraps of autobiography, and also miniatures and portraits, relating to persons and matters historical, literary, political and social, should communicate with Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street, London, W., who will at all times be pleased to give his advice and assistance, either as to their preservation or publication.

HENRY J. WOOD. By Rosa Newmarch.

SIR EDWARD ELGAR. By R. J. Buckley.

JOSEPH JOACHIM. By J. A. Fuller Maitland.

EDWARD A. MACDOWELL. By Lawrence Gilman.

THEODOR LESCHETIZKY. By Annette Hullah.

GIACOMO PUCCINI. By Wakeling Dry.

IGNAZ PADEREWSKI. By E. A. Baughan.

CLAUDE DEBUSSY. By Mrs. Franz Liebich.

RICHARD STRAUSS. By Ernest Newman.

A Series of Illustrated Biographies of the Leading Actors, Actresses, and Dramatists.

ELLEN TERRY. By Christopher St. John.

SIR HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. By Mrs. George Cran.

SIR W. S. GILBERT. By Edith A. Browne.

SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM. By Florence Teignmouth Shore.

THE LAND OF TECK & ITS SURROUNDINGS.

By Rev. S. Baring-Gould. With numerous Illustrations (including several in Colour) reproduced from unique originals.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 10s. 6d. net.

AN IRISH BEAUTY OF THE REGENCY:

By Mrs. Warrenne Blake. Author of "Memoirs of a Vanished Generation, 1813-1855." With a Photogravure Frontispiece and other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 16s. net.

The Irish Beauty is the Hon. Mrs. Calvert, daughter of Viscount Pery, Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, and wife of Nicholson Calvert, M. P., of Hunsdson. Born in 1767, Mrs. Calvert lived to the age of ninety-two, and there are many people still living who remember her. In the delightful journals, now for the first time published, exciting events are described.

NAPOLEON IN CARICATURE: 1795-1821.

By A. M. Broadley. With an Introductory Essay on Pictorial Satire as a Factor in Napoleonic History, by J. Holland Rose, Litt. D. (Cantab.). With 24 full-page Illustrations in Colour and upwards of 200 in Black and White from rare and unique originals. 2 Vols.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 42s. net.

Also an Edition de Luxe. 10 guineas net.

MEMORIES OF SIXTY YEARS AT ETON,

CAMBRIDGE AND ELSEWHERE.

By Robert Browning. Illustrated.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 14s. net.

THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

By Stewart Houston Chamberlain. A Translation from the German by John Lees. With an Introduction by Lord Redesdale.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 2 vols. 25s. net.

THE SPEAKERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

From the Earliest Times to the Present Day, with a Topographical Account of Westminster at various Epochs, Brief Notes on sittings of Parliament and a Retrospect of the principal Constitutional Changes during Seven Centuries. By Arthur Irwin Dasent, Author of "The Life and Letters of John Delane," "The History of St. James's Square," etc. etc. With numerous Portraits, including two in Photogravure and one in Colour.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH AND HIS FRIENDS.

By S. M. Ellis. With upwards of 50 Illustrations, 4 in Photogravure. 2 vols.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 32s. net.

NAPOLEON AND KING MURAT. 1808-1815:

A Biography compiled from hitherto Unknown and Unpublished Documents. By Albert Espitalier. Translated from the French by J. Lewis May. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

LADY CHARLOTTE SCHREIBER'S JOURNALS

Confidences of a Collector of Ceramics and Antiques throughout Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, and Turkey. From the Year 1869 to 1885.

Edited by Montague Guest, with Annotations by Egan Mew. With upwards of 100 Illustrations, including 8 in colour and 2 in photogravure.

Royal 8vo. 2 Volumes. 42s. net.

CHARLES DE BOURBON, CONSTABLE OF FRANCE:

"The Great Condottiere."

By Christopher Hare. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

THE NELSONS OF BURNHAM THORPE: A Record of a Norfolk Family compiled from Unpublished Letters and Note Books, 1787-1843. Edited by M. Eyre Matcham. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 16s. net.

This interesting contribution to Nelson literature is drawn from the journals and correspondence of the Rev. Edmund Nelson. Rector of Burnham Thorpe and his youngest daughter, the father and sister of Lord Nelson. The Rector was evidently a man of broad views and sympathies, for we find him maintaining friendly relations with his son and daughter-in-law after their separation. What is even more strange, he felt perfectly at liberty to go direct from the house of Mrs. Horatio Nelson in Norfolk to that of Sir. William and Lady Hamilton in London, where his son was staying. This book shows how completely and without reserve the family received Lady Hamilton.

A QUEEN OF SHREDS AND PATCHES:

The Life of Madame Tallien Notre Dame de Thermidor. From the last days of the French Revolution, until her death as Princess Chimay in 1835. By L. Gastine. Translated from the French by J. Lewis May. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

SOPHIE DAWES, QUEEN OF CHANTILLY.

By Violette M. Montagu. Author of "The Scottish College in Paris," etc. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations and Three Plans.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

Among the many queens of France, queens by right of marriage with the reigning sovereign, queens of beauty or of intrigue, the name of Sophie Dawes, the daughter of humble fisherfolk in the Isle of Wight, better known as "the notorious Mme. de Feucheres," "The Queen of Chantilly" and "The Montespan de Saint Leu" in the land which she chose as a suitable sphere in which to exercise her talents for money-making and for getting on in the world, stand forth as a proof of what a women's will can accomplish when that will is accompanied with an uncommon share of intelligence.

MARGARET OF FRANCE DUCHESS OF SAVOY. 1523-1574.

A Biography with Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations and Facsimile Reproductions of Hitherto Unpublished Letters.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

A time when the Italians are celebrating the Jubilee of the Italian Kingdom is perhaps no unfitting moment in which to glance back over the annals of that royal House of Savoy which has rendered Italian unity possible. Margaret of France may without exaggeration be counted among the builders of modern Italy. She married Emanuel Philibert, the founder of Savoyard greatness: and from the day of her marriage until the day of her death she laboured to advance the interests of her adopted land.

MADAME DE BRINVILLIERS AND HER TIMES. 1630-1676.

By Hugh Stokes. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

The name of Marie Marguerite d'Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, is famous in the annals of crime, but the true history of her career is little known. A woman of birth and rank, she was also a remorseless poisoner, and her trial was one of the most sensational episodes of the early reign of Louis XIV. The author was attracted to this curious subject by Charles le Brun's realistic sketch of the unhappy Marquise as she appeared on her way to execution. This chef d'oeuvre of misery and agony forms the frontispiece to the volume, and strikes a fitting keynote to an absorbing story of human passion and wrong-doing.

THE VICISSITUDES OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 1735-1821.

By Eugene Welvert. Translated from the French by Lilian O'Neill. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

The Duchesse de Narbonne-Lara was Lady-in-Waiting to Madame Adelaide, the eldest daughter of Louis XV. Around the stately figure of this Princess are gathered the most remarkable characters of the days of the Old Regime, the Revolution and the first Empire. The great charm of the work is that it takes us over so much and varied ground. Here, in the gay crowd of ladies and courtiers, in the rustle of flowery silken paniers, in the clatter of high-heeled shoes, move the figures of Louis XV., Louis XVI., Du Barri and Marie-Antoinette. We catch picturesque glimpses of the great wits, diplomatists and soldiers of the time, until, finally we encounter Napoleon Bonaparte.

ANNALS OF A YORKSHIRE HOUSE.

From the Papers of a Macaroni and his Kindred. By A. M. W. Stirling, author of "Coke of Norfolk and his Friends." With 33 Illustrations, including 3 in Colour and 3 in Photogravure.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 2 vols. 32s. net.

MINIATURES:

A Series of Reproductions in Photogravure of Eighty-Five Miniatures of Distinguished Personages, including Queen Alexandra, the Queen of Norway, the Princess Royal, and the Princess Victoria. Painted by Charles Turrell. (Folio.) The Edition is limited to One Hundred Copies for sale in England and America, and Twenty-Five Copies for Presentation, Review, and the Museums. Each will be Numbered and Signed by the Artist.

15 guineas net.

THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE.

During the Reign of George III. from 1771-1783. With Notes by Dr. Doran. Edited with an Introduction by A. Francis Steuart, and containing numerous Portraits reproduced from contemporary Pictures, Engravings, etc. 2 vols.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 25s. net.

THE WAR IN WEXFORD.

By H. F. B. Wheeler and A. M. Broadley. An Account of The Rebellion in South of Ireland in 1798, told from Original Documents. With numerous Reproductions of contemporary Portraits and Engravings.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT.

By His Valet FranÇois.

Translated from the French by Maurice Reynold.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

FAMOUS AMERICANS IN PARIS.

By John Joseph Conway, M.A. With 32 Full-page Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 10s. 6d. net.

LIFE AND MEMOIRS OF JOHN CHURTON COLLINS.

Written and Compiled by his son, L. C. Collins.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

THE WIFE OF GENERAL BONAPARTE.

By Joseph Turquan. Author of "The Love Affairs of Napoleon," etc. Translated from the French by Miss Violette Montagu. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

Although much has been written concerning the Empress Josephine, we know comparatively little about the veuve Beauharnais and the citoyenne Bonaparte, whose inconsiderate conduct during her husband's absence caused him so much anguish. We are so accustomed to consider Josephine as the innocent victim of a cold and calculating tyrant who allowed nothing, neither human lives nor natural affections, to stand in the way of his all-conquering will, that this volume will come to us rather as a surprise. Modern historians are over-fond of blaming Napoleon for having divorced the companion of his early years; but after having read the above work, the reader will be constrained to admire General Bonaparte's forbearance and will wonder how he ever came to allow her to play the Queen at the Tuileries.

A SISTER OF PRINCE RUPERT.

ELIZABETH PRINCESS PALATINE,

ABBESS OF HERFORD.

By Elizabeth Godfrey. With numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

AUGUSTUS SAINT GAUDENS: an Appreciation.

By C. Lewis Hind. Illustrated with 47 full-page Reproductions from his most famous works. With a portrait of Keynon Cox.

Large 4to. 12s. 6d. net.

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND HIS FAMILY:

By Mrs. Herbert St. John Mildmay. Further Letters and Records, edited by his Daughter and Herbert St. John Mildmay, with numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 16s. net.

SIMON BOLIVAR: El Libertador.

A Life of the Leader of the Venezuelan Revolt against Spain.

By F. Loraine Petre. With a Map and Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

A LIFE OF SIR JOSEPH BANKS,

PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY:

With Some Notices of His Friends and Contemporaries.

By Edward Smith, F.R.H.S., Author of "William Cobbett: a Biography," "England and America after the Independence," etc. With a Portrait in Photogravure and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

"The greatest living Englishman" was the tribute of his Continental contemporaries to Sir. Joseph Banks. The author of his "Life" has, with some enthusiasm, sketched the record of a man who for a period of half a century filled a very prominent place in society, but whose name is almost forgotten by the present generation.

NAPOLEON & THE INVASION OF ENGLAND:

The Story of the Great Terror, 1797-1805. By H. F. B. Wheeler and A. M. Broadley. With upwards of 100 Full-page Illustrations reproduced from Contemporary Portraits, Prints, etc.; eight in Colour. 2 Volumes.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 32s. net.

Outlook.—"The book is not merely one to be ordered from the library; it should be purchased, kept on an accessible shelf, and constantly studied by all Englishmen who love England."

DUMOURIEZ AND THE DEFENCE OF

ENGLAND AGAINST NAPOLEON.

By J. Holland Rose, Litt.D. (Cantab.), Author of "The Life of Napoleon," and A. M. Broadley, joint-author of "Napoleon and the Invasion of England." Illustrated with numerous Portraits, Maps, and Facsimiles.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

THE FALL OF NAPOLEON.

By Oscar Browning, M.A., Author of "The Boyhood and Youth of Napoleon." With numerous Full-page Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

Spectator.—"Without doubt Mr. Oscar Browning has produced a book which should have its place in any library of Napoleonic literature."

Truth.—"Mr. Oscar Browning has made not the least, but the most of the romantic material at his command for the story of the fall of the greatest figure in history."

THE BOYHOOD & YOUTH OF NAPOLEON, 1769-1793.

Some Chapters on the early life of Bonaparte.

By Oscar Browning, M.A. With numerous Illustrations, Portraits etc.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

Daily News.—"Mr. Browning has with patience, labour, careful study, and excellent taste given us a very valuable work, which will add materially to the literature on this most fascinating of human personalities.

THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF NAPOLEON.

By Joseph Turquan. Translated from the French by James L. May. With 32 Full-page Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

THE DUKE OF REICHSTADT (NAPOLEON II.)

By Edward de Wertheimer. Translated from the German. With numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net. (Second Edition.)

Times.—"A most careful and interesting work which presents the first complete and authoritative account of this unfortunate Prince."

Westminster Gazette.—"This book, admirably produced, reinforced by many additional portraits, is a solid contribution to history and a monument of patient, well-applied research."

NAPOLEON'S CONQUEST OF PRUSSIA, 1806.

By F. Loraine Petre. With an Introduction by Field-Marshal Earl Roberts, V.C., K.G., etc. With Maps, Battle Plans, Portraits, and 16 Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

Scotsman.—"Neither too concise, nor too diffuse, the book is eminently readable. It is the best work in English on a somewhat circumscribed subject."

Outlook.—"Mr. Petre has visited the battlefields and read everything, and his monograph is a model of what military history, handled with enthusiasm and literary ability, can be."

NAPOLEON'S CAMPAIGN IN POLAND, 1806-1807.

A Military History of Napoleon's First War with Russia, verified from unpublished official documents.

By F. Lorain Petre. With 16 Full-page Illustrations, Maps, and Plans. New Edition.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

Army and Navy Chronicle.—"We welcome a second edition of this valuable work.... Mr. Loraine Petre is an authority on the wars of the great Napoleon, and has brought the greatest care and energy into his studies of the subject."

NAPOLEON AND THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES.

A History of the Franco-Austrian Campaign in the Valley of the Danube in 1809.

By F. Loraine Petre. With 8 Illustrations and 6 sheets of Maps and Plans.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

RALPH HEATHCOTE. Letters of a Diplomatist

During the Time of Napoleon, Giving an Account of the Dispute between the Emperor and the Elector of Hesse.

By Countess Gunther GrÖben. With Numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

MEMOIRS OF THE COUNT DE CARTRIE.

A record of the extraordinary events in the life of a French Royalist during the war in La VendÉe, and of his flight to Southampton, where he followed the humble occupation of gardener.

With an introduction by FrÉdÉric Masson, Appendices and Notes by Pierre AmÉdÉe Pichot, and other hands, and numerous Illustrations, including a Photogravure Portrait of the Author.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 12s. 6d. net.

Daily News.—"We have seldom met with a human document which has interested us so much."

THE JOURNAL OF JOHN MAYNE DURING

A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT UPON ITS RE-OPENING

AFTER THE FALL OF NAPOLEON, 1814.

Edited by his Grandson, John Mayne Colles. With 16 Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

WOMEN OF THE SECOND EMPIRE.

Chronicles of the Court of Napoleon III.

By FrÉdÉric LoliÉe. With an Introduction by Richard Whiteing, and 53 full-page Illustrations, 3 in Photogravure.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

Standard.—"M. Frederic LoliÉe has written a remarkable book, vivid and pitiless in its description of the intrigue and dare-devil spirit which flourished unchecked at the French Court.... Mr. Richard Whiteing's introduction is written with restraint and dignity."

MEMOIRS OF MADEMOISELLE DES ECHEROLLES.

Translated from the French by Marie Clothilde Balfour. With an introduction by G. K. Fortescue, Portraits, etc. 5s. net.

Liverpool Mercury.—"... this absorbing book.... The work has a very decided historical value. The translation is excellent, and quite notable in the preservation of idiom."

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO: A BIOGRAPHICAL STUDY.

By Edward Hutton. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and numerous other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 16s. net.

THE LIFE OF PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893).

By his Brother, Modeste Tchaikovsky. Edited and abridged from the Russian and German Editions by Rosa Newmarch. With Numerous Illustrations and Facsimiles and an Introduction by the Editor.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net. Second edition.

The Times.—"A most illuminating commentary on Tchaikovsky's music."

World.—"One of the most fascinating self-revelations by an artist which has been given to the world. The translation is excellent, and worth reading for its own sake."

Contemporary Review.—"The book's appeal is, of course, primarily to the music-lover; but there is so much of human and literary interest in it, such intimate revelation of a singularly interesting personality, that many who have never come under the spell of the Pathetic Symphony will be strongly attracted by what is virtually the spiritual autobiography of its composer. High praise is due to the translator and editor for the literary skill with which she has prepared the English version of this fascinating work.... There have been few collections of letters published within recent years that give so vivid a portrait of the writer as that presented to us in these pages."

THE LIFE OF SIR HALLIDAY MACARTNEY, K.C.M.G.,

Commander of Li Hung Chang's trained force in the Taeping Rebellion, founder of the first Chinese Arsenal, Secretary to the first Chinese Embassy to Europe. Secretary and Councillor to the Chinese Legation in London for thirty years. By Demetrius C. Boulger, Author of the "History of China," the "Life of Gordon," etc. With Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) Price 21s. net.

DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS AND STRANGE EVENTS.

By S. Baring-Gould, M.A., Author of "Yorkshire Oddities," etc. With 58 Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

Daily News.—"A fascinating series ... the whole book is rich in human interest. It is by personal touches, drawn from traditions and memories, that the dead men surrounded by the curious panoply of their time, are made to live again in Mr. Baring-Gould's pages."

THE HEART OF GAMBETTA.

Translated from the French of Francis Laur by Violette Montagu. With an Introduction by John Macdonald, Portraits and other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

Daily Telegraph.—"It is Gambetta pouring out his soul to LÉonie Leon, the strange, passionate, masterful demagogue, who wielded the most persuasive oratory of modern times, acknowledging his idol, his inspiration, his Egeria."

THE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARC.

By Anatole France. A Translation by Winifred Stephens. With 8 Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 2 vols. Price 25s. net.

THE DAUGHTER OF LOUIS XVI.

Marie-ThÉrÈse-Charlotte of France, Duchesse D'AngoulÊme.

By G. Lenotre. With 13 Full-page Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) Price 10s. 6d. net.

WITS, BEAUX, AND BEAUTIES OF THE GEORGIAN ERA.

By John Fyvie, author of "Some Famous Women of Wit and Beauty," "Comedy Queens of the Georgian Era," etc. With a Photogravure Portrait and numerous other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

MADAME DE MAINTENON:

Her Life and Times, 1655-1719.

By C. C. Dyson. With 1 Photogravure Plate and 16 other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 12s. 6d. net.

DR. JOHNSON AND MRS. THRALE.

By A. M. Broadley. With an Introductory Chapter by Thomas Seccombe. With 24 Illustrations from rare originals, including a reproduction in colours of the Fellowes Miniature of Mrs. Piozzi by Roche, and a Photogravure of Harding's sepia drawing of Dr. Johnson.

Demy 8vo (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 16s. net.

THE DAYS OF THE DIRECTOIRE.

By Alfred Allinson, M.A. With 48 Full-page Illustrations, including many illustrating the dress of the time.

Demy 8vo (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 16s. net.

HUBERT AND JOHN VAN EYCK:

Their Life and Work.

By W. H. James Weale. With 41 Photogravure and 95 Black and White Reproductions.

Royal 4to. £5 5s. net.

Nearly half a century has passed since Mr. W. H. James Weale, then resident at Bruges, began that long series of patient investigations into the history of Netherlandish art which was destined to earn so rich a harvest. When he began work Memlinc was still called Hemling, and was fabled to have arrived at Bruges as a wounded soldier. The van Eycks were little more than legendary heroes. Roger Van der Weyden was little more than a name. Most of the other great Netherlandish artists were either wholly forgotten or named only in connection with paintings with which they had nothing to do. Mr. Weale discovered Gerard David, and disentangled his principal works from Memlinc's, with which they were then confused.

VINCENZO FOPPA OF BRESCIA,

Founder of The Lombard School, His Life and Work.

By Constance Jocelyn Ffoulkes and Monsignor Rodolfo Majocchi, d.d., Rector of the Collegio Borromeo, Pavia. Based on research in the Archives of Milan, Pavia, Brescia, and Genoa and on the study of all his known works. With over 100 Illustrations, many in Photogravure, and 100 Documents.

Royal 4to. £5 5s. 0d. net.

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKES OF URBINO.

Illustrating the Arms, Art and Literature of Italy from 1440 to 1630.

By James Dennistoun of Dennistoun. A New Edition edited by Edward Hutton, with upwards of 100 Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 3 vols. 42s. net.

THE DIARY OF A LADY-IN-WAITING.

By Lady Charlotte Bury. Being the Diary Illustrative of the Times of George the Fourth. Interspersed with original Letters from the late Queen Caroline and from various other distinguished persons. New edition. Edited, with an Introduction, by A. Francis Steuart. With numerous portraits. Two Vols.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE.

During the Reign of George III from 1771 to 1783. With Notes by Dr. Doran.

Edited with an Introduction by A. Francis Steuart, and containing numerous Portraits (2 in Photogravure) reproduced from contemporary Pictures, Engravings, etc. 2 vols. Uniform with "The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting."

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 25s. net.

JUNIPER HALL:

Rendezvous of certain illustrious Personages during the French Revolution, including Alexander D'Arblay and Fanny Burney.

Compiled by Constance Hill. With numerous Illustrations by Ellen G. Hill, and reproductions from various Contemporary Portraits.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

JANE AUSTEN: Her Homes and Her Friends.

By Constance Hill. Numerous Illustrations by Ellen G. Hill, together with Reproductions from Old Portraits, etc.

Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.

THE HOUSE IN ST. MARTIN'S STREET.

Being Chronicles of the Burney Family.

By Constance Hill, Author of "Jane Austen, Her Home, and Her Friends," "Juniper Hall," etc. With numerous Illustrations by Ellen G. Hill, and reproductions of Contemporary Portraits, etc.

Demy 8vo. 21s. net.

STORY OF THE PRINCESS DES URSINS IN SPAIN (Camarera-Mayor).

By Constance Hill. With 12 Illustrations and a Photogravure Frontispiece. New Edition.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

MARIA EDGEWORTH AND HER CIRCLE IN THE DAYS OF BONAPARTE AND BOURBON.

By Constance Hill. Author of "Jane Austen: Her Homes and Her Friends," "Juniper Hall," "The House in St. Martin's Street," etc. With numerous Illustrations by Ellen G. Hill and Reproductions of Contemporary Portraits, etc.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 21s. net.

CESAR FRANCK: A Study.

Translated from the French of Vincent d'Indy, with an Introduction by Rosa Newmarch.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

MEN AND LETTERS.

By Herbert Paul, M.P.

Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

ROBERT BROWNING: Essays and Thoughts.

By J. T. Nettleship. With Portrait.

Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. (Third Edition).

NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE.

Edited and Annotated by Alexander Carlyle, with Notes and an Introduction and numerous Illustrations. In Two Volumes.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 25s. net.

Pall Mall Gazette.—"To the portrait of the man, Thomas, these letters do really add value; we can learn to respect and to like him more for the genuine goodness of his personality."

Literary World.—"It is then Carlyle, the nobly filial son, we see in these letters; Carlyle, the generous and affectionate brother, the loyal and warm-hearted friend, ... and above all, Carlyle as a tender and faithful lover of his wife."

Daily Telegraph.—"The letters are characteristic enough of the Carlyle we know: very picturesque and entertaining, full of extravagant emphasis, written, as a rule, at fever heat, eloquently rabid and emotional."

NEW LETTERS AND MEMORIALS OF JANE WELSH CARLYLE.

A Collection of hitherto Unpublished Letters.

Annotated by Thomas Carlyle, and Edited by Alexander Carlyle, with an Introduction by Sir James Crichton Browne, m.d., lld., f.r.s., numerous Illustrations drawn in Lithography by T. R. Way, and Photogravure Portraits from hitherto unreproduced Originals. In Two Vols.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 25s. net.

Westminster Gazette.—"Few letters in the language have in such perfection the qualities which good letters should possess. Frank, gay, brilliant, indiscreet, immensely clever, whimsical, and audacious, they reveal a character which, with whatever alloy of human infirmity, must endear itself to any reader of understanding."

World.—"Throws a deal of new light on the domestic relations of the Sage of Chelsea. They also contain the full text of Mrs. Carlyle's fascinating journal, and her own 'humorous and quaintly candid' narrative of her first love-affair."

THE LOVE LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND JANE WELSH.

Edited by Alexander Carlyle, Nephew of Thomas Carlyle, editor of "New Letters and Memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle," "New Letters of Thomas Carlyle," etc. With 2 Portraits in colour and numerous other Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 2 vols. 25s. net.

CARLYLE'S FIRST LOVE.

Margaret Gordon—Lady Bannerman. An account of her Life, Ancestry and Homes; her Family and Friends.

By R. C. Archibald. With 20 Portraits and Illustrations, including a Frontispiece in Colour.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 10s. 6d. net.

EMILE ZOLA: Novelist and Reformer.

An Account of his Life, Work, and Influence.

By E. A. Vizetelly. With numerous Illustrations, Portraits, etc.

Demy 8vo. 21s. net.

MEMOIRS OF THE MARTYR KING: Being a detailed record of the last two years of the Reign of His Most Sacred Majesty King Charles the First, 1646-1648-9. Compiled by Alan Fea. With upwards of 100 Photogravure Portraits and other Illustrations, including relics. Royal 4to. £5 5s. 0d. net.

MEMOIRS OF A VANISHED GENERATION 1811-1855. Edited by Mrs. Warrenne Blake. With numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 16s. net.

THE KING'S GENERAL IN THE WEST,

Being the Life of Sir Richard Granville, Baronet (1600-1659).

By Roger Granville, M.A., Sub-Dean of Exeter Cathedral. With Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 10s. 6d. net.

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF ROBERT

Stephen Hawker, sometime Vicar of Morwenstow in Cornwall.

By C. E. Byles. With numerous Illustrations by J. Ley Pethybridge and others.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BLAKE.

By Alexander Gilchrist, Edited with an Introduction by W. Graham Robertson. Numerous Reproductions from Blake's most characteristic and remarkable designs.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 10s. 6d. net. New Edition.

GEORGE MEREDITH: Some Characteristics.

By Richard Le Gallienne. With a Bibliography (much enlarged) by John Lane. Portrait, etc.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net. Fifth Edition. Revised.

A QUEEN OF INDISCRETIONS.

The Tragedy of Caroline of Brunswick, Queen of England.

From the Italian of G. P. Clerici. Translated by Frederic Chapman. With numerous Illustrations reproduced from contemporary Portraits and Prints.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 21s. net.

LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE.

Edited by his Daughter Laura E. Richards. With Notes and a Preface by F. B. Sanborn, an Introduction by Mrs. John Lane, and a Portrait.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 16s. net.

GRIEG AND HIS MUSIC.

By H. T. Finck, Author of "Wagner and his Works," etc. With Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) 7s. 6d. net.

EDWARD A. MACDOWELL: a Biography.

By Lawrence Gilman, Author of "Phases of Modern Music," "Strauss' 'Salome,'" "The Music of To-morrow and Other Studies," "Edward Macdowell," etc. Profusely illustrated.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

THE LIFE OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

Translated from the Italian of an unknown Fourteenth-Century Writer by Valentina Hawtrey. With an Introductory Note by Vernon Lee, and 14 Full-page Reproductions from the Old Masters.

Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. A Biography

By Lewis Melville. With 2 Photogravures and numerous other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 25s. net.

A LATER PEPYS. The Correspondence of Sir William Weller Pepys, Bart., Master in Chancery, 1758-1825.

With Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Hartley, Mrs. Montague, Hannah More, William Franks, Sir James Macdonald, Major Rennell, Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, and others. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Alice C. C. Gaussen. With numerous Illustrations.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches.) In Two Volumes. 32s. net.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, AN ELEGY;

AND OTHER POEMS, MAINLY PERSONAL.

By Richard Le Gallienne.

Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.

RUDYARD KIPLING: a Criticism,

By Richard Le Gallienne. With a Bibliography by John Lane.

Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.

THE LIFE OF W. J. FOX,

Public Teacher and Social Reformer, 1786-1864.

By the late Richard Garnett, C.B., LL.D., concluded by Edward Garnett.

Demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 inches). 16s. net.