MADRID — A new historical examination of Eugenia Martínez Vallejo, the Spanish girl taken from her rural home at age six and displayed before the court of King Charles II as a human curiosity, has renewed attention on one of the most disturbing chapters in European royal history, in which a child was stripped of her dignity, exhibited as a “monster,” and left to die at just 24 years old.
Eugenia Martínez Vallejo was born in 1674 in a remote settlement in Merindad de Montija, in the north of Spain, to José Martínez Vallejo and Antonia de la Bodega, parents whose exact occupations remain unknown but who are believed to have come from humble origins. According to accounts from the period, her mother’s waters broke one Sunday morning while she was in church, forcing her to give birth inside the house of worship.
Those present at the birth reportedly believed the unusual circumstances were a good omen for the child’s future. The Spanish writer María Jesús has suggested this may explain the name Eugenia, which in Spanish means “la bien nacida,” or “the well-born.” As a baby, Eugenia was described as healthy, strong and possessing a very good appetite.
In the 17th century, such signs were seen as promising. Infant mortality rates were staggering, particularly in rural areas where doctors were scarce. In England at the time, 12 percent of all children born died in their first year, and 36 percent died before reaching the age of six.
Eugenia’s robust appearance initially reassured her parents.
But her growth soon became alarming. Eugenia began to develop at a rate far beyond that of other infants. It was said she looked like a 12-year-old before her first birthday, an account that was likely exaggerated but reflected genuine concern.
By the time she was one, she already weighed around 20 kilograms.
Her siblings grew normally, like most other children. Her parents sought out a physician to help with their daughter’s weight problems, and Eugenia was placed on a strict diet. Even this proved insufficient.
As time passed, she continued to grow at a rate that frightened those around her.
As Eugenia grew larger, she became the target of relentless mockery from her neighbors. Her parents, desperate to protect her, tried to hide her inside the house so she would not have to endure the harassment of the outside world. But word of the “giant girl” spread quickly to nearby towns and villages.
Strangers began approaching the family home in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her and mock her appearance. By the time she was six years old, it is said she weighed around 65 kilograms. As a result of the constant bullying, she spent most of her time confined to her room, hidden from view.
That isolation ended when a messenger from the royal family arrived at the family’s door. The messenger asked whether Eugenia could be taken before King Charles II of Spain, also known as “the Bewitched.” Her story had spread so far throughout the Spanish countryside that it had reached the ears of the king, who was intrigued by reports of a mysteriously large girl.
Her parents were initially uneasy but were in no position to refuse a royal request. It remains unclear whether they understood the exact reasons for the visit to the capital. Perhaps they believed they would find a cure for their daughter.
Sadly, this was not the case. In 1680, at just six years old, Eugenia was taken to the royal court.
Once there, the royal tailor quickly made Eugenia a dress as required for presentation before the king. Charles II was reportedly fascinated by her appearance and suggested to her parents that she be taken care of and become part of the royal court. They promptly accepted.
A chronicler of the period, Juan Cabezas, published a pamphlet describing her arrival.
“Los prodigios de la naturaleza han llegado a esta corte en forma de una niña gigante llamada Eugenia Martínez,” Cabezas wrote, meaning “the wonders of nature have arrived to this court in the form of a giant girl named Eugenia Martínez.” He added that the king, realizing this was a miracle of nature, decided to see her and ordered her brought to his royal palace in Madrid.
At first glance, the invitation appeared to be an act of goodwill and generosity. But there was another reason. Since medieval times, it had been a popular tradition in European courts to keep all sorts of entertaining characters around.
Spain was no exception. These individuals were called “gente de placer,” which translates to “people of pleasure.”
Charles II was reportedly very generous with Eugenia, and she was promptly included within this group. These entertainers consisted of a variety of characters, including jesters, dwarfs, people with deformities and even the insane. The king and other members of the court kept these people around for amusement, and the king especially enjoyed their company, albeit in order to ridicule them.
Charles II did not delay in exhibiting Eugenia at parties held at the palace. She was sought out by many ladies who wanted to be drawn or painted next to her in order to emphasize the beauty of their slender figures. Eugenia and others like her at court received no payment for their services despite working long hours.
They lived essentially at the mercy of their lords, who could throw them out penniless whenever they saw fit.
Some saw this as a grave misfortune, as they lived simply to be mocked as human exhibits by the nobility. Yet for some, it may have been a stroke of luck. The nobility spent a lot of money on the “gente de placer,” ensuring they were well fed, kept warm during cold winter nights and even had a varied and interesting wardrobe, which was much more than could be said for most peasants of the day.
Despite being provided for, the nobility treated them as objects and did to them whatever they pleased for their own amusement. Charles’s father, Philip IV of Spain, is recorded to have had around 110 court dwarfs. Much of the nobility also kept dwarfs in order to reinforce the idea of perfection and the superiority of the ruling dynasty.
What makes Eugenia stand out from the others at court was the fact that two renowned portraits of her were commissioned by the king. These were painted by the artist Juan Carreño de Miranda, who was appointed court painter to the queen in 1671. Today, both portraits can be seen side by side at the Museo del Prado in Madrid.
In the portraits, Eugenia appears sad and uncomfortable. She was presumably in quite a lot of pain, as her weight issues would have made it difficult to remain posing for such a long time. At court, she was exhibited as a curiosity or a freak because of her size.
These paintings are a testament to this, as they are named “La Monstrua Vestida” and “La Monstrua Desnuda,” meaning “The Monster Clothed” and “The Monster Undressed.”
The cruelty of the court was evident in the way Juan Cabezas described her. He stated that Eugenia was pale and not too unpleasant to look at, although her face was overly large. “The head, face and neck and other features of hers are the size of two men’s heads,” he wrote.
“Her stomach is as huge as the fattest pregnant woman about to give birth.”
He continued: “Her thighs are so thick and full of flesh that one becomes confused and astonished by her unsightly nature. Her legs are just a tad smaller than those of a man and full of rose. Her feet are proportionate to her body, well, they are like those of a man.
However, she has trouble getting around due to the excessive size of her body.”
At the time, no one knew what afflicted the young Eugenia. Nowadays, it is speculated that she likely suffered from a genetic disorder called Prader-Willi syndrome. This is caused by a loss of function of specific genes on chromosome 15.
Children with this syndrome are constantly hungry, which can lead to obesity and type 2 diabetes.
Often affected individuals have a narrow forehead, small hands and feet, short height, light skin and hair, and are unable to have children. Many of these symptoms are very similar to the reports of Eugenia from the time, though historians cannot be 100 percent certain this was the cause of her appearance.
Tragically, Eugenia was frequently mocked when walking from place to place within the palace, as she tired easily and struggled to keep up with others. It is believed she had hormonal problems and was infertile, never having her period even in later life. Despite her poor health and the mockery she endured, it is believed that she enjoyed living at the palace.
Eugenia was a pleasant girl and actually became quite popular at court, even being appreciated by the royal family. Even as she entered her teenage years and adulthood, she is said to have remained well liked. Eugenia Martínez Vallejo died in 1699 at the age of 24.
She lived her whole life in the palace following being taken in when she was six.
The location of her remains and the exact cause of her death are unknown, though it was likely related to the condition she suffered from. Hundreds of years later, in 1997, the city of Avilés in Spain commissioned a statue of Eugenia Martínez to be made in honor of the artist of her portrait, Carreño de Miranda.
The statue depicts his most famous painting, “La Monstrua Vestida,” and was made out of bronze by the Spanish sculptor Amador González Evia. The statue stands on the street named after the artist in the Barrio Marinero de Sabugo. It remains one of the few public acknowledgments of a girl whose life was defined by exploitation and ridicule.
Eugenia’s story raises profound questions about the treatment of difference in early modern Europe. She was taken from her family at six years old, not to be cured or educated, but to serve as entertainment for a court that viewed her body as a spectacle. She was given a home, food and clothing, but she was never given dignity.
The king who brought her to court, Charles II, was himself a figure of tragedy. Known as “the Bewitched,” he suffered from severe physical and mental disabilities and was unable to produce an heir, leading to the end of the Spanish Habsburg dynasty. His fascination with Eugenia may have stemmed from a shared experience of being viewed as an oddity.
Yet whatever sympathy he may have felt, he still allowed her to be exhibited, painted and mocked. The two portraits by Carreño de Miranda remain among the most striking images of the era, not only for their artistic quality but for what they reveal about the relationship between power and the powerless.
In “La Monstrua Vestida,” Eugenia is dressed in fine clothing, presented as a member of the court. In “La Monstrua Desnuda,” she is stripped bare, her body displayed for the gaze of the king and his courtiers. Together, they capture the duality of her existence: she was both a member of the royal household and a living exhibit.
Historians continue to debate whether Eugenia’s life at court was better or worse than what she would have experienced at home. At court, she was fed, clothed and housed. At home, she faced poverty, isolation and the mockery of neighbors.
But at court, she was also dehumanized in ways that no child should endure.
Her story is not unique. Across Europe, courts kept individuals with disabilities, deformities and unusual appearances as entertainers. They were known by various names: “fools,” “dwarfs,” “monsters.”
They were valued not for who they were but for what they represented: the strange, the exotic, the other.
Eugenia Martínez Vallejo was one of these people. She was a child who deserved protection, care and love. Instead, she was made into a spectacle.
She died at 24, her remains lost to history, her voice silenced. Only her portraits remain, staring out from the walls of the Prado, a silent testament to a life consumed by cruelty.
The statue in Avilés stands as a small act of remembrance. It depicts her as she was painted, dressed in the finery of the court that mocked her. But it also serves as a reminder that behind the image was a real person, a girl who grew up far from home, surrounded by strangers who saw her only as a curiosity.
Her story continues to resonate today, as debates over the representation of difference, the treatment of disability and the ethics of spectacle remain as relevant as ever. Eugenia Martínez Vallejo, the “Monster” of the palace, was never given the chance to live a life of her own choosing. She was taken, displayed and forgotten.
But she is forgotten no longer. Her portraits hang in one of the world’s greatest museums. Her statue stands in a Spanish city.
Her story, however tragic, is being told. And in the telling, there is at least the possibility of justice, however late it may come.