All the company present had risen to their feet as the emperor entered.  By his command, all immediately afterwards resumed their places.  The benches at either end of the platform were accordingly filled with the royal and princely personages invited, with the Fleece Knights, wearing the insignia of their order, with the members of the three great councils, and with the governors.  The Emperor, the King, and the Queen of Hungary, were left conspicuous in the centre of the scene.  As the whole object of the ceremony was to present an impressive exhibition, it is worth our while to examine minutely the appearance of the two principal characters.

Charles the Fifth was then fifty-five years and eight months old; but he was already decrepit with premature old age.  He was of about the middle height, and had been athletic and well-proportioned.  Broad in the shoulders, deep in the chest, thin in the flank, very muscular in the arms and legs, he had been able to match himself with all competitors in the tourney and the ring, and to vanquish the bull with his own hand in the favorite national amusement of Spain.  He had been able in the field to do the duty of captain and soldier, to endure fatigue and exposure, and every privation except fasting.  These personal advantages were now departed.  Crippled in hands, knees and legs, he supported himself with difficulty upon a crutch, with the aid of, an attendant’s shoulder.  In face he had always been extremely ugly, and time had certainly not improved his physiognomy.  His hair, once of a light color, was now white with age, close-clipped and bristling; his beard was grey, coarse, and shaggy.  His forehead was spacious and commanding; the eye was dark blue, with an expression both majestic and benignant.  His nose was aquiline but crooked.  The lower part of his face was famous for its deformity.  The under lip, a Burgundian inheritance, as faithfully transmitted as the duchy and county, was heavy and hanging; the lower jaw protruding so far beyond the upper, that it was impossible for him to bring together the few fragments of teeth which still remained, or to speak a whole sentence in an intelligible voice.  Eating and talking, occupations to which he was always much addicted, were becoming daily more arduous, in consequence of this original defect, which now seemed hardly human, but rather an original deformity.

So much for the father.  The son, Philip the Second, was a small, meagre man, much below the middle height, with thin legs, a narrow chest, and the shrinking, timid air of an habitual invalid.  He seemed so little, upon his first visit to his aunts, the Queens Eleanor and Mary, accustomed to look upon proper men in Flanders and Germany, that he was fain to win their favor by making certain attempts in the tournament, in which his success was sufficiently problematical.  “His body,” says his professed panegyrist, “was but a human cage, in which, however brief and narrow, dwelt a soul to whose flight the immeasurable