Philip’s plans were a series of alternatives.  France he regarded as the property of his family.  Of that there could be no doubt at all.  He meant to put the crown upon his own head, unless the difficulties in the way should prove absolutely insuperable.  In that case he claimed France and all its inhabitants as the property of his daughter.  The Salic law was simply a pleasantry, a bit of foolish pedantry, an absurdity.  If Clara Isabella, as daughter of Isabella of France, as grandchild of Henry ii., were not manifestly the owner of France—­queen-proprietary, as the Spanish doctors called it—­then there was no such thing, so he thought, as inheritance of castle, farm-house, or hovel—­no such thing as property anywhere in the world.  If the heiress of the Valois could not take that kingdom as her private estate, what security could there ever be for any possessions public or private?

This was logical reasoning enough for kings and their counsellors.  There was much that might be said, however, in regard to special laws.  There was no doubt that great countries, with all their livestock—­human or otherwise—­belonged to an individual, but it was not always so clear who that individual was.  This doubt gave much work and comfortable fees to the lawyers.  There was much learned lore concerning statutes of descent, cutting off of entails, actions for ejectment, difficulties of enforcing processes, and the like, to occupy the attention of diplomatists, politicians and other sages.  It would have caused general hilarity, however, could it have been suggested that the live-stock had art or part in the matter; that sheep, swine, or men could claim a choice of their shepherds and butchers.

Philip—­humbly satisfied, as he always expressed himself, so long as the purity of the Roman dogmas and the supremacy of the Romish Church over the whole earth were maintained—­affected a comparative indifference as to whether he should put the crown of St. Louis and of Hugh Capet upon his own grey head or whether he should govern France through his daughter and her husband.  Happy the man who might exchange the symbols of mutual affection with Philip’s daughter.

The king had various plans in regard to the bestowal of the hand thus richly endowed.  First and foremost it was suggested—­and the idea was not held too monstrous to be even believed in by some conspicuous individuals—­that he proposed espousing his daughter himself.  The pope was to be relied on, in this case, to give a special dispensation.  Such a marriage, between parties too closely related to be usually united in wedlock, might otherwise shock the prejudices of the orthodox.  His late niece and wife was dead, so that there was no inconvenience on that score, should the interests of his dynasty, his family, and, above all, of the Church, impel him, on mature reflection, to take for his fourth marriage one step farther within the forbidden degrees than he had done in his third.  Here is the statement, which, if it have no other value, serves to show the hideous designs of which the enemies of Philip sincerely believed that monarch capable.