FERNANDO BOUZA ÁLVAREZ, “The Majesty of Philip IV: between painted and storied”

0436viso_036-049 Bouza#5.indd 360436viso_036-049 Bouza#5.indd 36 12/07/12 8:0712/07/12 8:07

The Majesty of Philip IV: Between Painted and Storied

FERNANDO BOUZA

UNIVERSIDAD COMPLUTENSE DE MADRID

The description of Diego Rodríguez de Silva y

Velázquez’s Philip IV (cat. 1) by the Junta de Iconografía

Nacional (Council on National Iconography), estab-

lished in 1906, is succinct and expressive: “The august

personage is shown standing, wearing a black suit, cape,

and ruff. His left hand rests atop a table with a red

tablecloth on the hilt of his sword; his right holds a

paper and hangs naturally.”1 Neither throne nor crown

nor scepter is visible—only a desk, a glimpse of sword,

and the paper in the hand that “hangs naturally” and

immediately catches the viewer’s eye (fi g. 14).

Velázquez’s composition is the consummate expres-

sion of the “subtle symbolism of royalty,”2 with the superb

absence of ornamentation that became a characteristic of

the Spanish majestic tradition. During Spain’s Siglo de

Oro, or Golden Age, writing and painting collaborated,

and sometimes competed, to capture, transmit, and con-

serve the memory of royal majesty. This concept, while

elusive, was nonetheless embodied by the physical reality

of the royal personage, lending coherence to political

communities and casting the monarch as a sort of living

emblem that confi rmed their existence as such.

Philip IV is unquestionably a magnifi cent example of

how the arts could represent the eminence of the king’s maj-

esty. We can more easily grasp this by studying the period’s

concept of majesty and the debate about how and by what

means it should be, and indeed was, transmitted to the

king’s subjects. By the fi rst third of the seventeenth century,

the means to do so were as varied as its uses were distinct.Detail of cat. 2


38

Figure 14 Detail of Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez’s Philip IV,

c. 1623–1628 (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid; cat. 1), showing

the paper in the hand of the king

MAJESTY: BETWEEN THE ROYAL BODY

AND THE SIMULACRA OF HIS GRANDEUR

Majesty is a quality that denotes relative superiority, as the

Latin maiestas refers to the condition of something that is

maior or mains. Over time, majesty came to be attributed

exclusively to monarchs and princes, or more specifi cally,

to their political person, according to categories that were

widespread in political culture during the early modern

age in Europe.3 The idea of majestic preeminence was

made visible through external signs, among them the

exclusive right to wear a crown or carry a scepter or other

symbol of superior power—regalia in Latin—as well as

the transformation of the monarch’s royal body into an

entity with traits that could be defi ned as superhuman.4

With an almost total absence of regalia in the

Castilian court, its theory of royal majesty emphasized

the absolute eminence of the royal body. For example,

José Laínez (1590–1667), an Augustian friar, affi rmed

that “the smell, gait, and elegance reveal even the most

demure Prince at night, with his colored robes and bea-

ver hat.”5 The sovereigns could not hide their own gran-

deur, even cloaked by darkness. The extraordinary con-

dition of their body was always revealed by circumstan-

tial details, such as their scent or their bearing, and

their demeanor toward others.

We can see just how deep-seated this idea was in

its association with even non-European royalty. When, for

example, Francisco Gutiérrez de los Ríos, Governor of

Cádiz (1644–1721), saw Oquere Osinu—an African

prince sold into slavery in 1688 who lived in Spain under

the name Francisco Rey de Mina—walking on the deck

of the Danish ship where he was to be cruelly auctioned

off, he immediately perceived “that air of superiority with

which we can believe God endowed Princes, even when

they are barbarians.”6 In 1623, Gaspar de Guzmán,

Count-Duke of Olivares (1587–1645), wrote to a corre-

spondent that Philip IV, King of Spain (r. 1621–1665),

had participated in Carnival festivities, where, despite his

mask, he revealed “the gallantry and brio that God gave

him, surpassing all others.”7 To be in the presence of a

king implied being in the presence of his majesty, as

reigning sovereigns were inseparable from this quality.

A monarch was at his height when he appeared

before and among his subjects, for that was the occasion

for a double political epiphany: that of the monarch,

and that of the monarchy. Not only was the majesty of a

prince reinforced when it was made visible, but like

plays or paintings, it had to take form among the royal’s

subjects in order to be complete. Beyond the obvious


FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 39

propagandistic function of a public appearance by royal

people, majesty was an element of sovereignty that

involved as much a monarch, who was seen or

addressed, as his subjects, who saw or addressed him.

According to various literary and doctrinal state-

ments, the direct presence of royal majesty provoked evi-

dent commotion, and a broad range of reactions—from

joy to embarrassment—that generally involved obeisance

and respect. In certain circumstances, the effects could

be truly disconcerting, reducing subjects to a state of stu-

pefaction and admiration that left them speechless and

momentarily unable to control themselves.

This kind of terribilità sparked by the direct sight of

majesty was sometimes invoked in judicial texts as

grounds for exoneration of defendants. Such was the case

in a suit brought against Philippe Charles d’Arenberg,

Duke of Aarschot (1587–1640), a Flemish aristocrat sen-

tenced to lengthy confi nement at court in Madrid after

being accused of participating with other noblemen from

the Low Countries in a conspiracy against Philip IV

in the 1630s. Seeking to justify the duke’s failure to reveal

the supposed conspiracy to the monarch, his attorney,

Diego de Altamirano, alleged that, besides his fear at dis-

covering that he was suspected of the crime of rebellion,

the mere presence of Philip IV had led him to such a state

of befuddlement that he momentarily lost his memory. He

had reached this state when he found himself “enclosed

and alone in the presence of the king, who examined him

with a paper in his hands.”8 As if this weren’t enough, the

defense enumerated previous examples of confusion

drawn from biblical, classical, and medieval sources, as

well as similar cases from the time of King Charles V

(r. 1516–1556) and, especially, King Philip II (r. 1556–

1598). In short, Altamirano emphasized the duke’s very

real befuddlement, notwithstanding the prosecutor’s argu-

ment that a gentilhombre de cámara (gentleman of the

chamber) like Aarschot had been around His Majesty fre-

quently, so that while such confusion might be justifi able

in others, it seemed unlikely in his case.

This testimony helps us understand a celebrated

episode from Diego Saavedra Fajardo’s (1584–1648)

República literaria (Literary Republic, 1670), in which he

pays homage to the extraordinary force of Velázquez’s art.

The Spanish thinker describes a passerby who pauses to

bow to a portrait of Philip IV. Not, of course, just any

portrait of the king, but one painted by Velázquez, who

was able to capture the monarch’s grandeur on the can-

vas “with such graceful movement and such an expres-

sion of his majestic and august features, that my respect

was inspired and I bent down, lowering my gaze.”9

Saavedra is obviously expressing an intense admi-

ration for the capacity of painting to imitate nature, but

he does not stop at this mention of the amazement pro-

duced by the skillful imitation of reality; he carries it as

far as the representation of a model. Looking at

Velázquez’s portrait of Philip IV is tantamount to seeing

the king himself—one is transported to his very pres-

ence, and to the consternation that this can cause.

Some narrations of royal sojourns insist on the

general contentment produced by the possibility of seeing

the monarch, as well as the fact that he was subject to a

continuous and universal observation. When, for

instance, Philip IV arrived in Seville in 1624, during his

travels around Andalusia, he saw all of the city and its

surroundings; he even visited the Roman ruins at Italica.

But all of Seville also came out to see him, from the

members of the Inquisition to the university, from judges

at the provincial court to friars from the principal monas-

teries to merchants from the Casa de Contratación

(House of Trade). The monarch even paused before the

royal jail, “where the prisoners took pleasure at his royal

presence” and, “to the cry of freedom, opened a large

birdcage they had with the initials of their prison.”10

Still, few subjects were ever able to gaze directly

upon the majesty of a king in a monarchy whose king-

doms spanned what were then the four known corners of

the world.11 On one hand, the establishment of a perma-

nent court in Madrid reduced the chances of seeing the

monarch in person, except during his major sojourns. On

the other, Burgundian etiquette imposed certain limits

on his visibility, even at court in Madrid, although his

attendance at various events such as ceremonies,


40

functions, and public celebrations in the city increased

the possibility of his being seen outside his palace, where

he was jealously guarded by doormen and guards. The

royal person’s reserve when attending mass behind a cur-

tain exemplifi es the partial occultation of his majesty.

Although he never stopped granting audiences, either

standing or verbally, a monarchy with such vast govern-

mental concerns required a predominance of written

communication, in the form of consultations and reports

to the king by individuals at his cabinet meetings.

While this had been the rule since the sixteenth

century, we cannot ignore the exceptions that favored

the royal person’s visibility. The privileged status of Oli-

vares between 1621 and 1643 represented a certain

reluctance in this regard.

Although the king did travel to Andalusia, Catalo-

nia, and Aragon during these years, he canceled sojourns

in Italy, Flanders, Catalonia, and Portugal. Financial dif-

fi culties and other circumstances hampered those visits,

but Olivares’s attitude is undeniable; he opposed, for

example, Philip IV’s personal desire to leave court to

lead a military expedition to Italian lands in 1629.12

The portrait of Philip IV from the 1620s (cat. 1)

and the portrait Velázquez painted in 1644, during the

Fraga campaign (The Frick Collection, New York),

refl ect two different models of how to regulate the econ-

omy of the royal person among his subjects. One pre-

cedes and the other follows Olivares’s loss of his privi-

leged status. The fact that his fall from grace would

change the image of the monarch did not go unnoticed

among observers at the time.

After Olivares’s exoneration from charges in Janu-

ary 1643, reports from the court were fi lled with informa-

tion about the extent of the changes there. A report writ-

ten by one Jerónimo de Torres in March 1643 describes

an amusing dialogue between His Majesty, “who is in a

very good mood,” and a page at the Casa de Campo in

Madrid. And on another occasion, the Day of the Angel,

when a small crowd fi lled the streets, a young man suc-

ceeded in passing a note to the king when he was at the

Puente de Segovia (Segovia Bridge) in Madrid. Philip IV

“leaned out of his carriage because the young man was

trying [to give the note to him] and couldn’t reach, so

[the king] held out his hand and took it.” After reading

the note’s endorsement, Philip “was very pleased and

stuck his head out of the coach to see who had given it

to him. Still able to see him, he clearly noted his address,

and the people were very pleased by this.”13

The monarch’s delight at chatting with a servant

or receiving a message from a subject as above was paral-

leled by the people’s joy, not only at Philip IV’s appearance

but also at his kind attentiveness in receiving a note from

one of them. Such gestures pointed to a recovery of the

harmonious majestic articulation between king and king-

dom considered appropriate for the Spanish monarchy.

Still, the theory of royal majesty counseled princ-

es to maintain a degree of reserve in keeping with their

gravitas. As Laínez put it, “Letting themselves be seen

too often makes them less respected,”14 because “scar-

city produces admiration, while conversation breeds dis-

dain.”15 Yet that same theory of majesty recognized the

need to fi nd formulas to allow an absent king to make

his presence felt among his subjects in order to increase

the respect and reverence they owed him.

It was said that “men . . . learn respect only

through their senses,”16 and so artists and writers were

among those called to furnish the means of representing

the prince’s majesty, transmitting their testimony of his

grandeur to all who contemplated or read the fruit of

their labors. Together, they could make the ideal and

irresistible maiestas palpable from a distance, for, in the

end, writing and painting were closely linked.

BETWEEN LETTERS AND FIGURES:

MAJESTY IN CHARACTERS

A consummate collector of painting, Philip IV was also

a translator and a serious reader. His magnifi cent library,

occupying the Torre Alta (High Tower) of Madrid’s Alcá-

zar palace, included an ebony bookstand “where his

majesty reads.” He also read in the palace’s lower



quarters, in a room with a window facing the Jardín de

la Priora (Prioress’s Garden), not far from his bedroom.17

That room where Philip IV retired to read—his retira-

dizo—was decorated with paintings, some of them of

extraordinary value, such as a series of the fi ve senses

by Jan Brueghel the Elder (1568–1625)18 and Charon

Crossing the River Styx (Museo Nacional del Prado,

Madrid) by Joachim Patinir (c. 1480/1485–1524).19

Over the years, the king spent time in those two

reading spaces. It was here that he translated, from the

Italian, Francesco Guicciardini’s (1483–1540) Storia

d’Italia (The History of Italy, 1537–1540) and Lodovico

Guicciardini’s (1521–1589) Descrittione di tutti i Paesi

Bassi (Description of All the Low Countries, 1567). The

latter actually mentions the author of the painting of

Charon that decorated the walls of the king’s retiradizo.

In his own handwriting, Philip IV called him “Joachin

de Patinier, of Bouvignes.”20 The handwritten drafts of

the royal translation are found at the Biblioteca Nacio-

nal de España in Madrid, along with an original tran-

scription attributed to Pedro Díaz Morante the Younger

(active 17th century), who was also responsible for the

meticulously traced calligraphic fi gures that adorn the

codex, among them a rider on a rearing horse that may

be a portrait of the monarch himself (fi g. 15).21

This evocation of Philip IV reading and writing

among his paintings, or depicted by the pen of a calligra-

pher, helps us imagine the symbiotic relationship

between literature and painting during the Siglo de Oro.

The particular theory of knowledge developed at the time

established an intimate connection between painting and

writing that extended beyond the narrative capacity rec-

ognizable in both. To combat the notion that usually

associated the visual with the oral, casting both as the

opposites of writing, some authors argued that the main

objective of both painting and writing was the handling of

characters—in one case, fi gures; in the other, letters.

This led to such successful rhetorical ideas as the

supposition that images could be read. The writer Juan

de Zabaleta (1610–1670) affi rmed that “portraits and

statues are stories in which one can quickly read the

excellence of those portrayed therein.” If they are the

work of great artists, they can be very easily read,

because that is “their clearest handwriting.” If, however,

they have been made by mediocre craftsmen, “one’s

eyes have to spell out each word, perceiving little and

soon tiring.”22 In that sense, writing a story or narrative

was like painting “the various events of life in a portrait.”

Such was a Portuguese censor’s judgment, in 1625, of a

work by the novelist and historian Gonzalo de Céspedes

y Meneses (1585–1638).23

Figure 15 Pedro Díaz Morante the Younger (Spanish, active 17th

century), Rearing Horse and Rider, 1636. Folio 324v of Lodovico

Guicciardini (Italian, 1521–1589), Descripción de Luis Guichardino

patricio fl orentín, de todos los Países Bajos, que por otro nombre se

llaman Alemania la Baja, trans. Philip IV (1636). Calligraphy; ink,

sheet: 13 7⁄8 x 9 7⁄8 in. (350 x 250 mm). Biblioteca Nacional

de España, Madrid


42

The materiality of the characters employed—fi g-

ures, letters—linked painting and writing. But they were

also united because their creators employed similar rhe-

torical means of imitating, substituting, and even “cor-

recting” or falsifying reality through ongoing Renais-

sance or Baroque reinterpretations of the classical

notion Ut pictura poesis—as is painting, so is poetry.

When representing the king’s majesty, however,

the expectations associated with distinct written genres,

especially history, and various areas of the visual arts,

were very often dissimilar. Sometimes, as demonstrated

by the retouched portraits exchanged during matrimo-

nial negotiations, there seemed to be a belief that paint-

ings were more capable of trickery or mistruth than sto-

ries were. And stories were considered more eloquent

and forceful.

In De regno et regis institutione (On the Kingdom

and Institution of the King, 1470s), Francesco Patrizi

(1413–1492) favored the idea that “stories by good

authors show the true images of man, so that anyone

who so desires can see them, anywhere in the world.”

Images, in contrast, “lack meaning,” and “faces are bare-

ly recognizable in them. They can be seen only by a few,

and in just one place.” Therefore, the Italian humanist

affi rmed, “those born to rule read stories frequently and

pay no heed to the images of their elders.”24

Still, we cannot ignore that in Philip IV’s time,

painting surpassed literature in the service of majestic

eminence. It is no mere truism that the monarch saw

Velázquez as, effectively, a reincarnation of the ancient

Greek painter Apelles, as Francisco Pacheco (1564–

1644) expressed in a sonnet he dedicated to Velázquez

after he depicted Philip IV on horseback.25 In that case,

the task of properly transmitting royal majesty was in

very good hands. But historiographic representations of

the king were less successful. To paraphrase an author

from that time, His Majesty was “very well depicted, but

I am not sure whether he is well storied.”26

An attentive observer will have noticed that the

grand series of history paintings hung in the Salón de

Reinos (Hall of Realms) at the Palacio del Buen Retiro

(Buen Retiro Palace) in Madrid constituted a degree of

splendor unequaled by historiographical writing of the

period. There were certainly numerous polemics, narra-

tives, and stories of particular events,27 but they bore far

less weight in the context of general histories.

The goals we now associate with history were also

partially shared by poetry at the time, especially panegy-

rics. A fi ne example is La astrea sáfi ca, written in 1640–

1641 by José Pellicer de Ossau y Tovar (1602–1679),

which “includes the greatest events of the most happy

reign [of Philip IV] through the year mdcxxxv.”28 Apart

from the handwritten Memorias of Matías de Novoa

(active c. 1620s), which were not published until 1878–

1886, the only general history of the kingdom from the

years when Olivares was at court could be considered

Céspedes’s Primera parte de la historia de D. Felipe

el IIII, rey de las Españas (First Part of the History of

Philip IV, King of the Spains), published in Lisbon

in 1631.29

Thirty years later, the monarch ordered Francisco

Ramos del Manzano (1604–1683) to write the history of

what were then his four decades of rule, “with sincere

intentions and truth, as is my sole desire.”30 As this was

an offi cial commission, Ramos was allowed access to

documentation in government archives and offi ces. But

the work was never published.

The same access to offi cial documentation had

previously been granted to a Bolognese nobleman, Vir-

gilio Malvezzi (c. 1595–1654). Although he was a veri-

table celebrity in the particular Republic of Letters of

the European Baroque,31 his arrival at the Spanish

court in 1636 produced only two noteworthy works,

printed in 1639 and 1640, respectively.32 The grand

project of a general history of Philip IV that had been

entrusted to him led only to the publication of a scant

dozen copies of his Historia de los principales sucesos

acontecidos a la monarquía de España en tiempo de Felipe

Quarto el Grande (History of the Principal Events That

Occurred in the Monarchy of Spain in the Time of

Philip IV the Great, c. 1639–1640), which covered only

the initial period of the 1620s.33



Between Malvezzi’s stay in Madrid (1636–1640)

and Ramos del Manzano’s commission (1661), interest in

obtaining an adequate historiographical presentation of

Philip IV’s reign was unabated. The intention of writing a

general history was abandoned, though, in favor of efforts

to obtain proper treatment of the monarch in widely read

works periodically written by Italian historiographers.

Among the authors who “write stories of these

times,” as a royal order of 1645 put it, contact was to be

made with Maiolino Bisaccioni (1582–1663), Luigi

Manzini (1604–1657), Galeazzo Gualdo Priorato

(1606–1678), and especially Vittorio Siri (1608–1685).34

Negotiations with Siri, who worked in French circles,

show just how diffi cult this operation could be, because

of the Italians’ demands for access to confi dential docu-

ments. It was much easier to send portraits to the Euro-

pean courts than to give copies of confi dential govern-

ment dispatches to historians.

Despite the relative condemnation of painting as

mere craft, brushes were useful enough that monarchs

and princes themselves sometimes wielded them, in a

practical rather than a fi gurative sense. In 1619, for

example, young Philip received a curious gift: “a small

box with painting supplies” and a stone for painting,

perhaps a piece of pietra venturina (goldstone), sent to

him from Naples by Pedro Téllez-Girón (1574–1624).35

The king’s father, Philip III (r. 1598–1621), had

also been a painter, specializing in genre scenes.36 He

was even known as the “painted king,” as in Juan de

Tassis y Peralta’s (1582–1622) satire Diálogo entre

Plutón y Aqueronte (Dialogue Between Pluto and Ache-

ron), where the monarch’s memory is forcefully evoked:

“The person you consider a great monarch / was not a

king in the fl esh, but painted.”37

Philip IV’s coronation coincided with the publica-

tion of Primavera y fl or de los mejores romances (Spring

and Flower of the Best Romances, 1621), in which one

poetic composition says: “Gazing upon a portrait / of

King Philip the Third / depicted in armor / was a poor

old soldier.”38 The plot of this small work narrates the

unfortunate situation of a weary soldier who arrives at

court seeking recompense after considerable vicissi-

tudes in the service of the crown in Europe and Africa.

But etiquette, personifi ed by the palace doormen and

guards, keeps him from delivering the “papers of his ser-

vices” to the king. These he keeps in innumerable metal

document tubes that make him look like a walking pipe

organ. When he is denied the opportunity to show his

papers to the king, the old soldier’s only consolation is to

appeal to Philip’s portrait. Movingly, he kneels and

shouts out to the king with tears in his eyes: “[When

you are] painted, my lord, I can speak to you.”

It is worth noting here that the royal portrait is

not a means by which the monarch can address his sub-

jects, but rather a means for them to speak to him. This

implies a use of royal images that surpasses mere propa-

ganda and enters the realm of political communication.

THE KING AMONG HIS SUBJECTS:

ENGRAVINGS, BOOKS, AND PORTRAITS AS MEANS

OF POLITICAL COMMUNICATION

The means by which rulers and their subjects could

establish contact is a subject specifi cally addressed by

the history of political communications in the European

modern period. Studies of the exaltation of monarchs

from that period and the justifi cation of their decisions

using literary or artistic resources have shown how play-

wrights, chroniclers, painters, and engravers, among oth-

ers, applied their creativity to generate royal propaganda.

In the case of the Siglo de Oro, investigations by José

Antonio Maravall, Luis Díez del Corral, and Julián

Gállego have helped defi ne a rich area of research with

implications in a broad range of later historiography. Con-

siderably less is known, however, about the distribution

and reception of this propaganda,39 or the efforts of com-

moners who tried to establish relations with monarchical

authorities through writing or, on occasion, painting.40

Such texts undoubtedly stemmed from a desire

to counsel the king in his task as ruler, but there were

also many texts fi lled with acerbic criticism of the


44

decisions and attitudes of the monarchs and their prin-

cipal ministers. Political satire constituted a phenom-

enon of incredible importance during the reign of

Philip IV, especially in the form of scribal publications,

whose distribution grew over the course of the seven-

teenth century.41

That romance of the old soldier who could speak

only with the portrait of Philip III has an element of

political satire, as do other compositions that more

openly portray the monarch as being as inept as a paint-

ed king. This notion enjoyed considerable popularity

during the Siglo de Oro. One example appears in Tas-

sis’s Diálogo entre Plutón y Aqueronte, in which

Philip III is portrayed—to the benefi t of Francisco

Gómez de Sandoval y Rojas, Duke of Lerma (c. 1553–

1625)—as a monarch who did not rule by himself, and

was as distant from his true profession as a living king is

from his painted portrait.

Portraits themselves were often attacked during

periods of unrest or political crisis. A portrait of the

Countess of Olivares was stoned in the streets of Madrid

after her husband’s fall from favor, and his own portraits

lost value.42 Likewise, something like ritual executions of

effi gies of Cardinal Mazarin (1602–1661) were held in

many locations in Paris in 1650, as was reported in a dis-

patch from the Spanish embassy in Rome.43

The withdrawal of royal portraits can also be

considered an indication of the disaffection expressed

by a political community. In the rebellious Naples of

Masaniello, some voices, including that of the noble-

man Marcantonio Brancaccio, called for the removal of

portraits of Philip IV as a logical response to the break

with Spanish sovereignty in 1648.44 During that period,

insulting or desecrating royal portraits or insignias was a

crime—an offense to majesty under the legal principle

of Regis imago, rex est (or dicitur; the image of the king

is, or is said to be, the king). In other words, majesty

was also considered a characteristic of his simulacra.45

As mentioned earlier, much remains to be stud-

ied about the purposes behind the transmission and

reception of the royal image during the reign of

Philip IV. From statements of visitors to the royal resi-

dences, we can deduce that the greatest number of roy-

al portraits were kept there, beginning with the Buen

Retiro and Alcázar palaces in Madrid. In the labyrinth of

rooms of the Alcázar, the Galería de Retratos, or Galería

del Mediodía (Portrait Gallery, or Southern Gallery),46

stood out as a setting imbued with ceremonial authority

to which the grandees of Spain were allowed access.

Permission to enter was at royal behest and was solem-

nized by royal decree. For example, in May 1648,

Philip IV signed such a document on behalf of Francis-

co Fernández de Cabrera, Count of Chinchón

(d. 1665), so that “with the key that he has, he may

enter the gallery of portraits where the grandees do.”47

On special occasions, royal portraits might be

shown in public. A good example of this practice is the

ceremonial exhibition organized at court on the occasion

of the auto-da-fé of 1632. The Monastery of la Encar-

nación was the location chosen for this display of “the

portraits of King Philip III and Queen Margaret, and

Their Majesties [Philip IV and Elizabeth of Bourbon],

under brocade canopies.”48 Besides the palace display

and those at major ceremonies, the monarchy was

of course represented by numerous paintings and

books—with or without engraved royal portraits—

in private collections and libraries.

There is no scarcity of testimony that certain indi-

viduals had original portraits of the monarch and other

members of the royal family, as well as scenes of palace

life, especially festivities and ceremonies. In 1634, for

instance, an interesting canvas “of a masquerade at the

palace at night” was acquired from Francisco Donato

(1611–1647) to decorate the apartments of Elizabeth of

Bourbon (r. 1621–1644) at the Palacio del Buen Retiro.49

In 1641, a curious painting was included in the

inventory of the belongings of the late Duke of

Aarschot: “another canvas . . . of a perspective and the

Queen, our lady, walking around a room with some

maids of honor.”50 This description is expanded: “on the

wall, feigned paintings of the queens of Spain from the

Habsburg family.”51 This rare depiction of Elizabeth of



Bourbon with some meninas (“maids of honor”) does not

seem to have been identifi ed in a gallery of portraits of

the queens,52 but here we should point out that its own-

er was the very person whose memory became blank in

the presence of the disconcerting majesty of Philip IV.

Aarschot’s post-mortem inventory shows that

the duke owned a vast gallery of royal portraits. These

greatly interested Francesco I d’Este, Duke of Modena

(1610–1658), who contacted one Ippolito Camillo

Guidi about acquiring them. Guidi, in turn, involved

Velázquez.53 Aarschot had a portrait of Philip IV and

others of the infantes Charles and Ferdinand of Austria,

as well as one of the “Prince of today,” that is, Philip’s

son Balthasar Charles of Austria (1629–1646).54

Ramiro Núñez Felípez de Guzmán, Duke of Medina

de las Torres (d. 1688), must have taken two portraits

of Philip IV and one of Balthasar Charles of Austria,

all by Velázquez, from Madrid to Naples, where

they appear in the 1641 inventory of his guardarobba.

One of the portraits of the king is described as “a

painting with the portrait of the King, Our Lord, half-

fi gure, with frame of gold, about three palms, by the

hand of Diego Velasches”—which is diffi cult to identify.

But the second portrait of Philip IV is said to depict him

“with a dog, and gun in hand, and forest,” while his heir

appears “with three dogs, and gun in hand.” This places

them in the group of hunting portraits of Philip IV and

Prince Balthasar Charles that Velázquez painted for

Torre de la Parada, one of the king’s royal hunting

lodges.55

By the time of Philip IV, Francesco Patrizi’s

objection to royal portraits on the grounds that they

could be seen only by a few and in a single place had

been rendered moot thanks to engravings. Besides the

printing of loose leaves, special importance was given to

the inclusion of royal portraits in books intended for the

general public.

This is exemplifi ed by the portrait of Philip IV

engraved by Herman Panneels (1610–1651), which

together with one of Gaspar de Guzmán—both “ex

Archetypo Velazquez”—appeared in the Ilustración del

renombre de Grande… (Illustration of the Renown of

the Great…), published by Juan Antonio de Tapia y

Robles (active 17th century) in 1638 (fi g. 16).56 Fee-

request forms from the period show that inserting prints

signifi cantly affected the sale price of books. When

Tapia was allowed to sell his Ilustración for only six

maravedis per sheet, he reduced the number of “fi ne

plates” from the planned thirty-nine to twenty; all were

Figure 16 Herman Panneels (Flemish, 1610–1651), Portrait

of Philip IV, 1638. Prior to the second dedication in Juan Antonio

de Tapia y Robles (Spanish, active 17th century), Ilustración

del renombre de Grande: Principio, grandeza, y etimología: Pontifi ces,

Santos, Emperadores, Reyes, i Varones ilustres que le merecieron

en la voz publica de los hombres (Madrid: Francisco Martínez, 1638).

Engraving; ink on paper, 7 ½ x 5 in. (188 x 127 mm). Biblioteca

Nacional de España, Madrid


46

by Pedro Perete (1608–1639), dated 1637, except for the

two by Panneels after Velázquez, which were from 1638.57

The average edition of a printed work in the Siglo

de Oro consisted of around fi fteen hundred copies; this

indicates that the addition of engravings to the printed

word was of incomparable worth in making the royal fi g-

ure known. Moreover, it was equally valuable in making

Velázquez’s models known. Also signifi cant was the

development of chalcographic engraving, which afford-

ed more accuracy in the design and greater legibility of

the allegorical stories, and permitted the reuse of plates

in excellent condition.

Relatively few seventeenth-century Spanish chal-

cographic plates have survived. Noteworthy are the four

copper plates by Pedro de Villafranca y Malagón

(1615–1684) at the Archivo Histórico Nacional

(National Historical Archive) in Madrid, which come

from the Consejo de Órdenes Militares (Council of

Military Orders). The fi rst of these plates is an Immac-

ulate Conception with the inscription “Spes nostra”

(“Our hope”), dating from 1655. It was printed in the

Regla y establecimientos nuevos (Rule and New Edicts)

of the Order of Santiago, which appeared that same

year. The second and third plates, signed by Villafranca

Figure 18 Pedro de Villafranca y Malagón, Portrait of Philip IV, 1661.

In Diffi niciones de la orden y cavalleria de Calatrava conforme al capitulo

general celebrado en Madrid año de MDCLII (Madrid: Diego Díaz

de la Carrera, 1661). Engraving; ink on paper, 10 5⁄8 x 6 7⁄8 in.

(269 x 174 mm). Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid

Figure 17 Pedro de Villafranca y Malagón (Spanish, 1615–1684),

Engraving plate for Portrait of Philip IV, 1660. Printed in Diffi niciones de

la orden y cavalleria de Calatrava conforme al capitulo general celebrado

en Madrid año de MDCLII (Madrid: Diego Díaz de la Carrera, 1661).

Engraving plate; copper, image: 10 5⁄8 x 6 7⁄8 in. (269 x 174 mm).

Gobierno de España, Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte,

Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid



in Madrid in 1660, correspond, respectively, to the title

page of the Diffi niciones (Defi nitions) of the Order of

Calatrava and the portrait of Philip IV that accompa-

nied that same work (fi gs. 17, 18). The fourth plate was

engraved for the cover of the Difi niciones (Defi nitions)

of the Order of Alcántara printed in Madrid in 1662,

which the engraver signed in Madrid that same year

(fi gs. 19, 20).

The plates at the Archivo Histórico Nacional

include two with portraits of Philip IV that Villafranca

engraved in 1660 and 1662, respectively. For reasons as

yet unknown, the plates must have been kept by the

Consejo de Órdenes Militares, which allowed another

run of prints to be made at a later date. This was the

case with the 1660 royal portrait of Philip IV for the

Order of Calatrava, which was used again when its

regulations were reprinted in Madrid in 1748.58

Villafranca has justifi ably been considered one of

the fi gures most responsible for making Velázquez’s royal

portraits known to a larger public. The plates in Madrid

seem to have been engraved after portraits painted

toward the end of Velázquez’s life, given their similarity to

the Philip IV at the National Gallery in London, which

can be dated around the second half of the 1650s.

Figure 19 Pedro de Villafranca y Malagón, Engraving plate

for Portrait of Philip IV, 1662. Printed as the engraved title page

of Difi niciones de la orden y cavallería de Alcántara con la historia

y origen della (Madrid: Diego Díaz de la Carrera, 1663).

Engraving plate; copper, image: 11 x 7 ¼ in. (279 x 183 mm).

Gobierno de España, Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte,

Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid

Figure 20 Pedro de Villafranca y Malagón, Engraved title page

of Difi niciones de la orden y cavallería de Alcántara con la historia

y origen della (Madrid: Diego Díaz de la Carrera, 1663). Engraving;

ink on paper, 11 x 7 ¼ in. (279 x 183 mm). Biblioteca Nacional

de España, Madrid


48

Besides their distribution in the form of engrav-

ings, Velázquez’s models became known through copies,

some better than others. A Philip IV at the University

of Salamanca (fi g. 21) is a good example.

Little is known of José Sánchez de Velasco

(active c. 1615–1645), to whom the canvas in Salamanca

is attributed. He painted several series of portraits for the

Colegio Mayor de San Bartolomé (or de Anaya), a univer-

sity for which he began working around 1615. Between

then and 1631, he did some fi fty portraits, among them a

series of illustrious members of that institution.

In 1631, Sánchez de Velasco testifi ed about his

portrait of Martín Gascó in a court case between the

Colegio Mayor de San Bartolomé and the Colegio Mayor

de la Magdalena, also in Salamanca. His testimony indi-

cates that he was fi rst commissioned by Diego de Riaño

to paint portraits in 1614 or 1615. He executed the fi rst

series on the basis of detailed instructions from the

future president of the Consejo de Castilla (Council of

Castile), then began a second series two years later, and

a third in 1623.59 It seems likely that the Philip IV now at

the University of Salamanca was part of the eight paint-

ings of that third series, along with other royal portraits

also at the university.

The unquestionable presence of alumni of the

Colegio Mayor de San Bartolomé in the monarchy’s main

governmental institutions—from Riaño, whose relationship

with Sánchez de Velasco is documented, to the powerful

secretary of state, Juan de Villela (1563–1630)60—could

explain how Velázquez’s model reached Salamanca. In

any case, it is an eloquent example of how models forged

in courtly circles rapidly spread beyond the palace walls.

The painting is not of the highest quality, but despite its

differences, the one in Salamanca obviously draws on

the portrait of Philip IV at the Prado, and its companions

in New York (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, fi g. 5)

and Boston (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, fi g. 6, and

the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum).

Paraphrasing Zabaleta’s observation that the great

artists paint with clear handwriting, while the poor ones

spell things out, we could say that the painter of the

Philip IV in Salamanca barely manages to scribble what

Velázquez renders in pure calligraphy. Still, at the heart

of an interesting controversy, some theorists felt that

poor portraits of the monarch should not be con-

demned, because they, too, offered subjects the conso-

lation of being able to see their king.

It was also Zabaleta who, in his Errores celebrados

(Celebrated Errors, 1653), stated that no prince should

refuse to be depicted, even by the least gifted painters,

Figure 21 Attributed to José Sánchez de Velasco

(Spanish, active c. 1615–1645), Philip IV, c. early

17th century. Oil on canvas, 80 3⁄8 x 41 ¾ in.

(204 x 106 cm). Colegio Mayor de Anaya, Aula

Magna, Universidad de Salamanca



because that would amount to “denying himself the rev-

erent fondness of the many, as the best Artists can make

only a few portraits and statues, and very few can obtain

them.” Moreover, “it would be cruel to deny that royal

gift to loyal subjects who cannot enter the Court.”61

Thus, thanks to copyists, engravers, and printers, the

king was represented to his subjects, with greater or

lesser formal quality.

The portrait Philip IV Deceased, from 1665

(fi g. 22), does not stand out precisely because of its qual-

ity. This image, related to the Franciscan Venerable Third

Order, represents the funerary epilogue of royal majesty.

But its motive is undoubtedly extraordinary, although it

is not as rare as might be thought; a similar scene of the

monarch, “on his deathbed,” was printed in Paris that same

year, probably engraved by Louis Boissevin (d. 1685).62

Yet there is no doubt that the fi nest representa-

tion of the monarch was his own person, the living

emblem of the monarchy incarnated in his physical

body, even if not everyone had the opportunity to see

him or hear him speak. Indeed, not only was this impos-

sible, it was not even desirable, according to the majes-

tic theory of the period. The royal presence had to be

substituted through the work of those who employed

their art and profession to provide adequate and elo-

quent simulacra, regardless of the quality achieved.

While the ideal of the era was that Philip IV’s roy-

al majesty should be as well painted as it was storied, the

brushes of the painters and the plates of the engravers

were evidently more effective than the pens of the histo-

riographers. Better portrayed than storied, His Catholic

Majesty’s subjects always displayed an undeniable inter-

est in knowing their king, and books, engravings, and

paintings were the vehicles for the subtle symbolism of

the royalty so perfectly reproduced by Velázquez in his

Philip IV, with his naturally dangling hand.

Figure 22 Artist unknown

(Active 17th century),

Philip IV Deceased, 1665.

Oil on canvas, 32 3⁄8 x 41 in.

(82 x 104 cm). Real Academia

de la Historia, Madrid


114

61 Cruz Valdovinos 2011, pp. 93–94.

62 Velázquez himself notably changed the expressiveness of his portraits

to suit local taste during his second visit to Rome.

63 On the consecration of the royal image in Spain at the beginning of

the seventeenth century, see J. F. Moffi tt, “The Theoretical Basis of

Velázquez’s Court Portraiture,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 54

(1990), pp. 216–225; and A. Feros, “‘Sacred and Terrifying Gazes’:

Languages and Images of Power in Early Modern Spain,” in S. Stratton

(ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Velázquez, Cambridge, England,

2002, pp. 73ff.

64 J. Brown, “Velázquez y lo velazqueño: Los problemas de las atribucio-

nes,” Boletín del Museo del Prado, 18, no. 36 (2000), pp. 52–54.

65 The provenance of these works was announced by A. Mélida, “Los

Velázquez de la casa de Villahermosa,” Revista de archivos, bibliotecas

y museos, 9 (1905), pp. 89–98.

66 “Grandes letras, ingenio y experiencia.” Almansa (1624) 1982, p. 312.

67 Late October 1622. González Palencia 1942, p. 40.

68 See L. de Corral, Don Diego de Corral y Arellano y los Corrales de

Valladolid: Apuntes históricos, Madrid, 1905, pp. 35ff.

69 For its provenance, see M. C. Volk, “Of Connoisseurs and Kings:

Velázquez’s Philip IV at Fenway Court,” in Fenway Court, Boston,

1975, pp. 23–35.

70 Elliott 1998, pp. 315ff.

71 C. Garrido Pérez, “Puntualizaciones sobre algunos retratos de Diego

Velázquez,” Goya, 298 (2004), pp. 4ff.

72 “Y luego su majestad con tanta devoción, como es su gallardía y brío, con

un rico vestido bordado noguerado, y el collar grande del tusón, y su her-

mano don carlos a la mano izquierda, como un paso delante, y otro

detrás.” A. Almansa, Carta duodécima (1623), in Simón Díaz 1982,

p. 259.

73 B. de Pantorba, Vida y obra de Velázquez, Madrid, 1955, pp. 86–87.

74 Harris 1970, p. 371.

75 “Tiene llave dorada de la cámar. . . . Cálzase las espuelas y le ayuda [al

rey] a poner a caballo y apearse.” González Dávila 1623, p. 316.

76 They are described in ibid., pp. 316–317.

77 A. Martínez Ripoll, “El conde-duque con una vara en la mano, de

Velázquez, o la praxis olivarista de la razón de estado, en torno a 1625,”

in J. H. Elliott and A. García Sanz (eds.), La España del conde-duque

de Olivares, Valladolid, 1987, pp. 47–74.

78 Enriqueta Harris quotes a letter from Olivares to Rubens dated August

8 of that year, thanking him for this proof of his friendship. See

E. Harris, Velázquez, Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain, 1991, p. 60.

79 “Punto por punto.” Justi (1888) 1999, p. 197.

80 Harris 1991, p. 61.

81 J. Gállego, “Catálogo,” in A. E. Pérez Sánchez, J. Domínguez Ortiz,

and J. Gállego, Velázquez, exh. cat., Madrid, 1990, p. 122.

82 Harris 1991, p. 64.

The Majesty of Philip IV: Between Painted and Storied

DR. FERNANDO BOUZA

PROFESSOR, DEPARTMENT OF EARLY MODERN HISTORY

UNIVERSIDAD COMPLUTENSE DE MADRID (SPAIN)

Research related to this essay was carried out as part of the mineco project (Government of Spain) HAR2011-27177, drawing on its fundings.

1 “Se ve al augusto personaje en pie, vestido con traje negro, capa y golilla, apoyada la mano izquierda sobre una mesa con tapete rojo en la empuña-dura de la espada; la mano derecha naturalmente caída conserva un papel.” Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid (BNE), Bellas Artes, Junta de Iconografía Nacional, Cédulas, Felipe IV, Cédula 1001, undated. Strikethrough is intentional.

2 L. Díez del Corral, Velázquez, la monarquía e Italia, Madrid, 1978, p. 77.

3 E. H. Kantorowicz, The King´s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Politi-cal Theology, Princeton, New Jersey, 1957.

4 A. Feros, “Vicedioses pero humanos: El drama del rey,” Cuadernos de historia moderna, 14 (1993), pp. 103–132.

5 “El olor, el passeo, el donaire, descubre al Príncipe más recatado de noche, con el ferreruelo de color, y con el sombrero de castor.” J. Laínez, Daniel cortesano en Babilonia, Madrid, Iuan Sanchez, 1644, p. 97.

6 “Cierto don de superioridad con que podemos creer que Dios caracteriza a los Príncipes, aunque sean bárbaros.” Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Nobleza, Toledo (AHN-SN), Osuna, Cartas, 46-27-1.

7 “La gallardía y brío que Dios le ha dado aventajándose a los demás.” Archivo de los Duques de Alba, Madrid, box 58, Carta de Gaspar de Guzmán al Cardenal de la Cueva, Madrid, March 3, 1623.

8 “Encerrado con él a solas le examinaua, con un papel en las manos.” D. Altamirano, Defensa de Don Felipe de Aremberg, [Madrid, 1639], fol. 143v.

9 “Con tan airoso movimiento y tal expresión de lo majestuoso y augusto de su rostro, que en mí se turbó el respeto y le incliné la rodilla y los ojos.” D. Saavedra Fajardo, República literaria (1655), quoted in Varia velazqueña: Homenaje a Velázquez en el III centenario de su muerte, 1660–1960, Madrid, 1960, vol. 2, pp. 57–58. Cf. L. R. Bass, The Dra-ma of the Portrait: Theater and Visual Culture in Early Modern Spain, University Park, Pennsylvania, 2008, pp. 79–80.

10 “Donde los pressos della se alegraron en ver su rreal presençia” and “cla-mando livertad abrieron una gran jaula de pájaros que tenían con una letra en que signifi cavan su prisión.” Private Library, Madrid, Manuscritos, Rel-ación de la entrada del rrey en la ciudad de Seuilla biernes a primero de março deste año de 1624 u lo suçedido de allí adelante, fol. 2r.

11 Cf. A. Malcolm, “La práctica informal del poder: La política de la corte y el acceso a la familia real durante la segunda mitad del reinado de Felipe IV,” Reales sitios, 147 (2001), pp. 38–48.

12 J. H. Elliott, El Conde-Duque de Olivares: El político en una época de decadencia, Barcelona, 1990, pp. 376–380.

13 “Que está de muy buen humor,” “sacó –Felipe IV– el cuerpo del coche porque el muchacho alcanzara [a dárselo], que no podía, y alargando la mano le tomó,” and “se pusso muy alegre y luego sacó la cabeza fuera para reconoçer

0436viso_112-123 Notas#7.indd 1140436viso_112-123 Notas#7.indd 114 02/08/12 10:3502/08/12 10:35

NOTES 115

quién le hauía dado. Aún le alcançó con la vista y le notó bien las señas, con que el pueblo quedó muy contento de aquella atención.” Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo, Lisbon, Casa de Cadaval, book 19, fols. 595v–596r, Jerónimo de Torres to Miguel Batista de Lanuza, Madrid, March 7, 1643.

14 “El dexarse mucho ver los haze menos respetados.” Laínez 1644, p. 128.

15 “Lo raro produce admiración, y la conuersación desprecio.” Ibid., p. 381. Cf. D. H. Bodart, Pouvoirs du portrait sous les Habsbourg d´Espagne, Paris, 2011.

16 “Los hombres . . . no les entra el respeto sino por los sentidos.” Laínez 1644, p. 381.

17 F. Bouza, El libro y el cetro: La biblioteca de Felipe IV en la Torre Alta del Alcázar de Madrid, Salamanca, 2005.

18 G. Martínez Leiva and A. Rodríguez Rebollo, Quadros y otras cosas que tiene su Magestad Felipe IV en este Alcázar de Madrid: Año de 1636, Madrid, 2007, pp. 170–171. The series is at the Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, P 1394–P 1398.

19 Ibid., p. 172. Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, P 1610.

20 “Joachin de Patenier, de Bouaines.” BNE, MS 2645, fol. 144v, Philip IV (trans.), Descripción de Monseñor Luis Guchardini, gentilhombre de Florencia, de todos los Países Bajos, llamados por otro nombre Alemania la Baja.

21 BNE, MS 786, fol. 324v, Philip IV (trans.), Descripción de Luis Guichardino patricio fl orentín, de todos los Países Bajos, que por otro nombre se llaman Alemania la Baja (1636).

22 “Los retratos, y las estatuas, son una historia donde se leen apriessa las excelencias de los que allí están signifi cados,” “letra más clara,” and “los ojos van deletreando, perciben poco, y cánsanse presto.” J. de Zabaleta, “Histo-ria de Nuestra Señora de Madrid,” in J. de Zabaleta, Obras históricas, políticas, fi losófi cas, y morales, Barcelona, Joseph Texidò, 1704, p. 496.

23 “Em hum retrato os varios acontecimentos da vida.” G. de Céspedes y Meneses, Primera parte de la varia fortuna del soldado Píndaro, 1626. I quote the censure by T. de São Domingos, Lisbon, January 8, 1625, from the edition by A. Pacheco, Madrid, 1975, p. 3.

24 “Las historias de buenos authores muestran las verdaderas imágenes del hombre, y son parte para que en todo el mundo las vea quien quiera,” “las imágenes carescen de sentido y apenas se conosce en ellas el rostro, no pueden ser vistas, sino de pocos y en un solo lugar,” and “los que han de Imperar lean historias a menudo, y no hagan caso de las imágenes de sus mayores.” F. Patrizi, De reyno y de la institución del que ha de reynar y de cómo deue auerse con los súbditos y ellos con él, Madrid, 1591, fols. 76r–79v.

25 F. Pacheco, El arte de la pintura (1649), quoted in Varia velazqueña 1960, vol. 2, pp. 11–12.

26 “Muy bien retratado, pero no sé si está tan bien historiado.” F. Morovelli de Puebla, Que no se deben desestimar las cosas excelentes por ser ordi-narias, n.p., n.d., epistle dedicated to Manuel Alonso Pérez de Guzmán, [pp. 4–5]. On the historiography of that period, see R. L. Kagan, Clio and the Crown: The Politics of History in Medieval and Ear-ly Modern Spain, Baltimore, 2010.

27 J. M. Jover, Historia de una polémica y semblanza de una generación (1635), Madrid, 1949.

28 “Recopila los mayores sucessos de su felicíssimo reinado [de Felipe IV] hasta el Año MDCXXXV.” On La astrea sáfi ca, see R. Martín Polín,

“Pellicer de Ossau: Una visión de la monarquía católica en torno a 1640,” Espacio, tiempo y forma: Historia moderna, 13 (2000), pp. 133–163.

29 Reprinted in 1634 in Barcelona at the behest of Sebastián de Cormellas.

30 “Con sinceridad de intención y berdad que es lo que sólo deseo.” Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid (AHN), Consejos suprimidos, leg. 7171, 102.

31 D. García Cueto, Seicento boloñés y Siglo de Oro español, Madrid, 2006.

32 V. Malvezzi, La libra . . . pésanse las ganancias y las pérdidas de la monarquía de España en el . . . reynado de Filipe IV, Pamplona, [1639]; and V. Malvezzi, Sucesos principales de la monarquía de España en el año de mil i seiscientos i treinta i nueve, Madrid, Enprenta Real, 1640.

33 V. Malvezzi, Historia de los primeros años del reinado de Felipe IV, ed. D. L. Shaw, London, 1968.

34 “Escriven historias de estos tiempos.” AHN, Estado, book 118, Despacho de Gaspar de Teves, Venice, November 4, 1645.

35 “Un baulillo con adereços de pintar.” AHN, Consejos suprimidos, leg. 49869.

36 The 1599 inventory of the possessions of Philip III’s teacher García de Loaýsa (1534–1599) lists “una tabla de caça que dizen que pintó de su mano el rey don felipe nuestro señor”—“a panel of hunting said to have been painted by our lord the king, Philip.” Archivo Histórico de Proto-colos, Madrid (AHPM), 1811, fol. 1673v.

37 “Ése que tienes tú por gran monarca / viviendo no fue rey, sino pintado.” Quoted in T. Egido, Sátiras políticas de la España moderna, Madrid, 1973, pp. 101–104.

38 “Mirando estaba un retrato / del rey Felipe Tercero, / donde armado le pin-taron, / un pobre soldado viejo.” Primavera y fl or de los mejores romances (1621), quoted in the edition by J. F. Montesinos, Oxford, 1954, pp. 207–209. The quotations that follow are “papeles de sus servicios” and “Pintado, señor, os hablo.”

39 See, for example, L. Varela, “El rey fuera de palacio: La repercusión social del retrato regio en el Renacimiento español,” in El linaje del emperador, exh. cat., Madrid, 2000, pp. 99–134.

40 Cf. M. Olivari, Entre el trono y la opinión: La vida política castellana en los siglos XVI y XVII, Valladolid, 2004.

41 Egido 1973.

42 F. Bouza, “Por no usarse: Sobre uso, circulación y mercado de imáge-nes políticas en la alta edad moderna,” in J. L. Palos and D. Carrió-Invernizzi (dirs.), La historia imaginada: Construcciones visuales del pasado en la edad moderna, Madrid, 2008, pp. 41–64.

43 AHN-SN, Osuna, Cartas, 12-4-29.

44 G. B. Buragna, Batalla peregrina entre amor y fi delidad, Mantoa Car-pentana [Madrid], 1651, p. 161.

45 L. Marin, Portrait of the King, Minneapolis, 1988.

46 S. N. Orso, Philip IV and the Decoration of the Alcázar of Madrid, Prin-ceton, New Jersey, 1986, pp. 144–153.

47 “Con la llave que tiene entre en la galería de los retratos donde lo hacen los grandes.” AHN-SN, Frías, box 1436, 20.

48 “Los retratos del señor Rei Don Felipe el Tercero, y Reina doña. Margari-ta, y de sus Magestades [Felipe IV e Isabel de Borbón], debaxo de doseles de brocado.” J. Gómez de Mora, Auto de fe celebrado en Madrid este año de MDCXXXII, Madrid, Francisco Martínez, 1632, fol. 24r.


116

Cf. P. Pérez d’Ors and M. Gallagher, “New Information on Velázquez’s Portrait of Philip IV at Fraga in The Frick Collection, New York,” The Burlington Magazine, 152, no. 1291 (2010), pp. 652–659.

49 “De una máscara en palacio de noche.” Archivo General de Simancas (AGS), Contadurías generales, leg. 201-1.

50 “Otro lienço de pintura de una prespetiba y la Reina, nuestra señora, paseándose por la ssala con una meninas.” AHPM, 5993, fol. 1131v.

51 “En la pared fi njidas pinturas de las rreinas de la casa de Austria de Spaña.” M. B. Burke and P. Cherry, Spanish Inventories I: Collections of Paintings in Madrid, 1601–1755, Los Angeles, 1997, vol. 1, p. 349.

52 “Unas meninas.” On this, see ibid., vol. 1, p. 347.

53 S. Salort, Velázquez en Italia, Madrid, 2002, pp. 200–201.

54 “Príncipe de oy.” Burke and Cherry 1997, vol. 1, p. 357.

55 “Un quadro co’il ritratto del Ré Nostro Signore mezza fi gura con cornice d’oro de palmi tre in circa di mano di Diego Velasches,” “con una [sic] cane, et scoppetta in mano, e bosco,” and “co’cani tre, e scoppetta in mano.” F. Bouza, “De Rafael a Ribera y de Nápoles a Madrid: Nuevos inventarios de la colección Medina de las Torres-Stigliano (1641–1656),” Boletín del Museo del Prado, 45 (2009), pp. 44–71.

56 J. A. de Tapia y Robles, Ilustración del renombre de Grande: Principio, grandeza y etimología; Pontifi ces, Santos, Emperadores, Reyes, i Varones ilustres que le merecieron en la voz publica de los hombres, Madrid, Francisco Martínez, 1638.

57 “Laminas fi nas.” AHN, Consejos suprimidos, leg. 46921.

58 The engravings corresponding to the plates mentioned here are found in: Francisco Ruiz de Vergara, Regla y establecimientos de la orden y cavallería del gloriosso apóstol Santiago, patrón de las Spañas, con la historia del origen y principio della, Madrid, Domingo Garcia Morràs, 1655; Diffi niciones de la orden y cavallería de Calatrava conforme al capítulo general celebrado en Madrid año de MDCLII, Madrid, Diego Díaz de la Carrera, 1661; Difi niciones de la orden y cavallería de Alcán-tara con la historia y origen della, Madrid, Diego Díaz de la Carrera, 1663; and Difi niciones de la orden y cavallería de Calatrava conforme al capítulo general celebrado en Madrid año de MDCLII, 2nd printing, Madrid, Imprenta del Mercurio, 1748.

59 AHN, Consejos suprimidos, legs. 31817, 33217. On the legal suit and the artist, see A. Huarte Echenique, “El Dr. D. Martín Gasco,” Basílica teresiana, 8, no. 86 (1921), pp. 229–235; and A. Huarte Echenique, “El pintor José Sánchez de Velasco,” Basílica teresiana, 8, no. 87 (1921), pp. 265–275.

60 On Villela and Velázquez, see E. Harris and J. H. Elliott, “Velázquez and the Queen of Hungary,” The Burlington Magazine, 118, no. 874 (1976), pp. 24–27.

61 “Privarse del reverente cariño de los muchos, porque son pocos los retratos y estatuas que pueden hazer los buenos Artífi ces y pocos los que pueden conseguirlos” and “crueldad sería negar este agassajo al súbdito leal, que no entra en la Corte.” J. de Zabaleta, Errores celebrados (1653), in Zabaleta 1704, p. 86.

62 “Dans so[n] liet de parade.” BNE, Bellas Artes, Estampas Inventario, 2928. E. Páez Ríos et al., Los Austrias: Grabados de la Biblioteca Nacio-nal, exh. cat., Madrid, 1993, pp. 307–308.

Politics and Courtly Culture in the Early Reign of Philip IV

DR. ANTONIO FEROS

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR, DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

1 P. Fernández Albaladejo, La crisis de la monarquía, Barcelona, 2009, p. 63.

2 J. H. Elliott, The Count-Duke of Olivares: The Statesman in an Age of Decline, New Haven, Connecticut, 1986.

3 See F. Bouza, Imagen y propaganda: Capítulos de historia cultural del rei-nado de Felipe II, Madrid, 1998; and F. Bouza, Comunicación, conoci-miento y memoria en la España de los siglos XVI y XVII, Salamanca, 1999.

4 C. Jouhaud, Les pouvoirs de la littérature: Histoire d´un paradoxe, Paris, 2000. See also A. Viala and C. Jouhaud (eds.), De la publication: Entre Renaissance et Lumières, Paris, 2002.

5 F. Bouza, Papeles y opinión: Políticas de publicación en el Siglo de Oro, Madrid, 2008. See also his fascinating study of the royal library of Philip IV, which was inspired by Francisco de Rioja (1583–1659), a poet and client of Olivares: El libro y el cetro: La biblioteca de Felipe IV en la Torre Alta del Alcázar de Madrid, Salamanca, 2005.

6 J. H. Elliott, “Quevedo and the Count-Duke of Olivares,” in J. H. Elliott, Spain and Its World: 1500–1700, New Haven, Connecticut, 1989, pp. 189–210.

7 “Veremos que mundo corre señor mío. Es Dios verdad que pierdo el juicio con lo que aquí pasa, y que heme de tornar loco porque no he visto hablar en mil años desde las verduleras hasta cuantos hay, y esas dicen las cosas de manera que no sé decirme.” Rodrigo Calderón to Juan de Hinojosa, January 16, 1615. “Cosas curiosas sucedidas en el tiempo y vida del rey Phelipo Tercero, así de su gobierno como de su vida,” Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid, MS 1174, fol. 37v.

8 “Y en el discurso de su plática vinieron a tratar en esto que llaman «razón de estado» y modos de gobierno, enmendando este abuso y condenando aquel, reformando una costumbre y desterrando otra.” M. de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quijote de la Mancha (1615), ed. F. Rico, Madrid, 1998, p. 406.

9 The creation of a public space for debate in modern Spain is the object of some interesting studies. To mention just a few: A. Castillo Gómez, Entre la pluma y la pared: Una historia social de la escritura en los Siglos de Oro, Madrid, 2006 (esp. chaps. 7–8); A. Castillo Gómez and J. Amelang (eds.), Opinión pública y espacio urbano en la edad moderna, Madrid, 2010; Michele Olivari, Entre el trono y la opinión: La vida política castellana en los siglos XVI y XVII, Valladolid, 2004; and the clas-sic and still essential J. Vilar, Literatura y economía: La fi gura satírica del arbitrista en el Siglo de Oro, Madrid, 1973.

10 A. Feros, Kingship and Favoritism in the Spain of Philip III, Cambridge, England, 2000. On the fi nal years of his reign, see chapter 12 and the epilogue.

11 J. H. Elliott, “Self-Perception and Decline in Early Seventeenth-Cen-tury Spain,” in Elliott 1989, chap. 11.

12 Apariencias fabulosas, maravillas soñadas, tesoros de duendes, fi guras de repre-sentantes en comedias.” A. Liñán y Verdugo, Guía y avisos de forasteros que vienen a la corte (1620), ed. E. Simons, Madrid, 1980, pp. 49, 97, 96.


FERNANDO BOUZA ÁLVAREZ, “The Majesty of Philip IV: between painted and storied”

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