With Mariana, closely watched in her convent at Toledo, and all her friends exiled from Court, Don Juan of Austria reigned supreme. For years he had been clamouring for reform, and holding up as a terrible example of the results of mis-government the utter prostration that had seized upon the nation. This was his chance, and he missed it; for he, whom a whole people had acclaimed as the strong man that was to redeem Spain from the sins and errors of the past, proved in power to be a jealous vindictive trifler, incapable of great ideas or statesmanlike action. Every supporter of the Queen-Mother, from the highest to the lowest, was made to feel the persecution of Don Juan; letters from Toledo were opened, spies listened at every corner, and violated the sanctity of every home, in the anxiety of the Prince to discover plots against him. His pride exceeded all bounds, and most of his time was occupied in intrigues to secure for himself the treatment due to a royal prince of legitimate birth.

Whilst Don Juan was engaged in these trifles and equally futile government measures, such as endeavouring by decree to make the courtiers dress in the French fashion instead of Spanish, the taxes were as heavy as before, the prices of food higher than ever, the administration remained unreformed, and the law was still contemned: the Spanish troops were being beaten by the French in Catalonia for lack of support, and King Louis still occupied Sicily. Don Juan’s own supporters, too, soon got tired of him when they saw that he was grudging of rewards, even to them; and pasquins and pamphlets rained against him and in favour of the Queen-Mother. The latter and the imperial ambassador had, before the coming of Don Juan, betrothed the King to his niece the Archduchess Marie Antoinette, aged nine, the daughter of the Emperor; as if the miserable Charles himself had not been a sufficient warning against further consanguineous marriages in the house of Austria: but Don Juan promptly put an end to that arrangement, and proposed to marry Charles to a little Portuguese Infanta of similar age. Peace was now an absolute necessity to all Europe. The pourparlers between the powers at Nimeguen had already lasted two years, and ended in an arrangement between Holland and France, in which Spain was left out. Louis could then exact his own terms; and, as usual, they were crushingly hard on Spain, which lost some of the richest cities in Flanders and all the Franche ComtÉ (September 1678). But it was peace, and the rejoicing of the overburdened Spanish people was pathetic to witness.

Charles was seventeen years of age, and already his country was speculating eagerly upon his marriage; whilst his degeneracy and weakness aroused hopes and fears of what might happen if he died without issue. According to the will of Philip IV., the succession fell to the Empress Margaret, daughter of Mariana; but the French King, who from the first had made light of his wife’s renunciation of her Spanish birthright, and Maria Theresa herself, were not inclined to let her claims go by default. Soon the gossips in Madrid began to whisper that a French Queen Consort, a descendant of the house which had given them their beloved Isabel of Bourbon, would suit Spain best, and Don Juan himself was not unwilling to listen to such a suggestion; for, in any case, the King must marry, and a French match would be a blow against Mariana and the Austrian connection. The Duke of Medina Celi, Don Juan’s principal henchman, slept, as sumiller de corps, in the King’s room; and it was he who first broached to Charles the idea of a French wife. He was, the Duke reminded him, a grown man now, and the Austrian Archduchess of ten was too young for him. The Princess of Portugal, he said, would never be consented to by the French, and she was also too youthful: but there was at St. Cloud the most lovely Princess ever seen, only a year younger than himself, who was a bride for the greatest king in the world.^[278]

Her name was Marie Louise, and she was the daughter of the brother of King Louis, the Duke of Orleans, by Henriette of England, that beautiful daughter of Charles I. who had been so beloved in the country of her adoption. Maria Theresa took care that miniatures of her lovely niece should go to the Spanish Court, and when one of them was brought to the notice of the young King, his adolescent passion was inflamed at once, and the Marquis de los Balbeses, who had represented Spain at the conference of Nimeguen, was instructed by Don Juan to proceed to Paris and ask King Louis for the hand of his niece.

Marie Louise was a spoilt beauty of the most refined and gayest court in Europe. She had when a child lost her English mother; but every body was in love with her, from King Louis downward; and it had long been understood that she might marry the Dauphin, with whom she was on the tenderest terms of affection. But the treaties of Nimeguen had transformed the face of Europe, and Louis had other views for his son, whilst the need for securing a footing in Spain during the critical period approaching was evident. So, when Balbeses came to Paris with unusual state, and Saint Germain and Saint Cloud were a blaze of magnificence to receive him, the girl’s heart sank; for with her precocious intelligence she guessed the meaning of the whispers and curious glances that greeted her every appearance in the ceremonies in honour of the King of Spain’s ambassador.

She and the Dauphin were deeply in love with each other, and had been so since childhood; and it was like a sentence of death for the beautiful girl with the burnished copper-brown hair and flashing eyes, to learn that she was to be the bride of the long-faced, pallid boy, with the monstrous jaw and dull stare, in his gloomy palace far away from brilliant Versailles, and from her own home at Saint Cloud. When her father, the Duke of Orleans, and afterwards King Louis himself, gravely told her the honour that was in store for her, she implored them in an agony of passionate tears to save her from such a fate. To her stepmother, Charlotte of Bavaria, to the Queen Maria Theresa, to the King, she appealed on her knees, again and again, to let her stay in France, where she was so happy; and not to send her far away amongst people she did not love. She was told that her duty was to France; and Colbert, by the order of King Louis, drew up a serious State paper for the instruction of the frightened girl in the manner that French interests might be served by her as Queen of Spain.

The fine pearl necklace, worth a hundred thousand crowns, given to her by King Louis, the magnificent diamonds brought by the Duke of Pastrana,^[279] as a present to her from her future husband, the title of Majesty, ostentatiously given to her as soon as preliminaries were arranged, the fine dresses and jewels, and the new deference with which she was surrounded, only deepened the girl’s grief. Her heart grew hard and her spirit reckless when she understood that, regardless of her own feelings, she was to be a sacrifice: and, as the pompous ceremony of her marriage by proxy approached, she became outwardly calm, and more proudly beautiful than ever. On the 30th August 1679, as the new Queen was led by her father on one hand and the Dauphin she loved on the other, into the principal saloon at Fontainebleau for the formal betrothal to the Prince of Conti, representing the King of Spain, all the Court was enraptured at her peerless loveliness. Her train, seven yards long, of cloth of gold, was borne by princesses of the blood; and the magnificence that the Roi Soleil loved so well found its centre in the jewels that blazed over the young Princess who was being sacrificed for France.

It would be tedious to recount the splendour of the betrothal, and marriage the next day, 31st August,^[280] but when, after the ceremony with Conti that made Marie Louise the wife of Charles II., she left the chapel in her royal crown, her purple velvet robe lined with ermine and covered with golden fleurs de lis, and her flashing gems enveloping her in light, King Louis and his Queen, between whom she walked in the procession, praised and soothed her as the most perfect princess and queen in the world. At the State concert and ball that night, and at the ceremonies of the morrow, Marie Louise was radiant in her loveliness, and shed no tears, for she was steeled now to the sacrifice, and determined thenceforward to get as much sensuous joy out of life as she could, in spite of the fate that had befallen her.

Whilst this was happening in Fontainebleau, the plot was thickening in Madrid. The star of Don Juan was visibly on the wane. The adherents of Mariana grew bolder daily; some of them, like the Duke of Osuna, dared to come to Court in spite of prohibition; and Don Juan lived in daily fear that the King would slip through his hands and join his mother in Toledo. In order to divert him from visiting Aranjuez, which is within riding distance of Toledo, all sorts of pretexts were invented, and the surveillance of the old Queen by Don Juan’s agents became more insulting than ever. Mme. D’Aulnoy narrates a conversation with Don Juan at the time, which may well be authentic.^[281] ‘She asked him if it was true that the Queen-Mother had written to the King requesting him to see her, and that he had refused. The prince admitted that it was, and that this was the sole reason that had prevented his Majesty from going to Aranjuez, for fear that she might go there and see him, in spite of the orders given to her not to leave Toledo. “What, sir,” I cried; “The King refuses to see his mother!” “Say rather,” he replied, “that reasons of State prevent monarchs from following their own inclinations when they clash with the public interest. We have a maxim in the Council of State always to be guided by the spirit of the great Emperor Charles V. in all difficult questions.”‘... ‘It was quite evident to me,’ concludes Mme. D’Aulnoy, ‘that Don Juan accommodated the genius of Charles V. to suit his own.’^[282]

Don Juan had grown colder towards the French match as time went on. He had, indeed, endeavoured more than once to obstruct or frustrate it by suggesting impossible conditions; but even Charles II. had plucked up some semblance of manhood with his approaching marriage to the original of the portrait that had so enraptured him, and gave his half-brother to understand that he meant to have his own way, in this and in other things.^[283] Don Juan had very soon understood that the appearance of Marie Louise in Spain, with the influence of Louis XIV. behind her, would mean his own downfall; and the arrival of the Marquis of Villars, the French ambassador, with instructions from his master not to accede to the ambitious claims of Don Juan to receive the ambassador seated and to give his hand as a royal prince, led to infinite negotiation. Louis was determined that the bastard of Philip IV. should not be treated by his ambassador as royal, unless his own illegitimate offspring enjoyed the same privilege; and Villars was instructed not to negotiate with Don Juan at all unless he gave way.^[284] Louis also instructed Villars to proceed to Toledo and salute Mariana; and Don Juan knew that with the Queen-Mother’s interest, the French interest, and most of Spain against him, his government was doomed to an early extinction.

The knowledge killed him; and before Marie Louise had reached the Spanish frontier the news came to her that Don Juan was dead, 17th September. He had suffered for many weeks from double tertian fevers, and his anxiety had increased the malady. The King, he knew, was already holding conferences of nobles, plotting to escape to his mother and decree his half-brother’s dismissal. On all sides those upon whom he had depended now opposed him, and some of his old enemies had already claimed the right, in virtue of their rank and offices, to go and attend the new Queen. In these circumstances it is not necessary to seek, as many contemporaries did, to explain his death by accusations against Mariana and her friends of poisoning him; but there is no denying that his death was most opportune for them, and was welcome to the whole nation, as ensuring some degree of harmony under the new regime that was to commence with the King’s marriage. Don Juan’s dying ears were dinned by the explosion of fireworks from his own windows, in celebration of the wedding at Fontainebleau, so little regard was paid to him; and hardly had the breath left his body when Charles ran to seek his mother at Toledo, and, with tears and embraces on both sides, a reconciliation was effected. It had all been the wicked bastard’s fault, and henceforward all would go well.

Mariana managed her triumphant return with tact and skill. She had left the Court after Valenzuela’s fall intensely unpopular; but much had happened since then. Don Juan had proved a whitened sepulchre; the detested Austrian match for the King was at an end, the cordiality shown by Mariana towards the new marriage pleased the people, and a warm welcome greeted her as she rode in state by her son’s side in the great swaying coach with the curtains drawn back,^[285] to the palace of the Buen Retiro which was to be her residence until her own house was prepared.

All the Court was eager to know what part Mariana would in future take in the government. Would she be, as of yore, the sole dispenser of bounty and the only fountain of power? Would she avenge herself upon Don Juan’s friends as he had avenged himself upon hers, or would she leave the dominating influence to her son’s young wife? Mariana had learnt wisdom by experience, and walked warily. She was no lover of the French match; but she knew that open opposition to it would alienate the King and exasperate the country, and she smilingly played the part of the fond mother who rejoiced at her son’s happiness. Everybody, moreover, and especially the King, was so busy with the marriage that there was neither time nor inclination for politics; and until the King’s departure to meet his bride he was closeted every day in loving converse with his mother, talking only of his coming happiness. Fortunately the treasure-fleet from America arrived in the nick of time, and, for a wonder, there was no lack of money, which not only added to the good humour of the people, but enabled the preparations for the reception of Marie Louise on the Spanish side to be made upon a scale approaching the costly pageantry of former times.

The splendid entertainments at Fontainebleau ended at last; and on the 20th September 1679, the young Queen rode out of the beautiful park on the first stage of the long voyage to her new country. She sat silently in the coach with King Louis and his wife, and the one man upon whom her heart was set, the young Dauphin, whose eyes were red with tears. At La Chapelle, two leagues from Fontainebleau, the long cavalcade stopped, for here Marie Louise was to take an eternal farewell of most of those she loved. As she stepped from Queen Maria Theresa’s carriage and entered one belonging to the King that was to bear her to the frontier, every eye was wet with tears, and the common folk who witnessed the leave-taking cried aloud with grief. Only Marie Louise, with fixed face and stony eyes, was mute. But when the last farewell was said, and the Queen’s carriage with the Dauphin turned to leave, one irrepressible wail of sorrow was wrung from the heart of the poor girl, as she sank back fainting upon the cushions of the carriage by her father’s side.^[286]

Through France, by short stages, and followed by a great household under the Duke of Harcourt and the MarÉchale Clerambant, as mistress of the robes, the young Queen made her way, splendidly entertained by the cities through which she passed; for to them the marriage meant peace with Spain, and rich and poor blessed her for her beauty and her sacrifice. The Marquis of Balbeses, the Spanish ambassador and his wife, a Colonna, rode in her train, and at Poictiers the latter brought her the news of Don Juan’s unregretted death. The Marchioness happened to be wearing a black silk handkerchief at her neck; and, lightly touching it, and smiling, she said: ‘This is all the mourning I am going to wear for him.’^[287] Thenceforward to the sad end Marie Louise had to deal with those who, with smiling face and soft speeches, were secretly bent upon her ruin; and she, a bright beauty full of strength and the joy of life, hungry for the love that had been denied her, was no match, even if she had cared to struggle with them, for the false hearts and subtle brains that planned the shipwreck of her life.

The household of the new Queen, which had been chosen by Don Juan before his death, started from the capital towards the frontier on the 26th September, and already intrigue was rife amongst the courtiers to gain ascendency over the young consort of the King. The master of the household, the Marquis of Astorga, was mainly famous for his gallantry, and had been a firm friend of Don Juan; whilst the mistress of the robes, the Duchess of Terranova in her own right, was a stern grand dame of sixty, whose experience, like that of Astorga, had been principally Italian, and of whom some whispered that ‘she knew more about carbines and daggers than about thimbles and needles.’^[288] However that may be, she was imperious and punctilious to the last degree, but kept Marie Louise in the right way as she understood it; though, as we shall see, the roughness of her methods disgusted the young Queen and hastened the inevitable catastrophe.^[289] Close upon the heels of the official household went some of Mariana’s friends, especially the Duke of Osuna, appointed Grand Equerry, and an Italian priest, who aspired to the post of Queen’s confessor; and even before she entered Spain began to whisper to Marie Louise political counsels intended to betray her.

Once again on the historic banks of the Bidasoa, and on the island of Pheasants that had seen so many regal meetings, sumptuous pavilions of silk brocade and tapestry were erected. Marie Louise at St. Jean de Luz, a few miles away, was sick at heart, in spite of all the splendour that surrounded her; and she could not suppress her tears as she stood upon the last foot of French soil she was ever to touch, ready to enter the gilded barge that was to cross the few feet of water that separated her from the little gaily decked neutral island where the Marquis of Astorga was to receive her on bended knee as his sovereign mistress.

The rule of the formidable old Duchess of Terranova began the moment Marie Louise stepped into the barge that was to land her on the Spanish bank. The Queen was dressed in the graceful garb that prevailed in the Court of Louis XIV. The soft yielding skirts and square cut bodice with abundance of fine lace at neck and wrists were coquettishly feminine. The bright brown hair of the bride was curled and frizzed at the sides and on the brow, in artful little ringlets, and all this grace and prettiness looked to the Spanish ladies of the old school indecorous, if not positively indecent. Their vast wide-hooped farthingales, of heavy brocade, their long flat bodices, their stiff unbendable sleeves, and in the case of younger ladies, their hair, lank and uncurled, falling upon their shoulders, except where it was parted at the side and gathered with a bow of ribbon over one temple, formed an entire contrast to the French feminine fashions of the time; and until Marie Louise donned the Spanish garb, and did her hair in Spanish style, the Duchess of Terranova looked with grave disapproval at her mistress.

After the whole party had attended the Te Deum at Irun the journey south began, though not before a desperate fight for precedence had taken place between the Duke of Osuna and the Marquis of Astorga, a struggle that was renewed on every opportunity until the Duke was recalled to the King’s side. Long ere this the young King’s impatience to meet his bride had over-ridden all the dictates of etiquette, and he had started on his journey northward on the 23rd October, before even Marie Louise had entered Spain. To one of those witty French ladies who, at the time, wrote such excellent letters, we are indebted for invaluable information on the events of the next two years, and the letters of Mme. de Villars, wife of the French ambassador, will furnish us with many vivid pictures. Writing from Madrid the day before Marie Louise entered Spain (2nd November 1679) Mme. de Villars says: ‘M. Villars had started to join the King, who is going in search of the Queen with such impetuosity that it is impossible to follow him. If she has not arrived at Burgos when he reaches there, he is determined to take the Archbishop of Burgos and go as far as Vitoria, or to the frontier, if needs be, to marry the Princess. He was deaf to all advice to the contrary, he is so completely transported with love and impatience. So with these dispositions, no doubt the young Queen will be happy. The Queen Dowager is very good and very reasonable, and passionately desires that she (Marie Louise) should be contented.’^[290]

As the royal couple approached each other, almost daily messages of affection and rich gifts passed between them. First went from Marie Louise a beautiful French gold watch, with a flame-coloured ribbon, which she assured the love-lorn Charles had already encircled her neck. On the 9th November she reached OÑate, where she passed the night, and sent from there a miniature of herself on ivory set with diamonds, and with this went a curious letter,^[291] now published for the first time, touching upon a subject which afterwards became one of the principal sources of Marie Louise’s troubles in Spain. The letter is in Spanish, and in the Queen’s own writing, a large, bold hand, full of character. The Queen told Balbeses in Paris that she had learnt Spanish in order to talk it with Queen Maria Theresa, but did not speak it much. The present letter was probably, therefore, drafted or corrected in draft before she wrote it (perhaps by Mme. de Clarembant, who spoke Spanish), as there are no serious errors of syntax in it.

‘If I were ruled by the impulses of my heart alone, I should be sending off couriers to your Majesty every instant. I send to you now Sergeant Cicinetti, whom I knew at the Court of France, and his great fidelity also to your Majesty’s service. I pray you receive him with the same kindness that I send him. My heart, sire, is so overflowing with gratitude that your Majesty will see it in all the acts of my life. They wished to make me believe that your Majesty disapproved of my riding on horseback, but Remille (?), who has just come from your Majesty, assures me that just the contrary is the case, especially as for these bad roads horses are the best. As my greatest anxiety is to please your Majesty, I will do as you wish; for my whole happiness is that your Majesty should be assured that I shall only like that which you like. God grant you many years of life, as I desire and need. OÑate, 9th November.—Your Niece and Servant,

In fact, the Duchess of Terranova, from the first day, had been remonstrating with the Queen against her insisting upon riding a great horse over the wretched rain-soaked tracts that did duty for roads. Spanish ladies, she was told, travelled in closely-curtained carriages or litters, or, in case of urgent need, upon led mules, but never upon horses thus: and Marie Louise, who was a splendid horsewoman, had excusably defended the custom of the Court in which she had been reared. This was the first cause of disagreement between Marie Louise and her mistress of the robes, but others quickly followed.

Whilst Charles was impatiently awaiting his bride at Burgos, Marie Louise travelled slowly with her great train of French and Spanish courtiers over the miry roads and through the drenching winter of northern Spain. Already her daily passages of arms with the Duchess of Terranova had filled her with apprehension and anxiety. M. de Villars met her at Briviesca, and found her ‘full of inquietude and mistrust, and perceived that the change of country, and people and manners, enough to embarrass a more experienced person than she, and the cabals and intrigues that assailed her on every hand, had plunged her into a condition of agitation which made her fear everything without knowing upon whom she could depend.’^[292] The ambassador did his best to tranquillise her. All these people, he said, were intriguing in their own interests. She need not trouble about them: only let her love the King and live in harmony with the Queen-Mother, whom she would find full of affection for her, and all would be well. It is clear that Don Juan’s faction had not died with him, and even at this early stage the household, mainly appointed by him, had done their best to make Marie Louise fear and dread her mother-in-law.

On the 18th November, the day after her interview with Villars, the bride arrived at Quintanapalla, within a few miles of Burgos, where she was to pass the night; the ostensible intention of the Spaniards being that the marriage should take place at Burgos the next day. Everything was done to lead the official Frenchmen to believe this; but Villars and Harcourt were suspicious; and early on the morning of the 19th, they arrived from Burgos at the miserable poverty-stricken village where Marie Louise had passed the night. Assembled there they found members of the King’s household, and taxed the Duchess of Terranova with the intention of carrying through the royal marriage there. She replied haughtily that the King had so commanded, and had given orders that no one was to attend the wedding, but the few Spanish officers and witnesses strictly necessary. The two noble Frenchmen indignantly announced their intention of attending the ceremony, in obedience to the orders of their own King Louis, whether the Spaniards liked it or not. The imperious old lady thereupon flew into a towering rage; ‘et dit beaucoup de choses hors de propos,’ and the ambassadors, declining to quarrel with an angry woman, sent a courier galloping to Burgos to demand leave for the official representatives of France to witness the marriage of a French princess.^[293]

At eleven o’clock in the morning, the King himself arrived at the poor hamlet of ten houses, and at the door of the apartment where she had lodged his beautiful bride met him. She looked radiant, ‘in a beautiful French costume covered with a surprising quantity of gems,’^[294] though Charles told her the next day that he infinitely preferred her with the Spanish garb and coiffure, which she usually assumed thenceforward. On the threshold of the squalid labourer’s cottage, Marie Louise made as if to kneel and kiss the King’s hand; but he stepped forward and raised her. Unfortunately, thanks to his mumbling speech and her agitation, and small familiarity with spoken Spanish, they soon found that conversation was impossible without an interpreter, and Villars stepped into the breach and said the mutual words of greeting between the husband and wife.^[295]

But whilst he was doing this courtly service, his keen eyes saw that the humble living chamber of the cottage, where the ceremony of marriage was to take place, was being filled by Spanish grandees, who had ranged themselves in the place of honour on the right hand. Louis had broken down the old Spanish claim to precedence before other nations, and Villars at once demanded for Harcourt and himself the pre-eminent place. Under protest, and with evil grace, the grandees were obliged to make way for the Frenchmen; and there, in the squalid room, at midday, with grey skies looming overhead, and the drizzling rain dimming the tiny windows, Charles King of Spain was married to Marie Louise of Orleans.^[296]

An impromptu dinner was served immediately afterwards to the King and Queen; and at two o’clock in the afternoon they entered the big coach that awaited them, and the whole caravan floundered through the mud to the city of Burgos. The next morning early the bride left the city privately to dine at the neighbouring convent of Las Huelgas, and thence to make her state entry on horseback, and dressed in Spanish fashion. Then, for three days, the usual round of masquerades, bullfights, and comedies, kept the Court amused, and the dreaded hour of parting from her French train came to Marie Louise. Loaded with fine presents and rewards from the King, the great ladies and gallant gentlemen who had kept up the spirits of the Queen, now perforce turned their faces towards the north again, and, as Marie Louise saw the French carriages depart, her composure gave way, and she broke into a paroxysm of tears.

Spaniards generally, and especially the King, saw the French courtiers depart with delight. For years the two countries had been constantly at war. The splendour of France had grown proportionately as poverty and impotence had fallen upon Spain. Old ambitions and vengeful hate were not dead, and many Spaniards still dreamed of dictating to the world if only France could be checked. At every step Marie Louise, who loved France with all her heart, and had been forced to leave it, as she was told, to serve its interests, was reminded that she must forget the dear land of her youth and think only of her husband’s realm. It was too much to expect that she would do it, and it is fair to say that she did not try. She was a blithe, gay-hearted girl, in the full flower of youth and strength, not yet eighteen: the pleasures of Versailles and St Cloud had hitherto filled her life, and here in stern Spain, surrounded by sinister intrigues she did not understand, and married to this degenerate anÆmic creature by her side, she did her best to play her part properly; but she was French to her inmost soul, and she would not forget her own folk and her old home. The harsh Duchess of Terranova might insist upon the bright brown curls being brushed wet till they hung flat and lank, and might cram the beautiful round bosom into the hideous flat corset demanded by Spanish fashion; but even she could not quite silence the frank, careless laugh, or suppress the triumphant coquetry of a Parisian beauty overflowing with the sensuousness of maturing passion.

During the stay at Burgos, and afterwards, the Duchess of Terranova kept urging upon the narrow, suspicious King that his new wife was a young woman of free and easy manners, entirely opposed to Spanish ideas of decorum, and that he must keep a tight rein upon her. She laid it down, moreover, that the girl must receive no visits of any sort until after her State entry into Madrid, which would mean some six weeks of complete isolation.^[297] At Torrejon de Ardoz, a few miles from Madrid, Charles and his wife were met by Mariana. The Queen-Mother was wiser and deeper than the Mistress of the Robes; and instead of frightening her daughter-in-law she was outwardly all kindness and sweetness to her. As we shall see in the course of this history, the Terranova way, harsh as it was, was less disastrous to Marie Louise than the policy of letting her go her own way, and then holding her up to reprobation.

Mme. Villars records the coming of the newly-married pair to the Buen Retiro palace, where the Queen was to remain whilst the preparations were made for her state entry some weeks later. ‘Le roi et la reine viennent seuls dans un grand carosse sans glace, À la mode du pays. Il sera fort heureux pour eux qu’ils soient comme leur carosse.^[298] On dit que la reine fait tres bien: pour le roi, comme il etait fort amoureux avant que de l’avoir vue, sa presence ne peut qu’avoir augmentÉ sa passion.’

Marie Louise had now no Frenchwomen with her but two old nurses and two maids of inferior rank; and some days after she had arrived at the Buen Retiro she begged that Madame Villars, the ambassador’s wife, might be allowed to come and raise her spirits by a chat in French. The Duchess of Terranova was shocked, and refused. Neither man nor woman, she said, should see the Queen until the state entry. Marie Louise then tried her husband. Might not the ambassadress come in strict incognito? He seems to have consented, and the Queen joyously sent word to Mme. Villars; but Villars was aware of the jealousy in the palace, and before allowing his wife to go, communicated with the Duchess of Terranova. She knew nothing, she said, of such a permission, nor would she inquire, and the Queen should see no one whilst she remained at the Retiro.

Secret means were found for letting Marie Louise know why her countrywoman did not respond to the invitation; but a few days afterwards Mme. Villars went to the Retiro, doubtless by appointment, to pay her respects to the Queen-Mother Mariana. She found her everything that was kind and amiable. ‘Have you seen my daughter-in-law yet?’ the Queen-Mother asked. ‘She is so anxious to see you, and will receive you when you like: to-morrow if you wish.’ This was a great victory over the Duchess of Terranova, for Marie Louise had seen not a soul but the inhabitants of the Retiro since she entered it. Only two days before the Marchioness of Balbeses, the late ambassadress in France, who, though an Italian, was married to a Spanish grandee, had gone to the apartment of the Mistress of the Robes to beg an audience of the Queen. The latter, hearing her friend’s voice, had run into the room from her own adjoining chamber; but the moment the scandalised Duchess of Terranova caught sight of her she seized her roughly by the arm and pushed her into her own apartment again. ‘These manners,’ says Mme. Villars in recounting the incident, ‘are not so extraordinary here as they would be anywhere else.’^[299]

The French ambassadress lost no time in availing herself of the Queen-Mother’s hint; and on the following day went to the Retiro. The account of her visit to the Queen may best be told in her own racy words: ‘I entered by the apartment of the Mistress of the Robes, who received me with all sorts of civility. She took me through some little passages to a gallery, where I expected to see only the Queen, but, to my great surprise, I found myself before the whole royal family. The King was seated in a great arm-chair, and the two Queens on cushions. The Mistress of the Robes kept hold of my hand, telling me as we advanced how many courtesies I had to make, and that I must begin with the King. She brought me up so close to his Majesty’s chair that I did not know what she wished me to do. For my part, I thought nothing more was required of me than a low courtesy; and, without vanity, I may remark that he did not return it, though he seemed not sorry to see me. When I told M. de Villars about it afterwards, he said no doubt the Mistress of the Robes expected me to kiss the King’s hand. I thought so myself, but I felt no inclination to do so.... There I was then, in the midst of these three Majesties. The Queen-Mother, as on the previous day, said many agreeable things, and the young Queen seemed very much pleased to see me, though I did my best that she should show it in a discreet way. The King has a little Flemish dwarf who understands and speaks French very well, and he helped the conversation considerably. They brought one of the young ladies in a farthingale, that I might examine the machine.^[300] The King had me asked what I thought of it, and I replied, through the dwarf, that I did not believe it was ever invented for a human form. He seemed very much of my opinion. They brought me a cushion, upon which I sat only for a moment in obedience to the sign made to me, but I took an opportunity immediately afterwards to rise, as I saw so many “ladies of honour” standing, and I did not wish to offend them; though the Queens repeatedly told me to be seated. The young Queen had a collation served by her ladies on their knees—ladies of the most splendid names, such as Aragon, Castile and Portugal. The Queen-Mother took chocolate and the King nothing. The young Queen, as you may imagine, was dressed in Spanish fashion, the dress being made of some of the lovely stuffs she brought with her from France. She was beautifully coiffÉe, her hair being brought diagonally across the brow, and the rest falling loose over her shoulders. She has an admirable complexion, very fine eyes, and a bewitching mouth when she laughs. And what a thing it is to laugh in Spain! The gallery is rather long, the walls being covered with crimson damask or velvet, studded all over very close with gold trimmings. From one end to the other the floor is laid with the most lovely carpet I ever saw in my life, and on it there are tables, cabinets and brasiers, candlesticks being upon the tables. Every now and then very grandly dressed maids come in, each with two silver candlesticks, to replace others taken out for snuffing. These maids make very great, long courtesies, with much grace. A good way from the Queens there were some maids of honour sitting on the floor, and many ladies of advanced age, in the usual widow’s garb, were leaning standing against the wall.

‘The King and Queen left in three quarters of an hour, the King walking first. The young Queen took her mother-in-law by the hand leading her to the door of the gallery, and then she turned back quickly, and came to rejoin me. The Mistress of the Robes did not return, and it was evident that they had given the Queen full liberty to entertain me. There was only one old lady in the gallery, a long way off, and the Queen said that if she was not there she would give me a good hug. It was four o’clock when I arrived, and half-past seven before I left, and then it was I who made the first move. I can assure you I wish the King, the Queen-Mother and the Mistress of the Robes could have heard all I said to the Queen. I wish you could have heard it too, and have seen us walking up and down that gallery, which the lights made very agreeable. This young Queen, in the novelty and beauty of her garments, and with an infinitude of diamonds, was simply ravishing. Once for all do not forget that black and white are not more dissimilar than France and Spain. I think our young Princess is doing very well. She wished to see me every day, but I implored her to excuse me, unless I saw clearly that the King and the Queen-Mother wished it as much as she did.... The Mistress of the Robes came to meet me as I left the gallery, and I found there the Queen’s French attendants, to whom I said that they must learn Spanish, and avoid, if possible, saying a word of French to the Queen. I know that they are scolded for speaking it too much to her.’^[301]

In the deadly ennui of such a life as that described above Marie Louise, though she did her best to be patient, begged earnestly that her countrywoman should be allowed to see her often. But Mme. Villars pointed out to her how much depended upon her prudence, and avoided the palace whenever possible, in the hope that the young Queen would fall into Spanish ways. The King also, in his half-witted way, tried to please his lovely wife: ‘more beautiful and agreeable,’ says Mme. Villars, ‘than any lady of her Court,’ giving her many exquisite presents of jewellery, and running in and out of her apartments to tell her bits of news, and so on. But the life was deadly dull; and the gloom within the palace could, as Mme. Villars says, be seen, tasted and touched. Charles had no amusements other than the most childish games and trivial pastimes: his intellect was not capable of sustaining a reasonable conversation, and after a day of stiff monotony, he and his wife went to bed every night at half-past eight, the moment they had finished supper: ‘with the last morsel still in their mouths,’ as Mme. Villars writes.

There was some eager talk of the Queen’s pregnancy before the grand State entry into Madrid; but when that hope disappeared, and Marie Louise began to languish alarmingly in the dull incarceration of the Retiro, she and her husband sufficiently relaxed their surroundings to go to the hunting palace of the Pardo, six miles away, where the young Queen could ride her French horses, and Charles could enjoy himself with a little pigsticking. At length the great day for the public entry into the capital came on the 13th January 1680. Madrid, as usual, had squandered money sorely needed for bread in gaudy shows. At every street corner arose monuments and arches of imitation marble; and all the heathen mythology was ransacked for far-fetched compliments to the people’s new idol. The King and his mother leaving the Retiro in the morning took up a position in the central balcony of the OÑate palace, still standing, in the Calle Mayor; and at noon Marie Louise on a beautiful chestnut palfrey issued from the gates of the Buen Retiro, where the aldermen of the town stood awaiting her with the canopy of state, under which she was to ride to the palace.

Preceded by trumpeters and the knights of the royal orders, by her household and by the grandees of Spain, all in garments of dazzling magnificence, rode the most beautiful woman in Spain, gorgeously dressed in garments so richly embroidered with gold that their colour was hidden, and covered with precious stones, but withal, as a Spanish eyewitness observes, ‘more beautifully adorned by her loveliness and grace than by the rich habit that she wore.’ Her horse was led by the Marquis of Villamayna, her chief equerry; and after her came a great train of ladies led by the Duchess of Terranova, all mounted on draped led mules. As the new Queen passed the OÑate palace she smiled and bowed low to the King and his mother, who could be dimly seen behind the nearly closed jalousies; and went triumphantly forward, conquering all hearts by the power of her radiant beauty.^[302] But though she, poor soul, knew it not, more was needed than careless beauty to win the battle in which she was engaged, a battle not of hearts but of subtle crafty brains.

Bullfights, with grandees as toreros, masquerades, cane tourneys, and the inevitable religious pageantry, at all of which Marie Louise, glittering with gems, took her place, ran their usual course; and at the end of a week after the entry the Queen began her regular married life in the old Alcazar on the cliff, more gloomy and monotonous, even, than the Retiro, in its gardens on the other side of the capital.

The political intrigues, though they had never ceased, had been naturally somewhat abated during the Queen’s voyage and subsequent seclusion: but as soon as the marriage feasts were over the struggle began in earnest. Charles, absorbed in his courtship and marriage, had appointed no minister to succeed Don Juan, the necessary administrative duties being performed by a favourite of his, Don Jeronimo de Eguia, a man of no position or ability; and the first bone of contention was the appointment of the man who was really to rule Spain. The old party of the Queen-Mother inclined to a Board of Government, headed by the Constable of Castile; but Mariana, in appearance, at least, held herself aloof, and the minister ultimately chosen by the King was the first noble in Spain, the Duke of Medina Celi, an easy going, idle, amiable magnate, who had sided with Don Juan; but whose gentle manners had convinced the King that he would not tyrannise over him as Don Juan had done. The Duchess of Terranova and most of the household whispered constantly to the young Queen distrust and suspicion of Mariana; and after her state entry they encouraged her as much as possible to see the French ambassadress constantly. The Queen-Mother, they said, had been continually with the German ambassador and his wife talking German, why should not Marie Louise do the same with the French ambassador. But both Villars and his wife were wary, and saw that they were to be used to form a French party at Court to oppose the Queen-Mother and the Austrians, and this they were not at present inclined to do.

Villars himself constantly reiterates that the Queen-Mother was quite sincere in her professions of affection for her daughter-in-law, and he and his wife lost no opportunity of urging Marie Louise to respond cordially to her mother-in-law’s loving advances. The diplomatist attributes to Mariana, indeed, at this time, sentiments which her whole history seems to falsify, and it appears far more probable that Marie Louise was right than the ambassador when she looked askance at the tenderness of her husband’s mother. The old Queen, says Villars, was discontented with the way her Austrian kinsmen had treated her, and leaned now to the side of France, which had been friendly with her in her exile; she sincerely loved her daughter-in-law and hoped that her son would have children to succeed him by his beautiful wife. Villars, indeed, casts the whole of the blame upon Marie Louise, who, he says—probably quite truly—was lacking in judgment, decision and generosity, and hesitated too late between the Duchess of Terranova, who constantly warned her against the Queen-Mother, and the French ambassador and others who strove to persuade her to make common cause with her mother-in-law, and rule all things jointly with her.^[303]

The nearest approach to common action of the two Queens was when they both persuaded Charles to appoint the weak, idle, Medina Celi as minister; but, in this, and in all the other manifestations of Mariana’s conciliatory amiability at the time and after, it is unquestionable that the measures and men she smiled upon were such as would, and did, inevitably lead to a state of things in which her firm hand would become indispensable. The effects of the utter ineptitude of such a government as that of Charles and Medina Celi were soon seen. The coin had been tampered with to such an extent as to have no fixed value, provisions were at famine price, and the attempt to fix low values of commodities by decree aroused a sanguinary revolt in Madrid in the early spring of 1680, that nearly overthrew the wretched government such as it was. Bandits infested the high roads, half the work of the country was done by foreigners, whilst Spaniards starved in idleness, or lived by preying upon the comparatively few who still had means.

In this abject state of affairs, the King gave but a quarter of an hour daily to his public duties, which were limited to stamping his signature on decrees placed before him, for he had neither the industry to read them nor the intellect to understand them; and the rest of his time was spent on the most puerile frivolity and in endless visits with Marie Louise to convents and churches. ‘Such visits,’ says Mme. Villars, ‘are anything but a feast for her. She insisted upon my going with her the last two days. As I knew nobody, I was very much bored, and I believe she only asked me to go in order to keep her in countenance. The King and Queen are seated in two arm chairs, the nuns sitting at their feet, and many ladies come to kiss their hands. The collation is brought, the Queen’s repast always being a roast capon, which she eats whilst the King gazes at her, and thinks that she eats too much. There are two dwarfs who do all the talking.’

A very few weeks of this idle life and good living worked its effect upon Marie Louise. In February 1680, Mme. Villars writes: ‘She has grown so fat, that if it goes much further, her face will be round. Her bosom, strictly speaking, is already too full; although it is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. She usually sleeps ten or twelve hours, and eats meat four times a day. It is true that her breakfast and her luncheon (collation) are her best meals. She always has served for lunch a capon boiled and broth, and a roast capon. She laughs very much when I have the honour to be with her. I am quite sure that it is not I who am sufficiently agreeable to put her into such a good humour, and that she must be pretty comfortable generally. No one could behave better than she does, or be sweeter and more complaisant with the King. She saw his portrait before she married him, but they did not paint his strange humour, nor his love of solitude. The customs of the country have not all been turned upside down to make them more agreeable for her, but the Queen-Mother does everything she can to soften them. All sensible people think that the young Queen could not do better than contribute on her side to the tenderness and affection that the Queen-Mother shows for her.... When I tell you that she is fat, that she sleeps well and laughs heartily, I tell you no more than the truth; but it is no less true that the life she leads does not please her.... But, after all, she is doing wonderfully, and I am quite astonished at it.’^[304]

Already we see by this, that before Marie Louise had been in Madrid three months, she was going her own way, and was being humoured to the top of her bent by Mariana. She had been sold into a slavery of utter boredom, married to a degenerate imbecile; and she had neither brains, heart, nor ambition to take a leading part in politics, or to play the rÔle that she was intended to fill in Spain by her uncle King Louis. All that was left for her, then, was to eat, drink, sleep, and be as merry as her grim surroundings would allow; and let the world wag as it would. The society of the capital and Court had reached the lowest degree of decadence; and a strong, high-minded Queen would have found ample work in reducing at least her own household to decency. Every lady in the palace and elsewhere had a gallant, and was proud of it; and it was a universal practice in theatres and public places, or even at windows looking upon the street, for lovers to converse openly in the language of signs. Immorality and vice had reached such a terrible pitch that mere children who could afford it lived in concubinage, and few people, high or low, were free from preventible disease.^[305]

Marie Louise, utterly frivolous, made no attempt to reform all this, but swam with the stream, taking part in the Kings puerile pleasures of throwing eggshells full of scent at people, or playing with him for hours at his favourite game of spilikins for pence. Mariana looked on at it all quite complacently, Villars and his wife thought out of mere amiability. That may have been so, but it is clear to see now that all that was necessary was to let Marie Louise go her own way unchecked, and Mariana had nothing to fear from her politically or personally. As an instance of the attitude of the Queen-Mother towards the young Queen’s thoughtlessness, a little circumstance related by Mme. Villars may be quoted: ‘I was walking in the gallery of the Buen Retiro on Sunday, before seeing the comedy, thinking nothing of kings or queens, when I heard our young Princess call out my name very loudly. I entered the room whence the voice proceeded quite unceremoniously; and, to my confusion, I found the Queen seated between the King and the Queen-Mother. She had thought of nothing when she called me but her own wish to see me, quite regardless of Spanish gravity; and she burst out laughing heartily when she saw me. The Queen-Mother reassured me. She is always pleased when her daughter-in-law enjoys herself. Indeed, she made an opportunity for me to come and talk with her in a window recess, but I retired as soon as I could.’ To encourage Marie Louise to forget for a moment that she was a Spanish Queen, was to ensure her downfall.

Here is another picture of the young Queen a few days afterwards. Mme. de SÉvignÉ had written a letter talking of Marie Louise’s beautiful little feet, with which she danced so nimbly at Versailles. The young Queen was gratified at the flattery, but ruefully said that all her pretty feet were used for now was to walk round her chamber a few times, and carry her off to bed at half-past eight every night. On this occasion Mme. Villars thus describes her: ‘She was as beautiful as an angel, weighed down but uncomplaining, by a parure of emeralds and diamonds on her head, that is to say, a thousand sparks; a furious pair of earrings, and in front, and around her, in the form of a scarf, rings, bracelets, etc. You think, no doubt, that emeralds on her brown hair would not look well, but you are mistaken. Her complexion is one of the loveliest brunettes ever seen, her throat white, and exquisitely beautiful.’

Soon the young Queen’s careless jollity received a blow, which embittered her. Charles hated and distrusted all French people; and the insistence of Marie Louise in making companions of her French maids annoyed him exceedingly; and the lives of the two maids whom she liked best were made intolerable to them to such an extent that they had to leave. The Queen was in despair, but protested and wept in vain: the two Frenchwomen were made to understand that they had to go; and when their mistress summoned them one morning she was told that they had departed from the palace for good, leaving her with only two French servants, a nurse and a maid. As usual in her trouble, she summoned Mme. Villars, who found her lying down. ‘She rose at once. It is truly surprising how beautiful she has grown. She wore her hair tied up in great curls on her forehead, with rose-coloured ribbons on her cap and on the top of her head; and she was not plastered over with rouge, as she is generally obliged to be. Her throat and bosom admirable. She slipped on a French dressing-gown, which she wore for the rest of the day. She stood thus for a short time regarding herself in a great mirror, and the view seemed to revive her. Her eyes looked as if she had been weeping much. As soon as she began to speak to me the King entered the room, and it is the rule in such cases for the ladies all to leave, except the Mistress of the Robes and some servants. I heard cards asked for, and I concluded that the Queen was going to be bored to death with the little game that the King is so fond of, at which, if you have very bad luck, you may lose a dollar. The Queen always plays it as if she was enraptured with the occupation.’

The loss of two of her French attendants drew Marie Louise ever closer to Mme. Villars, who was a person of mature age, but, to her later regret, she gradually lost some of the reserve that at first she had considered prudent in her communications with the Queen. Mariana smiled upon the constant companionship of her daughter-in-law with the French ambassadress, but she must have known, for she was experienced and clever, that it would end in disaster to Marie Louise, whose future depended upon pleasing her husband and becoming purely Spanish. The Queen did her best to keep the affection of Charles, who, in his own way, was desperately in love with her, and on occasions when he had to leave her for a day or two she affected desperate sorrow at his absence so cleverly as to arouse the admiration of Mme. Villars for her good acting.

But, though she kept the King in alternate fits of maudlin devotion and despairing rage at her capricious flouting of all the rules and traditions of his Court, he himself was politically a cypher, and the policy always favoured by Mariana slowly but surely gained ground, whilst the French interest grew weaker; and Marie Louise, in spite of her uncle’s indignant reminders, raised no finger to help the cause she had been sent to Spain to champion. If Mariana ever had quarrelled with the Emperor, as Villars thought, the breach was patched up now, and the Austrian ambassador, Count de Grana, an old friend of Mariana’s, came to draw closer than before the family alliance. And yet Mariana ostentatiously abstained from any governmental action, whilst all went in the way she wished.

The first open sign of a return to the old policy of religious unity and the Austrian connection was the holding of the greatest auto de fe that had taken place in Madrid for half a century, in June 1680. The Plaza Mayor was transformed at a vast expense into a great theatre; all its hundreds of windows were filled with the aristocracy of Spain, and the high roofs of the houses crowded with people to see the dreadful show. All the inquisitors in Spain had been summoned, and the pulpit, the great tribune for the judges, the platform for the bishops, and the fronts of the barriers and balconies were covered with costly tapestries and rich hangings for the occasion. Eighty-five grandees and noblemen were proud to act as familiars of the Holy Office, and a picked corps of 250 gentlemen served as soldiers of the faith, to guard its ministers, and each to carry a faggot for the devilish bonfire at the gate of Fuencarral after the auto was finished.

All day long, from early morning till four in the afternoon, the King, with Marie Louise and Mariana, sat in the principal balcony of the PanaderÍa, the centre house in the great square, whilst 120 poor wretches in sambenitos, with ropes round their necks, gags in their mouths, and other insignia of shame, were condemned after innumerable ceremonies, sermons and rogations, to the tender mercies of the law condemning heresy. Charles swore again on the gospels to defend and promote the Catholic faith as held in Spain; and when the dread sentences were pronounced, the captain of the Inquisition Guard entered the royal balcony, bearing upon his shield a faggot, which was presented to Charles and the Queen, the former of whom returned it to the holder, saying: ‘Take it in my name, and let it be the first cast upon the fire to burn heretics.’ The French ambassador and his wife were obliged to be present, for those who did not attend were looked upon with suspicion; but they, and all the world, knew that this atrocious scene meant the growing power of the traditional ideas connected with Austrian friendship and the certainty at no distant period of a renewal of the war with France.

Paltry questions of diplomatic precedence and privilege, the haughty encroaching spirit of Louis XIV., and the utter abandonment of even current affairs by the Spanish government, under lazy Medina Celi, widened daily the breach between France and Spain. Villars and his wife, according to the evidence now before us, appear to have misunderstood entirely who were their real friends and foes in the palace. Mariana was all amiability to them, constantly urging that the ambassadress should be much with Marie Louise, and openly disapproving of the harsh manners of the Duchess of Terranova, who was always, says Villars, abusing the French and turning the King’s dislike to his wife’s countrymen into unreasoning hatred. The ambassador therefore believed that the Duchess was really the enemy of the young Queen and the French interest; but it is unquestionable that in the then state of feeling in Spain, the only hope for Marie Louise was to keep as far away from her own countrymen and women as her Mistress of the Robes desired. Marie Louise, thoughtless as she was, naturally considered this tyrannical and hard. On one occasion a French half-witted beggar came to her carriage door, and the Queen, speaking French to him, threw him some alms; whereupon the King was so enraged that he insisted upon the beggar being arrested, examined and expelled the country. Another day the King and Queen in their coach passed in the street some Dutch gentlemen dressed in French style, whose carriage, according to etiquette, had drawn up whilst the royal equipage passed. The strangers were on the left side of the street, and consequently were nearer the Queen than the King, and in their salutations addressed their respects to her. Again the King made a violent jealous scene, and caused a grave reprimand to be addressed to the Dutchmen, who were forbidden ever to salute the Queen again.

In the spring of 1680, on a disputed question of etiquette, the King took away some of the diplomatic privileges of the French ambassador, and the Duke of Orleans wrote to his daughter the Queen, asking her to speak to her husband about it. When Marie Louise did so, Charles sulkily told her to mind her own business, and not to speak to him on such affairs. She pressed her point, however, and he replied: ‘They will recall this ambassador, and send me another gabacho instead.’^[306] Some months later, whilst Mme. Villars was on one of her frequent visits to the Queen, the King, who had taken a special dislike to her, and often listened behind the arras to the conversation in the hope of detecting an indiscretion, broke out from his hiding-place in insulting abuse of the ambassadress. Villars lays all this trouble at the door of the Duchess of Terranova and the Marquis of Astorga, the Queen’s master of the household, both appointed by Don Juan, and praises Mariana to the skies for her gentleness to Marie Louise, and her desire that she should have her own way and see as many French people as she liked.^[307]

After a time the Duchess of Terranova, finding that the harshness of her methods, contrasting with the gentleness of her opponents, was destroying her influence, softened her manners to some extent, and went so far as to rebuke the King—even to scold him—when he said unkind things to his wife about her countrywomen, but her desire to mould Marie Louise into the traditional Spanish Queen never ceased, and if her advice had been followed, unpalatable and cross-grained as it was, the unhappy girl would have been saved much of her misery. Every small device that the King could adopt, Villars says on the advice of the Duchess, was brought into play to separate the Queen from French influence. She was kept so short of money that most of her beloved horses, which she was not allowed to ride, and their French grooms, had to be sent back to France, all her French men servants, even her doctor, were dismissed, though he, from his name (Dr. Talbot), would seem to have been an Englishman.

In this wretched existence Marie Louise grew callous. She took no pains even to be civil to the Spanish grand dames who visited her, or to pretend to care a jot for the eternal comedies and visits to convents that were the only amusements allowed her. She played for hours every day at spilikins with the King; ‘the worst company in the world, and he never had any one with him but his two dwarfs.’ She was careless and buxom, and found some little pleasure in attending to her birds,^[308] but nothing else; for she had neither brains, nor ambition, nor ideas, worthy of her rank. Secretly all she longed for was to return to France as a widowed Queen, to enjoy herself as she liked without fear.^[309] Her one delight was the visit of Mme. Villars, who sang French airs with her, or played whilst the Queen danced a minuet, or chatted about Fontainebleau and St. Cloud. ‘I do not know,’ says Mme. Villars, ‘what passes in her breast and in her head to keep her up so, but, as for her heart, I believe that nothing passes there at all.’ In these words the witty Frenchwoman aptly sums up the character of the Queen, doomed to this life of gloomy dulness by the side of a semi-imbecile. She had left her heart behind her in the land she loved, and her existence now was carelessly epicurean.

The political intrigues went on around her unheeded, and she had not wit enough to see the traps laid for her. The Duchess of Terranova was always dour and disagreeable, but her desperate attempts to alienate the Queen from all memory of France had now made her specially disliked by her mistress, whilst Mariana and her friends ostentatiously sided with the young Queen, and deprecated the severity of the Duchess. Incited by them Marie Louise determined to get rid if she could of the rough old lady who was really her only friend, and spoke first to her confidante Mme. Villars about it. The ambassador and his wife were as deeply resentful of the old Duchess, who hated French people, as was the Queen, and were delighted to hear the project for getting rid of her, but Mme. Villars counselled prudence; for she knew how flighty and unstable the Queen was. The Duchess, she said, was very clever, and such a change as that suggested was without precedent in Spain: besides, the Duchess had been later somewhat more civil than before; nevertheless, if the Queen really wished for a new mistress of the Robes she must begin by mentioning the matter to the King, and the Prime Minister, so that the affair might be settled before a word of it reached the ears of the Duchess.

Marie Louise used all her witchery that same night when she broached the subject to her husband. He answered her, as she said, more sensibly than she had expected, and told her that, if really the Duchess made her so unhappy, they would make a change; but it was a serious matter, and she must recollect that no second change would be possible. Marie Louise then approached Queen Mariana, and found her apparently cool and indifferent about it, to an extent that somewhat discouraged the young Queen, who little understood that there was nothing that her mother-in-law desired more than the removal of the only salutary check upon her conduct. But Medina Celi, the Prime Minister, whom the imperious ways of the old Duchess had offended, lent eager ear to the suggestion when, by the aid of the Villars, it was opened to him. Marie Louise, by the advice of Madame Villars, asked that the Duchess of Medina Celi might be her new Mistress of the Robes, but that lady declined absolutely. Then the Marchioness of los Velez and other great ladies were suggested; and when Marie Louise consulted Mariana upon each one in turn, the old Queen remained cold and aloof, and even had excuses, and good words to say about the Duchess of Terranova.

But when there was a talk of the Duchess of Albuquerque, then Mariana took an interest in the matter at once, and agreed with Medina Celi that she would be an ideal person for Mistress of the Robes. But, of all the ladies at Court, the Duchess of Albuquerque was the one that Marie Louise disliked most. She might struggle as she liked, however, she soon found that without Mariana’s goodwill no one could gain a footing in the palace, and she was almost tempted to beg the Duchess of Terranova to stay by her side, especially as the King himself was opposed to the Duchess of Albuquerque. It ended, of course, in Mariana having her way. She bullied her son into making the appointment, and into dismissing the people who, she said, had ruled him for a year, the Duchess of Terranova and his friend Eguia. Unbending to the last, the old Duchess, when she took leave of the Queen, noticed that the latter was crying now that the parting had come, and she told her that it was not proper for a Queen of Spain to weep for so small a matter. Marie Louise, half regretting the change now that it was too late, asked the Duchess of Terranova to come and see her sometimes. ‘I will never set foot in the palace again, as long as I live,’ replied the proud lady, violently banging the table and tearing her fan to bits; and she went forth in high dudgeon, refusing all the honours and rewards offered to her.

With her departure the outlook for Marie Louise changed like a charm. The new Mistress of the Robes had always been considered as austere as her predecessor, for which reason the young Queen had feared her. But she came to her new office all sweetness. The Queen was allowed to sit up until half-past ten at night, an unheard of thing before; she might mount her saddle horses and ride whenever she pleased, as no previous Queen Consort had ever done, and the King, on the persuasion of his mother and the new Duchess of the Robes, positively urged his wife to divert herself in pastimes that had previously been rigorously forbidden.^[310] The change in the King was extraordinary, and proves the complete domination of his mother over his weak spirit when she pleased to exert her power. Mme. Villars happened to visit the Queen two days after the Duchess of Albuquerque assumed office; and as she entered the Queen’s apartment Marie Louise ran smiling up to her in joy, crying: ‘You will say yes to what I am going to ask you, will you not?’ The demand turned out to be that, by the King’s special wish, Mme. Villars’s daughter should enter the Queen’s household as a maid of honour; and Marie Louise, at the idea of having a French girl of her own age always near her, was transported with delight. The appointment was sanctioned and gazetted, but never took effect, for Villars could not afford to endow his daughter sufficiently well, and relations soon grew bitter again; but that Charles, who hated the French, and especially Mme. Villars, should ever have consented to it proves how complete the sudden change of scene was.

Encouraged by her new liberty, Marie Louise began to take a keener interest in public affairs, always playing, as can now be clearly seen, the game of those who were bent upon her ruin. Medina Celi had been cleverly diverted by Mariana, who had been ostensibly friendly with him, whilst the councils and secretariats had been gradually packed with her friends; and Marie Louise, prompted by her, took the opportunity of the opposition offered by the minister to the stay of the Court at Aranjuez, to set her husband against Medina Celi, after which, both she and her mother-in-law, into whose hands she played, both worked incessantly to undermine the minister who was already unpopular, owing to the terrible distress in the country and his own ineptitude. The minister and his henchman Eguia, and the King’s confessor, retaliated effectively by sowing jealous distrust between Mariana and her daughter-in-law, and between the King and his wife and mother; and thenceforward complete disunion existed between them all. Mariana, in disgust at her son’s weakness, and knowing that events were tending her way, stood aloof for a time; Marie Louise went her own gait, making no friends and possessing no party; and the inept Charles, alternately petulant and sulky, distrusted everybody.

Villars writes of Marie Louise at this juncture: ‘She, with her youth and beauty, full of life and vivacity, was not of an age or character disposed to enter into the views and application necessary for her proper conduct. Her bent for liberty and pleasure, the memories of France and all she had left behind her there, had made Spain intolerable to her. The captivity of the palace, the ennui of idleness without amusement, the coarse low manners of the King, the unpleasantness of his person, his sulky humour, which she increased frequently by her lack of amiability towards him, all nourished her aversion and unhappiness. She took interest in nothing, and would take no measure, either for the present or the future; and so, putting aside all that Spain could give her, she only consoled herself with the idea of returning to France. She entertained this idea, encouraged by predictions and chimeras which formed her only amusement, for everything else bored her.’^[311]

In her despairing knowledge that she could never hope for happiness in Spain, Marie Louise thus grew reckless. She had no ambition to rule except in the heart of the man she loved; she was not clever enough to succeed in the subtle political intrigues that went on around her; she knew now that motherhood was hardly to be hoped for with such a husband as hers, and her one thought was of the joy of living in France. As the political relations between France and Spain grew constantly more strained and Charles’s detestation of Frenchmen increased, the visits of Mme. Villars to Marie Louise perforce grew rarer, for the suspicious King had got into his head that the French ambassadress was serving as an intermediary in the palace intrigues which were setting everybody by the ears. Marie Louise made matters worse by turning to her widowed nurse Mme. Quantin, and her inferior French maid. Quantin was a greedy, meddlesome woman, of low rank, who put up her influence over the Queen for sale, and soon embroiled matters beyond repair.

The Queen, under the influence of this woman, lost what little discretion and prudence she possessed. The many poor French people in the town, to whom Quantin and the other French maids were known, would congregate beneath their apartments in the palace to gossip of France, tell the news, and perhaps to beg for favours; and Marie Louise would sometimes be imprudent enough to approach the windows and exchange words with her countrymen below. Spaniards who saw it—for jealous eyes watched the Queen always—cried shame upon such a derogation from the dignity of Spanish royalty, and the scandalmongers of the capital already began to whisper that the ‘Frenchwoman,’ who would not play the part properly, and gave no signs of motherhood, might be put aside in favour of another Queen. In the Calle Mayor, a punning verse passed from hand to hand reproaching her for her sterility, and demanding in ribald rhyme that she should either give an heir to Spain, or return whence she came; and thus, as war loomed ever nearer between her two countries, the lot of the unhappy Queen grew darker.

Villars began to see that he had been misled in condemning the hard rule of the Duchess of Terranova, and aiding the Queen to gain the freedom advocated for her by the amiable Mariana. ‘It was a great misfortune for the Queen,’ he wrote, ‘who now abandoned herself without restraint to a dangerous line of conduct, and it is quite a question, judging by results, whether the hard severity of the Duchess of Terranova was not better for her than the weak complaisance of the Duchess of Albuquerque.’^[312] The poor misguided girl had not a single friend. Mariana kept away; for things were going admirably from her point of view; and a new alliance between Spain and the empire and other powers, against the threatened encroachments of France, was already being discussed in secret.

The Minister, Medina Celi, had succeeded, by means of Eguia and the King’s confessor, in re-establishing his position by arousing the jealousy of all the three members of the royal family against each other; and he sought further to isolate and discredit Marie Louise by whispering to the King that her friend Mme. Villars was engaged in political intrigue with the Queen to the detriment of Spain. Mme. Villars had been specially authorised to visit the Queen as much as possible, and report fully all she heard for the information of the French government; but it is certain that she had no political mission. Charles, however, was childishly jealous of her because his wife liked her, and he instructed the Marquis de la Fuente, his ambassador in France, to demand the recall of Villars in consequence of his wife’s indiscretion. Louis XIV. knew his kinsman well, and the real reason for his demand: but it was part of his policy just then to reassure the Spanish King, and Villars was sacrificed. In the ambassador’s letter of recall, Louis writes, after saying that Charles had complained of the intrigues of Mme. Villars: ‘It is useless to inform you of all the details... it will suffice to say that, for many reasons affecting my service, I have not thought fit to refuse the King of Spain this mark of my complaisance, however satisfied I may be of the services you have rendered in the post you occupy.’

Both Villars and his wife disdained to justify themselves by a single word, and the ambassadress left Madrid in the summer of 1681, to the despair of Marie Louise; whilst Villars himself was replaced by another ambassador early in 1682. By this time the empire was at war with France. Louis had captured Strasbourg, and Casale in Savoy on the same day (30th September 1681), and Germany seemed almost at the mercy of the now dominant power in Europe. The imperial ambassador at Madrid, supported strongly by Mariana, was striving his utmost to draw Spain into the great war that seemed inevitable, and Holland and England, jealous of the aggression of France, were for a time apparently willing to join Spain. But the clever diplomacy of Louis diverted the powers from the alliance, except the empire and bankrupt Spain; and the sorely reduced Flemish dominion of Spain was again invaded by French troops. Luxembourg, which belonged to Spain, was besieged, the cities of Dixmunde and Courtrai were captured (November 1683), and with every fresh victory of the French, Louis became more exacting. Finally, when the unfortunate country could resist no longer, the government of Charles was forced to accept the humiliating terms of the Treaty of Ratisbon in June 1684, by which Luxembourg, the well-nigh impregnable fortress, was lost to Spain for ever, whilst Louis also kept Strasbourg, Bovines, Chimay, and Beaumont. Other smaller potentates, like the Elector of Brandenburg and the Regent of Portugal, following the example of the great Louis, hectored Spain into degrading concessions, whilst pestilence swept through the south, floods ruined Spanish Flanders, hurricanes sank the silver fleets, upon which the government of Charles largely depended, corruption lorded over all in stark desolate Spain; and the cretin King, growing more feeble in mind and body, mumbled his prayers, or played childish games with his wife or his dwarfs.

During the war, which further despoiled the land of her adoption, the lot of Marie Louise was truly pitiable. Even before it broke out, and during the period of acrimonious recriminatory claims which followed the recall of Villars, her isolation and impotence and the growing power of Mariana were plainly evident. In the instructions given by Louis XIV. to his new ambassador, Vanguyon,^[313] in 1682, the latter is instructed to visit the Queen-Mother first, with all sorts of amiable messages, and Marie Louise is only to be addressed ‘in general terms,’ and asked to do her best to maintain good relations between the two countries. Mariana, indeed, with the imperial ambassador, Mansfeldt, constantly at her side, had by the mere force of circumstances and her own character gradually again become the principal controlling power of the State, and, as usual, she directed her influence not to the benefit of Spain but to the aid of the empire in its secular struggle against the encroachments of France. When the war, as already mentioned, broke out (1683) with France, the underhand intrigues of Mariana and the Austrian faction to discredit Marie Louise and destroy any political influence she might have over her husband, were powerfully aided by the general feeling against everything French; and the young Queen, without a single friend near her, was more sorely beset than ever by her relentless enemies, whilst she, perplexed with intrigues that she did not understand, surrounded by people who would willingly have followed her if she had had wit enough to lead them, threw away her chance by the frivolity and imprudence of her behaviour.^[314]

She managed, it is true, by her charm and beauty to keep her husband deeply in love with her in his maudlin fashion, but, weak as he was, she failed to influence him politically.^[315] She had already offended Medina Celi and played the game of the Queen-Mother against him—for he had been a friend of Don Juan—by interfering with his appointments for the benefit of her nurse, the widow Quantin; and now, at the very period when Mariana had determined that the prime minister, who had failed to pay her full pension, and who alone stood between her and supreme power, should be dismissed, Marie Louise again foolishly threw her influence with her husband against the oft-threatened minister. Medina Celi, overwhelmed by his unpopularity and the insuperable difficulties of his task, was brusquely dismissed by the King in June 1685; and thenceforward Mariana was supreme. The new minister, the Count of Oropesa, was clever and active, and at first made sweeping financial reforms: but he was really the tool of the Austrian faction, which, before many months had passed, negotiated the League of Augsburg, which bound together Spain, the empire, Sweden, Bavaria and other powers, against the encroachments of Louis XIV.; and again poor, ruined Spain was pledged to enter, if called upon, into the central European war.

For the moment Louis was not prepared to meet all Europe in arms, and his views with regard to Spain had become somewhat changed. It was by this time evident that Marie Louise would bear no child to her degenerate husband, and Mariana and Mansfeldt were already preparing to put forward the claims to the succession of the children of the Empress (the Infanta Margaret, daughter of Mariana), whilst Louis XIV., making light, as he always did, of the renunciation signed by Maria Theresa on her marriage (already referred to), was determined to show that his own son, the Dauphin, had the best right to be King of Spain if Charles II. died without issue. When, therefore, the new French ambassador, FeuquiÈre, went to Spain early in 1685, he was instructed to talk seriously, and in secret, to Marie Louise on the subject.^[316] He was to tell her that she would be wise to desist from all political intrigue directed to the change of personnel of the government, and so to gain the goodwill of the ministers and obtain a firmer hold over the King. This advice came too late, for she had foolishly connived at Medina Celi’s fall before FeuquiÈres could deliver his message. This, however, was only the first step; and in the following year Father Verjus was sent to Madrid with money and instructions to aid FeuquiÈre in gaining friends and forming a party under the Ægis of Marie Louise to push the claims of the Dauphin to the Spanish succession.

In the meantime the Austrian party, under Mariana, were having their own way unchecked. Marie Louise was their sole stumbling-block, for the King would never willingly lose sight of her, notwithstanding her follies, of which her enemies made the most; and at the instance of Mariana and her Austrian backers a dastardly series of plots was formed for ruining the young Queen in the eyes of her husband. We get the first hint of them from a letter dated 12th April 1685 in the curious informal correspondence addressed by the Duke of Montalto in Madrid to the Spanish ambassador in London, Pedro Ronquillo, both of them partisans of Mariana: ‘A case of no little scandalousness has happened in the palace,’ he wrote. ‘You know, of course, that Mme. Quantin is the favourite of our Queen, and that M. Viremont, a Frenchman who takes care of the Queen’s saddle horses, is also well liked by her Majesty. By these means this man introduced himself so much into the palace with the Quantin woman, that, although she wears the dress of a duenna, and is neither young nor at all handsome, there was a talk of their getting married. Everybody laughed at such a courtship; but the matter went so far and the connection was so close, for both of them are cunning enough to get out when they liked, and perhaps he may have found means to enter her chamber in the palace, that the woman was recently taken out of the palace to the house of Donna Ana de Aguirre, who is in high favour with the Queen, and it is said that this Quantin woman gave birth to a boy there the other day.^[317] This scandal has caused no end of murmuring and satires, so shameless some of them as to be incredible. What is quite as incredible is the irresolution of the King. Up to the present time nothing has been done, either to the man or the woman, and Viremont continues in his employment as if nothing had happened. They are married now; but if I had my way they should be burned. Yesterday the Quantin woman went to pay her respects to the Queen with as much effrontery as if she had not behaved thus. You can see by this the state the palace is in.’^[318]

We can supplement this narrative from other sources. The French widow was the only person of her own tongue and country near Marie Louise, and, though she had been a dangerous companion, the poor Queen clung desperately to her. As soon as the rumour of her marriage spread the outcry for her punishment and expulsion was raised by the enemies of Marie Louise, and the Queen herself was attacked in dozens of spiteful couplets as having connived at immorality in her own apartments. The outraged Queen threw herself at her husband’s feet in an agony of tears, and implored him not to expel the only French woman-servant upon whom she could depend. Charles, moved by his wife’s tears, allowed Quantin to remain in Madrid, though not to sleep in the palace, and refused to believe the stories told him that Marie Louise had knowingly been a party to the irregularity of her servant.

This was to some extent a defeat for the Queen-Mother and her friends; but the scandal laid a foundation of distrust, upon which further attack might be based. This is how the Duke of Montalto speaks of the King’s concession to his wife. ‘I don’t know whether the Quantin affair is true or not; but it is publicly stated, and is the most dreadful scandal that ever happened in the palace. Medina, Oropesa and the Confessor, all urged the King to take some step, but to no purpose, for he preferred to give way to the tears and prayers of the Queen, rather than uphold the decency of his own household. So she has triumphed to such an extent that this woman, having married the rogue Viremont, has positively been brought by the Queen into the palace again to serve her, and goes home to her husband every night! Cases of this sort are surely enough to drive one crazy, and to banish all hope of better times. Since I have told you the story I must now tell you the sequel. As soon as they were married the woman went ostentatiously to the palace to salute the King, which he placidly allowed. The fine pair have now gone to Aranjuez with the Court, like people of quality, in one of the royal coaches. Medina Celi has thrown up everything and gone away in disgust. It is all the King’s fault, and such goings on as these will expose to the world our master’s tyranny and incapacity.’^[319]

The further blow at the Queen was silently planned whilst the Court was at the spring palace of Aranjuez, where it usually stayed until Corpus Christi day. On the 12th May Charles fell suddenly ill, and much was made of the matter. Although, after bleeding, he was quite well on the third day, it was decided that he must immediately return to the capital. ‘What must be well borne in mind in all this’ (wrote an enemy of Marie Louise) ‘is that the Queen wanted to prefer her own pleasure to the health of her husband; for it was almost impossible to persuade her to come to Madrid. She said that the illness was nothing, and wished to keep the King there till Corpus Christi, notwithstanding the heat and danger. When she was not allowed to have her own way, she was cross and ill-humoured; as was clear when the King was confined to his bed, for she did not even go to see him. This is the more strange, as when the Quantin woman was to be bled she must needs go and visit her without ceremony. Neither I nor any one else can understand the strange things that are going on in that house.’^[320]

This was written at the end of May; and some three weeks afterwards the plot ripened. A Frenchman named Vilaine, who is called by some authorities a discharged groom of Marie Louise, and by the Duke of Montalto the wax-chandler of the Queen-Mother, denounced Quantin and her husband for having plotted, with the knowledge of the Queen, to poison King Charles. The accused persons were at once arrested, and a carefully prepared hue and cry was raised against all Frenchmen. Many foreigners were attacked and some killed in the streets; the French embassy had to be surrounded by troops, and the whole Court was in a panic. Charles was a coward and miserably weak, but he stood by his wife as well as he knew how at this period of trial. Marie Louise, indignant and outraged at what she knew was a vile plot against her, demanded that the accusers should also be arrested; but before this could be done, Quantin and her husband, the French maids and others, were put to the torture; and the poor woman, with both arms broken and her lower limbs crippled for life, still maintained her innocence and would confess nothing.

The Queen’s few Spanish friends were put into close confinement. No evidence whatever could be wrung from any of the accused to support the charge against them: but the Council of Castile, packed now with the Queen-Mother’s partisans, still continued to regard the matter as a serious menace to the King’s life, and frightened poor Charles nearly out of what small wits nature had given him. In a French news letter of the time (19th August 1685) the political aim of the proceedings is exposed. ‘The Council of Spain desires to involve the Queen in the accusations, because they fear her influence over the King, and he has not sufficient strength to resist the ministers who propose to appoint commissaries for the Queen. She has written to her father, saying that she has no French person now near her, nor any one else whom she could trust. She is, she says, in daily fear of being poisoned, and she refuses to eat what they provide for her, which has cast her into great weakness. She will only eat with the King and from his dishes. Vilaine, they say, is to be rewarded and sent to an employment in the Canaries. The French ambassador is not allowed to speak with the Queen; and the Venetian ambassador was nearly murdered, because they thought he was French. When the King is with the Queen the ministers are all in the wrong, but when they are with him he changes his mind.’^[321]

Quantin and all the French people about the palace were expelled the country, when no atom of proof could be found against them, and Charles, apparently alarmed at the threats of Louis XIV., that if any harm came to Marie Louise he would avenge her by war in Spain itself, was emphatic in his repudiation of any suspicion on his part against his wife. He assured FeuquiÈres that he regarded his wife’s interests as his own, and never believed for a moment in her guilt: and he assured the Duke of Orleans that, not only did he not know that the accused French people had been tortured, but that when he asked for a copy of the whole of the proceedings in the case, his Council had assured him that the records had all been burnt. In vain, however, did the French government insist upon the punishment of the accusers. The King might promise and strive, but there were others stronger than he; and Vilaine was spirited away and rewarded.

Another news letter in the same French collection as that justed quoted does not hesitate, a few months afterwards, when the whole matter was known, to say: ‘Although the Quantin affair is now a thing of the past, it is nevertheless worth recording that the Count of Mansfeldt, the imperial ambassador and his wife, to please the Queen-Mother, originated the accusation against the woman. She was made to suffer the cruel tortures she did in order to injure the young Queen, who was so outraged at it, and the King as well, that the imperial ambassador is forbidden the palace, except on the business of his embassy.’

Mariana’s friends looked upon it in a very different light. Whilst still the accusation was hanging over Marie Louise, Montalto wrote to Ronquillo in London: ‘Quantin and her husband, and all the Frenchmen in the Queen’s stable, with her bob-tailed horses, have all been packed off to France. They were a lot of rascals, and the cost of her stable was a calamity. They were all guilty, but as none of them would confess under torture, they could not be further proceeded against. People are talking very scandalously about such shameful laxity. Quantin’s young niece^[322] was sent out of the palace late at night, so that not a single French person should remain. But the Queen’s tears and prayers soon fetched her back. This is perfectly odious and disgraceful, and one can only have contempt of so easy going a King, who will not let even justice take its course if his wife says nay.’ A few weeks afterwards, the same courtier says: ‘The Queen is still implacable at the loss of her Quantins, and the King so excessively loving (not to call it by another name) of his wife, that all his concessions to her, which ought to make her more submissive to him, makes her humour worse, and the temper that God gave her causes no end of trouble as it is; for it is the most extravagant ever seen.’^[323]

The French servants of the Queen, her only solace, all except the girl Duperroy, had been sent away; but still Marie Louise personally had held her place in the King’s affection. No sooner, however, had the Quantin affair fallen a little into the background, than another stab more wicked still was aimed at the Queen by the same hands out of the darkness. There was a foolish, vain, French exon of the guard, the Chevalier Saint Chamans, who had commanded Marie Louise’s escort when she travelled to the Spanish frontier. As was not unusual in the French Court at the time, Saint Chamans was pleased to profess a far-off amorous worship of the lovely Princess; and it is quite probable that during his attendance upon her, she may have smiled in raillery at his silly languishing airs. In any case, the talk of his adoration reached Madrid; and in the autumn of 1685, some miscreant in the capital of Spain wrote two letters as from the Queen in a forged hand imitating hers, to Saint Chamans, containing expressions to the highest degree compromising of her honour. Saint Chamans, like the love-lorn fool that he was, showed the letters to his chums, and Louis XIV. soon learnt of their existence, and what is more extraordinary, believed them to be genuine. In sorrow and severe reprobation, he wrote to FeuquiÈres, directing him to show the letters to the Queen, which he did in September.

Marie Louise, outraged at the mere suspicion, and indignant at so cruel a hoax, rose for once majestic and dignified in her wrath. She scribbled a burning repudiation of the letters which she handed to FeuquiÈres for ciphered transmission to the King of France.^[324] ‘It will not be difficult for your Majesty to imagine the affliction in which I am, at knowing that you suspect a person such as I of so unworthy a thing as this. I cannot avoid expressing my justified sorrow at seeing that your Majesty does not esteem at its true worth, as you should, conduct which is most regular, and which certainly is not of the easiest.... but as I am so unhappy as to have people near me here perfidious and abominable enough to use every effort to ruin me by pernicious inventions, I am not surprised that they should exert all their ingenuity to deprive me of the esteem of your Majesty.... Believe me, nothing is more false than that which you have thought of me, and my despair to see that your Majesty doubts for a moment my good behaviour, makes me, in this, stand apart from your counsel, and be myself alone; and I cannot think of the injustice your Majesty has done me without being beside myself with sorrow. Alas! I had made light of all my grief, believing that your Majesty, at least, thought well of me: but I see now I am marked for unhappiness, since your Majesty believes a thing of me which makes me shudder even to think of.... I am so jealous of my honour, and I love it so much, that I shall never do anything to stain it: and life itself is not so insupportable to me, either, that I should seek thus to lose it.... If I were in a more tranquil state, I should supplicate your Majesty to have pity upon this poor realm for my sake; but I dare not, though I think you will be good enough to recollect that I have the honour to be your niece, and that all my happiness depends upon you.... Believe me, too, when I say that I am prouder of being born a princess of your blood, than of the rank I hold in the world’: and so on, for several pages, the wronged and outraged Queen eloquently protests her innocence.

Thenceforward Marie Louise, though entirely without political influence—for the Austrian faction and the Queen-Mother were in that respect all-powerful—was unassailable in the affections of the poor man she had married. Her disregard of the ordinary Spanish etiquette, the free and easy bonhomie of her demeanour, and the indulgence of her caprices increased as she felt more secure in the love of her husband; but she made no other use of her influence over him. No better series of pictures of the life in her palace can be found than in the vitriolic references to Marie Louise and her husband in letters already quoted of the Duke of Montalto. On the 30th August 1685, he writes that for months the Queen had not gone out in public, in which, he says, she was wise, particularly when the anti-French riots were taking place, as the mob might have attacked her. ‘They say again that she is pregnant, but there is not much belief in it, as the same thing has happened several times before. She had got up a very grand comedy for St. Louis’ day; but it had to be deferred, because of this pregnancy rumour, and not even the usual comedies in the palace were given for the same reason.’

On the 24th October of the same year, he records the removal of the Court to the Retiro: ‘which place the Queen is very fond of, because there she can enjoy her country sports, and especially ride about on horseback every afternoon. In order to have her horses nearer to her, she has had a place made for them near the large pond, where she goes every morning to visit them.’ A little later he remarks that everything in the palace is going to the dogs. ‘There is neither firmness nor stability enough to correct these follies of the Queen.’ In April 1686, the same writer says: ‘Things are in the greatest embarrassment for the government, owing to the fancies and caprices of the Queen; for nothing is done by any other rule than her whim.’ It appears that the presence of the Queen’s Spanish friend SeÑora Aguirre, who had been exiled at the time of the Quantin affair, was much desired by Marie Louise, and the latter demanded her return of the prime minister, Oropesa. He temporised for a time, but when she ordered him peremptorily to advise the King to recall the lady, he refused. ‘Well,’ said the Queen, ‘do not oppose it if the King suggests it.’ ‘Yes I will,’ replied the minister: whereupon Marie Louise went with tears and blandishments to her husband, and begged for the favour. For a time he held out; but at last gave way to the extent of ordering a decree of recall to be drafted and discussed. Oropesa protested, and Charles cancelled the decree. Another passionate outburst from the Queen followed, and in the end she had her way. ‘The coming of this woman (Aguirre) will be worse than all the devils together; worse than Quantin. Judge what a state we are in with this irresolution of our master. The advice of ministers and decisions of tribunals, all are powerless before the will of this woman (the Queen).’

The caprices of Marie Louise soon reached the ears of her uncle Louis, and he did, in May 1686, what he ought to have done years before, namely, to send a French lady of great position and experience, dependent upon him, to advise the Queen and keep her in the right way. The lady was a descendant of the royal house, the Countess of Soissons, and her mission was, if possible, to induce Marie Louise to turn her influence to political account for the benefit of France. Her task was almost hopeless from the first, and she failed, though she tried hard for a time; and in the last few weeks of the Queen’s life, when too late, was of some service to French interests.

‘The Queen’ (writes Montalto in May 1586) ‘is in the full force of her madness, dominating the King completely by cries and threats. He has not an atom of resolution, and no application at all. The day upon which the great council was held, when he would not attend, he went on muleback to the wild beast cages at the Retiro, and there he had the animals caught and counted, thinking more of this frivolity than if it had been some heroic action. This government of ours is nothing more than a boy’s school with the master away. No one respects anything, and each person does as he likes, whilst the Queen follows her whim or the last suggestion.’ On another occasion, when the Marquis of Los Velez was giving a representation of a sacred auto on a holy day, Montalto records that ‘the Queen witnessed the show from a balcony in the passage, when she behaved herself so unrestrainedly as to shock people; and the actions of this lady really give rise to the idea that she is not in her right mind.’

The unfortunate woman kept apparently on friendly, but not cordial, terms with Mariana, who smilingly let her go her own way without remonstrance; and there was now no check whatever upon her strange vagaries, for the King grew more feeble-minded than ever, and was as clay in her hands. ‘The Queen’s levity approaches light-headedness,’ wrote Montalto in the summer of 1687. ‘She was lately ill with fever, owing to the rubbish she is always eating. Nobody can control her, and she looks consumptive. Those of us who are not much attached to her are not sorry to see her afflicted.’ Utterly reckless in her mode of life the unhappy woman, though still but twenty-five years of age, was already losing her health and beauty. In July Montalto reports that ‘the Queen still continues in her extravagant conduct, and no amendment can now be expected. She is dreadfully thin and languid, and will take no remedies but those prescribed by her own caprice and distrust. As for the King, I say nothing, for I have already said so much, though not half enough.’

And so, through the summer, matters went from bad to worse. There was no guidance from the King, no stability or prudence from the Queen, and Spain drifted helpless towards the whirlpool of civil war that was soon to engulf her. The only care of old Mariana was to watch over the interests of her own kin in their claims to the succession to the Spanish crown, and paralyse the promotion of the French pretensions. Writing from the palace on the 29th August 1687, Montalto says: ‘It is impossible to exaggerate the terrible state of things here. This palace is boiling over with disorder and scandalous stories to such an extent as to be simply a mass of confusion. The Queen is so extravagant in her conduct, and has so strange a character, that I dare not write, even in cypher, what is going on. The King knows, but remedies nothing. It seems as if God had endowed him neither with force nor application for anything; and the same wretched laxity is seen in the government of the realm. He gives no more than a quarter of an hour to business in the day, and the whole of the rest of his time is spent in such trifles as running backwards and forwards through these saloons, and from balcony to balcony, like a child of six, and his conversation would match about the same age. The Queen is dreadfully ill and thin, and has quarrelled with the Queen-Mother.’

Months later, in May 1688, when the war between France and the empire was recommencing, and Spain was once more arming for a conflict not primarily her own, Montalto wrote, in more despondent spirit than ever, of the condition of affairs in Madrid. ‘Yesterday it was my turn for duty at the Retiro. I used to like it, but now I dread the day that takes me there. Of course I know even when I am not there what is going on with our master; but it is very shocking to see it close, and, so to speak, face to face. The neglect everywhere is quite terrible. The King’s great business whilst I was there was to see the matting taken up in the rooms, and to count the pins and other trifles of that sort. The Queen blurts out whatever comes uppermost, and indulges to the full in her craze for riding on horseback, prancing about indecorously over the neighbourhood. She has again had her ladies mounted, knowing that the King hates to see it. She has her way and, dead against his will, she insists upon acting the principal boy’s part in a comedy they are rehearsing. As usual, she will do as she likes. There are constant tourneys and balls because she insists upon them, and there is no influence or reason that can keep her within bounds. The Queen-Mother pays great attention to her, but is cruelly slighted by her.’

A week later, the same writer continues in a similar strain, saying that the Queen had insisted upon the comedy being written specially for her to take the boy’s part: but she had fallen ill and the performance had been postponed. ‘The King is totally opposed to this prank; but of course she has her way. She has had a magnificent theatre constructed at the Retiro, with lavish ornaments, etc., for the ladies, in which she has wasted thousands of ducats, and yet there is not a real for urgent needs. The King is a cypher, and allows things to be done before him of which he entirely disapproves. I positively dread my turn of duty, for I see the King does nothing but run about like an imp, and if he goes into the garden it is only to pick strawberries and count them.’

A week or so later Marie Louise had recovered her health, and the long-prepared comedy was played with great brilliancy. The King went to the full rehearsal two days before the public performance; and although shocked and annoyed by his wife’s caprice in playing a male part, had not strength of will enough to forbid it. When, however, the piece was represented publicly, and all the principal ladies in Madrid, with the gentlemen of the household, were present to praise and applaud, poor, unstable Charles was so charmed with his wife, even on the stage, that he testified his delight at her performance, and the entertainment was repeated again and again during the summer.

Once more at this time there was a belief that the Queen was pregnant, and the hopes of the French party ran high, though they were soon seen to be fallacious as before. Montalto, reporting the matter to Ronquillo, says that the Queen had explained, in answer to an inquiry of her father, the Duke of Orleans, that the reason for her lack of issue was not the impotence of the King but his excessive concupiscence, ‘which,’ says the writer, ‘I do not understand, though the effect is plain.’

In the autumn of 1688 Marie Louise fell ill of smallpox in the palace of Madrid; and in her enfeebled state of health the disease was held to be dangerous. She was a bad patient, self-willed in her rejection of the remedies prescribed to her by the only physician she would receive, a Florentine doctor she had known in Paris in attendance upon the Balbeses. The King was to have started for the Escorial at the time his wife was attacked by the malady, and was obliged to delay his departure, though fear of contagion kept him away from the invalid. Montalto reports, with characteristic ill-nature: ‘The King seems sorry; but he is more sorry at having to postpone his journey to the Escorial. For although his feeling towards his wife appears to be affection, I maintain that it is more fear of her than anything else.’ Before she was fit to be moved the Queen insisted upon being carried in a Sedan chair to the Retiro to pass her period of convalescence there, first visiting the church of the Atocha, whilst Charles departed to spend a month at the Escorial.

Left alone in her solitary convalescence, Marie Louise appears to have developed a more devout spirit than had previously characterised her, and at the same time lost her desire to live. During the period of low vitality which followed her illness one of her ladies begged her to summon a famous saintly man, to pray for her prompt restoration to strength. ‘No, no,’ she replied, ‘I will not do so. It would be folly indeed to ask for life which matters so little.’ When, at this juncture, the representatives of the town of Madrid offered to build a new church as a votive offering for her restoration to health, she was no less emphatic. If the money of the suffering subjects was to be spent upon the building she would not allow it to be done.

She had, indeed, little left to live for. Wedded to the fribble we have described, and with enemies of herself and her dear France everywhere around her, she must have felt powerless to cope with the adverse influences opposed to her. All the love she had to give was given long ago, before she was called upon to make the great renunciation which had been made in vain. So long as youth and sensuous vitality had remained to her she had sought in reckless enjoyment to stifle the horror of the loveless life to which she was condemned: but when the capacity for bodily gratification was gone, Marie Louise lost her desire to live.

Spain was trembling upon the brink of a great war with France, and during the winter succeeding the Queen’s illness Count Rebenac was in Madrid with what amounted to an ultimatum to Spain to abandon the league of Augsburg, formed to crush the ambition of Louis. Rebenac often saw the Queen, and coached by him and by the Countess of Soissons, she endeavoured, now that matters had gone too far, to employ her hold upon her husband in a political direction, and to frustrate the policy of the Queen-Mother in keeping Spain in offensive and defensive alliance with the Emperor. Her influence upon Charles was great, and he began to incline to the side of the French against his mother. Marie Louise pointed out to him the awful condition of destitution in which his country lay, and painted in moving words the horrors of a war in which Spain had all to lose and could not hope to gain. Charles was gentle and tender-hearted, hating to see or hear of suffering, and Rebenac reported early in February 1689 that the efforts of the Queen had been effectual, and that he had great hopes of the success of his mission.^[325]

It was a great crisis, for a withdrawal of Spain at this point from the alliance would have meant the predominance of France in Europe thenceforward, and the defeat of the Austrian party in Spain. Mariana and her friends were strong and determined; the King was weak and unstable. Only the life of a languid woman, tired of the struggle, stood between them and victory, and Marie Louise herself seems to have had a prophetic knowledge that such an obstacle would not be allowed to frustrate plans so deeply laid. As usual with Spanish sovereigns, the Queen went every week to worship at the shrine of the Virgin of Atocha, and on Tuesday the 9th February 1689, when she took leave of the prior of the convent church, she told him that she should meet him no more on earth. That night after her light repast of milk and honey the Queen was seized with convulsions, violent pains and vomiting; a colic it was called, which brought her to the lowest extremity of weakness. From the first she knew that she was doomed and made no effort. In the intervals of the burning agony she suffered, her confessor asked her if there was anything that troubled her. ‘I am in peace, Father,’ she replied, ‘and am very glad to die.’ She lingered in pain until the early hours of the 12th February; and then the most beautiful and ill-fated princess of the house of Bourbon breathed her last, a martyr, if ever one lived, upon the altar of her country; but a martyr sacrificed in vain, for she was immolated, not by her own will, but by the will of others.

All that Marie Louise asked of life was love, and that was the one thing denied to her. The Spanish people, who had sometimes been cruel to her because she was a foreigner, were shocked by her untimely death: but before the pompous procession which bore the body of Marie Louise to its last resting-place in the inferior mausoleum in the Escorial reserved for sterile Queens, whispers ran through Spain and France that it was no colic that had cut short the life of Marie Louise, but poison administered in the interests of Mariana and the Austrian faction. No proof has ever been adduced that this was the case, for evidence in such a matter would naturally not be easily obtainable;^[326] but the death of the Queen, at the very crisis when, by her aid, the King had been turned to the side of France, seems in all the circumstances to have been too providential to her enemies to have been entirely accidental. At any rate it was effectual in changing the whole aspect of affairs immediately; and before the mourning for Marie Louise had lost its freshness, the French ambassador was on his way home unsuccessful, Spain was again at war with France, and negotiations were being actively carried on to find a German wife for the wretched crÉtin who wore the crown of Spain.