Elder Brother," he would say to the pious king, "be a friend to the poor when I am gone; for this is the road by which God will bring you to heaven." (79.) This tone of familiar equality with the great was in him the natural expression of his right-aiming simplicity of character. The rustic neglect had its charm, and he could converse on the same free and easy terms even with the grave Archbishop Ribera. He had come one day to the prelate's palace in Valencia, hungry and faint, and was introduced to a room where the owner of it was sitting conversing. with two heads of religious houses. Seating himself on a stool, he said, "Father, the poor ass wants provender." The Archbishop having enquired what he would have, called one of his pages, and bade him prepare the bread and cheese and radishes which Brother Francis had desired, in an adjoining apartment, and come and tell him when it was ready. When this was done, the Archbishop in a low voice privately intimated to his guest that he would find his luncheon all right in the room where he had caused the table to be spread for him. "No, no, Father,” said Brother Francis, "there is no harm in eating when one is hungry; there is no need to do it in secret; let me have the luncheon here." Juan de Ribera at once yielded the point, and the three religious prelates sate by, much edified at the composure with which he took his refection in their presence. At another time he was calling on the Duke of Medina Celi, the head of the La Cerda family, a nobleman who had royal blood in his veins. The duke was ill in bed, but admitted Brother Francis, whom no kind-hearted person would refuse to see. He began as with the Archbishop: "My good brother, I want food." The duke had a little table spread for him in the chamber. When he had refreshed himself, he said, "Now let me take a little rest, it may be managed here, as there is room for us both." Without further ceremony, he laid himself down on a vacant portion of the bed; and the good-natured duke afterwards spoke of it as if he thought he had entertained an angel unawares. * (80.) If, however, he was acceptable to the rich, he was still more popular with the poor. In the later years of his life this popularity had its inconveniences. It was not always safe for him to walk through a crowd. The villagers in many places, hearing of his approach, would provide themselves with knives and scissors to cut off little pieces of his habit, which they coveted as memorials of such a holy person. The same thing had sometimes happened to St. Teresa or some of her female friends, but probably not to the same extent. The good man resisted all he could, and grudged the necessity of having so often to apply to the convent tailors for a new suit. On one occasion the brothers of the house at Pastrana, finding the country-people pressing round, took pre * Joseph de Jes. M. 253. thoughts of a Castillian noble to lift his hand against the crown. It is still the boast of Spaniards, that their language has no word to express "a regicide.”* Davila says, he was told by a gentleman in waiting on Mary de Medicis, that, when Henri IV. received his death-wound from Ravaillac, he exclaimed, as if remembering how differently things were ordered in the frontier-kingdom, "O the security of Spain!"+ (83.) Had Prescott lived to complete his history of Philip II., no doubt he would have told under what circumstances the stern old Duke of Alva went to the conquest of Portugal. The jealous king had imprisoned him, because his eldest son, Duke Frederick, had married an heiress without the royal consent; and he supposed the father to have been privy to it. But he now found it advisable to place him again at the head of his armies, that by his help he might overcome the difficulty of attaching an unwilling country to the Spanish crown. "I will obey," said the veteran, "that it may be said his Majesty had vassals, who were willing to win kingdoms for him, though they dragged their prison-fetters after them." He went and did what he undertook. The resistance was but short, and there was not much occasion to carry on the same * Wallis, Public Men of Spain, 185. † Davila, Grandezas de Madrid, 100. Gongora's Sonnet on the death of Henry IV. is dignified and not unfitting the occasion. But he seems to shew something of Spanish feeling in the Sonnet on the Duke of Mayenne's mission, where he calls Henry, not king, but Duke of Vendôme. process, with which he had given such full occupation to his provost marshal in the Netherlands. But he seemed to have but one way of doing the work of his vocation. As many Portuguese captains as tried to make head, or defended fortresses, against him, were condemned to die, as if they had been rebels against a long-settled dynasty. In this also he probably considered that he was only proving his loyalty. He died not long afterwards at Lisbon, when he was more than eighty years old. In his last days he was reduced to such weakness, that he had to be fed like a sucking infant; but feeling that it was of no avail, he said with an easy pleasantry, "My good nurse, I am afraid you will not be able to give a good account of this child of yours." A memorable end of a man, whose name is a proverb of terror to the world.* (84.) In Philip III.'s time the loyal spirit found its exercise in lavish contributions for such public expenditure as have been previously noticed, occasions of public entertainment of ambassadors at home, or missions to foreign courts. The Mendozas were, as Ford justly styles them, a race of brave, pious, learned, and magnificent nobles; and the Dukes of Infantado in this reign were not unworthy of their progenitors. Juan de Zuñiga, sixth Count of Miranda, was a public minister of high character, "a gentleman," as Lopez de Haro says, with a phrase probably intended to carry a double meaning, "of great weight and au*Palafox, Notes on S. Teresa, Cart. xi. thority."* Cabrera relates of him, that after making an effort to walk in the funeral procession of the Duchess of Lerma, he found the burden of his solid flesh too great, and was obliged to give up the attempt.† Obesity is a quality incident to grandees in Spain, not that it is altogether unknown in other countries. Southey speaks of one whom he saw in his youth, an ambassador at the Court of Lisbon, as "a bad imitation of a hogshead." Gongora appears to have had some examples before him, when he wrote one of his satirical sonnets, which begins by comparing them to the sleek elephant or sow rhinoceros. But with the Count of Miranda it seems to have been the effect of good humour and pure benevolence. He had governed well for nine years, as Viceroy of Naples, making himself so acceptable, that on the eve of his departure the province sent a deputation to present him with a splendid service of gold plate. He would not offend them at the moment by declining to accept it; but after a day or two, when he was just ready to take ship for his return to Spain, he sent it back with a friendly message, telling them that the proof they had given him of their goodwill was worth more to him than all the gold in the world. The good Count, says Davila, had read the story of Fabricius. After his return home, he was called to take a part |