jealous of her position and feared lest a new
marriage might depose her. Accordingly, she arranged matters to her
liking, and succeeded in having Philip marry Elizabeth Farnese, a
princess of Parma, who had been described to her as a meek and humble
little body with no mind or will of her own. With a queen of this stamp
safely stowed away in the palace, the Princess Orsini saw no limit to
her autocratic sway. This time, however, the clever woman of state had
been cruelly deceived; for the mild Elizabeth turned out to be a general
in her own right, who promptly dismissed her would-be patron from the
court and speedily acquired such domination over Philip that he became
the mere creature of her will.

This Elizabeth Farnese, in spite of her quiet life at Parma, soon showed
herself to possess a capacity for government which no one could have
suspected, for she had studied and was far better acquainted with
history and politics than the majority of women, spoke several
languages, and had an intelligent appreciation of the fine arts. Hume
calls her a virago, and, although this is a harsh word, her first
encounter with the Princess Orsini would seem to warrant its use. The
princess, by virtue of her office of _camerara-mayor_, had gone ahead of
the king, to meet the new queen, and the two women met at the little
village of Xadraca, four leagues beyond Guadalaxara. The princess knelt
and kissed the hand of her new mistress, and then conducted her to the
apartments which had been prepared for her. Coxe describes the scene as
follows: "The Princess Orsini began to express the usual compliments and
to hint at the impatience of the royal bridegroom. But she was
thunderstruck when the queen interrupted her with bitter reproaches and
affected to consider her dress and deportment as equally disrespectful.
A mild apology served only to rouse new fury; the queen haughtily
silenced her remonstrances, and exclaimed to the guard: 'Turn out that
mad woman who has dared to insult me.' She even assisted in pushing her
out of the apartment. Then she called the officer in waiting, and
commanded him to arrest the princess and convey her to the frontier. The
officer, hesitating and astonished, represented that the king alone had
the power to give such an order. 'Have you not,' she indignantly
exclaimed, 'his majesty's order to obey me without reserve?' On his
reply in the affirmative, she impatiently rejoined: 'Then obey me.' As
he still persis