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Rubens was from Flanders, and Flanders was a Spanish possession:  then the Fleming knew the daughter of the King of Spain.  No man was so well fitted to go on a delicate diplomatic mission to Spain as the Flemish painter.  “You are my heart’s jewel,” said the Duke of Mantua to the Prime Minister, when the Minister suggested it.

The Duke wished private information as to certain things Spanish, and was also preparing the way to ask for sundry favors.  The Court at Madrid was artistic in instinct; so was the Mantuan Court.  To recognize the esthetic side of your friend’s nature, when your friend is secretly not quite sure but that he is more worldly than spiritual, is a stroke of diplomacy.  Spain was not really artistic, but there were stirrings being felt, and Velasquez and Murillo were soon to appear.

The Duke of Mantua wished to present the King of Spain with certain pictures; his mind was filled with a lively sense of anticipation of future favors to be received—­which feeling we are told is gratitude.  The entire ceremony must be carried out appropriately—­the poetic unities being fully preserved.  Therefore a skilful painter must be sent with the pictures, in order to see that they were safely transported, properly unpacked, and rightly hung.

Instructions were given to Peter Paul Rubens, the artistic ambassador, at great length, as to how he should proceed.  He was to make himself agreeable to the King, and to one greater than the King—­the man behind the throne—­the Duke of Lerma; and to several fair ladies as well.

The pictures were copies of the masters—­“Titians,” “Raphaellos,” “Tintorettos” and “Leonardos.”  They were copied with great fidelity, even to the signature and private marks of the original artist.  In fact, so well was the work done that if the recipient inclined to accept them as originals, his mind must not be disabused.  Further, the envoy was not supposed to know whether they were originals or not (even though he had painted them), and if worse came to worst he must say, “Well, surely they are just as good as the originals, if not better.”

Presents were taken for a dozen or more persons.  Those who were not so very artistic were to have gifts of guns, swords and precious stones.  The ambassador was to travel in a new carriage, drawn by six horses and followed by wagons carrying the art treasures.  All this so as to make the right impression and prove to Madrid that Mantua was both rich and generous.  And as a capsheaf to it all, the painter must choose an opportune moment and present his beautiful carriage and horses to the King, for the belief was rife that the King of Spain was really more horsey than artistic.

The pictures were selected with great care, and the finest horses to be found were secured, regardless of cost.  Several weeks were consumed in preparations, and at last the cavalcade started away, with Rubens in the carriage and eleven velvet suits in his chest, as he himself has told us.  It was a long, hard journey to Madrid.  There were encounters with rapacious landlords, and hairbreadth escapes in the imminent deadly custom-house.  But in a month the chromatic diplomat arrived and entered Madrid at the head of his company, wearing one of the velvet suits, and riding a milk-white charger.