In one respect the reigning sovereign was in advance of his age.  In his devotion to the Madonna he claimed the same miraculous origin for her mother as for herself.  When the prayer “O Sancta Maria sine labe originali concepta” was chanted, he would exclaim with emotion that the words embodied his devoutest aspirations.  He had frequent interviews with doctors of divinity on the subject, and instructed many bishops to urge upon the pope the necessity of proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin’s mother.  Could he secure this darling object of his ambition, he professed himself ready to make a pilgrimage on foot to Rome.  The pilgrimage was never made, for it may well be imagined that Lerma would forbid any such adventurous scheme.  Meantime, the duke continued to govern the empire and to fill his coffers, and the king to shoot rabbits.

The queen was a few years younger than her husband, and far from beautiful.  Indeed, the lower portion of her face was almost deformed.  She was graceful, however, in her movements, and pleasing and gentle in manner.  She adored the king, looking up to him with reverence as the greatest and wisest of beings.  To please him she had upon her marriage given up drinking wine, which, for a German, was considered a great sacrifice.  She recompensed herself, as the king did, by eating to an extent which, according to contemporary accounts, excited amazement.  Thus there was perfect sympathy between the two in the important article of diet.  She had also learned to play at cards, in order to take a hand with him at any moment, feebly hoping that an occasional game for love might rescue the king from that frantic passion by which his health was shattered and so many courtiers were enriched.

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