Not being deficient in perception, the queen was quite aware of the greediness of all who surrounded the palace.  She had spirit enough too to feel the galling tyranny to which the king was subjected.  That the people hated the omnipotent favourite, and believed the king to be under the influence of sorcery, she was well aware.  She had even a dim notion that the administration of the empire was not the wisest nor the noblest that could be devised for the first power in Christendom.  But considerations of high politics scarcely troubled her mind.  Of a People she had perhaps never heard, but she felt that the king was oppressed.  She knew that he was helpless, and that she was herself his only friend.  But of what avail were her timid little flutterings of indignation and resistance?  So pure and fragile a creature could accomplish little good for king or people.  Perpetually guarded and surrounded by the Countess of Lemos and the Duchess of Lerma, she lived in mortal awe of both.  As to the duke himself, she trembled at his very name.  On her first attempts to speak with Philip on political matters—­to hint at the unscrupulous character of his government, to arouse him to the necessity of striking for a little more liberty and for at least a trifling influence in the state—­the poor little king instantly betrayed her to the favourite and she was severely punished.  The duke took the monarch off at once on a long journey, leaving her alone for weeks long with the terrible duchess and countess.  Never before had she been separated for a day from her husband, it having been the king’s uniform custom to take her with him in all his expeditions.  Her ambition to interfere was thus effectually cured.  The duke forbade her thenceforth ever to speak of politics to her husband in public or in private—­not even in bed—­and the king was closely questioned whether these orders had been obeyed.  She submitted without a struggle.  She saw how completely her happiness was at Lerma’s mercy.  She had no one to consult with, having none but Spanish people about her, except her German father-confessor, whom, as a great favour, and after a severe struggle, she had beep allowed to retain, as otherwise her ignorance of the national language would have made it impossible for her to confess her little sins.  Moreover her brothers, the archdukes at Gratz, were in receipt of considerable annual stipends from the Spanish exchequer, and the duke threatened to stop those pensions at once should the queen prove refractory.  It is painful to dwell any longer on the abject servitude in which the king and queen were kept.  The two were at least happy in each other’s society, and were blessed with mutual affection, with pretty and engaging children, and with a similarity of tastes.  It is impossible to imagine anything more stately, more devout, more regular, more innocent, more utterly dismal and insipid, than the lives of this wedded pair.

This interior view of the court and council of Spain will suffice to explain why, despite the languor and hesitations with which the transactions were managed, the inevitable tendency was towards a peace.  The inevitable slowness, secrecy, and tergiversations were due to the dignity of the Spanish court, and in harmony with its most sacred traditions.