Daughters of Spain

Chapter XVI JUANA THE MAD

Isabella had hoped that when the child was born Juana would cease to fret for Philip and turn her interest to the baby. This was not so. Juana did not change. She scarcely looked at the child. Her one desire was to rejoin Philip.

‘You are not strong enough,’ said her mother. ‘We could never allow you to make the long journey in your present condition.’

‘What is he doing while I am not there?’ demanded Juana.

‘Much the same as he would do if you were there, I doubt not,’ replied Isabella grimly.

‘I must go,’ cried Juana.

‘Your father and I will not allow it until you are stronger.’

So Juana sank once more into melancholy. Sometimes for whole days she said nothing. At other times she could be heard shouting her resentment in her apartments.

Isabella gave instructions that she must be watched.

‘She so longs to rejoin her husband,’ she explained, ‘that she may attempt to leave. The King and I are determined that she must be fully recovered before she does so.’

A month after the birth of little Ferdinand, Philip in Lyons had made the treaty between the Kings of Spain and France; but it was clear that it meant very little and, as the armies moved in to take possession of their portions of the divided Kingdom of Naples, it became obvious that conflict was close.

It broke out later that year; and the minds of the Sovereigns were concentrated on the new war.

Isabella however contrived to spend as much time as possible with Juana. She was growing increasingly afraid of leaving her, for since the departure of Philip Juana’s affliction was becoming more and more apparent. Now it was no use pretending that she was normal. The Court was aware of her mental instability; in a very short time the rumours would be spreading throughout the country.

Juana had written many pleading letters to her husband. ‘They will not let me come to you,’ she told him. ‘It is for you to bid me come. Then they cannot stand in my way.’

It was on a November day when she received the letter from Philip. It was ungracious, but it was nevertheless an invitation to return to Flanders. If she thought it worth while making a sea journey at this time; or if she was ready to come through France, a country which was hostile to Spain, why should she not do so?

Juana read the letter and kissed it. Philip’s hand had touched the paper. That made it sacred in her mind.

She threw off her melancholy.

‘I am leaving,’ she cried. ‘I am leaving at once for Flanders.’

Her attendants, terrified of what she would do, sent word to the Queen of her new mood.

The Court was then in residence at Medina del Campo, and Isabella had insisted that Juana follow the Court that she herself might be near her daughter whenever possible. Shortly she must leave for Segovia, and when she heard this news she was thankful that she had not already left.

She went at once to Juana’s apartments and found her daughter with her hair loose about her shoulders and her eyes wild.

‘What has happened, my child?’ asked the Queen gently.

‘Philip has sent for me. He commands me to go.’ Holy Mother, prayed the Queen, does he then wish to rid himself of her? To suggest she should go at this time of the year, with the weather at sea as it is! And how could she travel through France at such a time?

‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘he does not mean now. He means that when the spring comes you must go to him.’

‘He says now.’

‘But you could not go in this inclement weather. You would probably be shipwrecked.’

‘I could go across France.’

‘Who knows what would happen to you? We are at war with France.’

‘The King is Philip’s friend. He would not harm Philip’s wife.’

‘He would not forget that you are your father’s daughter.’

Juana twisted a strand of her long hair and pulled it hard in her vehemence. ‘I will go. I will go.’

‘No, my darling. Be calm. Let your mother decide.’

‘You are against me,’ cried Juana. ‘You are all against me. It is because you are jealous, it is because I am married to the handsomest man in the world.’

‘My dearest, I pray you be silent. Do not say such things. You do not mean them. Oh, my Juana, I know you do not mean them. You are overwrought. Let me help you to your bed.’

‘Not to bed. To Flanders!’

‘In the spring, my dear, you shall go.’

‘Now!’ screamed Juana, her eyes dilating. ‘Now!’

‘Then wait here awhile.’

‘You will help me?’

‘I would always help you. You know that.’

Juana suddenly flung herself into her mother’s arms. ‘Oh Mother, Mother, I love him so much. I want him so much. You, who are so cold … so correct … how can you understand what he is to me?’

‘I understand,’ said the Queen. She led her daughter to her bed. ‘You must rest tonight. You could not set off on a journey tonight, could you?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘We will see. But tonight you must rest.’

Juana allowed herself to be led to her bed. She was murmuring to herself: ‘Tomorrow I will go to him. Tomorrow …’

Isabella laid the coverlet over her daughter.

‘Where are you going?’ demanded Juana.

‘To order a soothing drink for you.’

‘Tomorrow,’ whispered Juana.

Isabella went to the door of the apartment and commanded that her physician be brought to her.

When he came she said: ‘A sleeping draught for my daughter.’

The physician brought it and Juana drank it eagerly.

She longed for sleep. She was exhausted with her longing, and sleep would bring tomorrow nearer.

Isabella sat by the bed until she slept.

It has come at last, she told herself. I can no longer hide the truth. Everyone will know. I must have a guard set over her. This is the first step to Arevalo.

Her face was pale, almost expressionless. The greatest blow of all had fallen She was surprised that she could accept it with such resignation.

It was past midday when Juana awoke from her drugged sleep.

She immediately remembered the letter which she had received from Philip.

‘I am going home to Flanders,’ she said aloud. ‘It is today that I go.’

She made to rise, but a feeling of great lassitude came over her and she lay back on her pillows contemplating, not the journey to Flanders, but the end of it, the reunion with Philip.

The thought was so intoxicating that she threw off her lassitude and leaped out of bed.

She shouted to her attendants: ‘Come! Help me to dress. Dress me for a journey. I am leaving today.’

The women came in. They looked different, a little furtive perhaps. She noticed this and wondered why.

‘Come along,’ she ordered. ‘Be quick. We are leaving today. You have much to do.’

‘Highness, the Queen’s orders were that you were to rest in your apartment today.’

‘How can I do that when I have a journey to make?’

‘The Queen’s instructions were …’

‘I do not obey the Queen’s instructions when my husband bids me go to him.’

‘Highness, the weather is bad.’

‘It will take more than weather to keep me from him. Where is the Queen?’

‘She left for Segovia, and she has given all here these instructions: We are to look after you until her return, and then she will talk with you about your journey.’

‘When does she return?’

‘She said that we were to tell you that as soon as her State duties were done at Segovia she would be with you.’

‘And she expects me to wait until she returns?’

Juana was pulling at the stuff of the robe which she had wrapped about her when she rose from her bed.

‘We fear, Highness, that there is no alternative. Instructions have been given to all.’

Juana was silent. A cunning look came into her eyes, but she composed herself and she noticed that the attendants showed an immense relief.

‘I will speak with the Queen on her return,’ she said. ‘Come, help me to dress and do my hair.’

She was quiet while they did this; she ate a little food; then she took her seat at the window, and for hours she looked out on the scene below.

By that time the melancholy mood had returned to her.

It was night. Juana woke suddenly and there were tears on her cheeks.

Why was she crying? For Philip. They were keeping her from Philip when he had asked her to return. They made excuses to keep her here. Her mother was still in Segovia. She did not hurry to Medina del Campo because she knew that when she did come she must make arrangements for her daughter’s departure.

It was a plot, a wicked, cruel plot to keep her from Philip. They were all jealous because she had married the most handsome man in the world.

She sat up in bed. There was pale moonlight in the room. She got out of bed. She could hear the even breathing of her attendants in the adjoining room.

‘I must not wake them,’ she whispered. ‘If I do they will stop me.’

Stop her? From doing what?

She laughed inwardly. She was not going to wait any longer. She was going … now.

There was no time to waste. There was no time to dress. She put a robe about her naked body and, her feet still bare, she crept from the room.

No one heard her. Down the great staircase … out to the hall.

One of the guards at the door gasped as though he saw a ghost, and indeed she looked strange enough to be one, with her hair flowing wildly about her shoulders and the robe flapping about her naked body.

‘Holy Mother …’ gasped the guard.

She ran past him.

‘Who is it?’ he demanded.

‘It is I,’ she answered. ‘Your Sovereign’s daughter.’

‘It is indeed. It is the Lady Juana herself. Your Highness, my lady, what do you here? And garbed thus! You will die of the cold. It is a bitter night.’

She laughed at him. ‘Back to your post,’ she commanded. ‘Leave me to my duty. I am on my way to Flanders.’

The frightened guard shouted to his sleeping companions, and in a few seconds he was joined by half a dozen of them.

They saw the flying figure of their heiress to the throne running across the grounds towards the gates.

‘They’re locked,’ said one of the men. ‘She’ll not get any farther.’

‘Raise the alarm,’ said one. ‘My God, she’s as mad as her grandmother.’

Juana stood facing them, her back against the buttress, her head held high in defiance.

‘Open the gates,’ she screamed at the Bishop of Burgos who had been brought hurrying from his apartments in the Palace to deal with this situation.

‘Highness,’ he told her, ‘it is impossible. The Queen’s orders are that they shall not be opened.’

‘I give you orders,’ shouted Juana.

‘Highness, I must obey the orders of my Sovereign. Allow me to call your attendants that they may help you back to your bed.’

‘I am not going back to my bed. I am going to Flanders.’

‘Later, Your Highness. For tonight …’

‘No, no,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll not go back. Open the gates and let me be on my way.’

The Bishop turned to one of the men and said: ‘Go to Her Highness’s apartments and get her women to bring warm clothes.’

The man went away.

‘What are you whispering?’ cried Juana. ‘You are jealous of me … all of you. That is why you keep me here. Open those gates or I will have you flogged.’

One of her women now approached.

‘Highness,’ she wailed, ‘you will die of the cold if you stay here. I pray you come back to bed.’

‘You want to stop me, do you not? You want to keep me away from him. Do not think I cannot understand. I saw your lascivious eyes upon him.’

‘Highness, please, Highness,’ begged the woman.

Another woman arrived with some warm clothing. She tried to slip a heavy cloak about Juana’s shoulders. Juana seized it and with a wild cry threw it at them.

‘I’ll have you all flogged,’ she cried. ‘All of you. You have tried to keep me from him.’

‘Come inside the Palace, Highness,’ implored the Bishop. ‘We will send immediately for the Queen, and you can discuss your departure with her.’

But Juana’s mood had again changed. She sat down and stared ahead of her as though she did not see them. To all their entreaties she made no reply.

The Bishop was uncertain what to do. He could not command Juana to return to her apartments, yet feared for her health and even her life, if she remained out of doors during this bitter night.

He went into the Palace and sent for one of his servants.

‘Leave at once for Segovia. You cannot go by the main gates. You will be quietly conducted through a secret door. Then with all haste go to the Queen. Tell her what has happened … everything you have seen. Ask her for instructions as to how I shall proceed. Go quickly. There is not a moment to lose.’

All through that night Juana remained at the gates of the Palace. The Bishop pleaded with her, even so far forgot her rank as to storm at her. She took no notice of him and at times seemed unaware of him.

The distance between Medina del Campo and Segovia was some forty miles. He could not expect the Queen to arrive that day, nor perhaps the next. He believed that if Juana spent another night in the open, inadequately clothed, she would freeze to death.

All through the next day she refused to move but, as night fell again, he persuaded her to go into a small dwelling on the estate, a hut-like place in which it would be impossible for them to imprison her. There she might have some shelter against the bitter cold.

This Juana eventually agreed to do, and the second night she stayed there; but as soon as it was light she took her place at the gates once more.

When the news of what was happening was brought to Isabella she was overcome with grief. Since her arrival at Segovia she had been feeling very ill; the war, her many duties, the disappointment about Catalina and the persistently nagging fear for Juana were taking their toll of her.

She would return to Medina at once, but she feared that feeble as she was she would be unable to make enough speed.

She called Ximenes to her and, because she feared his sternness towards her daughter, she sent also for Ferdinand’s cousin Henriquez.

‘I want you to ride with all speed to Medina del Campo,’ she said. ‘I shall follow, but necessarily more slowly. My daughter is behaving … strangely.’

She explained what was happening, and within an hour of leaving her the two set off, while Isabella herself made preparations to depart.

When Ximenes and Henriquez arrived at Medina, the Bishop received them with the utmost relief. He was frantic with anxiety, for Juana still remained, immobile, her features set in grim purpose, her feet and hands blue with cold, seated on the ground with her back against the buttress by the gate of the Palace.

When the gates were opened to admit Ximenes and Henriquez she tried to rise, but she was numb with the cold and the gates had been shut again before she could reach them.

Ximenes thundered at her; she must go to her apartments at once. It was most unseemly, most immodest for a Princess of the royal House to be seen wandering about half clad.

‘Go back to your University,’ she cried. ‘Go and get on with your polyglot Bible. Go and torture the poor people of Granada. But leave me alone.’

‘Your Highness, it would seem that all sense of decency has deserted you.’

‘Save your words for those who need them,’ she spat at him. ‘You have no right to torture me, Ximenes de Cisneros.’

Henriquez tried with softer words.

‘Dearest cousin, you are causing us distress. We are anxious on your account. You will become ill if you stay here thus.’

‘If you are so anxious about me, why do you stop my joining my husband?’

‘You are not stopped, Highness. You are only asked to wait until the weather is more suited to the long journey you must make.’

‘Leave me alone,’ she snarled.

Then she hung her head and stared at the ground, and would not answer them.

Ximenes was pondering whether he would not have her taken in by force, but it was not easy to find those who would be ready to carry out such instructions. This was the future Queen of Spain.

He shuddered when he thought of her. She was inflicting suffering on her body as he himself had so many times. But for what different purpose! He had mortified his flesh that he might grow to greater saintliness; she mortified hers out of defiance because she was denied the gratification of her lust.

Juana spent the next night in the hut, and again at daybreak she was at her post at the gates. And that morning Isabella arrived.

As soon as the Queen entered she went straight to her daughter. She did not scold her, or speak of her duty; she merely took Juana into her arms, and for the first time Isabella broke down. The tears ran down her cheeks as she embraced her daughter. Then, still weeping, she took off her heavy cloak and wrapped it about Juana’s cold form.

Then Juana seemed to forget her purpose. She gave a little cry and whispered: ‘Mother, oh my dear Mother.’

‘I am here now,’ said Isabella. ‘All is well. Mother is here.’

It was as though she were a child again. The years seemed to drop from her. She was the wild Juana who had been guilty of some mischief, who had been punished, and who was frightened and uncertain and wanted only the comfort and reassurance her mother could give.

‘We are going inside now,’ said the Queen. ‘Then you and I will talk. We will make plans and discuss all that you wish to discuss. But, my darling, you are so cold and you are so weak. You must do what your mother says. Then you will be strong and well enough to join your husband in Flanders. If you are sick you could not, could you? Nor would he want a sick wife.’

Isabella, with those few words, had been able to do what the fire of Ximenes, the persuasion of Henriquez and the entreaties of Burgos had failed to do.

Her arm about her daughter, the Queen led Juana into the Palace.

Now that the final blow had fallen on Isabella – that which she had dreaded for so long and which could now not be denied – her health gave way.

She was so ill that for days she could do nothing but keep to her bed. She was unable to make her journeys with Ferdinand, and this was indeed an anxious time for Spain, for the French were threatening invasion.

With the coming of the spring Juana left for Flanders. Isabella said a fond farewell to her daughter, certain that she would never see her again. She did not attempt to advise her, because any advice she gave would not be heeded.

Isabella was aware that her grip on life was no longer very strong.

Even as she embraced Juana she was telling herself that she must put her affairs in order.

Juana rode joyfully to the coast. The people cheered as she went. There were many in the country villages who did not know of her madness, and who believed that she had been cruelly kept a prisoner, separated from her husband.

As she went, smiling graciously, there was nothing of the mad woman about her. When she was peacefully happy, Juana appeared to be completely sane; and she was happy now because she was going to be with Philip.

There was a delay at Laredo before the sea journey could be attempted, and during that time Juana began to show signs of stress, but before her madness could take a grip of her she was at sea.

What joy it was to be in Brussels again. She was a little worried when Philip did not come to the coast to meet her. Those of her attendants who knew the signs of wildness watched her intently and waited.

In the Palace Philip greeted her casually as though they had not been separated for months. But if she were disappointed she was so delighted to be near him again that she did not show this.

He spent the first night of her arrival with her and she was ecstatically happy; but it was not long before she discovered that his attention was very much occupied elsewhere.

He had a new mistress, one on whom he doted, and it did not take Juana very long to discover who this was. There were many malicious tongues eagerly waiting for the opportunity to point the woman out to her.

When Juana saw her, waves of anger rose within her. This woman had the physique of a Juno. She was a typical Flemish beauty, big-hipped, big-breasted, with a fresh complexion, but the most startling thing about her was her wonderful golden hair; abundant, it fell curling about her shoulders to beyond her waist, and it was clear that she was so proud of it that she invariably wore it loose and was actually setting a new fashion at the Court.

For days Juana watched that woman, hatred growing within her. For nights when she lay alone hoping that Philip would come to her she thought of that woman and what she would do to her if she could lay her hands upon her.

Philip neglected her completely now and the frustration of being so near him and yet denied his company was as great as that of being a prisoner in Medina del Campo.

Philip had to leave Court for a few days, and to Juana’s great joy he did not take his golden-haired mistress with him.

With Philip away Juana could give her orders. She was his wife, the Princess of Spain, the Archduchess of Flanders. He could not take that away from her and give it to the long-haired wanton.

Juana was wild with excitement. She summoned her women to her, and demanded that her husband’s mistress be brought before her.

There she stood, insolent, knowing her power, fully realising Juana’s love and need of Philip; in her eyes was a look of pitying insolence as though she were remembering all that she enjoyed with Philip, which favours were denied to his wife.

Juana cried: ‘Have you brought the cords I asked for?’

And one of the women answered that she had.

‘Then send for the men,’ ordered Juana. And several of the men servants, who had been waiting for this summons, having been warned that it would come, entered the apartment.

Juana pointed to Philip’s mistress. ‘Bind her. Bind her, hand and foot.’

‘Do no such thing,’ cried the woman. ‘It will be the worse for you if you do.’

Juana in her frenzy assumed all the dignity which her mother had always been at great pains to teach her. ‘You will obey me!’ she said quietly. ‘I am the mistress here.’

The men looked at each other and, as the flaxen-haired beauty was about to run from the apartment, one of them caught her and held her fast. The others, following his lead, did as Juana had commanded, and in a few minutes the struggling woman was pinioned, and the stout cords wound about her body. Trussed, she lay at the feet of Juana, her great blue eyes wide with horror.

‘Now,’ said Juana, ‘send for the barber.’

‘What are you going to do?’ cried the woman.

‘You will see,’ Juana told her; and she felt the wild laughter shake her body; but she controlled it. If she were going to take her revenge she must be calm.

The barber entered, carrying the tools of his trade.

‘Place this woman on a chair,’ said Juana.

Again that wild laughter surged up within her. Often she had imagined what she would do with one of Philip’s women if she ever had one at her mercy. She had imagined torture, mutilation, even death for one of those who had caused her so much suffering.

But now she had a brilliant idea. This was going to be the best sort of revenge.

‘Cut off her hair,’ said Juana. ‘Shave her head.’

The woman screamed, while the barber stood aghast, staring at that rippling golden glory.

‘You heard what I said,’ screeched Juana. ‘Do as I say, or I will have you taken to prison. I will have you tortured. I will have you executed. Obey me at once.’

The barber muttered: ‘Yes, yes … Your Grace … yes, yes, my lady.’

‘She is mad, mad,’ screamed the frightened woman, who could imagine few greater tragedies than the loss of her beautiful hair.

But the barber was at work and there was little she could do about it. Juana commanded two of the other men to hold her still, and soon the beautiful locks lay scattered on the floor.

‘Now shave her head,’ cried Juana. ‘Let me see her completely bald.’

The barber obeyed.

Juana was choking with laughter. ‘How different she looks! I do not recognise her. Do you? She’s no beauty now. She looks like a chicken.’

The woman who had shrieked her protests in a manner almost as demented as Juana’s now lay gasping in her chair. She was clearly suffering from shock.

‘You may release her,’ said Juana. ‘You may take her away. Bring a mirror. Let her see how much she owed to those beautiful golden curls of which I have robbed her.’

As the woman was carried out, Juana gave way to paroxysms of laughter.

Philip strode into his wife’s apartments.

‘Philip!’ she cried and her eyes shone with delight.

He was looking at her coldly and she thought: So he went to her first; he has seen her.

Then a terrible fear came to her. He was angry, and not with his mistress for the loss of the beautiful hair which he had found so attractive, but with the one who had been responsible for cutting it off.

She stammered: ‘You have seen her?’ And in spite of herself, gurgling, choking laughter rose in her throat. ‘She … she looks like … a chicken.’

Philip took her by the shoulders and shook her. Yes, he had seen her. He had been thinking of her during the journey to Brussels, thinking with pleasure of the moment of reunion; and then to find her … hideous. That shaved head instead of those soft flaxen curls! He had found her repulsive and had not been able to hide it. He had seen the deep humiliation in her face and had but one desire – to get away from her.

She had said to him: ‘I was tied up, made helpless, and my hair was cut off, my head shaved. Your wife did it … your mad wife.’

Philip said: ‘It will grow.’ And he was thinking: My wife … my mad wife.

He had come straight to her and there was loathing within him.

She was mad. She was more repulsive to him than any woman he had ever known. She dared to do this while he was away. She believed she had some power in his Court. This was because her arrogant parents had reminded her that she was the heiress of Spain.

‘Philip,’ she cried, ‘I did it because she maddened me.’

‘You did not need her to madden you,’ he answered sharply. ‘You were mad already.’

‘Mad? No, Philip, no. Mad only with love for you. If you will be kind to me I will be calm always. It was only because I was jealous of her that I did this. Say you are not angry with me. Say you will not be cruel. Oh, Philip, she looked so queer … that head …’ The laughter bubbled up again.

‘Be silent!’ Philip said coldly.

‘Philip, do not look at me like that. I did it only because …’

‘I know why you did it. Take your hands off me. Never come near me again.’

‘You have forgotten. I am your wife. We must get children …’

He said: ‘We have children enough. Go away from me. I never want you near me again. You are mad. Have a care or I will put you away where you belong.’

She was pulling at his doublet, her face turned up to his, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

He threw her off and she fell to the floor as he walked quickly from the room.

Juana remained on the floor, sobbing; then suddenly she began to laugh again, remembering that grotesque shaven head.

None came near her. Outside the apartment her attendants whispered together.

‘Leave her. It is best when the madness is upon her. What will become of her? She grows more mad every day.’

And after a while Juana rose and went to her bed. She lay down and when her women came to her she said: ‘Prepare me for my bed. My husband will be coming to me soon.’

All through the night she waited; but he did not come. She waited through the days and nights that followed, but she did not see him.

She would sit waiting, a melancholy expression on her face; but occasionally she would burst into loud laughter; and each day someone in the Brussels Palace said: ‘She grows a little more insane each day.’