CHAPTER VII

The figure of Doña Maria de Mendoza appears for a moment in the story of D. John, discoloured and blurred like the melancholy picture of a fading memory, leaving behind the sad trace of a fault repented and wept over, and the painful sequel which human weaknesses always bring. Without the interference of the Princess de Évoli the loves of D. John and Doña Maria would have passed innocently away, as a bright bubble vanishes in the air, without leaving trace or mark or memory. But the influence of this wretched woman gave substance to his dreams and fire to his desires, and at last made the deluded lovers fall down the precipice.

Never, however, was trouble of this sort so discreetly managed, as this episode of D. John's first youth. Doña Magdalena de Ulloa took the matter in hand, and by her own abnegation salved the conscience of D. John and the honour of a noble family which he had stained. Nobody in the Court or town suspected what had happened, and it was only after D. John's death that Philip II himself, usually so well informed and suspicious, heard of the existence of the daughter, the fruit of their loves. A letter from Alexander Farnese, more well-intentioned than prudent, informed the King of the fact, and, had it not been for a tragic event in which years afterwards this innocent lady was mixed up, and of which she was the victim, it is certain that her existence would be as unknown to history as it was to her contemporaries.

All this happened between 1565, when D. John of Austria returned from Barcelona, and 1568, when he embarked on the Mediterranean armada, and it must have been in October, 1567, that Doña Magdalena came to the rescue.

At the beginning of this month the Queen had given birth to a daughter, called Catherine, after her maternal grandmother of Medicis, who was solemnly baptized on the 19th, at three in the afternoon, in the parish church of St. Giles, which was the church of the castle, and this was a day of great emotion for D. John.

On waking he was presented with a magnificent dress, sent to him as a gift by Princess Juana, as was her custom on all great occasions.

It was of cloth of silver, embroidered with green silk and gold thread, with linings and turnings of dark red cut velvet, and to go with it a neckband of rubies and big pearls.

D. John was simply delighted with his sister's present, because red and green, the colours of the clothes, were those of Doña Maria de Mendoza; a fact of which the austere Princess was doubtless quite ignorant, as she would never have chosen these colours wittingly.

This Princess was the godmother, the Archduke Rudolph the godfather, and D. John of Austria had to carry the baby in the procession. This was to set out at three o'clock punctually, through one of the special passages which used to be improvised then, and which united the castle with the parish church of St. Giles, already at that time a convent of bare-footed Franciscan monks.

First in the procession walked the officers of State, the gentlemen of the bedchamber and of the table, four archers, four mace-bearers, and the stewards of the Queen and the Princess. Four kings-at-arms followed in very rich dalmatics, and then the Duques de Gandía and Nájera, the Prior, D. Antonio de Toledo, the Marqués de Aguilar, the Conde de Alba de Liste and Chinchón, D. Francisco Enríquez de Ribera, President of the Orders, and the Stewards of the King.

Behind came six Grandees, who were the Duques de Arcos, Medina de Rioseco, Sesa, and Bejar, and the Condes de Ureña and Benavente, carrying respectively the hood, the taper, marchpane, salt-cellar, basin and towel, and in the midst of them D. John of Austria, with the baby in his arms, wrapped in a mantle of crimson velvet embroidered with gold thread and lined with cloth of silver; on his left the Emperor's Ambassador, and, behind, those of Portugal and France.

The two godparents came next, the Archduke Rudolph and the Princess Juana, who was preceded by her Lord Steward, D. Juan Manrique de Lara, and the Queen's, the Conde de Lemus, and followed by the Camarera Mayor, Doña Isabel de Quiñones, the Infanta's governess, Doña Maria Chacón, and the duenna Guarda Mayor, Doña Isabel de Castilla, all three in a row. Behind them were the duennas of the Queen and the Princess, their ladies, and the "meninas,"[6] who closed the procession.

Footnote 6:

"The Meninas, which are a set of ladies of the nature of ladies of honour in that (the Spanish) Court, children in years, but higher in degree (being many of them daughters and heirs to Grandees of Spain) than ordinary ladies of honour attending likewise that queen."—From Heathcote MSS., page 236. _Vide_ the 1907 edition of "Memoirs of Ann Lady Fanshawe" (Translator's note).

But vainly amid this brilliant throng or in her allotted place D. John sought for his lady love, Doña Maria de Mendoza, which upset him very much, partly, no doubt, because he could not see her, and, perhaps, even more that she should not see him, so smart, and fine and honoured, as happens at his age and on similar occasions.

That night Doña Juana gave a ball in her apartments, in honour of her goddaughter's christening, and, to add to D. John's anxiety, neither Doña Maria de Mendoza nor the Princess de Évoli appeared there either.

He no doubt heard there from Doña Maria Ana de Aragón, daughter of the Conde de Rivagorza, who was one of the Queen's ladies, and a great friend of Maria de Mendoza, that she had gone several days before to the house of her relative, the Princess de Évoli, which redoubled D. John's anxiety, not only for the fact itself, but for not having been told so by Doña Maria.

His sister Princess Juana then called him apart, and begged him, with all the goodness of her kind heart, to make the young men improvise a "camisada," with the double purpose of celebrating the Infanta's christening, and of stopping, if only for one night, while the King was at Court, the strange walks of Prince Carlos, who, at those hours, used to visit alone the houses of ill-fame in Madrid, an arquebus in his hand, and disguised by a false beard.

D. John agreed with the good grace he always showed in pleasing his sister, and arranged the "camisada" with the two Archdukes Rudolph and Ernest, the Prince of Parma, and all the young lords of the Court; but no one succeeded in recruiting Prince Carlos, who, as usual, had slipped away to his strange and dangerous adventures, which at that time were the scandal of the Court.

It was already past midnight when the "encamisada" collected together in the little square of Santiago, in front of D. John's house. This singular amusement consisted of a large cavalcade, in which all the riders wore white shirts over their ordinary clothes, and had their heads disguised by picturesque turbans, plumed helmets, or queer caps with ribbons and feathers. Each carried a lighted torch in his left hand, and kept the right arm out of the shirt to display his lady's colours.

In this way they went through the streets of the town until the house of the person to be honoured was reached; then under the windows they executed one of those equestrian dances, in which the riders of that day were such adepts. At their passing the neighbours awoke, lighted up their windows, and applauded the "encamisados," until in a few moments the whole place became a scene of rejoicing and festivity.

"Camisadas" were always improvised when the scarcity of time prevented the preparation of liveries and disguises which the more solemn cavalcades demanded; these were also much the fashion, and were called masquerades, although no one had his face covered.

This "Camisada" went to the royal castle from the square of Santiago, where D. John lived; he took care that it should pass before the house of the Princess de Évoli, where, as he had heard, Doña Maria de Mendoza was staying.

But his alarm and astonishment grew at seeing the house all dark and shut up, and that neither music, nor torches, nor the sound of horses, nor even the cheers that they gave on passing the house of the Princess attracted anyone to those shut balconies and windows; this was in itself strange, as it was then thought an act of great discourtesy not to display illuminations and signs of rejoicing at the passing of the "encamisadas," except in the case of grave illness or recent mourning.

However, a man, covered by a hood, came from a little door in front of St. Mary's Church as D. John was passing, and put his hand on his saddle-bow and quickly gave him a short message. The agitation of D. John knew no bounds, and his only idea was how to shorten the festivity, and, some way or other, to end the quadrilles that had to be danced by torchlight in the square of the Armoury. At last he escaped, and, just as he was, covered by the shirt, hastened alone to the house of the Princess de Évoli.

The man in the hood was still waiting for him at the little gate by St. Mary's, in front of the house which afterwards acquired so much historical celebrity,[7] and, without waiting, the man opened the door, the key of which he had.

Footnote 7:

According to tradition it was from this doorway that Philip II, muffled up to his eyes, witnessed the arrest of the Princess de Évoli in the night of July 28, 1579.

Now the mystery begins to be cleared.

D. John did not return to his own house till just before dawn, and, according to the testimony of his valet Jorge de Lima, who was on duty that night, neither rested a moment nor went to bed; on the contrary, he paced up and down his room in a state of great agitation until it was daylight and Doña Magdalena should be dressed, as was her custom, at sunrise. Then D. John went to her rooms, where he passed the whole day, receiving no one, and eating no food except two porringers of broth with eggs beaten up in it which Doña Magdalena served him alone.

At dusk this lady went out in her litter to the house of the Princess de Évoli, her old squire Juan Galarza riding on a mule. In two hours she returned, but not alone, as she went, for she carried, carefully hidden in her shawl, a little girl, born unexpectedly and prematurely two days before, and already baptized by the name of Ana.

A few days later Doña Magdalena asked the King's permission to go and visit her estates, Luis Quijada not being able to do so on account of his duties with D. John and Prince Carlos. The King readily granted this, and Doña Magdalena left for Villagarcia, taking the baby with the greatest secrecy. D. John accompanied her on the first stage, and left her at the post-house; he asked her benediction as a mother, and she made him repeat two things he had promised, and which he religiously performed. Not to see Doña Maria de Mendoza again, and retire, as soon as he could without drawing attention, to the monastery of Abrojo, to meditate for a few days on the eternal truths away from the atmosphere of the Court.

As to Doña Maria de Mendoza, she vanished into the mist, crying like Andromache, and never saw D. John of Austria again. She stayed for a long time at the Princess de Évoli's house at Pastrana, and, on the score of delicate health, retired little by little from the Court. Without attracting anyone's attention, she succeeded in so effacing her memory, that to-day no one knows to which branch of the house of Mendoza she belonged, or where she lived after the sad episode which ruined her life. It is probable that she went to some convent to weep over that which was certainly her first false step, and very likely her only sin.[8]

Footnote 8:

Doña Magdalena de Ulloa brought up the child with the greatest care and secrecy until Doña Ana was seven years old, when she placed her in the convent of Augustins at Madrigal, with the intention that she should become a nun, as, in fact, she did, no one suspecting the name and rank of her ancestors. After D. John's death, in order that the King might help and protect her, Alexander Farnese divulged the fact of her existence. Philip granted her the surname of Austria and to be addressed as Excellency, but her name and rank were not known until the tragic event occurred to which we alluded in the text, which was as follows:

About the year 1590 or 1591 a Portuguese Augustin monk, named Fr. Miguel de los Santos, arrived in Madrid. He was a wild, scheming man, who had been exiled from his country as a supporter of plots and revolts in favour of the Prior of Crato, D. Antonio, then claiming the throne of Portugal. He was appointed vicar of the Augustin nuns at Madrigal, and for this reason used to confess and see much of Doña Ana de Austria, who, besides being very young then, seems to have been also very simple. At that time there was a shepherd named Gabriel Espinosa, who the monk thought bore a great resemblance to the King of Portugal, D. Sebastian, who had been killed shortly before at the battle of Alcárzarquiver in Africa. All these circumstances suggested an intrigue to Fr. Miguel, which, daring and absurd as it was, made much stir in Portugal and also in Castille. He persuaded the shepherd to pretend that he was the King, who by a miracle had escaped from the famous defeat, promising him by this deception to place him on the throne of Portugal. The first person he made to believe his story was Doña Ana, pretending that God had revealed to him that she was destined to share the throne of the spurious D. Sebastian. The simple Doña Ana fell into the trap, and, convinced that the shepherd was King Sebastian and she chosen by heaven to be his spouse, she sent rich jewels to Espinosa and established an "amoroso-politica" correspondence with him, which still exists in the archives of Sinmancas. The friar used these letters to obtain deluded partisans for the sham king, and so many did he thus gather in Portugal as well as Castille, and so much did the farce grow, that Espinosa was at last arrested in Valladolid on suspicion and tried with the monk and Doña Ana. Espinosa was condemned to be dragged from prison, put in a basket and hanged in the square of Madrigal, quartered, and put on the highway and his head placed in an iron cage. Fr. Miguel de los Santos, after being degraded, was given over to the secular law and was hanged in the square of Madrigal on the 19th of October, 1595. As to Doña Ana, she was ordered to be transferred to the convent of Augustins at Aviles, rigorous seclusion in her cell for four years, and to fast on bread and water during this time every Friday, to lose her right to be an abbess and to be addressed as Excellency. This sentence was, however, shortly afterwards remitted, and she was transferred to las Huelgas at Burgos, where she was elected perpetual abbess. The licentiate Baltasar Porreño dedicated his life of D. John of Austria to her about the years 1620 to 1625.