ain
new and beautiful works by the great Venetian, than to defend and
increase his own power and that of the Church. But these treasures were
kept jealously guarded, accessible to no human being except himself and
his artists.

Philip was all and all to himself; caring nothing for others, he did not
deem it necessary, that they should share his pleasures. If anything
outside the Church occupied a place in his regard, it was the artist, and
therefore he did not grudge him what he denied to others.

Not only in the upper story, but in the lower ones also antique and
modern busts and statues were arranged in appropriate places, and Moor
was at liberty to choose from among them, for the king permitted him to
do what was granted to no one else.

He often summoned him to the Titian Hall, and still more frequently rang
the bell and entered the connecting corridor, accessible to himself
alone, which led from the rooms devoted to art and science to the
treasury and studio, where he spent hours with Moor. Ulrich eagerly
devoted himself to the work, and his master watched his labor like an
attentive, strict, and faithful teacher; meantime he carefully guarded
against overtaxing the boy, allowed him to accompany him on many a ride,
and advised him to look about the city. At first the lad liked to stroll
through the streets and watch the long, brilliant processions, or timidly
shrink back when closely-muffled men, their figures wholly invisible
except the eyes and feet, bore a corpse along, or glided on mysterious
missions through the streets. The bull-fights might have bewitched him,
but he loved horses, and it grieved him to see the noble animal, wounded
and killed.

He soon wearied of the civil and religious ceremonies, that might be
witnessed nearly every day, and which always exerted the same power of
attraction to the inhabitants of Madrid. Priests swarmed in the Alcazar,
and soldiers belonging to every branch of military service, daily guarded
or marched by the palace.

On the journey he had met plenty of mules with gay plumes and tassels,
oddly-dressed peasants and citizens. Gentlemen in brilliant court
uniforms, princes and princesses he saw daily in the court-yards, on the
stairs, and in the park of the palace.

At Toulouse and in other cities, through which he had passed, life had
been far more busy, active, and gay than in quiet Madrid, where
everything went on as if people were on their way to church, where a
ch