The history of the century after the death of Philip II. is one of
rapid decline; with no longer a powerful master-mind to hold the state
together. Every year saw the court at Madrid more splendid, and the
people,—that insignificant factor,—more wretched, and sinking deeper
and deeper into poverty. In fact, in spite of the fabulous wealth which
fortune had poured upon her, Spain was becoming poor. But nowhere in
Europe was royalty invested with such dignity and splendor of
ceremonial, and the ambitious Marie de Medici, widow of Henry IV., was
glad to form alliances for her children with those of Philip III. The
“Prince of the Asturias,” who was soon to become Philip IV., married
her daughter, Isabella de Bourbon, and the Infanta, his sister, was at
the same time married to the young Louis XIII., King of France.
[Illustration: Philip IV. of Spain.
From the portrait by Velasquez.]
The remnant of the Moors who still lingered in the land were called
Moriscos; and under a very thin surface of submission to Christian
Spain, they nursed bitter memories and even hopes that some miracle
would some day restore them to what was really the land of their
fathers. A very severe edict, promulgated by Philip II., compelling
conformity in all respects with Christian living, and—as if that were
not a part of Christian living—forbidding ablutions, led to a
serious revolt. And this again led to the forcible expulsion of every
Morisco in Spain.
In 1609, by order of Philip III., the last of the Moors were
conveyed in galleys to the African coast whence they had come just nine
hundred years before.
In a narrative so drenched with tears, it is pleasant to hear of
light-hearted laughter. We are told that when the young King Philip
III. saw from his window a man striking his forehead and laughing
immoderately he said: “That man is either mad, or he is reading 'Don
Quixote'”—which latter was the case. But the story written by
Cervantes did more than entertain. Chivalry had lingered in the
congenial soil of Spain long after it had disappeared in every other
part of Europe; but when in the person of Don Quixote it was made to
appear so utterly ridiculous, it was heard of no more.
Philip III., who died in 1621, was succeeded by his son Philip IV.
As in the reign of his father worthless favorites ruled, while a
profligate king squandered the money of the people in lavish
entertainments and luxuries. Much has been written about the visit of
Charles, Prince of Wales (afterward Charles I.), accompanied by the
Duke of Buckingham, at his court; whither the young Prince had come
disguised, to see the Infanta, Philip's sister, whom he thought of
making his queen. Probably she did not please him, or perhaps the
alliance with Protestant England was not acceptable to the pious
Catholic family of Philip. At all events, Henrietta, sister of Louis
XIII. of France, was his final choice; and shared his terrible
misfortunes a few years later.
A revolt of the Catalonians on the French frontier led to a
difficulty with France, which was finally adjusted by the celebrated
“treaty of the Pyrenees.” In this treaty was included the marriage of
the young King Louis XIV. and Maria Theresa, daughter of Philip IV.,
the King of Spain. The European Powers would only consent to this union
upon condition that Louis should solemnly renounce all claim to the
Spanish crown for himself and his heirs; which promise had later a
somewhat eventful history.
Seven of the United Provinces had achieved their independence during
the reign of the third Philip, who had also driven out of his kingdom
six hundred thousand Moriscos; by far the most skilled and industrious
portion of the community. And now, at the close of the reign of Philip
IV., the kingdom was further diminished by the loss of Portugal; which,
in 1664, the Lusitanians recovered, and proclaimed the Duke of Braganza
King. When we add to this the loss of much of the Netherlands, and of
the island of Jamaica, and concessions here and there to France and to
Italy, it will be obvious that a process of contraction had soon
followed that of Spain's phenomenal expansion!
During the reign of Carlos II., who succeeded his father (1665),
Spain was still further diminished by the cession to Louis XIV., in
1678, of more provinces in the Low Countries and also of the region now
known as Alsace and Lorraine; which, it will be remembered, have in our
own time passed from the keeping of France to that of victorious
Germany.
In the year 1655 the island of Jamaica was captured by an expedition
sent out by Cromwell. It was between the years 1670 and 1686 that the
Spaniard and the Anglo-Saxon had their first collision in America. St.
Augustine had been founded in 1565, and the old Spanish colony was much
disturbed in 1663, when Charles II. of England planted an English
colony in their near neighborhood (the Carolinas). During the war
between Spain and England at the time above mentioned, feeling ran high
between Florida and the Carolinas, and houses were burned and blood was
shed. Spain had felt no concern about the little English colony planted
on the bleak New England coast in 1620. Death by exposure and
starvation promised speedily to remove that. But the settlement on the
Carolinas was more serious, and at the same time the French were
planting a colony of their own at the mouth of the Mississippi. The
“lords of America” began to feel anxious about their control of the
Gulf of Mexico. The cloud was a very small one, but it was not to be
the last which would dim their skies in the West.
The one thing which gives historic importance to the reign of Carlos
II. is that it marks the close—the ignominious close—of the great
Hapsburg dynasty in Spain. And if the death of Carlos, in 1700, was a
melancholy event, it is because with it the scepter so magnificently
wielded by Ferdinand and Isabella passed to the keeping of the House of
Bourbon, whose Spanish descendants have, excepting for two brief
intervals, ruled Spain ever since.