There is no space here to follow the Queen step by step through her new country to join her husband. It was a progress full of jealousy and bitterness between the French household of the Queen, that still accompanied her, and the Spanish courtiers. At Pamplona, the capital of Navarre, where the company passed three days, Isabel charmed all hearts by her grace and beauty as she was carried through the thronged thoroughfares from the cathedral to the royal palace where she was to lodge. At the foot of the grand staircase stood a lady of fifty, stern and haughty in appearance, but now all smiles as she kissed the hand of the Queen and delivered to her a letter from King Philip. It was the Countess of Ureña, daughter of the Alburquerques and the Toledos, and one of the greatest ladies in Spain, who had been chosen by Philip as the guide, philosopher and friend of his new consort. She looked sourly upon the two Bourbon princesses whom she was obliged to salute; and on the departure from Pamplona after three days of rejoicing Isabel, desirous of propitiating the Countess of Ureña, whom Philip had praised inordinately in his letters, offered her a seat in her own litter. This she thought fit to refuse, as she was panting for the fray to establish her precedence next to the Queen; and when the cavalcade was starting her lackeys, violently hustling aside the equipage of the elder Bourbon princess Madame de Rieux, intruded that of the countess into the place in front of it. An affray resulted, and an appeal to the Queen, who decided politely in favour of the blood royal of France until King Philip himself should give his orders—which he subsequently did by placing the countess between Madame de Rieux and her unmarried niece. But the proud dame stored up in her mind the memory of the slight, and many a troubled hour for Isabel grew out of this incident.
The young Queen’s life in Spain may now be said to have commenced, and already she had shown the tact and diplomacy so extraordinary in a girl of fifteen. Her hold upon the affection of the Spaniards was tenacious from the first, owing partly, of course, to her great beauty and sweetness, but also to her prompt adaptability and acceptance of Spanish customs. From her childhood she had studied Spanish, and a very few weeks after her entrance she spoke it fluently. But she never forgot her own people and her own tongue. ‘To Frenchmen she always spoke in French,’ wrote Brantome, ‘and would never consent to discontinue it, reading always in French the most beautiful books that could be got in France, which she was very curious to obtain. To Spaniards and other foreigners she spoke Spanish very correctly. In short, this princess was perfect in everything, besides being so splendid and liberal as never was seen. She never wore a dress twice, but gave them all after once wearing to her ladies; and God knows what rich and splendid dresses they were; so rich and superb, indeed, that the least of them cost three or four hundred crowns, for the King, her husband, kept her very lavishly in such things. Every day she had a new one, as I was told by her own tailor, who went thither a poor man and became richer than anybody, as I have seen with my own eyes. She was always attired with extreme magnificence, and her dresses suited her beautifully: amongst others, those with slashed sleeves with laced points, and her head-dress always matched, so that nothing was wanting. Those who saw her thus in a painted portrait admired her, and I will leave you to guess the delight it was to see her face to face with her sweetness and grace.... When she went walking anywhere, either to church or to the monasteries or gardens, there was such a great press and crowds of people to gaze upon her that it was impossible to stir; and happy indeed was the person who could say after the struggle, “I have seen the Queen.” Never was a queen so beloved in Spain as she; not even the great Queen Isabel herself. The people called her the Queen of peace and goodness, and our Frenchmen called her the “olive branch.”‘[175]