The palace occupies the northern side of the huge edifice. It forms the least meritorious part of Herrera’s design, and was not improved by the alterations effected by order of Charles IV. The halls are dull, dreary, and altogether in the style of the eighteenth century--a sufficient condemnation. Those were days when every monarch wanted a Versailles: we see the same effort at imitation at Caserta, at the Superga, at Wilhelmshöhe and Philippsruhe. There is, of course, a Hall of Battles, celebrating with the exception of the pictures of the fight at St Quentin, Lepanto, and Higueruela, victories over the Dutch and Flemings. National self-glorification may be carried too far, but in England we are too forgetful of our glorious past. We do not dream of adorning our palaces with pictures of Crecy, Poitiers, Agincourt, Blenheim, Trafalgar, and Waterloo. You may search England in vain for monuments to William the Conqueror, the founder of the monarchy, to Edward, our great justiciar, to the Black Prince, to de Montfort or to Langton, to whom we owe our constitutional liberties. One unacquainted with our history might suppose we sprang into existence a bare century ago. In a generally conservative country like ours, this complete detachment from the past appears strangely contradictory. This vast, empty palace contains little of interest except the two rooms inhabited by Philip. Within them all is austerity and simplicity--as befitted a king who was a monk at heart. The walls are whitewashed, the flooring of brick. The footstools remind us of the gout from which the sad king suffered--certainly not from over-indulgence in the good things of life. In this room he worked from four in the morning till midnight, his labours interrupted only by his fervent devotions. The adjoining chamber is the oratorio, of which I have already spoken, where he could assist at the celebration of Mass. Here, at the end of a two months’ illness, patiently borne, he died, grasping the very crucifix with which his father had been consoled during his last moments. His death, at any rate, was happier and more dignified than that of his victorious rival, Elizabeth, writhing out her life at Richmond in an ecstasy of remorse and chagrin. Adjacent to the Escorial are several blocks of buildings, such as the Campaña, containing the domestic offices, and the Casa del Principe, the Petit Trianon of the palace, surrounded by gardens. In these may be seen the cross marking the spot where the baker’s boy was burnt at the stake in Philip’s reign. A queer site for a palace dedicated to the “menus plaisirs”!