heights. The Spaniards, instinct with romance, chivalry, respect for heroic misfortune, saw their ideal in this flimsy and volatile Francis. Thrown by the Austrian Charles (always a foreigner to all his subjects) into a dark, unsightly prison, the French King inspired a reverent pity in the generous heart of Spain. From the lowest to the highest, the nation was interested in the illustrious captive. The family of the Duke of Infantado received a caution from the Emperor, offended by their enthusiasm. "Persons of great standing," writes Margaret, later, "desire nothing more than the return of the Emperor to Italy; and then you would not long be left in prison!" Ximena del Infantado fell so passionately in love with the royal captive, that, on his betrothal to another in 1526, she entered the religious life. And, indeed, Francis had never conquered so many hearts by his magnificence as yielded now to his misfortunes.
Charles found himself in the position of a gaoler, keeping his captive against the popular desire. The fret and annoyance of such a position hardened his heart. He behaved ungenerously to the prisoner who was none the less his equal, his rival, his companion-in-arms. With no dislike to Francis (for whom, indeed, he ever had a contemptuous affection), he made his prison as dreary, as uncomfortable as possible, thinking thus speedily to exact from him the surrender of Burgundy. But Francis, for all his volatile spirit, had a certain fineness of disposition, a certain real chivalry under his Amadis airs and graces. He refused to grant the Emperor's terms, though, as the year drew on, the Alcazar became, in the sultry summer weather, an intolerable exchange for Fontainebleau. Still Francis refused to dismember his kingdom; growing a little
