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Texto publicado en Diego Velázquez: the early court portraits [Exhibition], Meadows Museum, Southern Methodist University, Dallas (USA), 2012, 37-49; 114-116
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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
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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
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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,
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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
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FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 41
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
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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
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FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 43
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
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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
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FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 45
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
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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
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FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 47
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
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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
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FERNANDO BOUZA THE MAJESTY OF PHILIP IV: BETWEEN PAINTED AND STORIED 49
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
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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
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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.
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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.
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