Medicine Government and Public

Health in Philip II s Spain Shared

Interests Competing Authorities 1st
Edition Michele L. Clouse
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://textbookfull.com/product/medicine-government-and-public-health-in-philip-ii-s-s
pain-shared-interests-competing-authorities-1st-edition-michele-l-clouse/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Making Sense of Public Health Medicine 1st Edition

Connelly

https://textbookfull.com/product/making-sense-of-public-health-
medicine-1st-edition-connelly/

Community and public health nursing promoting the

public s health Allender

https://textbookfull.com/product/community-and-public-health-
nursing-promoting-the-public-s-health-allender/

Mining Taxation: Reconciling the Interests of

Government and Industry Eric Lilford

https://textbookfull.com/product/mining-taxation-reconciling-the-
interests-of-government-and-industry-eric-lilford/

International Handbook on Adolescent Health and

Development: The Public Health Response 1st Edition
Andrew L. Cherry

https://textbookfull.com/product/international-handbook-on-
adolescent-health-and-development-the-public-health-response-1st-
edition-andrew-l-cherry/
Emergency Care and the Public s Health 1st Edition
Pines

https://textbookfull.com/product/emergency-care-and-the-public-s-
health-1st-edition-pines/

Public Health Linkages with Sustainability Workshop

Summary Institute Of Medicine

https://textbookfull.com/product/public-health-linkages-with-
sustainability-workshop-summary-institute-of-medicine/

Working in Public Health An introduction to careers in

public health 1st Edition Fiona Sim

https://textbookfull.com/product/working-in-public-health-an-
introduction-to-careers-in-public-health-1st-edition-fiona-sim/

Teaching Epidemiology A guide for teachers in

epidemiology public health and clinical medicine 4th
Edition Jorn Olsen

https://textbookfull.com/product/teaching-epidemiology-a-guide-
for-teachers-in-epidemiology-public-health-and-clinical-
medicine-4th-edition-jorn-olsen/

Textbook of Public Health Dentistry 3rd Edition S. S.

Hiremath

https://textbookfull.com/product/textbook-of-public-health-
dentistry-3rd-edition-s-s-hiremath/
Medicine, Government and Public
Health in Philip II’s Spain
Shared Interests, Competing Authorities

Michele L. Clouse
Medicine, Government and Public Health
in Philip II’s Spain
 The History of Medicine in Context

Series Editors: Andrew Cunningham and Ole Peter Grell

Department of History and Philosophy of Science

University of Cambridge

Department of History
Open University

Titles in this series include

Nursing before Nightingale, 1815–1899

Carol Helmstadter and Judith Godden

Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500–1800

Edited by Elaine Leong and Alisha Rankin

Henri de Rothschild, 1872–1947

Medicine and Theater
Harry W. Paul

The Anatomist Anatomis’d

An Experimental Discipline in Enlightenment Europe
Andrew Cunningham

Centres of Medical Excellence?

Medical Travel and Education in Europe, 1500–1789
Edited by Ole Peter Grell, Andrew Cunningham and Jon Arrizabalaga
 Medicine, Government and
Public Health in Philip II’s Spain
Shared Interests, Competing Authorities

Michele L. Clouse
Ohio University, USA
© Michele L. Clouse 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

Michele L. Clouse has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

Published by
Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company
Wey Court East Suite 420
Union Road 101 Cherry Street
Farnham Burlington
Surrey, GU9 7PT VT 05401-4405
England USA

www.ashgate.com

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Clouse, Michele L.
Medicine, government and public health in Philip II’s Spain
: shared interests, competing authorities. -- (The history of medicine in context)
1. Medical policy--Spain--History--16th century. 2. Public health--Spain--History--16th
century. 3. Medicine--Spain--History--16th century. 4. Spain--History--Philip II, 1556-
1598. 5. Spain--Politics and government--1556-1598.
I. Title II. Series
362.1’0946’09031-dc22

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Clouse, Michele L.
Medicine, government, and public health in Philip II’s Spain : shared interests, competing
authorities / Michele L. Clouse.
p. cm. -- (The history of medicine in context)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4094-3794-9 (hardcover) -- ISBN 978-1-4094-3795-6 (ebook)
1. Public health--Spain--History--16th century. 2. Medical policy--Spain--History--15th
century. 3. Medical personnel--Government policy--Spain--History--16th century.
4. Philip II, King of Spain,1527-1598--Political and social views. I. Title.
RA515.C58 2011
362.10946--dc23
2011023629

ISBN 9781409437949 (hbk)

ISBN 9781409437956 (ebk)

Printed and bound in Great Britain by the

MPG Books Group, UK.
 For my parents,
Tommy and Wanda Clouse

In loving memory,
Linda Gail Case Corp (d. June 20, 2002)
Alma Thompson Clouse Davis (d. Sept. 22, 2003)
Esperanza ‘Sissy’ Alma Garcia (d. May 22, 2004)
This page has been left blank intentionally
 Contents

List of Abbreviations   ix
Preface and Acknowledgments   xi

Introduction: “The importance of the matter to the public health”   1

1 Protecting the Public Health:

Tribunal del Protomedicato   15

2 Medical Education at the University   43

3 Empirics, Surgeons, and Experiential Medicine:

Patronage and Legitimization   75

4 The Apothecary’s Profession:

Cooperation and Professionalization   111

5 Poor Relief: Cooperation and Resistance   143

Epilogue   169

Bibliography   173
Index   199
This page has been left blank intentionally
 List of Abbreviations

AGS Archivo General de Simancas

ARChV Archivo de la Real Chancillería de Valladolid
AHN Archivo Histórico Nacional
AHPV Archivo Histórico Provincial de Valladolid
AUV Archivo Universitario de Valladolid
AUS Archivo Universitario de Salamanca
BN Biblioteca Nacional de España
BM British Library and Museum, London
Cap. Capítulo (chapter)
Exp. Expediente
fol. folio(s)
Leg. Legajo (bundle/file)
Ley Ley (law)
Lib. Libro (book)
no. número (number)
Tit. Título (title)

Note on Currency

In sixteenth-century Castile, payments were recorded in the gold ducat, silver

real, and a unit of account known as the maravedí. Their relationship is valued
as follows:
1 real = 34 maravedís
1 ducat = 375 maravedís
This page has been left blank intentionally
 Preface and Acknowledgments

I never intended to write a book about Philip II, but rather the Tribunal del
Protomedicato and medical responses to plague in sixteenth-century Spain. As I
began my investigations, I was quickly frustrated by the lack of documentation on
the Tribunal before the eighteenth century and the plethora of legal sources during
the sixteenth on medicine, particularly during the reign of Philip II. I soon realized
that all trails led back to the Paper King. I also realized that the vibrant medical
world of early modern Spain was practically non-existent in English studies of the
era. Given the literal legajos (bundles) of material one confronts when it comes
to investigating the reign of Philip II, I was puzzled by the seeming indifference
to the subject matter on the part of scholars. In the Preface to Beyond the Black
Legend (the published proceedings of a conference held in Valencia in 2005 on the
history of science and medicine in early modern Spain), eminent history William
Eamon addressed the state of early modern Spanish historiography with regard to
the Scientific Revolution. He stated:

for a variety of reasons, the history of the Scientific Revolution has been written,
for the most part, from the perspective of the North Atlantic world: England,
France and Holland take center stage, while developments in Germany and
Italy follow close behind. The Iberian world, on the other hand, has been almost
completely absent from the traditional narrative, despite the fact that over the
last thirty years an immense amount of research has been generated on the
subject of Iberian science.

I was amazed when I read this statement; Eamon could have just as easily
substituted “medicine” for the “Scientific Revolution” and made an equally true
and equally troubling statement.
For the past three decades or more, Spanish historians have taken a keen
interest in the history of early modern Spanish medicine, yet the rich body of
scholarship by Luis García Ballester, José María López Piñero, Juan Riera
Palmero (many others) remains in the shadows and their names largely lost on
an English-speaking audience. Partly to blame, suggested Eamon, is the Black
Legend, which continues to “loom as a prejudice that invites misunderstanding and
distortion.”1 After a few years of sharing my work with non-Hispanist colleagues
and presenting my work at early modern studies conferences, I realized that

1
Víctor Navarro Brotóns and William Eamon, eds, Mas allá de la Leyenda Negra:
España y la Revolución Científica. Beyond the Black Legend: Spain and the Scientific
xii Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

Eamon is on to something. Scholars have assumed, based on traditional models

of absolutism and imperialism, that the Spanish crown hindered, restricted, and
suppressed intellectual thought. Spanish scholars have by and large abandoned
such an approach. Yet a particular vision of early modern Spain and Philip II
in particular, among non-specialists prevails: Philip II’s micromanagement of
empire, his tireless meddling in matters of governance, and the mounds of paper
generated by him are thought to have suffocated the imperial bureaucracy and
rendered it useless to effect change. Furthermore, as one eminent historian of the
Reformation said to me at a conference a few years ago, “of course Philip II was
interested in the regulation of medicine and the medical market place; he was
Philip II after all.” His statement was certainly true, but nonetheless troubling.
What assumptions about political power, royal authority, and individual will and
agency did historians make when adopting such a position? While I agreed with
the comment, I was determined to understand why I agreed.
By the end of my journey, I realized that I had come full circle. After months
in numerous archives in central Spain and many late evenings at the Biblioteca
Nacional I had come back to the Tribunal del Protomedicato and back to Philip
II. Along the way, however, I discovered much, much more. In the end I accepted
that Philip II had to be central to this story; he was Philip II, after all. I had also
discovered that even the king himself was subject to the same dynamics of power
and political negotiation that he helped shape. Philip II was deeply invested in the
medical world of early modern Spain; so were many others. Many institutions
and individuals from towns to universities, faculty to medical practitioners, had a
vested interest in shaping the medical world. They successfully made their voices
heard more often than not. The process, however, was rife with moments of contact
and conflict, of negotiation and acceptance, of resistance and failure as the Spanish
crown intervened in the medical marketplace during the sixteenth century. I have
attempted to bridge the gap between institutional and regulatory perspectives
and actual medical practices in the marketplace. In doing so, this book brings to
light developments in medical theory and innovative practices and addresses the
complex tensions between various authorities who influenced the development
and nature of medical practice and perceptions of “public health” in early modern
Spain. My sincerest hope is that I have done justice to the complexity of those
moments of conflict and cooperation when the political interests of local, regional,
and royal authorities intersected with medical practice.
While working on this book over the years, a number of friends and colleagues
have commented on the similarities between writing a book and giving birth.
Having given birth to two of my three children during this process, I can say with
some authority that giving birth to a human child is so much easier. A child can
remain in utero, gestating for only so long before nature takes its course. A book,
on the other hand, has no definite end, no natural cycle of development. It can

Revolution (Valencia: Instituto de Historia de la Ciencia y Documentación López Piñero,

Universitat de Valéncia, 2007), 10.
 Preface and Acknowledgments xiii

take years to gestate and has no set due date. Furthermore, you know what you are
getting with a human child. I never anticipated giving birth to a book on Philip II.
This book was given life through the assistance of a number of people,
organizations, and institutions. For financial support I have relied on generous
funding at various points along the way from The Program for Cultural
Cooperation Between Spain’s Ministry of Education and Culture and United
States Universities, the University of California at Davis History Department, and
the Ohio University Research Council. Many individuals have contributed in ways
both large and small to this project over the past few years. My sincerest thanks
to Emily Yates and Nikki Selmes at Ashgate; they made the publishing process
look so easy. I would also like to thank Bill Eamon and the anonymous reader
for their generous, yet critical reading of the manuscript. Without the assistance
of the staff and directors at various Spanish archives and libraries, this project
would not have been possible. I am particularly grateful to my companions at the
Archivo General de Simancas who welcomed me back each and every time with
a smile despite my odd, American requests. Luis Boyano and Isabella Alvarez
provided me with a home away from home in Madrid and listened raptly to my
archive tales over many dinners and bottles of wine. Mónica Pérez Rojas and
family graciously opened their home to me and helped me discover a little bit of
Colombia in Valladolid. Adriana Alvarez constantly reminded me that after giving
birth and planting a tree, all I had left to do in my life was to write a book. Thank
you, queridíssima amiga for your constant companionship and down-to-earth
humor over the past 20 years.
I am grateful to a number of colleagues both near and far who read different
versions of the manuscript and offered both encouragement and criticism. Kevin
Uhalde read early drafts of the project and encouraged me to send it out. Robert
Ingram provided a critical assessment and no-nonsense advice at a crucial
moment. I am especially grateful to Ed Behrend-Martínez and Betsy Perry for
their guidance, suggestions, and probing questions, as well as their generosity
of time. Betsy Perry represents the very best of what our chosen profession has
to offer to one another and the greater good. She has blazed a path across the
academic sky that I am deeply honored to try to follow. Kristy Wilson-Bowers has
been a constant companion at conferences over the years and I have enjoyed and
benefitted immensely from our shared interest in early modern Spanish medicine.
Joan Cadden, Deb Harkness, and Shennan Hutton have remained a source of
professional and personal inspiration long after our time together at UC Davis.
My colleagues and dear friends, Miriam Shadis and Mariana Dantas, continued to
believe in this project and in me even when I lost faith in both. I owe a particular
debt of gratitude, however, to Miriam Shadis for having suffered through endless
discussions about Philip II and the medical world of early modern Spain, and for
the countless hours she spent helping me tell these stories. Finally, without the
unfaltering support and encouragement of Patrick Barr-Melej in the final months
of the process, this book would not have seen the light of day. Gracias, compadre.
xiv Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

My father encouraged my interest in pursuing stories of the past and my

mother patiently endured countless dinner table conversations on the subject.
Their sacrifices were many and their support limitless. This book is dedicated to
them as a small token of my gratitude and love. I have also chosen to honor those
family members whose presence is still sorely missed: my aunt, my grandmother,
and my precious niece. My husband tolerated periods of single parenthood without
a complaint and pushed me to find my voice. And my boys (Braulio, Luca, and
Maximino) offered encouragement in their own way; their raucous laughter and
sweet smiles made it all worthwhile.
 Introduction:
“The importance of the matter to
the public health”1

In one of his many comedies, the famous Spanish playwright Fray Gabriel
Téllez (better known as Tirso de Molina) criticized physicians. “What a shame,”
he lamented, “that the blacksmith, shearer, and barber must demonstrate their
proficiency by examination before they can practice their trade while medicine,
that noble profession that deals in no less than giving and taking of life, is of such
little importance that a short time in study and two years’ worth of discussions
makes a physician an expert.”2 The physician’s professional activities were a
common source of comedic tension and perceived shortcomings in their education
and training were often the subject of satire. Indeed, criticism of the profession
was widespread in early modern Spain. The sixteenth-century Spanish monarchs,
Philip II (r. 1556–1598) in particular, shared Gabriel Tellez’s concerns about the
proper training of physicians and other medical practitioners on whom the public
health depended.
Precisely who was responsible for creating, enacting, and enforcing such
regulatory measures over the medical profession, however, was a matter for
negotiation. Philip II, arguably the most powerful of the Habsburg monarchs,
oversaw substantial change to the crown’s public health policies. During his reign,
royal interest in medical matters increased significantly. Philip expanded royal
authority over the marketplace and policed the medical profession because of what
he saw as “the importance of the matter to the public health.”3 A chronic sufferer
of poor health, Philip sought out a number of practitioners and their treatments
from the elite, university-trained physicians to the self-named doctors whose
secret remedies promised miraculous results.4 The king’s life-long struggle with

1
Miguel Eugenio Muñoz, Recopilación de las leyes, pragmáticas reales, decretos y
acuerdos del real protomedicato (Valencia, 1751), 68.
2
Tirso de Molina, Amor Médico; quoted in Pascual Iborra, Historia del
Protomedicato en España (1477–1822), [Madrid, 1885], edición, introducción, e índice de
Juan Riera Palmero and Juan Granda-Juesas (Valladolid: Secretariado de Publicaciones de
la Universidad de Valladolid, 1987), 56.
3
Muñoz, Recopilación, 68.
4
Geoffrey Parker, Philip II, 4th ed. (Chicago: Open Court, 2002), xvi–xvii, 9–11;
Henry Kamen, Philip II of Spain (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), 208–209; see
2 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

poor health certainly influenced his attitude toward the medical profession. As one
scholar noted, he “had no faith in any of them” and often voiced concerns about the
efficacy of standard medical remedies such as bloodlettings, as well as eschewing
“quack remedies” particularly toward the end of his life.5 Furthermore, as king and
head of the body politic, Philip understood that the health of the kingdom, and the
expanding empire, relied on the productivity of his subjects in large part; thus, he
set out to reform medical policies and strike a balance between a need for medical
standards on the one hand and the demand for practitioners to satisfy his subjects’
healthcare needs on the other.
Like his late medieval predecessors, Philip II was keenly aware of the
relationship between the welfare of the kingdom and the welfare of its subjects:
he recognized the threat economic, social, and religious disruption posed to the
stability, vitality, and general well-being of the Spanish crown and its populace. In
medical policy, as in other royal policies, Philip believed it was his duty as king to
prevent potential threats to the body politic and to cure existing problems whether
economic, social, or medical in nature. The king’s public health policies shaped
how medicine was practiced and influenced the content of medical science.
The extension of the crown’s authority into the world of medicine was
facilitated by the centralization of medical matters under a singular, nominal head
of medicine – the protomédico (chief medical officer). The protomédico served as a
public health officer, advising on royal policies handed down to the municipalities.
Through the Tribunal del Protomedicato the crown made its presence felt in
almost every arena of the medical market: regulating and licensing a diverse
body of medical practitioners, reforming medical education in the universities,
standardizing medical practice through print culture, defining the professional
boundaries of certain medical fields, and patronizing medical innovation whether
it derived from the university or the marketplace. This intervention also helped
to construct professional boundaries between and among medical practitioners,
which was seen as an effective means of addressing public healthcare needs.
The expansion of central authority and the efforts of Philip to exercise his
medical will were not without conflict, nor did the expansion of the authority
of the protomédico resolve all matters. In a world of overlapping and expanding
jurisdictions and interests, the crown’s efforts to establish medical hegemony
were under constant revision. The crown projected new ideas about its authority
in the medical marketplace and used the office of the protomédico to enforce its
authority as a protector of the public health. Royal sovereignty was consistently

also, Julio Peláez Redondo, “Felipe II ‘el rey enfermo.’ La medicina y los esutidos en su
reinado.” Real Academia de Medicina del Distrito de Granada, session inaugural (1974):
23–90.
5
Kamen, Philip II of Spain, 209.
 Introduction 3

restricted and challenged by the need to respect customary arrangements and the
legal prerogatives of existing authorities, particularly in the municipalities.6
The crown’s growing concern with medical matters was part of a general
concern with the disruption and chaos of the sixteenth century, including
the recurring outbreaks of plague, incessant warfare, heresy and the spread of
Protestant ideas, and growing urbanization and its inherent problems, particularly
poverty and poor relief. Across Europe, authorities increased their efforts to
discipline citizens through various measures that required examination, licensure,
or certification. Both local and central authorities, for example, expressed an
interest in distinguishing between the “true poor,” the pauperes Christi, and the
multitude of false beggars who preyed on the charitable intentions and limited
resources of cities, the kingdom, and their subjects. Efforts to control increased
indigence and public begging went hand in hand with regulation of the exchange
of goods and services in the marketplace, including medical care and medicinal
goods for consumption. Rapid urbanization in the sixteenth century also
meant greater demands for medical services. Similarly, municipal and medical
authorities sought to identify and distinguish “good” medical practitioners from
improperly or inadequately trained practitioners whose secret remedies or second-
rate skills threatened the lives of those upon whom the welfare of the kingdom
depended. In medicine, as in poor relief, elites believed they could distinguish
“true from false, genuine from fraud, through licensing,” and were confident in
their abilities to distinguish between beneficial and harmful remedies.7 University-
trained physicians, the elite in the medical professions, laid claim to such skills of
discernment and often petitioned the crown for certain rights and privileges over
other medical practitioners in the name of protecting the public good.
Licensure to practice a trade was not a new experience for either the licenser
or the licensee in sixteenth-century Spain. It provided a modicum of security
to those seeking certification, but the licensure process has been seen by most
scholars as inherently restrictive or limiting. The licensure process certainly
forced practitioners to make choices about the exercise of their profession and
to consider the hefty penalties associated with practicing without a license.
These measures may even have served as a deterrent for some. Regardless, both
licensed and unlicensed medical practitioners continued to offer their services in a
dynamic medical marketplace. Moreover, the licensing process empowered some
practitioners by providing them with a mechanism for improving their professional
and socioeconomic circumstances in a competitive market. An official license,
signed by the crown’s chief medical officer, served to enhance the prestige and
respectability of the practitioner, possibly allowing him or her to charge a higher
fee for services. Such a license certainly gave practitioners protection against

6
Laurence Brockliss and Colin Jones, The Medical World of Early Modern France
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 235.
7
David Gentilcore, Medical Charlatanism in Early Modern Italy (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2006), 102.
4 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

charges of malpractice or quackery by competitors. The famous court physician and

personal physician to Prince Philip, Francisco López de Villalobos, for example,
was dismayed to find that his denunciation of a practitioner “who cures the liver
with the dried feces of rats” fell on deaf ears because the man was licensed.8
Furthermore, a royal license, granted by the highest medical authority in
the kingdom, theoretically trumped all local jurisdictions and local claims to
privilege either by practitioners or the towns. The crown did not necessarily
set out to limit the number of practitioners in a given medical field, but rather
to provide some means for assuring the legitimacy, safety, and availability of
those services. Medical historian Jon Arrizabalaga has argued that Spanish royal
policies sought to “reinforce the hierarchical ordering of the sanitary occupations,
reduce the number and variety of practitioners, and to restrict access of the
medical professions to certain social groups.”9 While royal regulatory measures
did exclude Jewish, Converso, and Morisco practitioners, those measures did not
marginalize practitioners based on the nature of their medical practices as long
as they were “Old Christians.” Moreover, individual practitioners who attained
their medical skill through experiential practices outside the university contributed
to the corpus of medical knowledge by drawing attention to specific cures that
were of interest to patients and government officials alike. Royal intervention
incorporated such experiential practices by legalizing the medical practice of a
diverse range of medical specializations including álgebra (bone-setting), hernia
and stone removal, and the treatment of urological disorders. The common healers
who applied for and received licenses to operate hospitals for the care of leprosy
and syphilis were just as valuable to the public health as the university-trained
physicians at the top of the medical hierarchy. The crown expressed an interest
in the safety of medical practices and the availability of skilled and well-trained
practitioners, and sought to provide for its subjects by standardizing medical
practices through more effective regulation, examination, and licensure. All
members of the medical community could contribute to the well-being of the body
politic under the proper regulation. The crown sought to meet the medical needs of
its growing population during the tumultuous sixteenth century precisely through
such measures and served as one agent of change in the medical world of early
modern Spain.
Medical guilds provided another important agent of change in early modern
medical regulation. The corporate model of medical regulation has been well
documented in studies on France, England, and Italy.10 The composition, privileges,

8
Quoted in Anastasio Rojo Vega, Enfermos y sanadores en la Castilla del siglo XVI
(Valladolid: Secretariado de Publicaciones, Universidad de Valladolid, 1993), 39.
9
Jon Arrizabalaga, “Protomedicato y minorías en la Castilla de finales del siglo
XVII: el caso del cirujano Roldán Solimán,” Dynamis 16 (1996): 123–34.
10
Some of the more relevant studies are Margaret Pelling, Medical Conflict in Early
Modern London: Patronage, Physicians and Irregular Practitioners, 1550–1640 (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 2003); Andrew Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine,
 Introduction 5

and history of the medical guilds vary from London to Paris to Florence. Yet across
Europe, the medical guilds fought to control regulatory measures, and protect and
promote their own professional interests often in competition with other medical
practitioners or in reaction to local political authorities. In other regions of Spain,
specifically in the kingdoms of Navarre and Valencia, the corporate model of
medical regulation has been explored in greater detail.11 Julio Sánchez Álvarez’s
recent work on the Kingdom of Navarre offers a substantive exploration of
the medical guilds and the role the guilds played in shaping medical education
and practices as they interacted with local and royal authorities. These studies
of medical practice and medical regulation in Navarre and Valencia document
the contested relationships between local and central authority, and explore the
complex relationship between royal and regional authorities in the “composite
monarchy.”12 Medicine and political authority in Castile, the political center of the
Spanish kingdoms, however, has received less attention.
For Castile, sources detailing the professional and legal activities of the
medical guilds are surprisingly limited. Most certainly medical guilds did exist;
a rare reference here or there suggests that the confraternities of San Cosme
and San Damian served as the local organizational structure or guild.13 The

1550–1680 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Harold Cook, The Decline
of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986);
Brockliss and Jones, The Medical World of Early Modern France; David Gentilcore,
Healers and Healing in Early Modern Italy (Manchester: University of Manchester Press,
1998); Gentilcore, Medical Charlatanism.
11
See among others Julio Sánchez Álvarez, El Protomedicato Navarro y Las
Cofradías Sanitarias de San Cosme y San Damián: el control social de las profesiones
sanitarias en Navarra (1496–1829); A. Doctor Fernández, “El control de las profesiones
sanitarias en Aragón: el protomedicato y los colegios,” Dynamis 16 (1996): 173–85; Luis
García Ballester, La medicina a la València medieval: medicina i societat en un país
medieval mediterrani (Valencia: Ediciones Alfons el Magnànim, 1988); R. Jordi González,
“Relaciones de los boticarios catalanes con las instituciones centrales,” (PhD diss.,
Universidad de Barcelona, 1975); José María López Piñero, Estudios sobre la profesión
médica en la sociedad valenciana (1329–1898): orígenes históricos del colegio oficial de
médicos de Valencia (Valencia: Ajuntament de València, 1998); María Luz López Terrada,
“Las prácticas médicas extraacadémicas en la ciudad de Valencia durante los siglos XVI
y XVII,” Dynamis 22 (2002): 85–120; María Luz López Terrada and J. Pardo Tomás, “El
Protomédico y sobrevisitador real a la Vàlencia del segle XVI,” Afers 5–6 (1988): 211–
22; R. Muñoz Garrido, Ejercicio legal de la medicina en España (siglos XV al XVIII),
(Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1967).
12
J.H. Elliott, “A Europe of Composite Monarchies,” Past and Present 137 (Nov.
1992): 48.
13
Luis Granjel mentions briefly the existence and professional activities of the
confraternity in La medicina española renacentista (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca,
1980), 78 and Cirugía española del renacimiento (Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de
Salamanca, 1968), 16. There are a literal handful of case studies on the activities of the
confraternity in a few Spanish cities. For a brief comparative approach on Spanish medical
6 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

eminent Spanish historian of medicine, Luis Granjel, published extensively on

practically every aspect of medicine in early modern Spain, yet mentioned the
confraternities only in passing. If such sources were available for consultation
one would expect to find reference to them in the mass of publications that make
up his life’s intellectual work. Therefore, without Castilian studies comparable to
those examining the London College of Physicians, the Parisian surgeons of Saint-
Côme, or the Barcelona Brotherhoods, the medical world of early modern Castile
remains in the shadows of its northern neighbors. The lack of knowledge of the
regulatory activities of the medical guilds in Castile is further complicated by the
role of an additional regulatory agent, the Protomedicato, which was created as
“an instrument for the control of medical practice.”14
The existence of this regulatory body distinguishes the history of medicine
throughout the Spanish kingdoms. It also highlights the crown’s role in medical
matters and the extension of royal influence through the protomédico. It should
come as no surprise that the protomédico was a predominantly Spanish office;
it existed in the Spanish kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula and the Spanish-
dominated kingdoms in Italy (Sicily, Naples, and the Duchy of Milan).15 It was
exported to the Spanish Americas alongside the bulk of Spanish institutions of
governance in the sixteenth century.16 The office also underwent a significant
overhaul in the middle of a century characterized by chaos, rebellion, and disorder.
Municipal and royal authorities saw a clear need to restore order and provide for
the welfare of the body politic through the appropriate distribution and availability
of scant resources whether fiscal, material, or medical; the protomédico served as
one measure to achieve those goals of effective governance.
The history of the protomédico and the Tribunal established under its control
in the sixteenth century has been well documented.17 Regional studies have

guilds and confraternities with their New World counterparts see María Luisa Rodríguez-
Sala Gómezgil, “La cofradía-gremio durante la baja edad media y siglos XVI y XVII, el
caso de la cofradía de cirujanos, barberos, flebotomianos y médicos en España y la Nueva
España,” Revista Castellano-Manchega de Ciencias Sociales 10 (2009): 149–63.
14
Víctor Navarro Brotóns and William Eamon, eds, Mas allá de la Leyenda Negra:
España y la Revolución Científica, Beyond the Black Legend: Spain and the Scientific
Revolution (Valencia: Instituto de Historia de la Ciencia y Documentación López Piñero,
Universitat de Valencia, 2007), 30; M.L. López Terrada, “Llorenç Coçar: protomédico de
Felipe II y médico paracelsista en la Valencia del siglo XVI,” Cronos 8 (2005): 31–66.
15
For the Italian protomedicato see Gentilcore, Healers and Healing; Gentilcore,
Medical Charlatanism.
16
For its role in the Spanish Americas see John Tate Lanning, The Royal
Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, ed. John
Jay TePaske (Durham: Duke University Press, 1985).
17
For a brief review of the most relevant literature see María Luz López Terrada,
“Los estudios historicomédicos sobre el Tribunal del Protomedicato y las profesiones y
ocupaciones sanitarias en la Monarquía Hispánica durante los siglos XVI al XVIII,”
Dynamis 16 (1996): 21–42. For the kingdom of Aragón and the city of Valencia, see R.
 Introduction 7

highlighted the often contentious relationship between the centralizing aspirations

of the Spanish crown and the traditional autonomy of local medical corporations
in regions outside Castile. The history of the office within Castile, however, has
received less detailed attention. Scholars such as María Soledad Campos Díez and
Jesus Barrio Ogayar have provided valuable studies of the Tribunal’s history from
an institutional and legal perspective.18 Less attention has been drawn to the actual
regulation of medical practices through this office. In addition, such scholarship
has generally accepted that the monarchy and Philip II, in particular, was a force
of change in the medical world of sixteenth-century Spain and that the creation of
the Tribunal del Protomedicato met with “few obstacles” in Castile.19
Historians of Spanish medicine have generally agreed that the crown used the
protomédico as part of its efforts to expand its central authority throughout the
Spanish kingdoms and the Spanish overseas empire.20 In the Kingdom of Valencia,
for example, the chief medical officer was charged with regulating “all that pertains
to medicine, surgery and farmacopia in the city and kingdom.” Did the theoretical
reach of the Castilian office measure up to its actual power and influence over
the medical professions in the kingdoms of Valencia or Navarre? Studies in these
areas, rich in municipal and medical guild sources, reveal a complex relationship
between the monarch’s chief medical officer and local guilds and municipal
authorities, who traditionally regulated the medical professions. In the Kingdom
of Aragón, Asunción Fernández has found that the presence of powerful colleges
and guilds curtailed the authority of royal intervention through the office of the

Jordi González Relaciones (PhD diss., Barcelona, 1971); Asunción Doctor Fernández,
“El control de las profesiones sanitarias en Aragón”; José Danón Bretós, “Protomédicos
y Protomedicato en Cataluña,” Dynamis 16 (1996): 205–18. For the protomédico in the
Americas, see Lanning, Royal Protomedicato; Pilar Gardeta Sabater, “El Nuevo modelo del
Real Tribunal del Protomedicato en la América española: transformaciones sufridas ante las
leyes de Indias y el cuerpo legislativo posterior,” Dynamis 16 (1996): 237–59.
18
María Soledad Campos Díez, El Real Tribunal del Protomedicato Castellano
(siglos XIV–XIX), (Cuenca: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Castilla-La
Mancha, 1999); Jesus Barrio Ogayar, “La Organización del Protomedicato en España”
(PhD diss., Universidad de Granada, 1978).
19
López Terrada, “Las prácticas médicas extraacadémicas,” 95–96.
20
Campos Díez, El Real Tribunal; María Luz López Terrada, “Medical Pluralism in
the Iberian Kingdoms: The Control of Extra-academic Practitioners in Valenica,” Medical
History Supplement 29 (2009): 7–25; López Terrada, “El Protomedicato en la administración
central de la monarquía hispánica,” Dynamis 16 (1996): 43–58; R. Ballester Añón, M.L.
López Terrada and A. Martínez Vidal, “La realidad de la práctica médica: el pluralismo
asistencial en la monarquía hispánica (ss. XVI–XVIII),” Dynamis 22 (2002): 21–28; Barrio
Ogayar, Organización del Protomedicato en España; Luis Granjel, “El ejercicio de la
medicina en la sociedad española renacentista,” Cuadernos de Historia de la Medicina
Española 10 (1971): 13–53; Enrique Martínez Ruiz and J.M. López Piñero, eds, Felipe II,
la ciencia y la técnica (Madrid: Actas Editorial, 1999); Juan Riera Palmero, Protomedicato,
humanismo y medicina en Castilla (Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 2000).
8 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

protomédico, limiting its urban role “to that of a prestigious physician giving his
opinion in medical disputes of the time.”21 These studies generally concur that the
extension of royal authority through the Protomedicato was perceived as an effort
by the monarchy to make its presence more visible in the kingdoms and to exert
greater influence over medical policy at the local and regional level. This effort,
however, was limited by the terms of the relationship between the office, which
represented the monarch, and the local medical authorities.
Some medical policies did, indeed, originate with the Spanish crown, and
Philip II’s initiatives, in particular, significantly shaped medical education and
practice. The crown was not the only agent of change, however. Representatives
of the Cortes, municipal and ecclesiastical authorities, and medical practitioners
participated in shaping the discussion about public health and creating medical
reform policy. Medical policies, therefore, were the result of negotiation among
competing political and professional authorities. Not even when the crown was
headed by the powerful and tireless Philip II, did it single-handedly direct public
health policy. As J.B. Owens has demonstrated, the Spanish monarchs most often
reacted to the actions of others “by mediating conflict between differentiated
groups or their representatives.”22 Philip certainly used his authority to resolve
disputes between competing authorities with a vested interest in shaping medical
policies. Moreover, he was regularly influenced by and responded to concerns and
demands voiced on behalf of the towns in the meetings of the Cortes and his own
medical staff. The king played a central role in the development and enactment
of public health policies, yet shared responsibility for protecting the public health
with numerous others.
Recent scholarship on early modern Spanish political culture has emphasized
pluralism in the interactions between local, regional, and royal political agents. 23
Building upon this pluralistic model, this book intends a more nuanced reading of
the crown’s role and influence over the medical professions. Historians of Spanish
medicine have generally accepted that Philip’s interference and micromanaging
policies went hand-in-hand with his centralizing aspirations. Yet to what extent
was the cooption of absolute authority over the medical world of sixteenth-century
Spain his goal? The question itself suggests that such a grab for power should
have been the objective of a sixteenth-century monarch, particularly Philip II, who
ruled over the first global empire where the sun never set.24 The pluralistic model
is built on the premise that the Spanish kingdom consisted of multiple autonomous

21
Asunción Doctor Fernández, “Control de las profesiones sanitarias,” 175.
22
J.B. Owens, “By My Absolute Royal Authority”: Justice and the Castilian
Commonwealth at the Beginning of the First Global Age (Rochester, NY: University of
Rochester Press, 2005), 5.
23
In this I am following the work of Sean T. Perrone, Charles V and the Castilian
Assembly of the Clergy: Negotiations for the Ecclesiastical Subsidy (Leiden: Brill, 2008).
24
Geoffrey Parker, The World is Not Enough: The Imperial Vision of Philip II of
Spain (Waco TX: Baylor University, 2001), 9.
 Introduction 9

political organizations with which the Habsburg monarchs sought consensus

for the common good.25 In this case, the crown engaged municipal authorities,
ecclesiastical authorities, and medical professionals, sometimes responding
favorably to other parties’ concerns and sometimes proceeding with royal policies
that the king believed to be in the best interest of the public health. All parties
generally agreed that protecting the public health meant implementing more
effective and standardized examination and licensing requirements for all medical
practitioners, from the university-trained physician who served as protomédico,
like Luis Mercado, to the experiential practitioner with a proven expertise in
treating incurable wounds, like Aparicio de Zubia. That the medical profession
was ripe for more regulation and control was a given: who wielded that influence
was a point of discussion and negotiation.
This study fits within a growing body of scholarship that has reassessed and
qualified the nature of government in early modern Spain.26 Its emphasis on
medicine within this political context further highlights the symbiotic nature of
royal authority, as vested interests in protecting the public health often led to a
consensus and concrete action on the part of different political authorities. The
consistent exchange about the best way to provide for the public health and the
negotiation for control over medical reforms reveals the interdependent nature
of governance between the crown and municipalities. As Helen Nader has
argued, in Spain the kings “invoked their royal absolute power to decentralize
administration. This reduction of authority did not work to the disadvantage of
the monarchy. Royal power and local self-government augmented each other.”27
Furthermore, J.B. Owens has argued that “attempts by Castilian monarchs, their
regents, and their principal servants to achieve autonomy tended to undermine
capacity while a willingness to surrender autonomy in certain spheres enhanced
the capacity to achieve goals defined in conjunction with a broad spectrum of
the commonwealth’s (res pública) political actors.”28 Therefore, consensus and

25
Perrone, Charles V, 6; Owens, “By My Absolute Royal Authority,” 1–15; José
Manuel de Bernardo Ares, “Parliament or City Councils: The Representation of the
Kingdom in the Crown of Castile (1665–1700),” Parliaments, Estates and Representation
25 (2005), 34.
26
See Helen Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain: The Habsburg Sale of Towns,
1516–1700 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993); Ruth Mackay, The Limits
of Royal Authority: Resistance and Obedience in Seventeenth-Century Castile (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1999); Ruth Mackay, “Governance and Empire during the
Reign of Charles V: A Review Essay,” Sixteenth Century Journal XL(3) (2009): 769–79;
María José Rodríguez-Salgado, The Changing Face of Empire: Charles V, Philip II and
Habsburg Authority, 1551–1559 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Aurelio
Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities: Emperor Charles V, the Comunero Revolt, and the
Transformation of the Spanish System (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Owens, “By My Absolute
Royal Authority”; Perrone, Charles V.
27
Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain, 3.
28
Owens, “By My Absolute Royal Authority,” 3.
10 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

cooperation among competing political authorities proved most fruitful in creating

and enacting public health policy in Castile.
Juxtaposing the political narrative with the medical one reveals a world rich
in agency and constant negotiation of power and influence. This is a story of
competing interests, shifting alliances, and subtle resistance as the Spanish crown’s
expansionist efforts into the realm of medical policing sometimes encountered
fierce opposition and other times welcoming acceptance. Furthermore, this study
enhances our understanding of the contested relationships between the early
modern crown and medical marketplace, while broadening our understanding of
the intellectual foundations of a diverse medical practice and its sociopolitical
ramifications. The crown’s aggressive regulation of medicine exacerbated conflict
with traditional authorities in the medical field, for example, the universities
and municipalities. Such authorities were not without recourse and sought new
avenues of influence by allying their interests with those of the crown. Therefore,
sixteenth-century Spanish medical ideas and practices were often the product of a
confluence of interests between competing authorities.
This political vantage point also invites a reconsideration of criticisms and
failures in the public health policies of the Spanish crown. David Goodman, for
example, has argued that Spain did not have an active system of public health.
He asserted that “whatever the centralizing aspirations of Philip II’s government
there was no Council of Health and the bulk of Spain’s seven millions received
no direct medical assistance from the crown.”29 Measured by the yardstick of
the modern welfare state, which had both the fiscal and administrative means to
provide medical assistance to the public, the Spanish crown certainly fell well
short. When it came to providing every village or hamlet in the Spanish kingdoms
with a skilled and university-trained physician, the crown failed. Such a provision,
however, was not the intended goal. The case of Oviedo, located in the far northern
province of Asturias in the Cantabrian Mountains, is telling. In 1594, the mayor
successfully petitioned the king for exemptions to royal medical reforms of 1593
concerning examination and licensure in the city of Oviedo and principality of
Asturias. The geographic isolation and limited population in villages throughout
the principality left communities without officially trained and examined medical
practitioners. The residents assisted one another providing bloodlettings and
curing wounds as best they could. The mayor indicated that the towns’ justices
had complied with the crown’s medical legislation and had prosecuted a number
of residents for practicing medicine without the proper examination and license.
Philip ordered the local justices to desist in their pursuit of such cases and to
allow the residents to attend to their health needs as best they could under the
circumstances. If a professional medical practitioner materialized in the towns,
however, the residents were required to defer medical treatment to him; only then

29
David Goodman, Power and Penury: Government, Science and Technology in
Philip II’s Spain, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 213.
 Introduction 11

would a failure to stop practicing medicine without the proper credentials result in
prosecution to the fullest extent of the law.30
The king could and did, on occasion, send one of his court physicians to a city
in need, most typically during plague epidemics. Providing a physician or other
medical personnel was not perceived as a solution to the pressing medical needs
voiced by the towns; sixteenth-century authorities did not measure effectiveness
by such a modern yardstick. A more desirable solution was the regulation of the
professional medical practitioners through a stringent process of professional
examination and licensure. The goal thus became to establish a systematic program
that sought to ensure the quality of services offered by medical professionals and
to promote the quantity of practitioners deemed professionally suitable to attend a
populace’s health needs. More importantly, there is no indication that the reform
of medical education and training through licensure and examination was an
ineffective means of addressing public health concerns.
The political dynamics generated by the extension of royal authority onto the
medical world of early modern Castile are illuminated by bringing together the
political and institutional history of the early modern monarchy and the history of
medical practices and education. A standard narrative of progress that privileges
certain medical practices, knowledge, or policies because of their comparison
to modern ideas and practices fails to appreciate the rich and complicated story
of early modern Spanish medicine. Choices made in the name of public health
were influenced by both medical and political considerations, and the Spanish
monarchs, “despite their absolute royal authority,” ruled more effectively when
they collaborated with local officials.31
In addition, this study offers a substantive discussion of medical practices as
well as a lively cast of characters, from a Morisco practitioner whose “miraculous
oil” was coveted by the crown to a university-trained, Latin physician whose
medical textbook standardized medical education in the universities. This
examination of the centralizing efforts of the early modern Spanish crown and
its impact on the medical marketplace at the institutional and regulatory levels,
alongside studies of actual medical practice, will broaden the scope of medical
history to include not only the development of medical theory and practice, but also
the complex tensions between various authorities that influenced the development
and nature of medical practice and perceptions of public health in early modern
Europe. This study examines both the institutional development of the medical
office as an extension of royal authority and the impact of that office on medical
practice and practitioners. In doing so, it reveals a complex world of negotiation,
patronage, success, and failure, when the political interests of local, regional, and
royal authorities intersected with medical practice.

30
“Ordenanzas de Duarte de Acuña (Corregidor del principado de Asturias de
Oviedo) de 1594,” in Ordenanzas Generales del Principado de Asturias, ed. Francisco
Tuero Bertrand (Asturias: Junto General del Principado de Asturias, 1997), 12–13.
31
Owens, “By My Absolute Royal Authority,” 5.
12 Medicine, Government and Public Health in Philip II’s Spain

Chapter 1 explores the history of the extension of the crown’s authority into
the world of medicine through the office of the protomédico, the royal official
charged with the responsibility of licensing and supervising medical practitioners
throughout the empire. The expansion of central authority and the efforts of Philip
to exercise his medical will were not without conflict, nor did the expansion
of the authority of the protomédico resolve all medical matters. In a world of
overlapping and expanding jurisdictions and interests, the crown’s efforts to assert
its hegemony over medical matters were under constant construction. The crown
constructed new ideas about its authority in the medical marketplace and used the
office of the protomédico to enforce its authority as a protector of the public health.
Chapter 2 takes the crown’s interest in protecting the public health beyond
monitoring the medical profession in the municipalities to the source of medical
education and training – the university. To ensure the proper training and education
of physicians, Philip II sought to reform medical science and practice from the top
down. The monarch intervened in the art and practice of medicine at the universities
and thus directed the education of physicians in early modern Spain. Particularly
effective were the king’s efforts to regulate, standardize, and enhance medical
training in the three Castilian universities of Salamanca, Valladolid, and Alcalá de
Henares. That influence, however, was not always welcome. More importantly,
it often competed with other interest groups who sought to exercise the same
influence. University faculty, for instance, also contributed significantly to shaping
medical education in sixteenth-century Spain. The crown’s appropriation of the
regulation of medical education exacerbated the inherent conflict of authorities
during the expansion of royal interests. Traditional authorities like the universities,
however, were not without recourse and sought new avenues of influence by allying
their interests with those of the crown. Therefore, advances in sixteenth-century
Spanish medical education in the universities were the product of a confluence of
interests between competing authorities.
Chapter 3 explores the convergence of surgical practices with royal patronage. In
the competitive medical marketplace of early modern Spain, empiric practitioners
(healers with no formal university training and who treated a wide range of
medical ailments) embraced the crown’s vision of a standardized and regularized
medical profession. Many relied on royal intervention in the regulation of medical
practice to protect themselves from accusations of quackery from competitors and
to bypass restrictive municipal sanctions. During the reign of Philip II the Spanish
crown expanded its authority to include “all matters pertaining to medicine”
through a complex legal mechanism that sought to police medical practitioners
by examination and licensing. Philip II envisioned the regulation of medical
practitioners and the standardization of medical practice as key to protecting
the public health. The crown’s legal efforts to regulate the exchange of medical
treatment and services in this way theoretically restricted some practitioners’ ability
to provide services legally. Despite its seemingly restrictive nature, however, the
crown’s vision and the legal mechanism it employed to bring that vision to fruition
provided opportunities for some empiric practitioners, typically women and lower-
 Introduction 13

class men, to transform their professional identity in the medical marketplace

and improve their social and economic standing while providing much-needed
medical resources.
Chapter 4 examines the professional activities of the apothecary. Apothecaries
occupied a rather precarious professional space in sixteenth-century Spain; they
exercised their profession between the university-trained medical world of the
physicians and the economic marketplace of the spice merchants and wholesale
drug traders. Apothecaries often fought to distinguish themselves from the market
activities of other traders in drugs, herbs, and spices; they claimed expert knowledge
of materia medica and emphasized the medical, rather than the mercantile, nature
of their profession. Because of this liminal professional space, the apothecaries fell
under the watchful eye of both local and royal authorities invested with protecting
the public health. Therefore, the proper practice of the apothecary’s art was a
matter of great concern for both crown and town. Improper mixing of a particular
medicine, using outdated ingredients, or preparing the wrong dosage could easily
result in serious injury or even death. The prevention of such cases stood high
on the priority list of both royal and municipal authorities, and both groups of
officials claimed some responsibility for policing the professional activities of
the apothecary. In addition, the apothecary and his botica (pharmacy) were often
a town’s first line of defense against public health disasters. This intervention,
while seemingly beneficial, often brought the apothecaries into direct conflict with
their patrons and challenged their autonomy to police their own profession and
its members. Moreover, the municipalities tightly guarded their jurisdiction over
apothecarial practices and pharmacies, which often led to conflict between crown
and town.
The concluding chapter briefly explores the perceived shortcomings of
royal authority in the medical world. It examines the role the crown played in
shaping other public health policies, specifically the reform of poor relief, within
a political framework that favors a pluralistic model of monarchical authority. In
this area of public health, scholars have traditionally found the crown to fall short
of effecting any substantive change. Placing royal intervention in these areas of
public health within the broader context of medical regulation and reform sheds
new light on the crown’s impact on such activities. It also reveals another agent
of resistance and change – the Castilians themselves. Public health policies were
most effectively implemented when the crown, civil, and ecclesiastical authorities
shared responsibility. Policies failed when obstructed by competing interests.
This page has been left blank intentionally
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 CHAPTER XXVII
THE LITTLE STREET SINGER

I T was Christmas Eve, and very nearly dark, when Mrs. Lanier,
driving up St. Charles Avenue in her comfortable carriage quite
filled with costly presents for her children, noticed a forlorn little
figure, standing alone at a street corner. There was something about
the sorrowful looking little figure that moved her strangely, for she
turned and watched it as long as she could discern the child’s face in
the gathering twilight.
It was a little girl, thinly clad in a soiled and torn white frock; her
black stockings were full of holes, and her shoes so worn that the
tiny white toes were visible through the rents. She hugged a thin,
faded shawl around her shoulders, and her yellow hair fell in matted,
tangled strands below her waist; her small face was pale and
pinched, and had a woe-begone look that would melt the hardest
heart. Although she was soiled and ragged, she did not look like a
common child, and it was that indefinable something in her
appearance that attracted Mrs. Lanier’s attention, for she thought as
the carriage whirled by and left the child far behind, “Poor little thing!
she didn’t look like a street beggar. I wish I had stopped and spoken
to her!”
It was Lady Jane, and her descent in the scale of misery had been
rapid indeed.
Since that night, some four months before, when Madame Jozain
had awakened her rudely and told her she must come away, she had
lived in a sort of wretched stupor. It was true she had resisted at first,
and had cried desperately for Pepsie, for Mam’selle Diane, for Gex—
but all in vain; Madame had scolded and threatened and frightened
her into submission.
That terrible midnight ride in the wagon, with the piled-up furniture,
the two black drivers, who seemed to the child’s distorted
imagination two frightful demons, madame angry, and at times
violent if she complained or cried, and the frightful threats and cruel
hints of a more dreadful fate, had so crushed and appalled the child
that she scarcely dared open her pale little lips either to protest or
plead.
Then the pitiful change in her life, from loving care and pleasant
companionship to utter squalid misery and neglect. She had been,
suddenly taken from comparative comfort and plunged into the most
cruel poverty. Good Children Street had been a paradise compared
to the narrow, dirty lane, on the outskirts of the city, where madame
had hidden herself; for the wretched woman, in her fear and
humiliation, seemed to have lost every vestige of ambition, and to
have sunk without the least effort to save herself, to a level with
those around her.
Madame had taken a terrible cold in her hurried flight, and it had
settled in her lame hip; therefore she was obliged to lie in her bed
most of the time, and the little money she had was soon spent.
Hunger was staring her in the face, and the cold autumn winds
chilled her to the marrow. She had been poor and in many bitter
straits, but never before like this. Now she dared not let any one
know of her whereabouts, and for that reason the few friends that
she still had could not help her. She was ill and suffering, and alone
in her misery. Her son had robbed and deserted her, and left her to
her punishment, and, for all she knew, she must die of starvation.
Through the aid of the negro Pete, she had parted with nearly
everything of value that she had, and, to crown her cruelty and Lady
Jane’s misery, one day when the child was absent on a begging
expedition she sold the blue heron to an Italian for two dollars.
The bird was the only comfort the unhappy little creature had, the
only link between the past and the miserable present, and when she
returned to her squalid home and found her only treasure gone, her
grief was so wild and uncontrollable that madame feared for her life.
Therefore, in order to quiet the child, she said the bird had broken
his string and strayed away.
 After this, the child spent her days wandering about searching for
Tony.
When madame first sent her out into the street to sing and beg,
she went without a protest, so perfect was her habit of obedience,
and so great her anxiety to please and conciliate her cruel tyrant.
For, since the night when madame fled from Good Children Street,
she had thrown off all her pretenses of affection for the hapless little
one, whom she considered the cause of all her misfortunes.
“She has made trouble enough for me,” she would say bitterly, in
her hours of silent communion with her own conscience. “If it hadn’t
been for her mother coming to me, Raste wouldn’t have had that
watch and wouldn’t have got locked up for thirty days. After that
disgrace, he couldn’t stay here, and that was the cause of his taking
my money and running off. Yes, all my trouble has come through her
in one way or another, and now she must sing and beg, or she’ll
have to starve.”
Before madame sent her out, she gave Lady Jane instructions in
the most imperative manner. “She must never on any account speak
of Good Children Street, of Madelon or Pepsie, of the d’Hautreves,
of Gex, or the Paichoux, or of any one she had ever known there.
She must not talk with people, and, above all, she must never tell her
name, nor where she lived. She must only sing and hold out her
hand. Sometimes she might cry if she wanted to, but she must never
laugh.”
These instructions the child followed to the letter, with the
exception of one. She never cried, for although her little heart was
breaking she was too proud to shed tears.
It was astonishing how many nickels she picked up. Sometimes
she would come home with her little pocket quite heavy, for her
wonderful voice, so sweet and so pathetic, as well as her sad face
and wistful eyes, touched many a heart, even among the coarsest
and rudest, and madame might have reaped quite a harvest if she
had not been so avaricious as to sell Tony for two dollars. When she
did that she killed her goose that laid golden eggs, for after the loss
of her pet the child could not sing; her little heart was too heavy, and
the unshed tears choked her and drowned her voice in quivering
sobs.
The moment she was out of Tante Pauline’s sight, instead of
gathering nickels, she was wandering around aimlessly, searching
and asking for the blue heron, and at night, when she returned with
an empty pocket, she shivered and cowered into a corner for fear of
madame’s anger.
One morning it was very cold; she had had no breakfast, and she
felt tired and ill, and when madame told her to go out and not to
come back without some money, she fell to crying piteously, and for
the first time begged and implored to stay where she was, declaring
that she could not sing any more, and that she was afraid, because
some rude children had thrown mud at her the day before, and told
her not to come into the street again.
This first revolt seemed to infuriate madame, for reaching out to
where the child stood trembling and sobbing she clutched her and
shook her violently, and then slapping her tear-stained little face until
it tingled, she bade her go out instantly, and not to return unless she
brought some money with her.
This was the first time that Lady Jane had suffered the ignominy of
a blow, and it seemed to arouse her pride and indignation, for she
stopped sobbing instantly, and, wiping the tears resolutely from her
face, shot one glance of mingled scorn and surprise at her tyrant,
and walked out of the room with the dignity of a little princess.
When once outside, she held her hands for a moment to her
burning face, while she tried to still the tumult of anger and sorrow
that was raging in her little heart; then she gathered herself together
with a courage beyond her years, and hurried away without once
looking back at the scene of her torture.
When she was far enough from the wretched neighborhood to feel
safe from observation, she turned in a direction quite different from
any she had taken before. The wind was intensely cold, but the sun
shone brightly, and she hugged her little shawl around her, and ran
on and on swiftly and hopefully.
 “If I hurry and walk and walk just as fast as I can, I’m sure to come
to Good Children Street, and then I’ll ask Pepsie or Mam’selle Diane
to keep me, for I’ll never, never, go back to Tante Pauline again.”
By and by, when she was quite tired with running and walking, she
came to a beautiful, broad avenue that she had never seen before.
There were large, fine houses, and gardens blooming brightly even
in the chilly December wind, and lovely children; dressed in warm
velvet and furs, walking with their nurses on the wide, clean
sidewalks; and every moment carriages drawn by glossy, prancing
horses whirled by, and people laughed and talked merrily, and
looked so happy and contented. She had never seen anything like it
before. It was all delightful, like a pleasant dream, and even better
than Good Children Street. She thought of Pepsie, and wished that
she could see it, and then she imagined how enchanted her friend
would be to ride in one of those fine carriages, with the sun shining
on her, and the fresh wind blowing in her face. The wind reminded
her that she was cold. It pierced through her thin frock and scanty
skirts, and the holes in her shoes and stockings made her ashamed.
After a while she found a sunny corner on the steps of a church,
where she crouched and tried to cover her dilapidated shoes with
her short skirts.
Presently a merry group of children passed, and she heard them
talking of Christmas. “To-morrow is Christmas; this is Christmas Eve,
and we are going to have a Christmas-tree.” Her heart gave a great
throb of joy. By to-morrow she was sure to find Pepsie, and Pepsie
had promised her a Christmas-tree long ago, and she wouldn’t
forget; she was sure to have it ready for her. Oh, if she only dared
ask some of these kind-looking people to show her the way to Good
Children Street! But she remembered what Tante Pauline had told
her, and fear kept her silent. However, she was sure, now that she
had got away from that dreadful place, that some one would find her.
Mr. Gex had found her before when she was lost, and he might find
her now, because she didn’t have a domino on, and he would know
her right away; and then she would get Mr. Gex to hunt for Tony, and
perhaps she would have Tony for Christmas. In this way she
comforted herself until she was quite happy.
 After a while a kind-looking woman came along with a market-
basket on her arm. She was eating something, and Lady Jane, being
very hungry looked at her so wistfully that the woman stopped and
asked her if she would like a piece of bread. She replied eagerly that
she would. The good woman gave her a roll and a large, rosy apple,
and she went back to her corner and munched them contentedly.
Then a fine milk-cart rattled up to a neighboring door, and her heart
almost leaped to her throat; but it was not Tante Modeste. Still, Tante
Modeste might come any moment. She sold milk way up town to rich
people. Yes, she was sure to come; so she sat in her corner and ate
her apple, and waited with unwavering confidence.
And in this way the day passed pleasantly and comfortably to Lady
Jane. She was not very cold in her sheltered corner, and the good
woman’s kindness had satisfied her hunger; but at last she began to
think that it must be nearly night, for she saw the sun slipping down
into the cold, gray clouds behind the opposite houses, and she
wondered what she should do and where she should go when it was
quite dark. Neither Tante Modeste nor Mr. Gex had come, and now it
was too late and she would have to wait until to-morrow. Then she
began to reproach herself for sitting still. “I should have gone on and
on, and by this time I would have been in Good Children Street,” said
she.
She never thought of returning to her old haunts or to Tante
Pauline, and if she had tried she could not have found her way back.
She had wandered too far from her old landmarks, so the only thing
to do was to press on in her search for Good Children Street. It was
while she was standing at a corner, uncertain which way to turn, that
Mrs. Lanier caught a glimpse of her. And what good fortune it would
have been to Lady Jane if that noble-hearted woman had obeyed the
kindly impulse that urged her to stop and speak to the friendless little
waif! But destiny intended it to be otherwise, so she went on her way
to her luxurious home and happy children, while the desolate orphan
wandered about in the cold and darkness, looking in vain for the
humble friends who even at that moment were thinking of her and
longing for her.
 Poor little soul! she had never been out in the dark night alone
before, and every sound and movement startled her. Once a dog
sprang out and barked at her, and she ran trembling into a doorway,
only to be ordered away by an unkind servant. Sometimes she
stopped and looked into the windows of the beautiful houses as she
passed. There were bright fires, pictures, and flowers, and she heard
the merry voices of children laughing and playing; and the soft notes
of a piano, with some one singing, reminded her of Mam’selle Diane.
Then a choking sob would rise in her throat, and she would cover
her face and cry a little silently.
Presently she found herself before a large, handsome house; the
blinds were open and the parlor was brilliantly lighted. A lady—it was
Mrs. Lanier—sat at the piano playing a waltz, and two little girls in
white frocks and red sashes were dancing together. Lady Jane
pressed near the railing and devoured the scene with wide, sparkling
eyes. They were the same steps that Gex had taught her, and it was
the very waltz that he sometimes whistled. Before she knew it, quite
carried away by the music, and forgetful of everything, she dropped
her shawl, and holding out her soiled ragged skirt, was tripping and
whirling as merrily as the little ones within, while opposite to her, her
shadow, thrown by a street lamp over her head, tripped and bobbed
and whirled, not unlike Mr. Gex, the ancient “professeur of the
dance.” And a right merry time she had out there in the biting
December night, pirouetting with her own shadow.
Suddenly the music stopped, a nurse came and took the little girls
away, and some one drew down the blinds and shut her out alone in
the cold; there was nothing then for her to do but to move on, and
picking up her shawl, she crept away a little wearily, for dancing,
although it had lightened her heart, had wasted her strength, and it
seemed to her that the wind was rising and the cold becoming more
intense, for she shivered from time to time, and her bare little toes
and fingers smarted badly. Once or twice, from sheer exhaustion,
she dropped down on a doorstep, but when she saw any one
approaching she sprang up and hurried along, trying to be brave and
patient. Yes, she must come to Good Children Street very soon, and
she never turned a corner that she did not expect to see Madelon’s
little house, wedged in between the two tall ones, and the light
gleaming from Pepsie’s small window.
 CHAPTER XXVIII
LADY JANE FINDS SHELTER

A T last, when she began to feel very tired and sleepy, she came
to a place where two streets seemed to run together in a long
point, and before her she saw a large building, with lights in all the
windows, and behind it a tall church spire seemed nearly to touch
the stars that hung above it so soft and bright. Her tearful eyes
singled out two of them very near together that looked as though
they were watching her, and she held out her arms, and murmured,
“Papa, mama, can’t I come to you? I’m so cold and sleepy.” Poor
little soul! the stars made no answer to her piteous appeal, but
continued to twinkle as serenely as they have done since time
began, and will do until it ends. Then she looked again toward the
brilliantly lighted windows under the shadow of the church spire. She
could not get very near, for in front of the house was an iron railing,
but she noticed a marble slab let into the wall over the porch, on
which was an inscription, and above it a row of letters were visible in
the light from the street lamps. Lady Jane spelled them out.
“‘Orphans’ Home.’ Or-phans! I wonder what orphans are? Oh, how
warm and light it is in there!” Then she put her little cold toes
between the iron railings on the stone coping, and clinging with her
two hands lifted herself a little higher, and there she saw an
enchanting sight. In the center of the room was a tree, a real tree,
growing nearly to the ceiling, with moss and flowers on the ground
around it, and never did the spreading branches of any other tree
bear such glorious fruit. There was a great deal of light and color;
and moving, swaying balls of silver and gold danced and whirled
before her dazzled eyes. At first she could hardly distinguish the
different objects in the confusion of form and color; but at last she
saw that there was everything the most exacting child could desire—
birds, rabbits, dogs, kittens, dolls; globes of gold, silver, scarlet, and
blue; tops, pictures, games, bonbons, sugared fruits, apples,
oranges, and little frosted cakes, in such bewildering profusion that
they were like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. And there was a merry
group of girls, laughing and talking, while they hung, and pinned, and
fastened, more and more, until it seemed as if the branches would
break under their load.
And Lady Jane, clinging to the railing, with stiff, cold hands and
aching feet, pressed her little, white face close to the iron bars, and
looked and looked.
Suddenly the door was opened, and a woman came out, who,
when she saw the child clinging to the railing, bareheaded and
scantily clothed in spite of the piercing cold, went to her and spoke
kindly and gently.
Her voice brought Lady Jane back from Paradise to the bitter
reality of her position and the dreary December night. For a moment
she could hardly move, and she was so chilled and cramped that
when she unclasped her hold she almost fell into the motherly arms
extended toward her.
“My child, my poor child, what are you doing here so late, in the
cold, and with these thin clothes? Why don’t you go home?”
Then the poor little soul, overcome with a horrible fear, began to
shiver and cry. “Oh, don’t! Oh, please don’t send me back to Tante
Pauline! I’m afraid of her; she shook me and struck me this morning,
and I’ve run away from her.”
LADY JANE, CLINGING TO THE RAILING, LOOKED AND LOOKED
 “Where does your Tante Pauline live?” asked the woman, studying
the tremulous little face with a pair of keen, thoughtful eyes.
“I don’t know; away over there somewhere.”
“Don’t you know the name of the street?”
“It isn’t a street; it’s a little place all mud and water, with boards to
walk on.”
“Can’t you tell me your aunt’s name?”
“Yes, it’s Tante Pauline.”
“But her other name?”
“I don’t know, I only know Tante Pauline. Oh please, please don’t
send me there! I’m afraid to go back, because she said I must sing
and beg money, and I couldn’t sing, and I didn’t like to ask people for
nickels,” and the child’s voice broke into a little wail of entreaty that
touched the kind heart of that noble, tender, loving woman, the
Margaret whom some to-day call Saint Margaret. She had heard just
such pitiful stories before from hundreds of hapless little orphans,
who never appealed to her in vain.
“Where are your father and mother?” she asked, as she led the
child to the shelter of the porch.
Lady Jane made the same pathetic answer as usual:
“Papa went to heaven, and Tante Pauline says that mama’s gone
away, and I think she’s gone where papa is.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, while the child shivered and clung
closer to her. “Would you like to stay here to-night, my dear?” she
asked, as she opened the door. “This is the home of a great many
little homeless girls, and the good Sisters love and care for them all.”
Lady Jane’s anxious face brightened instantly. “Oh, can I—can I
stay here where the Christmas-tree is?”
“Yes, my child, and to-morrow there will be something on it for
you.”
 And Margaret opened the door and led Lady Jane into that safe
and comfortable haven where so many hapless little ones have
found a shelter.
That night, after the child had been fed and warmed, and was
safely in bed with the other little orphans, the good Margaret sent
word to all the police stations that she had housed a little wanderer
who if called for could be found safe in her care.
But the little wanderer was not claimed the next day, nor the next
week. Time went on, and Lady Jane was considered a permanent
inmate of the home. She wore the plain uniform of blue, and her long
golden hair was plaited in a thick braid, but still she was lovely,
although not as picturesque as when Pepsie brushed her waving
locks. She was so lovely in person and so gentle and obedient that
she soon became the idol, not only of the good Margaret, but of all
the Sisters, and even of the children, and her singing was a constant
pleasure, for every day her voice became stronger and richer, and
her thrilling little strains went straight to the hearts of those who
heard them.
“She must be taught music,” said Margaret to Sister Agnes; “such
a voice must be carefully cultivated for the church.” Therefore the
Sister who took her in charge devoted herself to the development of
the child’s wonderful talent, and in a few months she was spoken of
as quite a musical prodigy, and all the wealthy patronesses of the
home singled her out as one that was rare and beautiful, and
showered all sorts of gifts and attentions upon her. Among those who
treated her with marked favor was Mrs. Lanier. She never visited the
home without asking for little Jane (Margaret had thought it best to
drop the “Lady,” and the child, with an intuition of what was right,
complied with the wish), and never went away without leaving some
substantial evidence of her interest in the child.
“I believe Mrs. Lanier would like to adopt little Jane,” said Margaret
one day to Sister Agnes, when that lady had just left. “If she hadn’t
so many children of her own, I don’t think she would leave her long
with us.”
 “It is surprising, the interest she takes in her,” returned Sister
Agnes. “When the child sings she just sits as if she was lost to
everything, and listens with all her soul.”
“And she asks the strangest questions about the little thing,”
continued Margaret reflectively. “And she is always suggesting some
way to find out who the child belonged to; but although I’ve tried
every way I can think of, I have never been able to learn anything
satisfactory.”
It was true Margaret had made every effort from the very first to
discover something of the child’s antecedents; but she had been
unsuccessful, owing in a measure to Lady Jane’s reticence. She had
tried by every means to draw some remarks from her that would
furnish a clue to work upon; but all that she could ever induce the
child to say was to repeat the simple statement she had made the
first night, when the good woman found her, cold and forlorn, clinging
to the iron railing in front of the Home.
But Lady Jane’s reticence was not from choice. It was fear that
kept her silent about her life in Good Children Street. Often she
would be about to mention Pepsie, Mam’selle Diane, or the
Paichoux, but the fear of Tante Pauline would freeze the words on
her lips. And she was so happy where she was that even her sorrow
for the loss of Tony was beginning to die out. She loved the good
Sisters, and her grateful little heart clung to Margaret who had saved
her from being sent back to Tante Pauline and the dreadful fate of a
little street beggar. And the warm-hearted little orphans were like
sisters to her; they were merry little playmates, and she was a little
queen among them. And there was the church, with the beautiful
altar, the pictures, the lights, and the music. Oh, how heavenly the
music was, and how she loved to sing with the Sisters! and the
grand organ notes carried her little soul up to the celestial gates on
strains of sweet melody. Yes, she loved it all and was very happy, but
she never ceased to think of Pepsie, Madelon, and Gex, and when
she sang, she seemed always to be with Mam’selle Diane, nestled
close to her side, and, mingled with the strong, rich voices of the
Sisters, she fancied she heard the sweet, faded strains of her
beloved teacher and friend.
 Sometimes when she was studying her lessons she would forget
for a moment where she was, and her book would fall in her lap, and
again she would be sitting with Pepsie, shelling pecans or watching
with breathless interest a game of solitaire; and at times when she
was playing with the children suddenly she would remember the
ancient “professeur of the dance,” and she would hold out her little
blue skirt, and trip and whirl as gracefully in her coarse shoes as she
did when Gex was her teacher.
And so the months went on with Lady Jane, while her friends in
Good Children Street never ceased to talk of her and to lament over
their loss. Poor Mam’selle Diane was in great trouble. Madame
d’Hautreve was very ill, and there was little hope of her recovery.
“She may linger through the spring,” the doctor said, “but you can
hardly expect to keep her through the summer.” And he was right, for
during the last days of the dry, hot month of August, the poor lady,
one of the last of an old aristocracy, closed her dim eyes on a life
that had been full of strange vicissitudes, and was laid away in the
ancient tomb of the d’Hautreves, not far from Lady Jane’s young
mother. And Mam’selle Diane, the noble, patient, self-sacrificing
daughter, was left alone in the little house, with her memories, her
flowers, and her birds. And often, during those first bitter days of
bereavement, she would say to herself, “Oh, if I had that sweet child
now, what a comfort she would be to me! To hear her heavenly little
voice would give me new hope and courage.”
On the morning of Madame d’Hautreve’s funeral, when Paichoux
opened his paper at the breakfast table, he uttered such a loud
exclamation of surprise that Tante Modeste almost dropped the
coffee-pot.
“What is it, papa, what is it?” she cried.
And in reply Paichoux read aloud the notice of the death of
Madame la veuve d’Hautreve, née d’Orgenois; and directly
underneath: “Died at the Charity Hospital, Madame Pauline Jozain,
née Bergeron.”
 CHAPTER XXIX
TANTE MODESTE FINDS LADY JANE

W HEN Paichoux read of the death of Madame Jozain in the

Charity Hospital, he said decidedly: “Modeste, that woman
never left the city. She never went to Texas. She has been hidden
here all the time, and I must find that child.”
“And if you find her, papa, bring her right here to me,” said the
kind-hearted woman. “We have a good many children, it’s true; but
there’s always room for Lady Jane, and I love the little thing as well
as if she were mine.”
Paichoux was gone nearly all day, and, much to the
disappointment of the whole family, did not find Lady Jane.
His first visit had been to the Charity Hospital, where he learned
that Madame Jozain had been brought there a few days before by
the charity wagon. It had been called to a miserable little cabin back
of the city, where they had found the woman very ill, with no one to
care for her, and destitute of every necessity. There was no child
with her—she was quite alone; and in the few lucid intervals that
preceded her death she had never spoken of any child. Paichoux
then obtained the directions from the driver of the charity wagon, and
after some search he found the wretched neighborhood. There all
they could tell him was that the woman had come a few weeks
before; that she had brought very little with her, and appeared to be
suffering. There was no child with her then, and none of the
neighbors had ever seen one visit her, or, for that matter, a grown
person either. When she became worse they were afraid she might
die alone, and had called the charity wagon to take her to the
hospital. The Public Administrator had taken charge of what little she
left, and that was all they could tell.
Did any one know where she lived before she came there? No one
knew; an old negro had brought her and her few things, and they
had not noticed the number of his wagon. The landlord of the squalid
place said that the same old man who brought her had engaged her
room; he did not know the negro. Madame had paid a month’s rent
in advance, and just when the month was up she had been carried to
the hospital.
There the information stopped, and, in spite of every effort,
Paichoux could learn no more. The wretched woman had indeed
obliterated, as it were, every trace of the child. In her fear of
detection, after Lady Jane’s escape from her, she had moved from
place to place, hunted and pursued by a guilty conscience that would
never allow her to rest, and gradually going from bad to worse until
she had died in that last refuge for the miserable, the Charity
Hospital.
“And here I am, just where I started!” said Paichoux dejectedly,
after he had told Tante Modeste of his day’s adventure. “However,”
said he, “I sha’n’t give it up. I’m bound to find out what she did with
that child; the more I think of it, the more I’m convinced that she
never went to Texas, and that the child is still here. Now I’ve a mind
to visit every orphan asylum in the city, and see if I can’t find her in
one of them.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Tante Modeste. “We’ll see for ourselves, and
then we shall be satisfied. Unless she gave Lady Jane away, she’s
likely to be in some such place; and I think, as I always have,
Paichoux, that she stole Lady Jane from some rich family, and that
was why she ran off so sudden and hid. That lady’s coming the day
after proves that some one was on madame’s track. Oh, I tell you
there’s a history there, if we can only get at it. We’ll start out to-
morrow and see what can be done. I sha’n’t rest until the child is
found and restored to her own people.”
One morning, while Lady Jane was in the schoolroom busy with
her lessons, Margaret entered with some visitors. It was a very
common thing for people to come during study hours, and the child
did not look up until she heard some one say: “These are the
children of that age. See if you recognize ‘Lady Jane’ among them.”
 It was her old name that startled her, and made her turn suddenly
toward the man and woman, who were looking eagerly about the
room. In an instant the bright-faced woman cried, “Yes! yes! Oh,
there she is!” and simultaneously Lady Jane exclaimed, “Tante
Modeste, oh, Tante Modeste!” and, quicker than I can tell it, she was
clasped to the loving heart of her old friend, while Paichoux looked
on, twirling his hat and smiling broadly.
“Jane, you can come with us,” said Margaret, as she led the way
to the parlor.
There was a long and interesting conversation, to which the child
listened with grave wonder, while she nestled close to Tante
Modeste. She did not understand all they said; there was a great
deal about Madame Jozain and Good Children Street, and a gold
watch with diamond initials, and beautiful linen with initial letters, J.
C., embroidered on it, and madame’s sudden flight, and the visit of
the elegant lady in the fine carriage, the Texas story, and madame’s
wretched hiding-place and miserable death in the Charity Hospital; to
all of which Margaret listened with surprise and interest. Then she in
turn told the Paichoux how Lady Jane had been found looking in the
window on Christmas Eve, while she clung to the railings, half-clad
and suffering with the cold, and how she had questioned her and
endeavored to get some clue to her identity.
“Why didn’t you tell Mother Margaret about your friends in Good
Children Street, my dear?” asked Tante Modeste, with one of her
bright smiles.
Lady Jane hesitated a moment, and then replied timidly, “Because
I was afraid.”
“What were you afraid of, my child?” asked Paichoux kindly.
“Tante Pauline told me that I mustn’t.” Then she stopped and
looked wistfully at Margaret. “Must I tell now, Mother Margaret? Will it
be right to tell? Tante Pauline told me not to.”
“Yes, my dear, you can tell everything now. It’s right. You must tell
us all you remember.”
 “Tante Pauline told me that I must never, never speak of Good
Children Street nor of any one that lived there, and that I must never
tell any one my name, nor where I lived.”
“Poor child!” said Margaret to Paichoux. “There must have been
some serious reason for so much secrecy. Yes, I agree with you that
there’s a mystery which we must try to clear up, but I would rather
wait a little while. Jane has a friend who is very rich and very
influential—Mrs. Lanier, the banker’s wife. She is absent in
Washington, and when she returns I’ll consult with her, and we’ll see
what’s best to be done. I shouldn’t like to take any important step
until then. But in the meantime, Mr. Paichoux, it will do no harm to
put your plan in operation. I think the idea is good, and in this way
we can work together.”
Then Paichoux promised to begin his investigations at once, for he
was certain that they would bring about some good results, and that,
before many months had passed, Mother Margaret would have one
orphan less to care for.
While Margaret and Paichoux were discussing these important
matters, Tante Modeste and Lady Jane were talking as fast as their
tongues could fly. The child heard for the first time about poor
Mam’selle Diane’s loss, and her eyes filled with tears of sympathy for
her gentle friend. And then, there were Pepsie and Madelon, Gex
and Tite—did they remember her and want to see her? Oh, how glad
she was to hear from them all again; and Tante Modeste cried a little
when Lady Jane told of that terrible midnight ride, of the wretched
home she had been carried to, of her singing and begging in the
streets, of her cold and hunger, and of the blow she had received as
the crowning cruelty.
“But the worst of all was losing Tony. Oh, Tante Modeste!” and the
tears sprang to her eyes, “I’m afraid I’ll never, never find him!”
“Yes, you will, my dear. I’ve faith to believe you will,” replied Tante
Modeste hopefully.
“We’ve found you, ma petite, and now we’ll find the bird. Don’t fret
about it.”
 Then after Margaret had promised to take Lady Jane to Good
Children Street the next day, the good couple went away well
pleased with what they had accomplished.
Tante Modeste could not return home until she had told Pepsie as
well as little Gex the good news. And Mam’selle Diane’s sad heart
was greatly cheered to know that the dear child was safe in the care
of the good Margaret. And oh, what bright hopes and plans filled the
lonely hours of that evening, as she sat dreaming on her little gallery
in the pale, cold moonlight!
The next day Pepsie cried and laughed together when Lady Jane
sprang into her arms and embraced her with her old fervor. “You’re
just the same,” she said, holding the child off and looking at her
fondly; “that is, your face hasn’t changed; but I don’t like your hair
braided, and I don’t like your clothes. I must get Mother Margaret to
let me dress you as I used to.”
And Mam’selle Diane had something of the same feeling when,
after the first long embrace, she looked at the child and asked
Mother Margaret if it was necessary for her to wear the uniform of
the Home. “She must wear it while she is an inmate,” replied
Margaret smiling. “But that will not be long, I suspect. We shall lose
her—yes, I’m afraid we shall lose her soon.”
Then Mam’selle Diane talked a long while with Margaret about her
hopes and plans for Lady Jane. “I am all alone,” she said
pathetically, “and she would give me a new interest in life. If her
relatives are not discovered, why cannot I have her? I will educate
her, and teach her music, and devote my life to her.”
Margaret promised to think it over, and in the mean time she
consented that Lady Jane should remain a few days with Mam’selle
Diane and her friends in Good Children Street.
That night, while the child was nestled close to Mam’selle Diane
as they sat together on the little moonlit gallery, she suddenly asked
with startling earnestness:
“Has your mama gone to heaven, too, Mam’selle Diane?”
“I hope so, my darling; I think so,” replied Diane in a choked voice.