University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Wordsworth.

While John of Aragon had recourse to such means to
enable his son to escape the vigilant and vindictive emissaries

of the King of Castile, there were anxious hearts in
Valladolid, awaiting the result with the impatience and
doubt that ever attend the execution of hazardous enterprises.
Among others who felt this deep interest in the
movements of Ferdinand of Aragon and his companions,
were a few, whom it has now become necessary to introduce
to the reader.

Although Valladolid had not then reached the magnificence
it subsequently acquired as the capital of Charles V.,
it was an ancient, and, for the age, a magnificent and
luxurious town, possessing its palaces, as well as its more
inferior abodes. To the principal of the former, the residence
of John de Vivero, a distinguished noble of the kingdom,
we must repair in imagination; where companions
more agreeable than those we have just quitted, await us,
and who were then themselves awaiting, with deep anxiety,
the arrival of a messenger with tidings from Dueña. The
particular apartment that it will be necessary to imagine,
had much of the rude splendour of the period, united to
that air of comfort and fitness that woman seldom fails to
impart to the portion of any edifice that comes directly under
her control. In the year 1469, Spain was fast approaching
the termination of that great struggle which had
already endured seven centuries, and in which the Christian
and the Mussulman contended for the mastery of the
peninsula. The latter had long held sway in the southern
parts of Leon, and had left behind him, in the palaces of
this town, some of the traces of his barbaric magnificence.
The lofty and fretted ceilings were not as glorious as those
to be found further south, it is true; still the Moor had been
here, and the name of Veled Vlid, since changed to Valladolid,
denotes its Arabic connection. In the room just mentioned,
and in the principal palace of this ancient town,
that of John de Vivero, were two females, in earnest and
engrossing discourse. Both were young, and, though in
very different styles, both would have been deemed beautiful
in any age or region of the earth. One, indeed, was
surpassingly lovely. She had just reached her nineteenth
year, an age when the female form has received its full development
in that generous climate; and the most imaginative
poet of Spain, a country so renowned for beauty

of form in the sex, could not have conceived of a person
more symmetrical. The hands, feet, bust, and all the outlines,
were those of feminine loveliness; while the stature,
without rising to a height to suggest the idea of any thing
masculine, was sufficient to ennoble an air of quiet dignity.
The beholder, at first, was a little at a loss to know whether
the influence to which he submitted, proceeded most
from the perfection of the body itself, or from the expression
that the soul within imparted to the almost faultless
exterior. The face was, in all respects, worthy of the form.
Although born beneath the sun of Spain, her lineage carried
her back, through a long line of kings, to the Gothic
sovereigns; and its frequent intermarriages with foreign
princesses, had produced in her countenance, that intermixture
of the brilliancy of the north, with the witchery
of the south, that probably is nearest to the perfection
of feminine loveliness.

Her complexion was fair, and her rich locks had that
tint of the auburn which approaches as near as possible to
the more marked colour that gives it warmth, without attaining
any of the latter's distinctive hue. “Her mild blue
eyes,” says an eminent historian, “beamed with intelligence
and sensibility.” In these indexes to the soul, indeed, were
to be found her highest claims to loveliness, for they bespoke
no less the beauty within, than the beauty without;
imparting to features of exquisite delicacy and symmetry,
a serene expression of dignity and moral excellence,
that was remarkably softened by a modesty that seemed as
much allied to the sensibilities of a woman, as to the purity
of an angel. To add to all these charms, though of royal
blood, and educated in a court, an earnest but meek sincerity
presided over every look and thought, as thought was
betrayed in the countenance, adding the illumination of
truth to the lustre of youth and beauty.

The attire of this princess was simple, for happily the taste
of the age enabled those who worked for the toilet to consult
the proportions of nature; though the materials were
rich, and such as became her high rank. A single cross
of diamonds sparkled on a neck of snow, to which it was
attached by a short string of pearls; and a few rings,
decked with stones of price, rather cumbered than adorned

hands that needed no ornaments to rivet the gaze. Such
was Isabella of Castile, in her days of maiden retirement
and maiden pride — while waiting the issue of those
changes that were about to put their seal on her own future
fortunes, as well as on those of posterity even to our own
times.

Her companion was Beatriz de Bobadilla, the friend of
her childhood and infancy, and who continued, to the last,
the friend of her prime, and of her death-bed. This lady,
a little older than the princess, was of more decided Spanish
mien, for, though of an ancient and illustrious house,
policy and necessity had not caused so many foreign intermarriages
in her race, as had been required in that of her
royal mistress. Her eyes were black and sparkling, bespeaking
a generous soul, and a resolution so high that
some commentators have termed it valour; while her hair
was dark as the raven's wing. Like that of her royal mistress,
her form exhibited the grace and loveliness of young
womanhood, developed by the generous warmth of Spain;
though her stature was, in a slight degree, less noble, and
the outlines of her figure, in about an equal proportion,
less perfect. In short, nature had drawn some such distinction
between the exceeding grace and high moral
charms that encircled the beauty of the princess, and those
which belonged to her noble friend, as the notions of men
had established between their respective conditions; though,
considered singly, as women, either would have been
deemed pre-eminently winning and attractive.

At the moment we have selected for the opening of the
scene that is to follow, Isabella, fresh from the morning
toilet, was seated in a chair, leaning lightly on one of its
arms, in an attitude that interest in the subject she was discussing,
and confidence in her companion, had naturally
produced; while Beatriz de Bobadilla occupied a low stool
at her feet, bending her body in respectful affection so far
forward, as to allow the fairer hair of the princess to mingle
with her own dark curls, while the face of the latter
appeared to repose on the head of her friend. As no
one else was present, the reader will at once infer, from the
entire absence of Castilian etiquette and Spanish reserve,
that the dialogue they held, was strictly confidential, and

that it was governed more by the feelings of nature, than
by the artificial rules that usually regulate the intercourse
of courts.

“I have prayed, Beatriz, that God would direct my judgment
in this weighty concern,” said the princess, in continuation
of some previous observation; “and I hope I
have as much kept in view the happiness of my future subjects,
in the choice I have made, as my own.”

“None shall presume to question it,” said Beatriz de Bobadilla;
“for had it pleased you to wed the Grand Turk,
the Castilians would not gainsay your wish, such is their
love!”

“Say, rather, such is thy love for me, my good Beatriz,
that thou fanciest this,” returned Isabella, smiling, and raising
her face from the other's head: “Our Castilians might
overlook such a sin, but I could not pardon myself for forgetting
that I am a Christian. Beatriz, I have been sorely
tried, in this matter!”

“But the hour of trial is nearly passed. Holy Maria!
what lightness of reflection, and vanity, and misjudging
of self, must exist in man, to embolden some who have
dared to aspire to become your husband! You were yet a
child when they betrothed you to Don Carlos, a prince old
enough to be your father; and, then, as if that were not
sufficient to warm Castilian blood, they chose the King of
Portugal for you, and he might well have passed for a
generation still more remote! Much as I love you, Doña
Isabella, and my own soul is scarce dearer to me than your
person and mind, for nought do I respect you more, than
for the noble and princely resolution, child as you then
were, with which you denied the king, in his wicked wish
to make you Queen of Portugal.”

“Don Enriquez is my brother, Beatriz; and thine and
my royal master.”

“Ah! bravely did you tell them all,” continued Beatriz
de Bobadilla, with sparkling eyes, and a feeling of exultation
that caused her to overlook the quiet rebuke of her
mistress; “and worthy was it of a princess of the royal
house of Castile! `The Infantas of Castile,' you said,
`could not be disposed of, in marriage, without the consent

of the nobles of the realm;' and with that fit reply they
were glad to be content.”

“And yet, Beatriz, am I about to dispose of an Infanta
of Castile, without even consulting its nobles.”

“Say not that, my excellent mistress. There is not a
loyal and gallant cavalier between the Pyrenees and the
sea, who will not, in his heart, approve of your choice.
The character, and age, and other qualities of the suitor,
make a sensible difference in these concerns. But unfit as
Don Alfonso of Portugal was, and is, to be the wedded
husband of Doña Isabella of Castile, what shall we say to
the next suitor who appeared as a pretender to your royal
hand — Don Pedro Giron, the Master of Calatrava? truly
a most worthy lord for a maiden of the royal house! Out
upon him! A Pacheco might think himself full honourably
mated, could he have found a damsel of Bobadilla to
elevate his race!”

“That ill-assorted union was imposed upon my brother
by unworthy favourites; and God, in his holy providence,
saw fit to defeat their wishes, by hurrying their intended
bridegroom to an unexpected grave!”

“Ay! had it not pleased his blessed will, so to dispose
of Don Pedro, other means would not have been wanting!”

“This little hand of thine, Beatriz,” returned the princess,
gravely, though she smiled affectionately on her friend
as she took the hand in question, “was not made for the
deed its owner menaced.”

“That which its owner menaced,” replied Beatriz, with
eyes flashing fire, “this hand would have executed, before
Isabella of Castile should be the doomed bride of the Grand
Master of Calatrava. What! was the purest, loveliest,
virgin of Castile, and she of royal birth—nay, the rightful
heiress of the crown—to be sacrificed to a lawless libertine,
because it had pleased Don Henry to forget his station and
duties, and make a favourite of a craven miscreant!”

“Thou always forgettest, Beatriz, that Don Enriquez is
our Lord the King, and my royal brother.”

“I do not forget, Señora, that you are the royal sister of
our Lord the King, and that Pedro de Giron, or Pachecho,
whichever it might suit the ancient Portuguese page to style
him, was altogether unworthy to sit in your presence, much

less to become your wedded husband. Oh! what days of
anguish were those, my gracious lady, when your knees
ached with bending in prayer, that this might not be! But
God would not permit it — neither would I! That dagger
should have pierced his heart, before ear of his should
have heard the vows of Isabella of Castile!”

“Speak no more of this, good Beatriz, I pray thee,” said
the princess, shuddering, and crossing herself: “they were,
in sooth, days of anguish; but what were they in comparison
with the passion of the Son of God, who gave himself
a sacrifice for our sins! Name it not, then; it was
good for my soul to be thus tried; and thou knowest that
the evil was turned from me — more, I doubt not, by the
efficacy of our prayers, than by that of thy dagger. If thou wilt speak of my suitors, surely there are others better
worthy of the trouble.”

A light gleamed about the dark eye of Beatriz, and a
smile struggled towards her pretty mouth; for well did she
understand that the royal, but bashful maiden, would
gladly hear something of him on whom her choice had
finally fallen. Although ever disposed to do that which
was grateful to her mistress, with a woman's coquetry, Beatriz
determined to approach the more pleasing part of the
subject coyly, and by a regular gradation of events, in the
order in which they had actually occurred.

“Then, there was Monsieur de Guienne, the brother of
King Louis of France,” she resumed, affecting contempt in
her manner; “he would fain become the husband of the
future Queen of Castile! But even our most unworthy
Castilians soon saw the unfitness of that union. Their
pride was unwilling to run the chance of becoming a fief
of France.”

“That misfortune could never have befallen our beloved
Castile,” interrupted Isabella with dignity: “Had I espoused
the King of France himself, he would have learned to respect
me as the Queen Proprietor of this ancient realm, and
not have looked upon me as a subject.”

“Then, Señora,” continued Beatriz, looking up into Isabella's
face, and laughing — “was your own royal kinsman,
Don Ricardo of Gloucester; he that they say was
born with teeth, and who carries already a burthen so

heavy on his back, that he may well thank his patron saint
that he is not also to be loaded with the affairs of Castile.” [1]

“Thy tongue runneth riot, Beatriz. They tell me that
Don Ricardo is a noble and aspiring prince, and that he is,
one day, likely to wed some princess, whose merit may
well console him for his failure in Castile. But what more
hast thou to offer concerning my suitors?”

“Nay, what more can I say, my beloved mistress? We
have now reached Don Fernando, literally the first, as he
proveth to be the last, and, as we know him to be, the best
of them all.”

“I think I have been guided by the motives that become
my birth and future hopes, in choosing Don Ferdinand,”
said Isabella, meekly, though she was uneasy in spite of
her royal views of matrimony;—“since nothing can so
much tend to the peace of our dear kingdom, and to the
success of the great cause of Christianity, as to unite Castile
and Aragon under one crown.”

“By uniting their sovereigns in holy wedlock,” returned
Beatriz, with respectful gravity, though a smile again struggled
around her pouting lips. “What if Don Fernando is
the most youthful, the handsomest, the most valiant and
the most agreeable prince in Christendom, it is no fault of
yours, since you did not make him, but have only accepted
him for a husband!”

“Nay, this exceedeth discretion and respect, my good
Beatriz,” returned Isabella, affecting to frown, even while
she blushed deeply at her own emotions, and looked gratified
at the praises of her betrothed. “Thou knowest that I
have never beheld my cousin, the King of Sicily.”

“Very true, Señora; but Father Alonso de Coca hath —
and a surer eye, or truer tongue than his, do not exist in
Castile.”

“Beatriz, I pardon thy license, however unjust and unseemly,
because I know thou lovest me, and lookest rather
at mine own happiness, than at that of my people,” said

the princess, the effect of whose gravity now was not diminished
by any betrayal of natural feminine weakness—
for she felt slightly offended. “Thou knowest, or ought'st
to know, that a maiden of royal birth is bound principally
to consult the interests of the state, in bestowing her hand,
and that the idle fancies of village girls have little in common
with her duties. Nay, what virgin of noble extraction
like thyself, even, would dream of aught else than of submitting
to the counsel of her family, in taking a husband?
If I have selected Don Fernando of Aragon, from among
many princes, it is doubtless because the alliance is more
suited to the interests of Castile, than any other that hath
offered. Thou seest, Beatriz, that the Castilians and the
Aragonese spring from the same source, and have the same
habits and prejudices. They speak the same language”—

“Nay, dearest lady, do not confound the pure Castilian
with the dialect of the mountains!”

“Well, have thy fling, wayward one, if thou wilt; but
we can easier teach the nobles of Aragon our purer Spanish,
than we can teach it to the Gaul. Then, Don Fernando
is of my own race; the House of Trastamara cometh
of Castile and her monarchs, and we may at least hope
that the King of Sicily will be able to make himself understood.”

“If he could not, he were no true knight! The man
whose tongue should fail him, when the stake was a royal
maiden of a beauty surpassing that of the dawn — of an
excellence that already touches on heaven—of a crown”—

“Girl—girl—thy tongue is getting the mastery of thee
—such discourse ill befitteth thee and me.”

“And yet, Doña Ysabel, my tongue is close bound to my
heart.”

“I do believe thee, my good Beatriz; but we should bethink
us both, of our last shrivings, and of the ghostly counsel
that we then received. Such flattering discourse seemeth
light, when we remember our manifold transgressions,
and our many occasions for forgiveness. As for this marriage,
I would have thee think that it has been contracted
on my part, with the considerations and motives of a princess,
and not through any light indulgence of my fancies.

Thou knowest that I have never beheld Don Fernando, and
that he hath never even looked upon me.”

“Assuredly, dearest lady and honoured mistress, all this
I know, and see, and believe; and I also agree that it were
unseemly, and little befitting her birth, for even a noble
maiden to contract the all-important obligations of marriage,
with no better motive than the light impulses of a
country wench. Nothing is more just than that we are
alike bound to consult our own dignity, and the wishes of
kinsmen and friends; and that our duty, and the habits of
piety and submission in which we have been reared, are
better pledges for our connubial affection, than any caprices
of a girlish imagination. Still, my honoured lady, it is most
fortunate that your high obligations point to one as youthful,
brave, noble and chivalrous, as is the King of Sicily,
as we well know, by Father Alonso's representations, to be
the fact; and that all my friends unite in saying that Don
Andres de Cabrera, madcap and silly as he is, will make an
exceedingly excellent husband for Beatriz de Bobadilla!”

Isabella, habitually dignified and reserved as she was,
had her confidants and her moments for unbending; and
Beatriz was the principal among the former, while the present
instant was one of the latter. She smiled, therefore,
at this sally; and parting, with her own fair hand, the dark
locks on the brow of her friend, she regarded her much as
the mother regards her child, when sudden passages of tenderness
come over the heart.

“If madcap should wed madcap, thy friends, at least,
have judged rightly,” answered the princess. Then, pausing
an instant, as if in deep thought, she continued, in a
graver manner, though modesty shone in her tell-tale complexion,
and the sensibility that beamed in her eyes betrayed
that she now felt more as a woman than as a future
queen bent only on the happiness of her people: “As this
interview draweth near, I suffer an embarrassment I had
not thought it easy to inflict on an Infanta of Castile. To
thee, my faithful Beatriz, I will acknowledge, that were the
King of Sicily as old as Don Alfonso of Portugal, or were
he as effeminate and unmanly as Monsieur of Guienne;
were he, in sooth, less engaging and young, I should feel

less embarrassment in meeting him, than I now experience.”

“This is passing strange, Señora! Now, I will confess
that I would not willingly abate in Don Andres, one hour
of his life, which has been sufficiently long as it is; one
grace of his person, if indeed the honest cavalier hath
any to boast of; or one single perfection of either body or
mind.”

“Thy case is not mine, Beatriz. Thou knowest the
Marquis of Moya; hast listened to his discourse, and art
accustomed to his praises and his admiration.”

“Holy St. Iago of Spain! Do not distrust any thing,
Señora, on account of unfamiliarity with such matters —
for, of all learning, it is easiest to learn to relish praise and
admiration!”

“True, daughter”—(for so Isabella often termed her
friend, though her junior: in later life, and after the princess
had become a queen, this, indeed, was her usual term
of endearment)—“true, daughter, when praise and admiration
are freely given and fairly merited. But I distrust,
myself, my claims to be thus viewed, and the feelings with
which Don Fernando may first behold me. I know—nay,
I feel him to be graceful, and noble, and valiant, and generous,
and good; comely to the eye, and strict of duty to
our holy religion; as illustrious in qualities, as in birth;
and I tremble to think of my own unsuitableness to be his
bride and queen.”

“God's Justice! — I should like to meet the impudent
Aragonese noble, that would dare to hint as much as this!
If Don Fernando is noble, are you not nobler, Señora, as
coming of the senior branch of the same house; if he is
young, are you not equally so; if he is wise, are you not
wiser; if he is comely, are you not more of an angel than
a woman; if he is valiant, are you not virtuous; if he is
graceful, are you not grace itself; if he is generous, are
you not good, and, what is more, are you not the very soul
of generosity; if he is strict of duty in matters of our holy
religion, are you not an angel?”

“Good sooth — good sooth — Beatriz, thou art a comforter!
I could reprove thee for this idle tongue, but
know thee honest.”

“This is no more than that deep modesty, honoured mistress,
which ever maketh you quicker to see the merits of
others, than to perceive your own. Let Don Fernando
look to it! Though he come in all the pomp and glory of
his many crowns, I warrant you we find him a royal
maiden in Castile, who shall abash him and rebuke his
vanity, even while she appears before him in the sweet
guise of her own meek nature!”

“I have said naught of Don Fernando's vanity, Beatriz
— nor do I esteem him in the least inclined to so weak a
feeling; and as for pomp, we well know that gold no more
abounds at Zaragosa than at Valladolid, albeit he hath
many crowns, in possession, and in reserve. Notwithstanding
all thy foolish but friendly tongue hath uttered, I distrust
myself, and not the King of Sicily. Methinks I could
meet any other prince in Christendom with indifference —
or, at least, as becometh my rank and sex; but I confess,
I tremble at the thought of encountering the eyes and
opinions of my noble cousin.”

Beatriz listened with interest; and when her royal mistress
ceased speaking, she kissed her hand affectionately,
and then pressed it to her heart.

“Let Don Fernando tremble, rather, Señora, at encountering
yours,” she answered.

“Nay, Beatriz, we know that he hath nothing to dread,
for report speaketh but too favourably of him. But, why
linger here in doubt and apprehension, when the staff on
which it is my duty to lean, is ready to receive its burthen:
Father Alonso doubtless waiteth for us, and we will now
join him.”

The princess and her friend now repaired to the chapel
of the palace, where her confessor celebrated the daily
mass. The self-distrust which disturbed the feelings of the
modest Isabella was appeased by the holy rites, or rather
it took refuge on that Rock where she was accustomed to
place all her troubles, with her sins. As the little assemblage
left the chapel, one, hot with haste, arrived with the
expected, but still doubted tidings, that the King of Sicily
had reached Dueñas in safety, and that, as he was now in
the very centre of his supporters, there could no longer be

any reasonable distrust of the speedy celebration of the
contemplated marriage.

Isabella was much overcome with this news, and required
more than usual of the care of Beatriz de Bobadilla,
to restore her to that sweet serenity of mind and air, which
ordinarily rendered her presence as attractive as it was
commanding. An hour or two spent in meditation and
prayer, however, finally produced a gentle calm in her feelings,
and these two friends were again alone, in the very
apartment where we first introduced them to the reader.

“Hast thou seen Don Andres de Cabrera?” demanded
the princess, taking a hand from a brow which had been
often pressed in a sort of bewildered recollection.

Beatriz de Bobadilla blushed—and then she laughed outright,
with a freedom that the long-established affection of
her mistress did not rebuke.

“For a youth of thirty, and a cavalier well hacked in
the wars of the Moors, Don Andres hath a nimble foot,”
she answered. “He brought hither the tidings of the arrival;
and with it he brought his own delightful person, to
show it was no lie. For one so experienced, he hath a
strong propensity to talk; and so, in sooth, whilst you, my
honoured mistress, would be in your closet alone, I could
but listen to all the marvels of the journey. It seems, Senora,
that they did not reach Dueñas any too soon; for the
only purse among them was mislaid, or blown away by the
wind on account of its lightness.”

“I trust this accident hath been repaired. Few of the
house of Trastamara have much gold at this trying moment,
and yet none are wont to be entirely without it.”

“Don Andres is neither beggar nor miser. He is now
in our Castile, where I doubt not he is familiar with the
Jews and money-lenders; as these last must know the
full value of his lands, the King of Sicily will not want.
I hear, too, that the Count of Treviño hath conducted nobly
with him.”

“It shall be well for the Count of Treviño that he hath
had this liberality. But, Beatriz, bring forth the writing
materials; it is meet that I, at once, acquaint Don Enriquez
with this event, and with my purpose of marriage.”

“Nay, dearest mistress, this is out of all rule. When a

maiden, gentle or simple, intendeth marriage against her
kinsmen's wishes, it is the way to wed first, and to write
the letter and ask the blessing when the evil is done.”

“Go to, light-of-speech! Thou hast spoken; now bring
the pens and paper. The king is not only my lord and
sovereign, but he is my nearest of kin, and should be my
father.”

“And Doña Joanna of Portugal, his royal consort, and
our illustrious queen, should be your mother; and a fitting
guide would she be to any modest virgin! No — no —
my beloved mistress; your royal mother was the Doña
Isabella of Portugal — and a very different princess was
she from this, her wanton niece.”

“Thou givest thyself too much license, Doña Beatriz,
and forgettest my request. I desire to write to my brother
the king.”

It was so seldom that Isabella spoke sternly, that her
friend started, and the tears rushed to her eyes at this rebuke;
but she procured the writing materials, before she
presumed to look into Isabella's face, in order to ascertain
if she were really angered. There all was beautiful serenity
again; and the Lady of Bobadilla, perceiving that
her mistress's mind was altogether occupied with the matter
before her, and that she had already forgotten her displeasure,
chose to make no further allusion to the subject.

Isabella now wrote her celebrated letter, in which she
appeared to forget all her natural timidity, and to speak
solely as a princess. By the treaty of Toros de Guisando,
in which, setting aside the claims of Joanna of Portugal's
daughter, she had been recognized as the heiress of the
throne, it had been stipulated that she should not marry
without the king's consent; and she now apologized for the
step she was about to take, on the substantial plea that her
enemies had disregarded the solemn compact entered into
not to urge her into any union that was unsuitable or disagreeable
to herself. She then alluded to the political advantages
that would follow the union of the crowns of
Castile and Aragon, and solicited the king's approbation
of the step she was about to take. This letter, after having
been submitted to John de Vivero, and others of her council,
was dispatched by a special messenger — after which

act the arrangements necessary as preliminaries to a meeting
between the betrothed were entered into. Castilian etiquette
was proverbial, even in that age; and the discussion
led to a proposal that Isabella rejected with her usual modesty
and discretion.

“It seemeth to me,” said John de Vivero, “that this alliance
should not take place without some admission, on the
part of Don Fernando, of the inferiority of Aragon to our
own Castile. The House of the latter kingdom is but a
junior branch of the reigning House of Castile, and the
former territory of old was admitted to have a dependency
on the latter.”

This proposition was much applauded, until the beautiful
and natural sentiments of the princess, herself, interposed
to expose its weakness and its deformities.

“It is doubtless true,” she said, “that Don Juan of Aragon
is the son of the younger brother of my royal grandfather;
but he is none the less a king. Nay, besides his
crown of Aragon, a country, if thou wilt, which is inferior
to Castile, he hath those of Naples and Sicily; not to
speak of Navarre, over which he ruleth, although it may
not be with too much right. Don Fernando even weareth
the crown of Sicily, by the renunciation of Don Juan; and
shall he, a crowned sovereign, make concessions to one
who is barely a princess, and whom it may never please
God to conduct to a throne? Moreover, Don John of Vivero,
I beseech thee to remember the errand that bringeth
the King of Sicily to Valladolid. Both he and I have two
parts to perform, and two characters to maintain—those of
prince and princess, and those of Christians wedded and
bound by holy marriage ties. It would ill become one that
is about to take on herself the duties and obligations of a
wife, to begin the intercourse with exactions that should be
humiliating to the pride and self-respect of her lord. Aragon
may truly be an inferior realm to Castile — but Ferdinand
of Aragon is even now every way the equal of
Isabella of Castile; and when he shall receive my vows,
and, with them, my duty and my affections”—Isabella's
colour deepened, and her mild eye lighted with a sort of
holy enthusiasm—“as befitteth a woman, though an infidel,
he would become, in some particulars, my superior.

Let me, then, hear no more of this; for it could not nearly
as much pain Don Fernando to make the concessions ye
require, as it paineth me to hear of them.”