'manner. not worth four reals.' (P. 80.) Robertson's description is, perhaps, still more cheerless. 'His lodging,' he says, 'consisted only of six rooms, four of them in the form of friars' cells, with naked walls; and the other two, only twenty feet square, were hung with brown cloth, and furnished in the most simple .. Into this humble retreat. . . . . . did Charles 'enter with twelve domestics only. He buried there, in solitude and silence, his grandeur, his ambition, together with all those vast projects which, during half a century, had alarmed and agitated Europe, filling every kingdom in it, by turns, with 'the terror of his arms and the dread of being subjected to his 'power.' The same tale is repeated, without the same elegance of language, in the very unimpassioned pages of the historian of the House of Austria. But, in fact, his household consisted (instead of twelve) of nearly sixty persons; and the other statements are not very much nearer the truth. He had not, at Yuste, the magnificence of Augsburg or Valladolid, but there was as much, probably, of comfort, if not of luxury, as in many of the palaces which he had inhabited. There were the rich tapestries, wrought in gold, silk, and silver, to please the eye with their feast of gorgeous colours; there were cushions of velvet and quilts of eider down, and of gold and silver more than thirteen thousand ounces; silver ewers and silver basins, richly wrought vases and candlesticks, the workmanship of noted artists. There were paintings of rare beauty, the work of Titian and other artists. The mighty powers of the great Venetian shone forth in a painting of the Crucifixion, and in three pictures of the Blessed Virgin. There were books also, richly bound in crimson velvet and gold, on subjects sacred and profane. It is not for us to say that his self-denial ought to have been greater; but, certainly, there is not enough here whereon to ground an eulogium on his voluntary poverty, or to stigmatise as an extreme development of fanatical asceticism. And with this we have to reckon the rich and teaming Vera, to gladden the eye all day long, the glorious suns of that golden land, the verdant slopes, the sparkling streams, and the pleasant sounds of Nature in her hours of joyance: nor must we forget the quiet summer-house, and the shady porch, and the animals in whose gambols he found amusement, the beautiful garden with its ancient walnut-tree, its choice flowers, and its fish-ponds. Other pleasures there were too, and higher occupations, in ingenious contrivances of watches, clocks, and other works of Torriano, the first mechanician of the day-some useful, some only serving to show the power and skill of the artist. There was the solace of music, in which he especially delighted. What more could he desire than the beautiful strains of the Mass, and the touching melody of the daily Psalms, chanted by the brethren of the monastery? He loved eloquence, and the three most distinguished preachers of the order of S. Jerome were summoned to the house at Yuste. Matters of science, mostly natural history, furnished the usual theme for conversation at meal times. Courtly etiquette compelled him to eat alone, and they who were in the room had only to speak of the subjects which he touched on. After dinner there were generally read to him passages from S. Augustine, S. Jerome, or S. Bernard; and daily he heard a sermon preached in the convent, at three o'clock, by one of his preachers. Punctual and exact in his own attendance on the holy offices, he insisted on similar regularity from his household, and on occasions when he required the whole of them to communicate, he would stand up near the altar to see that none were absent. Looking at all this, none could say that his life at Yuste was one continued act of self-mortification. His disposition was undoubtedly parsimonious, and it was not likely that it would be less so in the cloister than it had been in the camp. It had never been his ambition to vie with the tinsel splendour of Francis I. or to rival the cumbrous magnificence of Henry VIII. He had been known, in a shower of rain, to take off a new velvet cap, and, putting it under his arm, to remain bare-headed until an old one could be brought. In his campaigning days his patched and knotted sword-belt was retained in use, when it would have been thrown away by a trooper. Not for the joust and the tournament, but for the serious labours of the field and the trench, did he sheathe himself in his battered armour, or mount his cream-coloured charger, which was ever seen foremost in the van of battle. The habits of a whole life are not easily shaken off, be they habits of toil or habits of pleasure, of indolence or of energy. And, doubtless, Charles was sincere in his intentions and his wishes that he might be enabled to enter his conventual abode free from the cares of business as from all others. His desire, on his retirement, was to bring to a successful conclusion the few matters which he had on hand; but gradually the circle widened, as he gave his judgment first on one subject and then on another, until his active mind again surveyed the whole field of Spanish politics. So completely is it a delusion to fancy that he really descended to the station of a private citizen. He had but given up the outward marks of power, and about them he had never displayed any particular solicitude. The imperial dignity, as we have seen, was still his, and, until the Diet accepted his resignation in 1558, his despatches were always headed The Emperor,' and addressed to Juan Vasquez de Molina, my secretary.' Business which advanced too slowly at Valladolid, was expedited on appeal to the Court at Yuste, and couriers with their despatches went and came every day in regular succession. The ill-success of the latter part of his reign he attributed to the interruptions which his repeated attacks of gout caused in the conduct of his affairs. In his days of strength he had transacted all his business himself, not allowing any affairs to be carried on with which he had not first been made acquainted; and he showed no disposition now to relax from the habits of diligent attention which had grown upon him. Nor is there any authority for the supposition that he experienced nothing but insult and neglect from Philip after his abdication. To the frequent requests of the Princess Regent, that he would relieve her from the cares of the Spanish government, he constantly replied, that so long as his father lived and would aid her with his advice, there could be no necessity for his doing so. Philip, with his black catalogue of vices and crimes, appears, indeed, capable of anything; but truth requires us to acquit him of the additional guilt of filial ingratitude. The aid which Philip spoke of was never refused. Till within a few days of his death, there was the mind ready in council and strong to plan, although the hand quick to execute lay powerless in the iron grasp of disease. But the picture must have not its lights only, but its shadows. His extreme frugality has already come under notice: but he was not free from other foibles, putting aside, for the present, all mention of the darker crimes which historians have laid to his charge. Archdeacon Coxe informs us that Charles was temperate in his diet.' Had he been so, there would in all probability have been very little need of his abdication on the score of increasing infirmity; but a tendency to gout was, by inordinate indulgence in eating, converted into an inveterate habit. Exercising very little restraint as to the quantity of his food, and especially fastidious as to its quality, he added ever fresh virulence to the terrible disease which was undermining his bodily powers. Strange, indeed, that a man who guided empires, could descend to daily anxious pondering care about his meals; strange that the eye, which could delight in the glorious forms of Titian and of Raphael, the ear which loved the heavenly harmonies of the Church's daily offices, the mind which found pleasure in the pages of S. Jerome and S. Bernard, could exist along with an appetite pampered and indulged, until it appears to have completely gained the mastery. So crippled were the fingers of the hand which had curbed the fiery charger, and whose aim was once unerring, that the pen dropped oftentimes from its powerless grasp. On the receipt of some gloves sent to him by a lady, he said, 'If she sends gloves, she had better send hands on which to wear them.' Strange weakness, indeed, to which it was still more strange that he should yield without a struggle. A supply of meat and conserves being sent to him on his journey from Laredo, he ordered the latter to be set apart for his own especial use. In his days of health, Roger Ascham, standing "hard by the 'imperial table at the feast of Golden Fleece," watched with 'wonder, the Emperor's progress through "sod beef, roast mutton, 'baked hare," after which" he fed well of a capon," drinking also,' says the Fellow of S. John's, "the best that ever I saw; he had his head in the glass five times as long as any of them, ' and never drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish wine." (P. 37.) Viands the most unwholesome and dangerous to any one in his condition, were his daily nourishment. Syrup of quinces at breakfast; Rhine wine at dinner; beer whenever he felt thirsty; olives, sausages, game, omelettes, and the richest fish on days of abstinence: all these he persisted in taking, even when he was unable, from gout, to raise a cup to his lips. Well might his chamberlain Quixada remark, Surely kings imagine that their stomachs are not made like other men's.' (P. 144.) But a few weeks before his final illness, the same indulgences continued: His dinner began with a large dish of cherries or of strawberries smothered in cream and sugar; then came a highly-seasoned pasty; and next the principal dish of the repast, which was frequently a ham, or some preparation of rashers, the Emperor being very fond of the staple product of bacon-curing Estremadura. "His Majesty," said the doctor," considers himself in very good health, and will not hear of changing his diet or mode of living; trusting too much to the force of habit, and to the strength of his constitution, which, in bodies full of bad humours, like his, frequently breaks down suddenly and without warning."-P. 192. The physician's prognostications were very soon to be realized. Miserable as it is to see in such a man so inordinate an indulgence of bodily appetite, the number of his failings cannot be limited to this particular. Insincerity and treachery furnish one of the greatest accusations which have been brought against him. One act of this kind is curiously woven in with his departure to his conventual seclusion. At the period of Mary's accession to the throne of England, a treaty of marriage had been almost concluded between Philip and Mary of Portugal, daughter of the Emperor's favourite sister Eleanor. Mary of England had meanwhile offered her hand to Charles, who, declining it on the score of his age and intentions of retirement, proposed to transfer the honour to Philip, who greedily caught at the bait of increased dominion, and summarily broke off the • On Portuguese match on the ground of insufficient dowry. the same day, when Charles suggested to his son the propriety of breaking faith with his favourite sister's only child, he signed the first order for money to be spent in building his ' retreat at Yuste; and as soon as the treachery had been com'pleted, and the prize secured, he began seriously to prepare for a life of piety and repose.'-P. 3. 6 Power, wealth, and lofty station, can never change the character of an action, nor will the nice calculation of ends palliate unscrupulous recklessness in the attainment of them. Fraud, dishonesty, and falsehood, can never be called by other than their real names, without leaving the speaker chargeable with some share of the sin. But it would be as wrong to permit the vice of one man to be magnified by specious and false comparisons with seeming better qualities in another, to whose disposition those very qualities are in as great a degree spots and blemishes. Wonderful indeed, then, is it to read that the in'sidious and fraudulent policy of Charles appeared more conspi'cuous, and was rendered more odious, by a comparison with the open and undesigning character of Francis I. and Henry VIII.;' and to see the reason assigned, that 'the latter seldom acted but 'from the impulse of their passions, and rushed headlong towards 'the object in view; Charles's measures, being the result of cool reflection, were disposed into a regular system, and carried on upon a concerted plan.' These are marvellous ethics: are we to conclude that a Presbyterian's moral philosophy is not to be taken on a par with that of Aristotle? Putting aside the mention of Francis I. the conclusion would follow, that a man who was naturally disposed to think about a thing before he did it, was worse than a man whose settled habit it was to do whatever he pleased without thought. But with the knowledge of the hypocrisy of him, who publicly gave thanks to God for the excellent condition of the greater monasteries, even while he had long before irrevocably decreed their downfal, to assert that this personage never planned a treacherous action before he executed it, would be altogether childish and absurd. Falsehood, treachery, and murder, went before and followed after, in the path wherein he delighted to tread. 6 6 Amidst the occupations of devotion, of state affairs, and his lighter employments, the days sped quickly by, gladdened by some success in the political world, but darkened by more of disappointment and regret. His bodily weakness was gaining ground on him, and his earthly sojourn was drawing to a close. Few periods present at once so many memorable names, so many actions fraught with such momentous consequences to succeeding times. It was the period of wide and rapid change, |