Another hunting scene, a little less repugnant to modern ideas, is the famous ‘Boar Hunt’ in the National Gallery in London. Here the canvas enclosure is in the hunting seat of the Pardo, and Philip, on his prancing mount, is just thrusting his forked javelin into the flank of a passing boar, whilst around him are his courtiers and companions in the sport, with Olivares nearest; and in the arena there are some clumsy blue carriages, with partially curtained windows innocent of glass except in front, in one of which sits Queen Isabel. The mules of her coach have, of course, been unharnessed and put out of harm’s way; but as the boars are agile and fierce, and had been known to leap into the coaches, the ladies themselves are armed with light javelins to repel them. Every detail of the life of this pleasure-loving Court has been fixed for us by the great painter: the ladies and gentlemen in the garb in which they lived, the dwarfs and buffoons who amused them, the palaces in which they intrigued; and, as a running accompaniment always, the sated weary face of the King from youth to age. Fair and lymphatic, with dull blue eyes, and colourless sallow face, Philip had inherited the tradition that in all public appearances the King of Spain must never smile: and, mad votary of pleasure as he was, he never moved a muscle either in delight or annoyance whilst he was behind the footlights. Isabel was more spontaneous, and Spanish etiquette never crushed her. But as time went on and the clouds piled up for the coming tempest, her face grew heavier and her eyes more sad. Her portrait was painted many times by Velazquez, though only one specimen remains in the Museo del Prado, the equestrian figure, painted at about the time of Baltasar’s birth before misfortune had spoilt her life. Another likeness of her, now at Hampton Court, was painted ten years later (1638), shows the change wrought by trouble: but in all Velazquez’s representations of the Queen, we see the same characteristics: the large, expressive black eyes, the broad spacious forehead, and the strong full jaw; and, though the general aspect was more like her buxom mother than her clever father, Isabel’s countenance is alive with intelligence. In the later portraits the face grows weary, and the lower part is flaccid and heavy, but in all the painted portraits of Isabel by Velazquez, we have the woman herself before us; not a sensuous idealisation of her, like that painted by Rubens, and now at the Louvre. [Illustration: ISABEL OF BOURBON. ]