The Story of Don John of Austria by Luis Coloma (macos ebook reader .txt) 📕

The Emperor had invited Doña Magdalena to go and see him, and Quijada had arranged that Jeromín should accompany her as page of honour, taking a present which Doña Magdalena was to offer. This visit must have taken place in the early days of July, as Gastelu writes on the 19th to Vázguez and refers to it as a thing already long past. "Lord Luis Quijada," he says, "is well, and so is my Lady Doña Magdalena, whom H.M. was careful to order to visit him, and the other day she went to Yuste to kiss hands, and he was all kindness."

We have not been able to ascertain what Doña Magdalena's present was, but it was probably either gloves or handkerchiefs that were taken the next day to Yuste on a silver tray covered with embroidered damask. Doña Magdalena set out at three o'clock in her litter, Jeromín riding beside her on the little Roman mule which Luis Quijada had inherited from his brother Álvaro de Mendoza; he was very smart in his new page's dress and looked like a little painted statuette.

Behind came Juan Galarza and the other squire mounted on good, strong mules. They alighted at the door of the church, according to Quijada's arrangement, and went to the High Altar, where he awaited them. Then he took them by the glazed door into the Emperor's bedroom; he handed Jeromín the present on the tray of silver, and the two went into the Emperor's room, Jeromín following.

The darkness added to the funereal aspect of the room, as the curtains had been drawn and the windows closed because of the heat. Jeromín, as Quijada had ordered him, groped his way to the wall on one side, and there stood very straight, with the tray in his hand. At first he could distinguish nothing, except a sort of mountain of black things, a white spot in the centre, and heavy breathing like that of an asthmatic old man. The Emperor received Doña Magdalena "con todo favor," as Juan Vázguez wrote to the secretary Gastelu. She was the only lady he received in Yuste except the Queens, Doña Elinor and Doña Maria; he sat up in his chair as much as his swollen knees allowed, and took off his thin silk cap. He gave his hand to be kissed, and, with all the grace and gallantry of his youth, then asked Quijada's permission to kiss the lady's. He ordered an arm-chair to be put near him, as if she had been a princess of the blood, and also ordered the curtains to be undrawn and the windows to be opened.

Then the light streamed in, and Jeromín could see what remained of that great Emperor, that hero of many battles: a bent old man, with a white beard, a sunken head, and a tired voice. He was lost in the cushions of his enormous chair, his legs covered with a rich and light quilt stuffed with feathers, a present from his daughter Princess Juana. At his side on a perch a beautiful parrot, and on his knees he had two tiny Indian kittens, which had been sent him a short time before by his sister Doña Catalina, the great widowed Queen of Portugal.

Jeromín remained awestruck before this ruin, till gaining courage he dared to look at him face to face. But at that moment the Emperor raised his head, and, as if by accident, his glance fell on the child. Jeromín shut his eyes and shrank up as if he saw a mountain falling on him. There was the Emperor, the hero of so many battles—he saw the eagle's glance which still had genius and glory in it, and which also had, as it looked on the child, something strange and deep, which was neither stern nor indifferent, but rather gentle and loving, though mixed with something which oppressed and terrified Jeromín, without his knowing why, because it was impossible for his innocent soul to perceive the dim shadows which remorse sheds on love.

All this only lasted a moment; Doña Magdalena spoke of her present, and Quijada ordered the child to approach and offer it. Jeromín did so, trembling like quicksilver, and knelt before the Emperor, lifting up the tray to him. The Emperor took what was on the tray with many expressions of pleasure and thanks, and placed the present on the table. Then he stretched out his crippled hand for Jeromín to kiss, and laid it for a moment on the fair head. At a sign from Luis Quijada, Jeromín returned to his place.

Meanwhile one of the Emperor's kittens had got away and ran to Jeromín and began to make friends and scramble up his legs. The Emperor laughed, and Jeromín, very confused, gently pushed the kitten away with his foot to make it go back to its place. The Emperor said, "Carry it here." Jeromín picked up the little animal and presented it to the Emperor on his knees.

The Emperor again gave his hand to be kissed, and placed it for a second time, for a moment, as if in benediction or as a caress, on Jeromín's head. They left as they had come in. On entering the church Jeromín pulled Doña Magdalena's skirt, and throwing himself into her arms began to cry. Astonished, she asked him what was the matter, and putting his little red mouth close to her ear, he whispered between his sobs, "I do not know, Lady Aunt, I do not know." Luis Quijada came and saw him crying, but did not ask the reason or reprove him, this time, for his tears.

Jeromín never saw the Emperor near again; though from afar he did so in the garden, on the terrace, and sometimes in the church. On many of these occasions the Emperor also saw him, and then the boy felt the strange, earnest glance fixed upon him.

Neither did Doña Magdalena go again to visit the Emperor, but she had daily received signs of his favour, by the visits of authorised persons or by tactful presents. It was seldom that a day passed without the Emperor sending her some dish from his table, and no convoy of meat, preserves, fruit or sweetmeats arrived at Yuste without a substantial portion being reserved for her, which was sent with messages of the greatest kindness. These presents were as useful as honourable, since there was a great scarcity of provisions in Cuacos, and what was obtainable was not very good. On the 30th of August, 1558, Jeromín saw the Emperor for the last time. The child was wandering about in the garden at Yuste with his crossbow and arrows, as he did sometimes by Quijada's own wish in his play-hours. The day was cold for summer in that part of the world, and although the glare from the sun was great on the terraces, the Emperor caused himself to be taken to the west one, and ordered that dinner should be brought there. Hidden in the orange grove that was in front of it Jeromín watched him for a long time.

Luis Quijada and a groom of the chamber named Guillermo Van Male were serving him, on a little table made on purpose, which fixed on to the Emperor's chair. Van Male presented the dishes, Quijada carved them, and four servants brought and took away the courses. D. Mattys was absent; he should have inspected the viands, but was away in Jarandilla. The confessor, Fr. Juan de Regla, was standing before the Emperor, austere and grave as one of Zurbarán's Carthusians, reading as usual a chapter from St. Bernard.

The Emperor ate little and without appetite, and then, in spite of the glare and against the wishes of Quijada, he composed himself there to take his short siesta. He was awakened by the arrival of Garcilaso de la Vega, who came from Flanders to treat with the Dowager-Queen of Hungary to induce her to return to govern the States. The conversation lasted for more than an hour, and at four o'clock the Emperor blew his golden whistle, complaining of a severe headache. A change had come over him and he was shivering. They put him to bed at once, and when the doctor came back that night from Jarandilla, where the Emperor had sent him to see the Conde de Oropesa, he was not pleased with the Emperor's looks. Nor could he have been so himself, as that night he expressed to Quijada his wish to add a codicil to the will he had made in Brussels on the 8th of June, 1554.

This desire did not frighten Quijada, as the Emperor had often expressed the same wish before; but the continued fever, delirium and collapse did alarm him, and on the 1st of September he wrote to the Princess Juana, begging her to send as quickly as possible Queen Maria's old doctor, Corneille Baersdorp, who was staying with her at Cigales.

The Emperor felt himself sick unto death, and confessed and communicated on the 3rd of September, fearing some new and mortal seizure would take him unawares. Dr. Corneille arrived from Cigales on the 8th, as did also Garcilaso de la Vega, bringing the welcome news that Queen Maria had accepted the government of the Flemish States. The Emperor, however, did not wish to see him until he had signed the codicil, which he did on the 9th.

He conferred a long time the next day with Garcilaso and the last joy of his life was knowing that his sister, Doña Maria, had, at last, given in to what he so much desired. He asked with great interest for the "Regente" Figueroa, and the Archbishop of Toledo, Fr. Bartolomé de Carranza, who had come from Flanders with Garcilaso, and was expected at Yuste. He then learnt that the "Regente" was ill at Medina del Campo, and that the Archbishop, knowing nothing of the Emperor's illness, had gone to Cigales to confer, by Philip II's wish, with Queen Maria, and was coming to Yuste from there.

This conversation tired the Emperor very much, and it was the last time that he worried about the things of this world. On the 19th the doctors found him so much worse that they spoke to Quijada about the necessity of administering Extreme Unction. Quijada looked angry on hearing this, as he was one of those men of violent character who always show their sorrow by becoming cross and disagreeable, and he told them not to leave off feeling the Emperor's pulse, and to put it off until the last moment. This last moment seemed to have arrived at nine o'clock that night, and the steward summoned Fr. Juan de Regla and three other monks in a great hurry. He went to the Emperor first and said, "Your Majesty has twice asked for Extreme Unction. If you please, it is here, as your Majesty has health and sense to receive and enjoy it." The Emperor replied, "Yes, and let it be at once." The curtains of his bed were then drawn, and Fr. Juan de Regla gave him Extreme Unction, aided by three of the principal monks in the convent. The next morning, the 20th, the dying man somewhat rallied, and at eight o'clock ordered everyone to leave his room except Luis Quijada.

He was already almost without strength and was propped up by pillows. On account of the heat he could only bear a shirt and a thin silk quilt which covered him to his chest. Sadly Luis Quijada knelt at his pillow, and the Emperor, in a feeble voice but with all his senses, talked for half an hour. Here are his exact words as the same Luis Quijada wrote them to Philip II in his letter of the 30th of September, 1558:

"Tuesday, before receiving the Holy Sacrament, he called me and sent away his confessor and the rest, and I kneeling down, he said, 'Luis Quijada, I see I am ending little by little: for which I give much thanks to God, because it is His Will. You will tell the King, my son, to take care of these servants in general, those that have served me here until death, and that he should use Gilaone (Guillerno Wykesloot, the barber) as he wishes, and order that in this house no guests should be allowed to enter.' What he said about his wishes for me I do not care to say, being an interested party. Also he wished me to say other things to Y.M. which I will tell you when God brings me to Y.M. Please God it may be with the happiness all desire."

In this last conversation that the Emperor had with Quijada he left a strange remembrance to Jeromín. He commissioned his steward after his death to give to the child Jeromín, as his property and for his use, the old mule which he rode on, the blind pony he had kept, and the little mule that with the other two animals formed all