Ah! what joy, if she had not
looked back to the Andes, to their dreadful summits, and their more
dreadful feet. Ah! what sorrow, if she had not been forced by music,
and endless banners, and triumphant clamors, to turn away from the
Andes to the joyous shore which she approached!
Upon this shore stood, ready to receive her, in front of all this
mighty crowd, the Prime Minister of Spain, the same Conde Olivarez, who
but one year before had been so haughty and so defying to our haughty
and defying Duke of Buckingham. But a year ago the Prince of Wales was
in Spain, and he also was welcomed with triumph and great joy, but not
with the hundredth part of that enthusiasm which now met the returning
nun. And Olivarez, that had spoken so roughly to the English Duke, to
_her_ 'was sweet as summer.' [Footnote: Griffith in Shakspeare,
when vindicating, in that immortal scene with Queen Catherine, Cardinal
Wolsey.] Through endless crowds of festive compatriots he conducted her
to the King. The King folded her in his arms, and could never be
satisfied with listening to her. He sent for her continually to his
presence--he delighted in her conversation, so new, so natural, so
spirited--he settled a pension upon her at that time, of unprecedented
amount, in the case of a subaltern officer; and by _his_ desire,
because the year 1625 was a year of jubilee, she departed in a few
months from Madrid to Rome.
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