The secret history of the court of Spain during the last century

By Rachel Challice

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Title: The secret history of the court of Spain during the last century

Author: Rachel Challice

Release date: September 3, 2023 [eBook #71557]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: D. Applenton & Company, 1909

Credits: Nahum Maso i Carcases, Emmanuel Ackerman, Neil Mercer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF SPAIN DURING THE LAST CENTURY ***

Transcriber's note: Italic font is indicated by _underscores_.

THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE
COURT OF SPAIN

[Illustration: ALFONSO XIII. AND VICTORIA EUGÉNIE, KING AND QUEEN OF
SPAIN
_Frontispiece_
]

THE SECRET HISTORY OF
THE COURT OF SPAIN
DURING THE LAST CENTURY

BY
RACHEL CHALLICE

WITH THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON & COMPANY
MCMIX

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In presenting this history to the British public, I must draw attention
to the fact that the material is gathered solely from Spanish sources,
so that where the statements do not tally with the reports of English
historians it must be remembered that the book, as the mouthpiece
of Spanish writers, may lay claim to a special interest of its own,
particularly as some of these books are not known in our country.

Thus, the account of the character of Ferdinand VII., the story of the
Second of May, 1808, the relations between England and Spain during the
reign of Isabella II., and the account of the recent Regency of Maria
Cristina, may open points of view not generally entertained in England,
but the fact of their sources may entitle them to some attention.

The history of the Regency ending in 1902, by Ortega Rubio, was only
published last year, and it was as a privileged reader of the library
of the Royal Palace at Madrid that I studied it. The book referred
to by Galdos has also only recently seen the light. I owe much of
the information to the celebrated bibliophile, Don Fernando Bremon,
who garnered it for me from many histories now out of print and
from manuscripts which came into his hand from his connection with
celebrities of the Spanish Court. Other sources of information were
open to me at the valuable library of the Athenæum at Madrid, of which
I was made an honorary member during my stay in the capital; and I have
also to render tribute to those whose personal recollections have added
to the interest of my survey of Court life during the last century.

RACHEL CHALLICE.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. INTRIGUES OF FERDINAND, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS,
AGAINST HIS PARENTS AND GODOY 1

II. THE OVERTHROW OF GODOY 24

III. HOW NAPOLEON I. CHECKMATED THE SPANISH
ROYAL FAMILY 53

IV. KING FERDINAND VII. AND HIS HOME LIFE 79

V. MARIA CRISTINA, FERDINAND’S FOURTH WIFE--INTRIGUES
AT COURT 105

VI. MARIA CRISTINA AS REGENT AND AS WIFE OF
MUÑOZ 122

VII. QUEEN ISABELLA’S GIRLHOOD AND THE DANGERS
WHICH BESET IT 142

VIII. MINISTERIAL DIFFICULTIES IN THE PALACE 149

IX. ROYAL MATRIMONIAL SCHEMES--HOW QUEEN
ISABELLA’S SISTER FLED FROM PARIS IN 1848 161

X. A ROYAL QUARREL AND THE RECONCILIATION 173

XI. ATTEMPT ON THE LIFE OF QUEEN ISABELLA--THE
OVERTHROW OF THE QUEEN-MOTHER, MARIA
CRISTINA 180

XII. COURT INTRIGUES 193

XIII. THE COURT OF SPAIN UNDER ITALIAN SWAY 224

XIV. SOME TRUTHS ABOUT THE REPUBLIC OF 1873-1874 242

XV. THE REVIVAL OF COURT LIFE IN SPAIN UNDER
ALFONSO XII. 252

XVI. THE PALACE AND POLITICS DURING THE REGENCY
OF QUEEN MARIA CRISTINA 281

XVII. ALFONSO XIII. 305

XVIII. PRINCESS VICTORIA EUGÉNIE OF BATTENBERG AS
QUEEN OF SPAIN 314

INDEX 345

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ALFONSO XIII. AND QUEEN VICTORIA OF SPAIN _frontispiece_
From a photograph by Franzen, Madrid.

TO FACE PAGE
MARIA LUISA, QUEEN OF CHARLES IV. 8
From the painting by Goya in the Museo del Prado.

MARIA ANTONIA, PRINCESS OF ASTURIAS, FIRST WIFE
OF FERDINAND VII. 34
From an engraving.

MARIA ISABEL FRANCISCA OF BRAGANZA, SECOND WIFE
OF FERDINAND VII. 84
From an engraving.

MARIA JOSEFA AMALIA, THIRD WIFE OF FERDINAND VII. 92
From an engraving.

MARIA CRISTINA, FOURTH WIFE OF FERDINAND VII.
AND MOTHER OF ISABELLA II. 106
From an original painting.

DON CARLOS DE BOURBON, DUKE OF MADRID 112
From a photograph.

MARSHAL PRIM 122
From an engraving.

GENERAL ESPARTERO, PRINCE OF VERGARA 128
From a painting by Casado del Alisal.

MARSHAL LEOPOLDO O’DONNELL, DUKE OF TETUAN 138
From an engraving.

RECEPTION OF ISABELLA II. AT THE ESCORIAL 150
From a painting by Benjumea.

ISABELLA II., QUEEN OF SPAIN 162
From a painting by Madrazo.

THE COUNCIL OF MINISTERS OF ISABELLA II. DECLARES
WAR AGAINST MOROCCO 184
From a painting by Benjumea.

GENERAL NARVAEZ 214
From a photograph.

EMILIO CASTELAR 224
From a photograph.

AMADEUS OF SAVOY, DUKE OF AOSTA, AFTERWARDS
KING OF SPAIN 226
From a photograph by J. Laurent, Madrid.

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL LUIS DE FIGUEROLA FERRETTI 242
From a painting by Miss A. J. Challice, exhibited at the Royal
Academy, London.

KING ALFONSO XII. VISITING CHOLERA PATIENTS AT
ARANJUEZ 252
From a painting by J. Bermudo y Mateos.

DON CARLOS, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, AND HIS LATE
WIFE, THE INFANTA MERCEDES 266
From a photograph by Franzen, Madrid.

PRAXEDES MATEO SAGASTA, LIBERAL PRIME MINISTER 274
From a photograph.

DEATH OF ALFONSO XII. 276
From a painting by J. A. Benlliure y Gil.

ANTONIO CANOVAS DEL CASTILLO, CONSERVATIVE PRIME
MINISTER 292
From a photograph.

THE INFANTA MARIA TERESA AND KING ALFONSO XIII. 294
From a photograph by Debas, Madrid.

ALFONSO XIII., KING OF SPAIN 306
From a photograph by Franzen, Madrid.

THE QUEEN-MOTHER MARIA CRISTINA OF SPAIN 310
From a photograph by Debas, Madrid.

VICTORIA EUGÉNIE, QUEEN OF SPAIN 314
From a photograph by J. Beagles and Co.

QUEEN VICTORIA OF SPAIN AND THE QUEEN-MOTHER
AT A BULL-FIGHT 316
From a photograph.

PRINCE FERDINAND OF BAVARIA, BROTHER-IN-LAW OF
ALFONSO XIII. 318
From a photograph by Baumann, Münich.

THE INFANTA MARIA TERESA, AFTERWARDS WIFE OF
PRINCE FERDINAND OF BAVARIA 320
From a photograph by Franzen, Madrid.

CHRISTENING OF THE PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, SON OF
ALFONSO XIII. 338

Key
===
A = Antonio (son of Duke of Montpensier)
CB = Carlos de Bourbon
CG = Count of Girgenti
DCM = Don Carlos, Count of Montemolin
DP = De la Paz
FA = Francisco de Asis
FP = Francisco de Paula
LF = Luis Ferdinand of Bavaria
MCA = Maria Cristina of Austria
MCN = Maria Cristina of Naples
(sister of Luisa Carlota and of Princess of Beira)
Mcd = Mercedes (cousin to Alfonso XII.)
MF = Maria Francisca of Portugal (sister of Isabel of Braganza)
MJA = Maria Josefa Amalia of Saxony
MLF = Maria Luisa Fernanda
MM = Maria de las Mercedes (Princess of Asturias)
MT = Maria Teresa
P = Pilar (Infanta)
PM = Princess of Modena
VE = Victoria Eugénie of Battenberg

INFORMATION DRAWN FROM

A three-volume History of Ferdinand VII., published 1843, with the
original correspondence of Napoleon and Bourbon family as Appendix.

“Memorias de un Setenton” (septuagenarian), by Ramon Mesoneros Romanos.
1880.

“Estafeta del Palacio Real,” by Bermejo. 3 large vols.

Unpublished MSS., the property of Don Fernando Bremon, brother-in-law
to the Marchioness of Salamanca, the lady-in-waiting of the present
Prince of Asturias.

“Memorias de Don Antonio Alcalá Galiano.” 1886.

“La de Los Tristes Destinos,” Perez Galdos. 1907.

Rare old book: “Narracion de Don Juan Van Halem.”

“Regencia de Maria Cristina,” by Juan Ortega Rubio. 1907. 2 large
vols.

THE SECRET HISTORY
OF THE COURT OF SPAIN IN THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY

CHAPTER I

INTRIGUES OF FERDINAND, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, AGAINST HIS PARENTS AND
GODOY

1800-1804

The history of Spain during the nineteenth century is synonymous with
that of favourites at the Court of Madrid, for as the country, in spite
of all its struggles, had practically no voice in the election of the
Parliaments, the main events of the land had their rise in the royal
palace, where self-interested persons blinded the eyes of the rulers
for their own purposes.

Thus the fall of Spain into the hands of the French evidently resulted
from the dissensions of those environing the Royal Family, and the
hopes entertained by the optimistic Spaniards at the return of
Ferdinand VII. were destroyed by the flattering courtiers encouraging
the Sovereign in his despotic ideas.

The evils of the reign of Isabel II., and the revolution and republic
which followed, can all be traced to the same intriguing spirit of
the Court, and from the death of Charles III., who is still spoken
of as the “great Charles,” the government of the country was, in
reality, in the invisible hands of those who ruled the Sovereign;
and hence the disastrous influence exercised in the land by Queen
Maria Luisa, whose feeble, good-natured consort, Carlos IV., let her
pursue her self-willed course, whilst falling himself an easy prey to
the overweening ambition of Godoy, her favourite. This daughter of
Philip, Duke of Parma, had shown from her childhood signs of great
intelligence, and her education had given full scope for her talents.
Without being absolutely beautiful, her features had a charm of their
own from their expression, and her fine eyes, elegant figure, and
pleasant manners, soon exercised a sway at the Court of Spain when she
made her appearance as the bride of the Prince of Asturias.

Albeit generous and warm-hearted, Maria Luisa was of a somewhat
arrogant disposition. This was seen when she was only twelve years old,
in the tone of superiority she adopted in her home after the contract
of her marriage to the heir of the Spanish throne had been signed.
Her brother Ferdinand resented this assumption of superiority, and
remonstrated with his sister on the subject. Upon this the Princess
promptly lost her temper, and said: “I will teach you to pay me the
attention which you owe me, because I shall finally be Queen of Spain,
whilst you will never be more than a little Duke of Parma!” “Well, the
Duke of Parma will have the honour of slapping the Queen of Spain,” was
the reply, and Ferdinand promptly gave his sister a slap in the face.

The Duke was then arrested by order of his father, and he was only
released at the plea of his sister, who was sorry when the quarrel
assumed such a serious aspect.

When crowned Queen of Spain, in 1789, as the wife of Charles IV.,
twenty-four years after her marriage, Maria Luisa soon showed that her
impulsive nature, which knew no check from her husband, would bring her
country to grief.

Captivated by the young Godoy, she surprised and alarmed the nation by
the swift way she exalted him to the highest position in the realm.
As the favourite had known how to dominate the will of the King, as
well as to subjugate the heart of the Queen, there was no limit to his
power, and when he was given the title of “The Prince of the Peace,”
for the alliance he made with the French, the animosity of the nation
was so much excited that public interest was soon centred in Prince
Ferdinand as one who might free the Court from the favourite, and thus
save the country from the disastrous effect of an undue submission to
France.

As Alcalá Galiano says in his “Memorias,” “The title of ‘Prince’
conferred on Godoy seemed to detract from the dignity of the Royal
Family.” The Prince of Asturias was at this time eleven years of age.

It must be remembered that the Queen had never gained any real hold
on her son’s love. She was naturally disinclined to any efforts
dictated by maternal love, and she had taken no pains to overcome the
constitutional defects of her son, which were repellent to her lively
imagination and quick temperament.

In a letter to the Grand Duke of Berg, the Prince is described by
the royal mother as peculiarly deficient in sensibility, and she
remarks that his torpid nerves indeed required strong stimulants for
their exercise. He spoke little, rarely smiled, and found a sardonic
satisfaction in all kinds of petty acts of cruelty. He liked to crush a
little bird if it fell into his hands, and, indeed, pity was a quality
to which he was a stranger.

As the education of the young Prince was entrusted to Don Juan
Escoiquiz, it was soon seen that he exercised a great power over the
royal pupil, and he sought to use him as an instrument for thwarting
the schemes of the Queen’s favourite--which boded ill for the land.

Escoiquiz was certainly clever. He had translated Young’s poems and
Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and when he was summoned to the royal palace
in his capacity of tutor to the young Prince, he exclaimed: “I shall be
happy if my instruction of my royal pupil leads to his being the most
humane of Princes.”

However, time did not show that he guided the Prince in this direction,
for the intrigue of the Queen with Godoy so aroused his malicious envy
that his one idea was to instigate his pupil to courses tending to the
overthrow of the favourite. Classics and mathematics were foregone by
the cleric, who devoted the time to teaching the Prince that the one
great secret of a ruler was to trust nobody entirely, but to oppose one
man to another man and one party against the other.

This lesson of distrust the royal boy learnt to perfection, and as his
cold eyes watched his mother’s deceitful conduct, and he saw how easily
his father fell a prey to the artifice and design of the lovers, his
heart was a fruitful soil for the poisonous words of his preceptor.

Escoiquiz soon determined to use the lad more effectually as an
instrument against Godoy, and so he inspired him with the desire to
have a seat in the Cabinet Ministry, and he wrote discourses and
treatises which he gave the Prince to publish as his own, so that the
lad might pose as a statesman of a wisdom and foresight beyond his
years.

But although Carlos IV. was an easy tool for an unprincipled wife, he
was not inclined to fall a prey to the machinations of his son, and to
give his son a place that had been denied to himself at a like age; so
the artifice of the tutor was discovered, and he was dismissed from
Court with the appointment of Archdeacon of Alcaraz, in the Chapter of
Toledo.

But albeit banished from his post as tutor, the cleric still retained
his influence over the Prince, and he seized every opportunity of going
to the royal palace to foster the ideas which he had instilled in the
mind of his former pupil.

The picture given by Manuel Godoy in his “Mémoires” of the daily life
of the young royal people at this time shows that parental affection
played little part in the lives of the young Princes and Princesses.
After the morning Mass was over, the young people were allowed to
receive visits till half-past eleven, when they went to their parents’
room, and there remained till lunch-time, and each Infante and Infanta
had his or her meal in a separate apartment. The afternoon drive was
generally taken in the same direction every day, and the carriage was
accompanied by a royal guard. In the evening the Infantes and Infantas
spent half an hour with their parents, and then returned to their own
quarters, where they were sometimes allowed to have their friends.

Whenever the Infantes and Infantas went from one part of the palace
to another, they were accompanied by a _gentil hombre_, and they were
treated very much like State prisoners.

This monotonous life of the Royal Family was suddenly disturbed by
the Mission from the Court of France in which the proposal was made
by Napoleon to unite his brother Lucien in marriage with Isabel,
daughter of Carlos IV. The King was alarmed at the idea of such a close
connection with the warrior who treated Europe like a chess-board, but,
not wishing openly to refuse the powerful ruler, he promptly arranged
for the marriage of the Princess with his nephew, who was heir to the
throne of Naples, and he also made arrangements for the marriage of
Ferdinand with Princess Maria Antonia of Naples.

Godoy was strongly opposed to the Prince’s marriage, declaring that
eighteen was too tender an age for this step, and that it would be
better for the young man to improve his mind by travelling, and fit
himself for his future task of governing the nation before he married.
However, the King listened to the Marquis of Caballero, who was in
favour of the alliance, and the wedding of Ferdinand took place in
Barcelona in October, 1802, at the same time as that of his sister.

When Ferdinand subsequently heard how Godoy had tried to prevent his
marriage, he thought it was with a desire to prevent the succession
being established in his favour, and his hatred of the favourite
increased accordingly.

Godoy writes very emphatically in his “Mémoires” of the evil influence
exercised by Escoiquiz on the mind of Prince Ferdinand:

“The master seized upon the moral faculties of his pupil like an
unclean insect which sticks to the bud of a rose and stops the growth
by the web it weaves. Ferdinand, doomed at an early age to feel no
affection for anyone, was a prey to fear and dissimulation. His
youth, his manhood--in short, his whole life--was passed in a state
of uninterrupted suspicion. He did not believe in virtue, not even in
that of Escoiquiz, and at last the tutor received the due reward of the
instructions he had imparted to his pupil.

“He died, loaded with contempt, ejected and banished from his pupil.”

Godoy declared that his enemies paralyzed his endeavours to free Spain
from the dominion of the French. He writes in the same “Mémoires”:

“Determined to impose upon the young Prince that I wished to deprive
him of the natural affection of his august parents, my enemies so far
succeeded in alarming him that the Prince was brought to look upon me
as a dangerous rival who aspired to seat himself on the throne. To such
perfidious insinuations they added other indirect practices.

“They made Charles IV. tremble at the bare idea of a war with France,
when I had in September, 1806, firmly resolved upon proclaiming it.”

The account of Manuel Godoy’s last visit to the ex-Queen Maria Luisa is
characteristic of the devotion of the courtier:

“It was in May, 1808, that my old King, his august lady, and the young
infant Francisco, the unhappy victims of the iniquitous faction that
called Napoleon to interfere in the matters of Spain, were transported
from that country to France, and they remained in the dull, lonely
dwelling of Fontainebleau.

“The Queen, a stranger in the royal palace of her ancestors, was in a
grand bed. Her eyes were full of sadness but of majesty; her grave and
venerable face was stamped with virtue. As she was able to speak openly
without the presence of any importunate witnesses, she evidently wished
to give expression to her feelings when her eyes fell on those who were
with her, and she noted the tears which they vainly strove to stop. At
last she broke the silence, and said:

“‘And you (_tu_), Manuel, my loyal friend, from whom I have had so many
proofs that you would always remain so till the end--you will have your
customary patience and listen to what I have to say!’”

[Illustration: MARIA LUISA, QUEEN OF CHARLES IV.

After the Painting by Goya in the Museo del Prado]

And then the Queen once more poured into her friend’s ears her doubts
and fears as to her future and that of Charles IV.

From the time Maria Antonia of Naples married the eighteen-year-old
Prince of Asturias in 1802, she proved herself an active partisan
of her husband and his tutor Escoiquiz, and if she had lived longer
her clear-sightedness might have prevented the surrender of Spain to
Bonaparte.

In obedience to her mother, Queen Caroline of Naples, the Princess of
Asturias was unremitting in her efforts to contravert the plans of her
irreconcilable enemy Napoleon, which were subsequently furthered by
the short-sighted policy of Godoy and Maria Luisa. Secret and almost
daily were the letters which passed between Princess Maria Antonia and
Queen Caroline, and, as the correspondence was conducted in cipher, it
entered the Court of Naples without attracting any attention, and thus
many diplomatic secrets from Madrid travelled thence to England. In the
bitter warfare of personal hatred and political intrigue no accusations
were too bad to be levelled by one part of the Spanish Royal Family
against the other.

The partisans of the Prince and Princess of Asturias declared that
Godoy and Maria Luisa filled the King’s mind with suspicions against
Ferdinand, even to the point of attributing parricidal thoughts to
him, so that the King might disinherit him and put Godoy in his place.
And the followers of Godoy declared that the Princess of Asturias not
only had designs against the Prince of the Peace, but against the
Sovereigns themselves.

The secret correspondence between Queen Caroline and her daughter was
found years afterwards in the house of the Duke of Infantado, and
it showed the hatred of the Prince and his wife towards the Queen’s
favourite, whilst speaking of the King as if he already had one foot in
the grave. One of these letters to Naples was intercepted by Napoleon,
and it fully convinced him of the part played by Prince Ferdinand and
his wife with regard to France.

The people’s discontent with Godoy was fostered by Ferdinand’s
followers, and, indeed, the government of the turbulent country
required a more expert hand than that of the favourite.

The clergy were also enraged when they heard that the Minister had
received a Bull from Rome for the reform of the monastic institutions,
and they exalted Ferdinand to the sky as a patron and protector of the
altars, whilst they circulated exaggerated stories with regard to those
in power, and his mother was the chief object of these attacks.

When Queen Maria Luisa found the love which the people had formerly
professed for her and her husband was now turned into hatred, she said
that “Madrid was a place for good Princes and bad Kings.”

Napoleon soon intercepted another letter from Ferdinand’s wife, Maria
Antonia, to the Queen of Naples, and he sent it to Carlos IV. to show
what dreadful reports she gave of her father and mother-in-law, and
how she not only spoke against France with the bitterness of hatred,
but she offered to work with all her might to break the alliance of the
Spanish Cabinet with the Emperor of the French.

The King, seeing the false position in which he was placed by the
imprudence of his daughter-in-law, begged his wife to take the letter
to the Princess of Asturias, and to conjure her to be more careful in
the future.

The Queen seems to have been as conciliatory as possible in the
interview, but Maria Antonia would not listen to her mother-in-law, and
behaved in such an arrogant fashion that Ferdinand himself had to call
her to reason.

The dissensions continued at Court, and Ferdinand one day asked Godoy,
the Prince of the Peace, what might be the destination of the combined
fleets. Fearing that the Prince’s Italian wife would betray such an
important State secret, Godoy purposely gave an equivocal reply, saying
that the squadron at Toulon would go towards Egypt, and that the others
would wait for an opportunity of falling upon Ireland.

Maria Antonia lost no time in reporting the news to her mother, and,
consequently, Nelson was manœuvring in those seas whilst the Spanish
and French ships set sail for America. So the Englishman lost many
days waiting off Malta in his belief of the news he had received from
Naples. It was thus that Godoy checkmated the plan of the Princess of
Asturias to aid the English against France, which was as much the foe
of Naples as it was the ally of Spain.

The fact of Ferdinand’s wife manœuvring against Napoleon made her very
unpopular at Court, and, although she was a model of industry and
virtue, Godoy was naturally opposed to one who supported Ferdinand in
his hatred of himself, whilst Escoiquiz regarded her as an invaluable
tool for his designs against the French, and thus the palace was at
this time a perfect hotbed of intrigue.

It was said that the two miscarriages of the Princess of Asturias were
due to treatment to which she was subjected by the arrangement of the
Queen or the Prince of the Peace, or by the concert of both.

The premature death of his wife was indeed an unfortunate thing for
the Prince of Asturias, for, as she said a short time before her
departure, she regretted she was about to leave him, as she believed
that, had she lived, she would have influenced him very wisely. Report
also attributed this death to the machinations of the Queen and her
favourite, albeit it was known that she died from an attack of phthisis.

Some time after the Princess’s death, the Prince of Asturias, who had
subsequently learnt that Godoy had deceived him in his report as to the
destination of the French forces on an important occasion, said to the
favourite:

“But to be frank, Manuel, you were either deceived yourself or you
deceived me. You told me that the French fleet at Toulon was going to
Egypt.”

“It is true, señor, but there was a change in affairs, and so the plan
was changed.”

“No,” returned Ferdinand, “because the fleet went off at the first
start to the ocean----”

“You will recollect,” said la Paz, “it started twice, because the first
time Nelson got news beforehand of it, and so it had to return to the
port and take a very decided direction the second time.”

“No,” returned Ferdinand in a rage, “neither the expedition to Egypt
nor the attack on Ireland were truly arranged. You take a pleasure in
telling me a tissue of lies. It is quite evident that you regard me
as a mere cipher in the palace, and you treat me worse than a porter.
The heir-apparent is the representative of the Sovereign, and deserves
equal respect. Would you have dared to deceive my father like that?”

“When you are King,” returned Godoy, restraining his wrath with
difficulty, “you will yourself justify similar conduct in your
Ministers. But I have long wished to resign my office, and if Your
Highness will add your request to mine in the matter it will not be
difficult to succeed.”

“Yes,” returned Ferdinand, with a malicious smile, “you want to
compromise me like that. Is it not so?” And he turned his back on the
Minister and left him.

Such was the open state of enmity between Godoy and Ferdinand in
the royal palace, and the Prince’s hatred of the favourite was, if
possible, equalled by that of the people.

The King, who was nothing but a tool in his wife’s hands, joined his
consort in overwhelming the man with honours, until he was finally
given the post of High Admiral of Spain and the Indias, coupled with
the title of Highness.

The event was celebrated by all the united bands of Madrid, and, as
Ferdinand had perforce to assist at the festivities with his parents,
he whispered to his brother Carlos that he considered such honours as
a personal insult to himself; “for,” he added, “this vassal of mine is
usurping the love and enthusiasm of the people. I am nothing in the
State, and he is omnipotent. My position is insufferable.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” returned the Infante. “The more they give,
the sooner they will take it away.”

The eyes of both father and son were now turned to Napoleon as the
arbiter in their dissensions, and so Spain slipped gradually into the
power of the great French commander.

Certainly Ferdinand’s letter to the Emperor was frank, if it was not
self-respecting. “I wish,” he said, “to confide in you as I would in a
tender father. I am full of respect and filial love for my father,” he
continued, “for his heart is good and generous, and, as Your Majesty
knows, these very qualities are but instruments in the hands of astute
and malignant people to keep him from the truth. I implore Your
Majesty,” added the Spanish Prince, “not only to give me a Princess of
your family as a wife, but to do away with all the difficulties which
will accompany the matter.”

The French Ambassador, Beauharnais, husband of the future Empress of
the French, checkmated the Prince’s desires, for he informed Godoy
of the letter addressed to his master, and the favourite prevented
the matter from going any farther. However, although he knew that
his hopes had been defeated, Ferdinand, schooled in the science of
duplicity, caressed his mother and kissed the hand of his father, and
all in such a cheerful and pleasant way that it was thought that he had
overcome his naturally gloomy nature. But “still waters run deep,” and
Ferdinand’s hatred of his mother’s favourite was now a consuming fire,
and at the same time that it was said that Maria Luisa was hatching a
scheme for a change in the dynasty, Ferdinand was engaged in a dreadful
plot against his parents. It was at this time that the Prince presented
his mother with a copy of his translation from the French of Vertot’s
“Revoluciones Romanas,” and the title was naturally very obnoxious to
the Sovereigns. The very word “Revolucion” struck terror in the palace
in those days, as it summoned up pictures of the execution of Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette, so Carlos IV. remonstrated with the Prince
on the direction taken by his literary tastes, and stopped the sale of
the work; so the book remained at the printer’s until its translator
ascended the throne of Spain.

As the King was glad to see his son occupied, he told him that, if he
really wished to cultivate his literary taste, he would advise him to
translate Cordillac’s “Étude de l’Histoire,” and when Ferdinand asked
his father what motto he would suggest for the book, Carlos promptly
returned: “Les hommes ne sont pas grands par leurs passions, mais par
leur raison.”

Thus, by the time the Court returned to the Escorial for the autumn
months, the royal parents congratulated themselves that Ferdinand’s
literary occupations had banished his misanthropic humours; and when
the Queen was told one day by the Marquesa de Perijaa, who was out
walking with her, that her son passed the nights in writing, she
explained to the lady that the Prince was engaged in the translation
recommended by his father, and the information of his absorption in
writing suggested no ulterior design.

However, one day Carlos IV. found a letter placed in a room in the
palace ready to meet his eye. “Urgent” was written on the cover, and
the letter had no signature. Indited evidently with a trembling hand,
it ran thus:

“Prince Ferdinand is plotting something in the palace, the Crown is
in danger, and Queen Maria Luisa is in imminent peril of dying from
poison. The prevention of the deed is implored without an instant’s
delay. The faithful vassal who gives this information is not in a
position to fulfil his duty in any other way.”

All efforts to discover the writer of this epistle failed, and proof of
its authorship was never found; but the writer’s object was gained, and
the King determined to investigate his son’s labours. So he appeared
one night in the Prince’s study with the excuse of asking him to
compose something to celebrate the recent successes in America; and
this he did in a tone of friendliness, as he did not really give any
credit to the anonymous accusation which had reached him. However,
Ferdinand’s confusion at his father’s visit was suspicious, and,
following the Prince’s eyes, the King saw they were turned with anxiety
to some papers on the table, and his request to see them was met with
insolence. So the Sovereign promptly had the Prince put under arrest,
with the understanding that he was not to leave his room or speak to
anybody.

As Godoy was ill in Madrid at the time, Carlos sent for Caballero, the
Minister of Grace and Justice, in post-haste, and to him was read one
of the documents he had found on Ferdinand’s table, which the Prince
had written at the dictation of Escoiquiz to present to his father. In
this paper the character of Godoy was painted in the darkest colours,
and the favourite was even accused of aspiring to the throne by
plotting the death of the King and the rest of the Royal Family. The
monarch was advised in the letter to ascertain these facts by lying in
wait and listening to the tools of Godoy during a day’s shoot in the
Pardo or in the Casa de Campo.

The King was also counselled to hold no communication with his wife
during the time of the inquiry, so as to avoid her tears and plaints,
and he was told to associate his heir with him in the Government and
to give him the command of the troops; and, finally, His Majesty was
implored by his son to keep the letter a profound secret from his
mother, as he did not wish to be exposed to her resentment and the
revenge of his enemies.

In another document written to the Prince of Asturias, Escoiquiz
advised quite a different course of action, for he suggested that the
fall of Godoy should be accomplished by an appeal to the Queen herself.
Ferdinand was counselled to implore his mother on his knees to give up
the favourite, whilst supporting his appeal by an account of the amours
of the Prince of the Peace with other ladies; and the letter concluded
with the advice to avoid all thought of a marriage with Godoy’s
sister-in-law. The King had also found in his son’s room the cipher and
key of the correspondence used between the Prince and the Archdeacon
of Toledo, and these were the same which had been used by his late
daughter-in-law with the ex-Queen of Naples.

And, lastly, among the papers there was a letter in Ferdinand’s own
handwriting, which was closed but not directed, and evidently meant for
his adviser. In this note the Prince said he would look for a priest
to put the document in his father’s hands. He said, moreover, that he
had taken St. Hermenegildo for his patron saint in the matter; but
although he had put himself under this sacred protection, it was with
no desire to accept the vocation of a martyr, and he would therefore be
very careful to ascertain what success could crown the plot for Godoy’s
overthrow before starting on it. But if the plot succeeded, he wished
the storm to fall only on the head of _Sisberto_ (Don Manuel Godoy) and
_Govinda_ (Queen Maria Luisa, his mother), and _Leovigildo_ (Carlos
IV.) was to be brought over to his side with cheers and applause.

The perusal of the papers completed, the King turned to Caballero,
saying:

“What punishment does the law impose for a son who acts like that?”

“Señor,” was the reply, “royal clemency is out of court in this matter;
the criminal deserves death!”

“What!” cried the Queen, “have you forgotten he is my son? By my right
as his mother I will destroy these papers which would condemn him, for
he has been deceived, he has been ruined!” And so saying, the unhappy
mother flung herself into a chair, weeping bitterly and clutching at
the incriminating letters. It was thus that they never appeared in the
inquiry.

Caballero advised a frank statement of the facts to the nation, so a
royal manifesto was addressed by the King to the country, explaining
“that, albeit his son was familiar with all the principles of
Christianity indoctrinated by his paternal affection, he had favoured a
plot to dethrone him.”

The King, moreover, wrote the following letter to Napoleon:

“SAN LORENZO,
“_October 20, 1807._

“MY BROTHER,

“At the time in which I was concerting means for the destruction of
our common enemy, and when I thought that the designs of the Queen of
Italy had ceased with the death of her daughter [Ferdinand’s wife], I
find that the spirit of blackest intrigue is within the very palace. My
eldest son, the heir-presumptive to the throne, has conceived a fearful
design to dethrone me and to attempt the life of his mother. Such an
atrocious crime can only be punished by the severity of the law. _That
(law) which calls him to succeed me must be revoked, for one of his
brothers will be more worthy to take his place in my heart and on the
throne._

“Now I am trying to discover his accomplices, to find the thread of the
fearful misfortune, and I will not lose an instant in informing Your
Imperial Majesty of the matter, begging you to aid me with your opinion
and counsel.

“This I beg, etc.,

“CARLOS.”

That day, when Ferdinand thought his father had gone hunting, he begged
his mother to come to his room or to let him go to hers. The Queen
declined to comply with these requests, but she sent Caballero to the
Prince, and, with the cowardly duplicity in which he was an expert,
Ferdinand told the Minister that the serious steps with regard to the
Queen had been suggested by his mother-in-law, the ex-Queen Caroline,
and that they had filled both him and his late wife with horror. He
added that, if the persistence of his evil counsellor had led him to
be a little weak, it must be remembered he had resisted the seductions
for four years, and that he had sought to introduce reforms into the
kingdom.

When Godoy had recovered sufficiently from his indisposition to go to
the Escorial, he appeared in the room of the disgraced Prince.

Ferdinand threw himself into the arms of the favourite against whom he
had plotted so darkly, exclaiming through his tears:

“Oh, my Manuel, I have wanted so much to see you. I have been deceived
and ruined by those rogues. You alone can get me out of this trouble.”

“I have come for that purpose,” returned Godoy. “You are the son of my
King and Queen. Many a time I have held you in my arms, and I would
give you a thousand lives if I had them. And I wept,” said Godoy,
who tells this story in his “Mémoires,” “even more than the Prince,
although his tears came from his heart.”

“Yes, I am certain,” continued the Prince, “that you would not come to
see me like this if you did not intend to help me. You have spoken with
my parents? I cannot hope that they will pardon me. I have given the
names of my evil advisers. What more can I do to show my repentance? If
there is anything more I can do, only tell me, tell me, for I will do
anything in which to please my dear parents, and you too. I beg of you
to help me, for pity’s sake.”

“Señor, señor,” returned Godoy, “there is an immense distance between
this humility to a mere slave of your family and changing your opinion
of me. This I do beg of you to do; and as for the rest, I have only
come for your good.”

“May God reward you!” replied the Prince. “You are the only one who can
speak for me without any fear of compromising himself. Will you not
dictate me a letter to my parents?”

“The best words you can write,” said Godoy, “are those from your own
heart, and those I will take myself to your parents.”

The result of this advice was two letters. The first was addressed to
the King:[1]

“SEÑOR, DEAR PAPA,

“I have done wrong, I have sinned against you as a King and as a
father; but I repent, and now I offer you the most humble obedience.
I ought to have done nothing without telling Your Majesty, but I was
taken by surprise. I have revealed the culprits, and I entreat Your
Majesty to pardon me for having lied the other day, and that you will
permit your grateful son to kiss your royal feet.

“FERDINAND.”

[1] “History of Ferdinand VII.,” 1843.

The other missive ran thus:

“SEÑORA, DEAR MAMMA,

“I am very sorry for the grave offence I have committed against my
parents and my King and Queen; and it is with the deepest humility that
I beg Your Majesty to intercede with papa for permission to kiss his
royal feet.

“FERDINAND.”

The Prince’s plea was granted, and the King pardoned his son, whilst
ordering the inquiry to be completed against those who had instigated
the plot.

Ferdinand sought to prove his horror of the counsels of his late
tutor by showing his parents the books he had sent him, with the
passages marked which the tutor had considered most appropriate to his
situation. The works were “The Life of St. Hermenegildo,” the poem by
Morales in honour of the same saint, that of Alfonso the Wise and those
of the Prince of Viana, Louis XIII., King of France, and his mother,
Marie de Medicis.

Maria Luisa’s maternal affection, and Napoleon’s refusal to allow the
publication of any information bearing upon himself or his Ambassador
Beauharnais, took all the significance from the inquiry, and, as the
matter was thus gradually dropped, the country exonerated the Prince of
Asturias from all blame.

Ferdinand’s opposition to Godoy and his mother certainly seemed to
have been founded more upon personal aversion than political policy,
for when the favourite cooled towards the French on finding that his
designs on Portugal were not to be realized, Ferdinand himself began to
show favour to the foreigners, and this is proved by his correspondence
with Napoleon, which was published in _Le Moniteur_ in 1808.

CHAPTER II

THE OVERTHROW OF GODOY

1804-1808

As Napoleon considered that Ferdinand was only fit to be a tool and
reign as a vassal of France, he suggested that the Prince should marry
the daughter of his brother Lucien, and this proposal was made quite
regardless of the aversion with which his niece regarded the proposed
bridegroom.

To the keen insight of the warrior who wielded the sceptre of France,
Charles IV. and his Ministers and Prince Ferdinand and his advisers
all seemed like a tree waiting for the axe. But the Prince of Asturias
represented the dawn of a new era to Spaniards. He was the centre of
popular enthusiasm, and to be one with his cause was to be one with the
majority of the nation.

Bonaparte, naturally, did not at once reveal his designs of gaining
supremacy on the Peninsula to the King, and to lull any doubts on his
part he gave him a magnificent pair of horses; and although Charles IV.
had written to him, after the settlement of the matter of the Escorial,
that he approved of his son’s union with the Imperial Family, Napoleon
said he could not proceed in the arrangements for such an advantageous
marriage without his son’s consent.

As the confiding Charles thought that his son’s demonstrations of
affection after being set free were sincere, and being anxious to
secure the peace of his household, he made up his mind to the great
sacrifice of parting with Godoy, if by so doing he could quench the
spirit of intrigue and jealousy in the palace.

With this view the King sent for the Prince of Asturias to explain to
him the course which he considered necessary in face of the constant
disturbances in the country and the absolute necessity of union within
the realm.

To the surprise of his father, Ferdinand opposed the idea of the
overthrow of the favourite. The Prince’s smiling countenance filled
the King’s heart with joy, and it was with no doubt of his sincerity
that he listened to his son’s opinion that Godoy should not be asked
to retire from the Court; the Prince of the Peace was himself pleased
when the heir-apparent gave him his hand with friendly looks, and bade
him sacrifice his own feelings to the welfare of the kingdom and remain
where he was appreciated. Neither King nor courtier could foresee that,
even whilst inspiring confidence by his open, friendly demeanour,
Ferdinand was preparing at Aranjuez the sequel to the plot at the
Escorial.

In the meanwhile the French invaded Portugal, the Spanish soldiers
materially aided them in the campaign, and Godoy began to see that the
way in which the forces of Napoleon took possession of San Sebastian
argued more the course of a conqueror than that of an ally. Barcelona,
moreover, was also occupied by the French, and Charles IV. and Maria
Luisa were filled with alarm at these signs of the supremacy of the
French. The Prince of the Peace tried to persuade Their Majesties to
repair to Andalusia, and sought to open their eyes to the astuteness of
the Corsican and the misfortunes which it augured. Carné declares that
Bonaparte only wished to be the regenerator of Spain by introducing, by
the aid of royalty, the required reforms which were afterwards insisted
on in the name of liberty, but the tumults and scandals of the Court
finally led him to fall into the temptation which was the origin of all
the misfortunes of the country.

It must be remembered that the Escorial matter had idealized the Prince
in the minds of the people. His innocence, his sufferings, and his
virtues, were all real in the eyes of the public; whilst Godoy was only
regarded as an atheist who sought to reform the friars through his
brother-in-law, the Archbishop of Toledo. The French and their leader
were therefore regarded as means for the assistance of the Prince of
Asturias, and this idea was circulated throughout the provinces by the
convents and the confessionals. The colossal power of the Church had
indeed imposed itself on the throne. Its influence spread throughout
all classes, and in the daring painting showing the world bound round
with a San Franciscan cord, the end is held by a brother with these
words, “We can do all.”

Murat, the Grand Duke of Berg, with whom Maria Luisa had so much
subsequent correspondence about her family affairs, now took up his
abode at Burgos as the Emperor’s lieutenant. Thus, poor Charles IV. was
not only exposed to the treacherous designs of his son, but they were
hatched under the wings of the Imperial Eagle.

The King and his wife were now in the Palace of Aranjuez, on the banks
of the Tagus, and thither went the Prince of the Peace to announce
the signs of disaster. The orders for the Madrid garrison to proceed
to Aranjuez confirmed the suspicions of the people of the terrible
crisis which was taking place in the Court, and it was thought that the
desire of Their Majesties to go to Seville meant the extension of their
journey to Mexico.

Then came the historic 17th of March, when the murmur of the Tagus was
drowned by the voices of the people surrounding the mansion.

Between eleven and twelve o’clock a carriage was seen to leave Godoy’s
mansion with his “friend” Josefa Tudo closely veiled. A shot was fired
by someone who sought to make the lady disclose her identity, and then
the Prince of Asturias put in his window the light which was the sign
for the commencement of the tumult. The trumpet sounded the call to
horse, and all ran to take possession of the different roads to the
palace by which it was possible Godoy might escape.

The King and Queen sent for Ferdinand, and the Queen told her son
that, as his poor father was suffering acute rheumatic pains, he was
unable to go himself to the window, so she begged her son to go and
tranquillize the people in his father’s name. This Fernando declined
to do, under the pretext that the sight of him would make the firing
commence.

The cries of the mob sacking Godoy’s dwelling were now audible, and the
furniture and pictures were all hurled from the windows. It was curious
that the people seemed to have little thought of appropriating the art
treasures of the favourite. Their one desire was to find the poor man,
and wreak their vengeance for his reported misdeeds; but no sign of him
was to be found. At last they gave up the search, and accompanied the
wife and son to the palace. To show that their hatred did not extend to
these personages, as the dissensions between Godoy and his wife were
public property, they took the horses out of the carriage and drew it
themselves.

On the following day Charles IV. signed the decree which removed Godoy
from his position as Generalissimo and Admiral, and he sent a letter to
Napoleon to acquaint him with the fact, adding that his rheumatic pains
prevented him doing more than dictate the letter.

But there was no peace for the poor King. The following morning (March
19) two officials of the Guard came with the utmost secrecy to acquaint
His Majesty with the news that a worse tumult was brewing than that
which had broken out the preceding evening, and that only the Prince of
Asturias could prevent it.

Ferdinand was then sent for, and his mother entreated him to prevent
the riot by sending his own people to calm the excitement of the
populace, and commanding the instigator of the disturbance to return to
Madrid.

But hardly were these requests complied with when fresh tumult was
heard. It seemed that Manuel Godoy was preparing to go to rest on the
night of March 17, when he heard the noise of the mob at his house. He
caught up a cloak, filled his pockets with gold, armed himself with
pistols, and strove to save himself by a secret passage which led into
the house of the widowed Duchess of Osuna. But the key was evidently
not there, so the wretched man lay in his hiding-place like a mouse in
a trap for thirty-six hours, suffering all the pains of fatigue and
hunger and thirst, and fearing every minute to be assassinated.

At last he returned into his own salon. A sentinel saw him, and he was
seized by those in possession of his house. Of course he might have
made use of his firearms, but, worn out with the sufferings of body
and mind during the last thirty-six hours, he gave himself up to his
persecutors.

Like wolves after their prey, the people hounded the wretched man, and
they tried to stop the Guard acting in his defence by putting poles
under the horses’ bellies to prevent their advance. At last, however,
the fugitive was bravely hoisted on to the saddle of the horse of one
of the Guard, and he was taken off at a quick trot from the scene of
his sufferings.

When the news reached Madrid of the imprisonment of the Prince de
la Paz on March 19, the mob flocked to the Plazuela del Almirante,
where his house adjoined that of the Dukes of Alba. There the scene of
Aranjuez was repeated: the furniture and treasures were cast out of
the windows, and were for the most part devoured by the flames of the
fire which was lighted close to the door. Then, drunk with vengeance,
the populace proceeded with burning torches to the houses of the
Prince’s relatives, and sacked that of his mother, his brother Don
Diego, the Marquis of Branciforte, his brother-in-law, and those of the
ex-Ministers Alvarez y Soler, of Don Manuel Sixto Espinosa, and Amoros.

The riding-school of the fallen favourite was converted into an altar
to St. Joseph.

It is from the pen of Maria Luisa that we have the most graphic
description of the events, for in a letter to her daughter she writes
thus:[2]

[2] “History of Ferdinand VII.,” 1843, and the correspondence of
Napoleon with the Bourbon family, published in the _Moniteur_ in 1808.

“MY BELOVED DAUGHTER,

“Tell the Grand Duke of Berg what is the situation of the King, myself,
and the poor Prince de la Paz.

“My son Ferdinand was at the head of the plot. He won the troops over
to himself; he had a light put in one of his windows as a sign for
its explosion. At that instant the Guards and the persons at the head
of the revolution had two shots fired. They have tried to show that
these shots were fired by the Guard of the Prince de la Paz, but it
is not the truth; for the Gardes de Corps and the soldiers came at the
people’s call, and went where they liked without receiving any orders
from their superior officers.

“The King and I sent for my son to tell him how trying it was for his
father not to be able to appear at the window, and that he was to go
himself to tranquillize the people in the name of the King; but he
replied very firmly that he could not do so, because it would be the
sign for the firing to begin, and that he did not wish to give.

“The next morning I begged him to put a stop to the tumult and
tranquillize the rebels, and he replied he would do so. Then he sent
for the second officers in command of the bodies of the royal horse,
commanding many people to return to Madrid who had come to increase the
revolution, and not to let any more come.

“When the King had given these orders, the Prince de la Paz was found,
and the King sent word to his son that the unhappy Prince, who was the
victim of his friendship for us and the French, and particularly of the
Grand Duke, was to be extricated from his position. My son went and
commanded them not to touch the Prince de la Paz, and to conduct him to
the barracks of the Royal Guards. He did it in his own name, although
it was at the instance of his father; and he said to the Prince de la
Paz, as if he were the King himself, ‘I grant you your life.’

“The Prince de la Paz, in spite of his great injuries, asked him if
he were King; and he returned that he thought of being so. This was
because the King, the Prince de la Paz, and I, intended to abdicate in
favour of Fernando, when we had seen the Emperor and arranged all the
matters, among which was the marriage. My son returned: ‘No, so far I
am not King, but I soon shall be.’

“Certainly my son commanded everything, as if he were King without
being so, or knowing if he would be. The orders given by the King my
husband were not obeyed.

“Then on the day of the 19th, when the abdication took place, there was
another worse tumult, threatening the life of the King, my husband, and
this obliged him to form the resolution of abdicating.

“From the moment of his abdication, the King was treated by Ferdinand
with all the contempt that can be used to a King, and without any
consideration for his parents.

“Then he sent for all the people concerned in his cause who had been
disloyal to his father, and did all he could to grieve him. He bade us
leave the place as soon as possible, and notified the town of Badajoz
for our residence. In the meantime he had no consideration for us
whatever, and he showed great pleasure at being King and that we were
withdrawn.

“As to the Prince de la Paz, he did not want anybody to think of him.
The Guards who had him in custody had orders not to reply to any
questions that were asked, and they treated him with the greatest
inhumanity.

“My son made the conspiracy to dethrone his father the King; our lives
have been in great danger, and that of the Prince de la Paz is so still.

“The King, my husband, and I are hoping that the Grand Duke will do
what he can in our favour, as we have always been faithful allies of
the Emperor and great friends of the Grand Duke, and the same can be
said of the poor Prince de la Paz. If he could speak, he could give
proofs of this, and even in the state in which he now is he does
nothing but call for his great friend, the Grand Duke.

“We beg the Grand Duke to save the Prince de la Paz, and that, whilst
saving us, he will always allow him to be with us, so that we can pass
the rest of our days quietly together in a warmer climate, without
intrigues and without commands, but with honour.

“This is what the King and I want, and the Prince de la Paz equally so.
He would be always ready to serve my son in everything. But my son has
no character whatever, and much less that of sincerity; he never liked
him, and he always declared war against him, as he has against the
King, his father, and me.

“His ambition is great, and he regards his parents as if they were not
so. What will he do to others? If the Grand Duke could see us, it would
give great pleasure to us, and also to his friend, the Prince de la
Paz, who suffers for having been always attached to the French and the
Emperor. All our hope is in the Grand Duke, to whom we also commend
our poor daughter Maria Luisa, who is not loved by her brother. With
this hope we are about to take our journey.

“LUISA.”[3]

[3] “Memorias de Don Juan Nellerto” (Llorente), tomo 2.

A few remarks on this favourite daughter of Queen Maria Luisa may not
be amiss. Maria Luisa of Bourbon, Queen of Etruria, was only fifteen
years of age when the eldest son of the Duke of Parma came to Madrid
and married her. The Prince had come to Spain for the purpose of
marrying her sister, Maria Amalia; but, as this Princess was silent and
reserved, the bridegroom-elect showed his preference for her sister,
and, as Godoy favoured this change of arrangements, Prince Louis wedded
Maria Luisa, although the originally destined bride had evidently been
favourably inclined to him.

In 1801 Napoleon Bonaparte arranged for Tuscany, under the name of
the kingdom of Etruria, to be given to the Spanish Princess and her
husband, who was called Louis I. But the people never took to their new
rulers, and the French did not evacuate the place.

In 1802 the King and Queen of Etruria went to Spain to be present at
the marriage of Ferdinand with Maria Antonia of Naples, and that of her
brother, the heir of the Two Sicilies, with the Infanta Maria Isabel;
and this sister of Prince Ferdinand became subsequently the mother of
his fourth wife, Queen Maria Cristina, mother of Isabella II.

[Illustration: MARIA ANTONIA, PRINCESS OF ASTURIAS, FIRST WIFE OF
FERDINAND VII.]

On this journey to Spain the young King of Etruria died of brain
disease, and the Queen became, by the will of her late husband, Regent
for her little son, who was crowned Louis II. of Etruria. But Napoleon
deprived the royal lady of her kingdom in virtue of the Treaty of
Fontainebleau in 1807; and when the Queen came to Spain and joined her
petitions to those of her mother in the correspondence to Murat and
Napoleon, she never returned to her kingdom, which was taken from her
with the promise of having Portugal in return.

When Napoleon heard of the revolution of Aranjuez, he said to the Duke
of Rovigo: “I never thought of such a thing; matters have taken an
unexpected turn. I know that the father is right in accusing the son of
conspiring against the throne; this fact will unmask the son, and it
will never be approved. When Charles V. abdicated, he was not contented
with a written declaration; he confirmed it with the ceremonies
customary for such occasions, he renewed it various times, and he did
not abandon the reins of the government until he had given solemn
assurance of his wish to do so.”[4]

[4] “Mémoires du Duc de Rovigo,” vol. iii., p. 250.

Once on the throne, Ferdinand VII. sent for the persons who had taken
part in the Escorial conspiracy. Don Miguel José de Azanza, the
ex-Viceroy of Mexico, was made Minister of the Interior instead of
Miguel Cartegano Soler, and Pedro Ceballos, who had married Godoy’s
cousin, and who had worked for the ruin of the dethroned King, was
retained in his position as Minister of Foreign Affairs by a special
royal decree.

The celebrated littérateur Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos also returned
to Court.

But the man who was most triumphant was Ferdinand’s old tutor, Don Juan
Escoiquiz. His wish was fulfilled--he was a power at Court, and he was
decorated with the Cross of Carlos III.

Moreover, the Duke of San Carlos, spoken of by Maria Luisa in her
correspondence as the falsest of all, was made chief Mayordomo of
the palace. In fact, all who had played any part in the Escorial
affair were exalted, whereas those who had pleased Godoy by their
capacities or virtues were proscribed and persecuted. Among these were
the Duke of Almodovar, brother of the Prince de la Paz, Viguri the
Intendant, Norrega the Treasurer, Marquina the Corregidor of Madrid,
the littérateur Escala, and the Fiscal Viegas, who had demanded penal
punishment for criminals in the Escorial matter. The property of all
the above-mentioned men was confiscated, and Godoy himself was taken
from Aranjuez to the Castle of Villaviciosa.

The government was practically in the hands of the Dukes of Infantado
and San Carlos and the Councillor Escoiquiz. The opinions and character
of the latter are well known. He was utterly disingenuous, and he was
expert in the science of intrigue, which had played such a part in
the antechamber of the palace. But for really ruling the affairs of
a kingdom he was quite incompetent, and was only conspicuous for his
want of knowledge and his mean spirit. Apart from his artifice in
conspiracies, the character of this Archdeacon of Alcaraz was seen in
the pamphlet he published in defence of the Inquisition. San Carlos
shamefully maligned Maria Luisa and the Prince de la Paz, albeit he was
proud of being related to the favourite. Infantado was destitute of any
consistency in government except when it savoured of persecution and
oppression.

The three statesmen were united in one desire, and that was the
marriage of Ferdinand with one of the Bonaparte family; and they all
shared the people’s joy at the entrance of Murat, Grand Duke of Berg,
in Madrid on March 23. The townsfolk were mad with delight, for they
regarded the French as supporters of their idol Ferdinand, and sharers
of their joy in the state entry of the young King into the capital.

The function was indeed a brilliant sight, and the Sovereign, crowned
with the rich diadem of the two worlds, roused so much enthusiasm that
it took him six hours to pass from the Gate of Atocha to the palace.
The roar of the cannon, the peal of the bells, the clamour of the
cheers, were indeed deafening, and the men laid down their cloaks for
the King to pass over, and the women waved their pocket-handkerchiefs.

The Grand Duke of Berg unfortunately gave rein to his pride, and
wounded the Spaniards in their tenderest sensibility by sending French
troops to line part of the route of the royal entry, leaving his
house in the Buen Retiro for that of the Prince de la Paz, and taking
possession of the Casa de Campo.

Napoleon himself regretted this conduct, and we find him saying in the
“Memorial of St. Helena,” published in 1826:

“The plan more worthy of me, and the safest, would have been a sort of
mediation, like that of Switzerland. I ought to have given a liberal
constitution to the Spanish nation, and seen that Ferdinand put it
in practice. If that had been done in good faith, and if Spain had
prospered with our new customs, France would have gained a close ally,
and a truly formidable increase to its power. If Ferdinand, on the
contrary, failed in his new duties, the Spaniards themselves would soon
have come to beg for another King.”

Murat, with his misleading pictures of a country which he did not know,
tickled the conqueror’s ambition, and this resulted in Napoleon writing
to his brother Louis, who was then in Holland:

“Being concerned that I shall have no solid peace with England without
giving a great impulsion to the Continent, I have decided to put a
French Prince on the throne of Spain.”[5]

[5] “Des Documents Historiques publiés par Louis Bonaparte,” Paris,
1820.

Murat’s power was mainly due to the reports which had reached Spain of
his great feats of arms, and the priests had admired Napoleon as the
restorer of the churches in France; but Murat had not counted on the
revulsion of feeling which ensued when the Spaniards found that the
soldiers of their ally were impregnated with the doctrines of Voltaire
and Rousseau, and as the imprudence of the French fanned the flame of
suspicion it gradually worked up to a fire of fanaticism.

But the Emperor was quite firm in the idea of his imperial hand
wielding the Spanish sceptre, so he sent for Izquierdo, and asked him
if the Spaniards would not be glad to have him as their Sovereign.

“Very,” returned Izquierdo, “if Your Majesty will first renounce the
diadem of France.”

Bonaparte did not feel flattered at the Spaniard’s reply, but, anxious
to set the affairs straight in the Peninsula, he left Paris for
Bordeaux on April 2.

In the meanwhile Maria Luisa and her husband had been highly pleased
at the arrival of Murat at the Court. The unhappy Sovereigns had been
treated with the greatest disrespect by their son since his accession
to the throne. They were told to go to Badajoz, in spite of their
protestations of the unsuitability of the climate to their ailments.
They were full of fears that the people’s rage would lead any moment to
the death of their idolized Godoy. Misfortune seemed imminent at any
moment, and poor Charles, with his rheumatic pains, and unable even
to count upon his royal income, was in a sad state of depression when
the news of Murat’s installation in the palatial abode of the fallen
favourite inspired them with hope.

Neither the Grand Duke of Berg nor the Ambassador Beauharnais had
recognized the son as King, although all the rest of the diplomatic
corps had done so; so, encouraged by this fact, they wrote to Murat
through the medium of their daughter, the Queen of Etruria. The perusal
of this correspondence gives an idea of the humiliation of Charles IV.
and his Queen, for, as the Duke of Rovigo says:

“The letters of the royal parents show their consternation and
depression, and the violence must have been very great for them to be
in fear of their lives, and to implore a retreat which would suit their
health, and where they could spend the rest of their days in safety.”[6]

[6] “Mémoires du Duc de Rovigo.”

The picture of her son drawn by the Queen is worthy of the study of the
historian; for the remarks scattered through the various letters run
thus:

“From Ferdinand we have nothing to expect but misery and persecution.
He has formed this conspiracy to dethrone the King his father; he has
no character whatever, much less that of sincerity; he is false and
cruel; his ambition is limitless, and he does not treat his father and
mother like parents. Nothing affects him. He is unfeeling, and not
inclined to clemency; he promises, but he never fulfils his promises;
he does not care for the Grand Duke or the Emperor; he only cares for
despotism; he has a very bad heart; he has never professed affection
either for his father or for me; his councillors are bloodthirsty, and
love to do harm to everybody, not excepting the father and mother.”

These remarks of the Queen-mother are supported by that of the father,
who said in his letter to Napoleon that “he found himself in the
necessity of choosing between life and death.”

And it was in this state of affairs that Maria Luisa commenced her
correspondence with the Duke of Berg by the following note, sent
through her daughter, the Queen of Etruria:

“The King, my husband (who makes me write, as the pains in his hand
prevent his doing so), is anxious to know if the Grand Duke of Berg
will undertake to treat efficaciously with the Emperor for the
preservation of the life of the Prince de la Paz, with the assistance
of some of his employés or chaplains. He is anxious to know if the
Grand Duke can go and release him, or at least give him some counsel,
for he puts all his hope in the Grand Duke of Berg, his great friend.
He hopes all from His Highness, to whom he has always been attached.

“Therefore the Grand Duke will perhaps arrange with the Emperor for
sufficient supplies to be granted to the King, my husband, and me,
and the Prince de la Paz, for us to live together where it suits our
health, and where we have neither commands nor intrigues.

“The Emperor is generous, he is a hero, and he has always helped his
faithful allies, and even those that are persecuted; and nobody is so
much so as we are--and why? Because we have always been faithful to the
alliance.

“Of my son we can expect nothing but misery and persecutions. He began
by inventing, and he will go on by inventing all that he can to make
the Prince de la Paz (the innocent and attached friend of the Emperor,
the Grand Duke, and all the French) appear criminal in the eyes of the
public and the Emperor. You must believe nothing. Enemies have the
power and all the means of justifying as true all that is false.

“The King desires, as I do, to see and talk with the Grand Duke, and
make the protest which it is in his power to make. We are both grateful
to you for sending your troops, and for all the proofs you give us of
your friendship. Your Highness must well know the friendship we have
always had and have for yourself. We put ourselves in your hands and in
those of the Emperor, and trust that he will grant our request.

“These our desires we place in the hands of such a great and generous
ruler and hero.”

On March 22 the Queen of Etruria also wrote to Murat in intercession
for the unhappy prisoner, who, she says, “invoked incessantly the
terrible moment of his death.”

Charles IV. added to his daughter’s letter fresh pleas to be allowed
to go to a country which would suit him better, with the Prince de la
Paz, and his wife added her request to be allowed to finish her days
in tranquillity in a climate favourable to the delicate state of their
health.

On the 26th Maria Luisa sent her daughter the before-mentioned letter,
giving the account of the affair of Aranjuez, and this the Queen of
Etruria sent to Murat with this letter:

“SIR, MY BROTHER,

“My mother sends me the enclosed letter for me to forward to you to
keep. Do us the kindness, dear sir, not to abandon us. All our hopes
are in you. Give me the comfort of your going to see my parents. Reply
something to cheer me, and do not forget a friend who loves you from
her heart.

“MARIA LUISA.

“P.S.--I am ill in bed with a touch of fever, which prevents my leaving
my room.”

Murat then sent General Monthion, the head of the royal staff, to
Aranjuez to ascertain the truth about the King’s abdication, and it was
then that Charles sent his letter and protest to Napoleon.

In handing the letter to the French General, the King said:

“My position is of the saddest. They have taken off the Prince de la
Paz, and will, I believe, kill him.”

“SIRE, MY BROTHER,

“You will doubtless have heard with regret of the events at Aranjuez
and their results, and you will not view with indifference a King
forced to renounce his crown and put himself in the hands of the great
monarch, his ally, whilst placing himself entirely at the disposition
of the only person who can afford felicity to himself, his family, and
his faithful vassals.

“I have only abdicated in favour of my son by force of circumstances,
when the clash of arms and the clamours of an insurrected garrison
made me know what it was to choose between life and death, and my death
would have been followed by that of the Queen.

“I was forced to abdicate, but I was reassured by my complete
confidence in the magnanimity and genius of the great man who has
always shown himself my friend. I determined to conform to whatever the
same great man may demand of us--myself, the Queen, and the Prince de
la Paz.

“I therefore address to Your Imperial Majesty a protest against the
events of Aranjuez and against my abdication. I throw myself entirely
upon the heart and friendship of Your Majesty, trusting that God will
keep you in His safe and worthy keeping.

“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s
“Most affectionate Brother and Friend,
“CHARLES.”

The Queen’s daughter also wrote to Murat:

“SIR, MY BROTHER,

“I have just seen your esteemed commander, who has given me your
letter, by which I regret to find that my father and mother have not
had the pleasure of seeing you, although they wish it so much, as
all their hope is placed in you, who they trust will restore them
tranquillity.

“The poor Prince de la Paz is covered with wounds and contusions, and
is cast into prison, where he constantly invokes the terrible moment
of his death. He thinks of nobody but his friend the Grand Duke of
Berg, and says he is the only person to whom he looks for his salvation.

“My father, mother, and I have talked with your respected commander.
He will tell you all. I trust in your friendship, and that by that you
will save us all three and the poor prisoner.

“I have not time to say more, but I trust in you. My father will add
two lines to this letter.

“I am, from my heart,
“Your most affectionate Sister and Friend,
“MARIA LUISA.”

To this letter Carlos IV. added a postscript:

“SIR AND VERY DEAR BROTHER,

“Having talked to your worthy commander, and informed him of all that
has happened, I beg you to tell the Emperor that I intreat him to set
free the poor Prince de la Paz, who only suffers from having been a
friend of France, and at the same time beg of him to let us go to a
place which will suit us, and take with us the same Prince. We are
going now to Badajoz. I beg your reply before then, in case we are
absolutely left without means of seeing each other, for my life is only
in you and in the Emperor. In the meanwhile I am,

“Your very affectionate Brother and Friend,
“CARLOS.”

The General was also given a letter from the Queen to Murat, which ran
thus:

“SIR, MY DEAR BROTHER,

“I have no friend but Your Highness. The King, my beloved husband,
writes to you imploring your friendship, for in that lies our only
hope. We both beg of you to prove you are our friend by informing the
Emperor of our sincere friendship, and of the affection we have always
professed for him, you, and all the French.

“Poor Prince de la Paz, who is wounded and imprisoned for being our
friend, is passionately attached to all France, and he is suffering now
for having desired the arrival of your troops, and for having been our
only permanent friend. He would have gone to see you had he been free,
and now he does not cease to speak of you and express his desire to see
the Emperor. Help us to end our days quietly in a place suitable to the
health of the King, which, like mine, is delicate, and let it be in
company with our friend, who is also that of Your Highness.

“My daughter will be my interpreter if I do not have the satisfaction
of knowing Your Highness personally and talking to you. Could you make
an effort to see us, if only for a minute, by night or when you like?
Your worthy officer will tell you all we have said.

“I hope you will be able to manage what we want, and that you will
pardon all the slips and omissions in the matter, for I do not know
where I am, and you must believe that this has been from no slight to
you nor lack.

“May you live many years!
“Your most affectionate
“LUISA.”

The Queen became quite desperate as the days went by, bringing no
definite help from the Grand Duke of Berg, and in one of her letters to
her daughter she writes:

“If the Grand Duke does not see that the Emperor gives orders for the
stoppage of the intrigues against his friend the Prince de la Paz,
against me and my daughter, none of us will be safe. All the malevolent
people get round my son, and he believes them like oracles, and on his
own part he is not very inclined to magnanimity and clemency. He must
expect sad results from all this. I and my husband think that, if my
son sees the Emperor before he has given his orders, he and those with
him will tell him so many lies that he will doubt the truth. For this
reason we would beg the Grand Duke to let the Emperor know that we are
absolutely in his hands, hoping he will give tranquillity to the King,
my husband, me, and the Prince de la Paz, whom we desire to have with
us, and end our days peacefully in a place suited to our health without
giving the least trouble to anybody. We urgently beg the Grand Duke
to let us have daily news of our mutual friend, the Prince de la Paz,
because we know absolutely nothing.”

The King added the following words in his own handwriting:

“I asked the Queen to write this, as my pains prevent my writing much.”

The next letter from the Queen of Spain to her daughter for the Grand
Duke of Berg is without a date:

“The King, my husband, and I do not wish to be importunate nor
troublesome to the Grand Duke, who has so much to do; but we have no
other friend but him and the Emperor, and in him rest the hopes of the
King, those of the Prince de la Paz, the friend of the Grand Duke and
our own intimate one, and those of my daughter and myself. My daughter
wrote me yesterday afternoon what the Grand Duke had said, and our
hearts are filled with gratitude and comfort, hoping for all that is
good from the sacred and incomparable personages of the Emperor and
Grand Duke. But we do not want him to be ignorant of what we know
in spite of nobody telling us anything or answering our questions,
important as it was for us to have a reply. However, we regard it all
with indifference, and the only thing which interests us is the welfare
of our only and innocent friend, the Prince de la Paz, who is also
the Grand Duke’s, as he exclaimed in his prison in the midst of the
horrible treatment to which he was exposed; for he always called the
Grand Duke his friend, as he did before the conspiracy, and he says
constantly: ‘If I could only have the good fortune for the Grand Duke
to come here, I should have nothing to fear.’

“He wanted you to come to the Court, and he was flattered by the
pleasure the Grand Duke showed in accepting his house as a dwelling. He
had some presents ready to give you, and he thought of nothing but the
moment when he could present himself to the Emperor and the Grand Duke
with all imaginable ardour. But now we are in continual fear that he
will take his life, or that he will be more closely imprisoned if his
enemies know that there is a question of his being saved. Would it not
be possible to take some precautionary measures before the definitive
resolution? The Grand Duke could send some troops without saying why.
Could they not come to the prison and disperse the guard over him,
without giving it time to fire a shot or do anything against the
Prince? For there is reason to fear that it would do so, as they all
know his wish to die, and they would glory in killing him. So the guard
could be absolutely under the command of the Grand Duke; and if not,
the Grand Duke can be sure that the Prince de la Paz will die if he
continue in the power of the worthless traitors and in the hands of my
son. Hence we repeat the plea that he should be removed from the power
of the bloodthirsty _gardes de corps_, my son, and his evil companions;
for we are in continual fear of his life, although the Emperor and the
Grand Duke wish to save him. We repeat, therefore, the entreaty that
the Grand Duke should take every measure for this object, because if
time be lost his life is not safe, as it would certainly be easier to
protect the Prince in the midst of carnivorous lions and tigers.

“After dinner yesterday, my son was with Infantado, Escoiquiz, who is
a malignant cleric, and San Carlos, who is worse than all; and this
makes us tremble, as the secret conference lasted from half-past one
till half-past three. The _gentil hombre_ who is with my son Charles
is a cousin of San Carlos; he has talent and some learning, but he is
a malignant American and a great enemy of ours, like his cousin San
Carlos, in spite of all they have received from the King, my husband,
at the request of the Prince de la Paz, to whom they say they are
related. All those who are with my son Charles are mixed up in the same
intrigue, and inclined to do all possible harm, and what is reported as
true is the greatest untruth.

“I hope the Grand Duke will pardon all my blunders and mistakes when
I write French, as it is forty-two years since I came to Spain at
thirteen and a half years of age, so, although I speak French, I do not
speak it well.

“The Grand Duke will know what helps me, and will pardon all my faults
of the language.

“LUISA.”

Ferdinand, in his blind belief in Escoiquiz, disregarded the counsel of
other men, and, as Escoiquiz only thought of conciliating the Corsican
so as to advance his plan of Ferdinand’s union with a member of the
House of Bonaparte, the power of the French increased daily.

It was believed that all the intrigues of Beauharnais were only to keep
the sceptre in the hand which held it, and the silly credulity on the
part of Escoiquiz was the chief cause of the consequent misfortunes.

To a genius like Napoleon the situation of Spain was an easy prey to
his ambition, and its state of submission to the French was seen in the
fact of Caballero conforming to Murat’s desire to become the possessor
of the sword which was surrendered to Charles V. by Francis I. of
France after the Battle of Pavia.

The function in which Spain lost this heirloom is described in the
_Gaceta de Madrid_ of April 5, 1808. The sword was borne in state to
the Grand Duke’s house. It was placed on a silver tray covered with a
puce-coloured silk cloth trimmed with a wide bright fringe, and Don
Carlos Montarges, the honorary Chief Armourer, and his attendant, Don
Manuel Trotier, went in the gala carriage with the trophy. The carriage
was drawn by mules in gala attire, and three royal lackeys in full
livery walked by the side of each. In the other carriage, also drawn by
four mules and accompanied by lackeys, came the Duke del Parque. The
sword was borne into Murat’s presence by the two armourers, and, after
giving him the King’s letter, they solemnly presented him with the
historic weapon, which was received with many expressions of thanks.

Murat now set no bounds to his ambitious aims, especially as he
knew that his brother-in-law had decided on the dethronement of the
Bourbons in Spain. So, dazzled by the brilliance of his position, he
precipitated matters by his intrigues. He suggested the advisability
of the Infante Don Carlos going to meet Napoleon as far as Burgos, so
this journey of the Spanish Prince was arranged, Pedro Macanáz and Don
Pascual Vallejo being in attendance.

As Napoleon did not trust entirely to the perceptions of Murat, he
sent the astute Savary to reconnoitre the state of affairs in Madrid.
The clever Frenchman was as successful in Spain as he had been in
Russia, and it was soon arranged for Ferdinand to take the undignified
course of going to meet Bonaparte at Burgos, for Escoiquiz thought that
it would gain the favour of the great Frenchman.

Before starting, Ferdinand wrote to his father begging for a letter in
which he would assure Napoleon that he (Ferdinand) professed the same
sentiments of friendship with the French as his father. The reply to
this request came from the Queen, and she said that the pains in the
King’s hand prevented his writing himself, but she had written to the
Grand Duke of Berg saying that the desired letter had not been sent
because they knew that Ferdinand had no love for France.

CHAPTER III

HOW NAPOLEON I. CHECKMATED THE SPANISH ROYAL FAMILY

1808-1814

As Napoleon was not quite satisfied with Murat’s reports, he determined
to go himself to Spain, and Ferdinand was advised by Escoiquiz to go to
Bayonne to meet the Emperor. After holding a council on the subject at
Vittoria in the bedroom of Escoiquiz, who was ill, Ferdinand wrote a
humble letter to the Emperor, promising to go and meet him, in spite of
Savary’s objections to the want of dignity in the suggested proceeding.
In his letter to Napoleon, Ferdinand declared that he had been raised
to the throne by the free and spontaneous abdication of his father, and
to this epistle the Emperor replied:[7]

[7] Published in the _Moniteur_ in 1808.

“IN BAYONNE,
“_April 16, 1808_.

“MY BROTHER,

“I have received the letter of Your Royal Highness. You will have seen
by your father’s papers what an interest I have always shown in him, so
you will allow me now to speak to you with frankness and loyalty.

“I had hoped to come to Madrid and persuade my august friend to make
certain necessary reforms in his dominions which would give public
satisfaction. The separation of His Majesty from the Prince of the
Peace seemed to me absolutely necessary for his happiness and that
of his vassals. Events in the North retarded my journey, and the
occurrences of Aranjuez have intervened.

“I do not constitute myself a judge of what happened, or of the conduct
of the Prince of the Peace; but I know very well that it is very
dangerous to Kings for the people to become accustomed to shedding
blood in their own attempts to obtain justice. God grant that Your
Highness may not find it so yourself! It would not be for the interest
of Spain to persecute a Prince who has married a Princess of the Royal
Family, and who has so long governed the kingdom. He has no friends
already, and Your Highness will have none, either, if you come to be
disgraced one day, for people like to avenge themselves for the respect
they have had to show us.

“Moreover, how could a Cause be framed against the Prince of the Peace
without framing it also against the King and Queen, your parents?
This Cause would foment hate and seditious passions, and the result
would be fatal to the crown. To this crown Your Royal Highness has no
rights beyond those transmitted by your mother. If the Cause soils her
honour, Your Highness destroys your own rights. Do not listen to weak,
perfidious counsels. Your Highness has no right to judge the Prince of
the Peace; the sins which are imputed to him disappear in the rights
of the throne.

“I have often expressed my wish for the Prince of the Peace to be
removed from affairs. If I have not been more insistent, it has been
because my friendship for King Charles overlooked the weakness of his
affection. Oh, miserable humanity! Weakness and error are our lot. But
all this can be made right if the Prince of the Peace is exiled from
Spain, and I offer him an asylum in France.

“As the abdication of Charles IV. took place at the moment when my
armies were occupying Spain, it will seem in the eyes of all Europe
and of posterity that I sent these troops with the sole object of
dethroning my ally and friend. As a Sovereign and a neighbour, I must
therefore hear all about the event before recognizing the abdication.

“I tell Your Royal Highness that if the abdication of Charles was
spontaneous, and he was not forced to it by the insurrection and
consequent meeting in Aranjuez, I have no objection to admitting it,
and acknowledging Your Royal Highness as King of Spain. I therefore
desire to confer with Your Royal Highness on this matter.

“The circumspection I have observed for the past month in the matter
ought to convince Your Highness that you will always have my support if
factions of any kind disturb you on the throne.

“When King Charles told me of the recent events in October, I flattered
myself that I had contributed by my entreaties to the peaceful
conclusion of the Escorial matter.

“Your Highness is not free from faults; the letter you have written
me is sufficient to show that, and I have always wished to forget it.
Being a King, you know how sacred are the rights of the throne; any
step of an hereditary Prince towards a foreign Sovereign is criminal.
I consider the marriage of a French Princess with Your Royal Highness
would be conformable to the interests of my people, and, above all, as
a circumstance which will unite me by fresh bonds to a house which I
have had every wish to honour ever since I ascended the throne.

“Your Royal Highness ought to beware of the consequences of popular
insurrections; you might be able to make an assault on my scattered
soldiers, but it would only lead to the ruin of Spain.

“I have seen with regret some letters from the Captain-General of
Catalonia which tried to rouse the people.

“Your Royal Highness knows all the depth of my heart; you will observe
that I am full of many ideas which require consideration; but you can
be sure that in any case I shall behave to you as I have to the King
your father.

“Your Royal Highness must be assured of my desire to conciliate
matters, and to find occasions of giving you proofs of my affection and
perfect esteem.

“May God have you in His holy and worthy keeping!

“NAPOLEON.”[8]

[8] From the “Memorias” of Nellerto and the “Manifestation” of Don
Pedro Ceballos.

The King, oblivious of the veiled insult of the Emperor, that he had
no right to the throne beyond that transmitted by his mother, still
cringed to the Frenchman, and wrote:

“VITTORIA,
“_April 18, 1808_.

“SEÑOR, MY BROTHER,

“I have received with great satisfaction your letter of the 16th, sent
by General Savary. The confidence with which Your Majesty inspires
me, and my desire to show you that my father’s abdication was the
consequence of his own impulse, have decided me to go immediately to
Bayonne. I hope therefore to leave to-morrow for Irun, proceeding
thence to the country-seat of Marrae, where Your Majesty is.

“I am, my good Brother, with the highest esteem and sincerest affection,

“FERDINAND.”

When Ferdinand arrived at Bayonne, the Emperor went to see him at
once, and Ferdinand went down to the door to meet him. The interview
was short, but the Spanish King was invited to dinner that night. It
was noticeable that, although Napoleon was very friendly, he never
addressed his guest as “Majesty”; and hardly was Ferdinand back in his
rooms, when a message was conveyed to him by Savary to the effect that
the Emperor had determined that the Bourbons should not return to the
throne of Spain, and that, as he had determined to put a French Prince
upon the throne, he required the son of Charles IV. to renounce the
diadem of both worlds in his own name and in that of all his family.

Pedro Ceballos was loud in his indignation at such usurpation, when
Napoleon, who had heard his remarks from the next room, entered the
apartment, upbraided him for his treachery to Charles, and declined to
enter further into the matter until Ferdinand’s father was there to
speak for himself.

After Charles had sent Napoleon a protest against his abdication, he
concentrated all his efforts on gaining the liberty of the Prince of
the Peace. Indeed, the old man seemed more upset at the risks run by
his ex-Minister than he was at the treatment he had himself received.

Pursuant to Murat’s advice, Charles and his wife repaired to the
Escorial, and there, in this imposing but gloomy abode, they brooded
over the turn in their affairs until despair filled their hearts.

Murat, faithful to the promise made to Charles in the presence of the
Queen of Etruria on the eve of his departure for the Escorial, did his
best for the dethroned Sovereigns, and persuaded the Union to depute
him to accompany them to Bayonne to take part in the conference with
Napoleon. The fact of Godoy being in Bayonne was another reason for
the royal couple to wish to go there, as they had not seen him since
his release from captivity. The following letter, which the King wrote
to Napoleon announcing his departure for Bayonne, shows the esteem in
which they held Bonaparte:

“ARANDA,
“_April 25, 1808_.

“SIR AND BROTHER,

“A prey to rheumatic pains in my hands and knees, I should be
completely miserable were not my troubles alleviated by the hope of
seeing you in a few days. I cannot hold a pen, so I beg of Your Majesty
to pardon my not writing with my own hand to express the great pleasure
I have in going to enjoy your generous kindness, for I am obliged to
use a secretary.

“The Queen also writes to Your Imperial Majesty, and we beg you to
accept our united sentiments of love and confidence.

“Your protection is balm to the wounds of my heart, and I feel that the
moment in which I shall find myself in your arms will be one of the
happiest of my life, and the first, after all that has happened, on
which I shall feel sure of my existence.

“May my wishes be fulfilled!

“My sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s faithful
Ally and Friend,
“CHARLES.”[9]

[9] Published in the _Moniteur_, 1810.

The Queen’s letter to Napoleon ran thus:

“SIR AND BROTHER,

“I should have written before to Your Imperial Majesty if the trying
situation in which we undertook the journey had not presented so many
obstacles. We have now just arrived at Aranda of Duero. The King is
in a terrible state. He is troubled with rheumatic pains in his hands
and knees, but, in spite of all, we are longing for the happy moment of
throwing ourselves into the arms of Your Imperial Majesty, whose great
generosity is beyond all expressions of our gratitude.

“We ought to have arrived at Bayonne before now, but, unfortunately,
circumstances do not correspond with our ardent desires, because
my son’s journey has left us without horses, money, and all other
necessaries. Heaven grant that the moment of our interview will be
as interesting to Your Imperial Majesty as it will be to us, your
faithful, worthy friends! We are quite sure of the protection of
Your Majesty, and nothing in the world can compare with the complete
and sweet confidence which leads us to place our fate under the most
powerful protection of Your Majesty, whose immutable equity is so
great, as the critic of the situation of his faithful friend and ally,
since the unhappy epoch of the unheard-of events at Aranjuez.

“If Your Majesty’s troops had arrived then, they would have protected
our legitimate rights as their great captain deigns to do, but Heaven
sent us calamities which came like thunderbolts because we had no help,
nor had we anyone to support us.

“I do not know what day we shall arrive at Bayonne, because, if the
King’s indisposition permit it, we hope to take double journeys every
day. Your Imperial Majesty may be sure that we shall fly to your arms,
so great is our desire to strengthen the sweet ties of alliance and
friendship.

“May God have you in His safe keeping!

“Sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s most
affectionate Sister,
“LUISA.”

The affectionate tone of these royal letters shows that the royal
couple thought that Napoleon was about to restore to them the sceptre
which had been torn from their hands.

When the King and Queen arrived at Villareal, they asked what reports
were circulated about affairs, and the Duke of Mahon replied: “It is
said that the Emperor of the French is calling the Royal Family of
Spain together at Bayonne in order to deprive them of the throne.”

The Queen looked surprised, but she thought for a moment, and then said:

“Napoleon has always been a great enemy of our family. Nevertheless, he
has made Charles repeated promises to protect him, and I cannot believe
he is now acting with such scandalous perfidy.”

The royal arrival at Bayonne was announced by a salute of 101 guns,
the garrison lined the streets, and Charles, on dismounting from his
carriage, showed his pleasure at the reception vouchsafed to him by
talking even to those he did not know.

A shadow came over the King’s genial countenance when he saw Ferdinand
standing with his brother at the foot of the staircase, and it was
only the younger Prince who was given a cordial “Good-day” by the King,
and who was embraced fondly by his mother. Although Ferdinand saw
that he was ignored, he made a step forward to greet his parents. But
Charles stopped, made a movement of indignation, and began mounting the
stairs with a severe face. The Queen, however, who was behind, could
not forget that she was a mother, and folded her treacherous son to her
bosom.

Then the Princes repaired to their apartments, and their parents
hastened to greet the exile Godoy with tears of joy.

The Emperor of the French lost no time in paying his respects to the
royal travellers, but he did not ask them to dinner until the following
day.

As Charles’s rheumatism gave him some difficulty in mounting the stairs
of the imperial abode, he gladly accepted Napoleon’s arm, saying: “I
have not the strength that I had. It has been all knocked out of me.”

“We will soon see about that,” returned the Emperor. “Lean on me, and I
will find strength for both.”

Thereupon the King stopped, and said emphatically: “So I believe, and I
base all my hopes upon you.”

On taking their seats at the table, Charles noticed the absence of
Godoy, and he exclaimed with tender concern: “And Manuel? Where is
Manuel?”

So Napoleon, anxious to please his ally, sent for the Prince of the
Peace, and the party was complete.

At the meeting at which it was hoped Napoleon would bring the Royal
Family to a satisfactory understanding there were very violent scenes.
It was natural that the sight of their renegade son should revive all
the bitterness of the King and Queen’s recent trials, but it was a pity
that they did not restrain the passions which made them lose their
royal dignity.

The Emperor announced that Ferdinand would restore on the morrow to
His Majesty the crown he had snatched from his father’s brow. This
Ferdinand stoutly declared he would not do, and Maria Luisa, who had
destroyed the proofs of her son’s guilt in the conspiracy of the
Escorial, was now so mad with rage that, according to the report of
Caballero, she cried to the Emperor to punish the crimes of her son by
committing him to prison.

Ferdinand was silent during the interview, but a few hours later he
wrote to his father, maintaining that the abdication had been a _fait
accompli_ and declaring that he would only give up the crown at the
request of the Cortes and all the tribunals.

To this letter the King replied:

“MY SON,

“The perfidious counsels of the people about you have brought Spain
into a very critical condition, and only the Emperor can save it....
You have been too easily led away by the hatred which your late wife
had for France, and you have thoughtlessly shared her unjust feelings
against my Ministers, your mother, and myself.

“I was obliged, in support of my rights as a King and a father, to have
you arrested, for your papers contained proof of your crime. But as I
am approaching the end of my life, and I was miserable at the idea of
my son dying in a dungeon, I let myself be softened by your mother’s
tears. And yet my subjects have been upset by the deceitful courses of
the faction you formed, and from that time I have had no peace in my
life....

“You introduced disorder into my palace, you summoned the Royal Guard
against my own person. Your father has been your prisoner; my Prime
Minister, whom I created and received into my family, was covered with
blood, and taken from one prison to another.... I am King by the right
of my fathers. My abdication was due to force and violence. I have
nothing to accept from you, nor can I consent to any meeting or to any
new and base suggestion on the part of the people about you.”

However, Ferdinand was obstinate, and there seemed no chance of a
peaceful settlement of the disgraceful family feud.

The above letter was dated May 2, 1808, and it was on that day that
the historic blow was struck in Madrid for Spain’s emancipation from
the French. It was the sight of the young Infante Francisco’s tears
at leaving the Palace of Madrid at the call of Napoleon which acted
like a match to gunpowder. The valiant Velarde, Daoiz, and Ruiz were
martyrs on this occasion, and the dramatic way in which the Spaniards
always keep this anniversary shows that those who struck that blow are
not forgotten in the land.

When Charles IV. heard the news of the riot, he at once thought that it
had been instigated by his sons.

“Manuel, send for Charles and Ferdinand,” he said, in a firm tone.

Napoleon remained in the room restless and gloomy; Charles and Maria
Luisa looked worried and anxious. They were all seated when Ferdinand
appeared and silently stood alone before them, for his brother was ill
in bed.

The King then asked his son if he had heard the news from the capital.
When Ferdinand replied in the negative, Charles returned vehemently,
“Very well, I will tell you,” and rapidly related what had happened.
“Judge, then,” he added, “if it be possible to persuade me that you
had no part in this? And did you hasten your miserable associates to
dethrone me in order to massacre my subjects? Who advised you to this
carnage? Do you only aspire to the glory of a tyrant?”

The Duke of Rovigo, who gives us this scene in his “Mémoires,” says
that he and the other people who were listening in the adjoining salon
could not catch Ferdinand’s reply, but they heard the Queen exclaim:
“Didn’t I always presage your perdition? See into what abysses you
throw yourself and us! Ah, you would have killed us if we had not
left Spain! What! you have made up your mind not to answer? You do not
forget your old ways. You never know anything when you do something
bad.”

During this dialogue Charles IV. angrily moved about the cane which
he used when walking, and he so far forgot his dignity as to raise
it in a threatening way to his son, in his anger at his impenetrable
countenance. When Maria Luisa finished her diatribe, she lifted her
hand as if to strike the Prince, but she checked herself in time.

The final touch to Ferdinand’s humiliating position was given when the
Emperor said in cold, clear, chilling tones:

“Prince, I had formed my resolution from the events which brought you
to France, and now the blood spilt in Madrid confirms my decision. This
carnage can only be the work of the band which calls you chief, and I
will never recognize as King of Spain one who breaks the old alliance
of two nations and orders the assassination of the French soldiers,
whilst asking me to sanction the impious act of dethroning your father.
Such is the result of bad counsels. You are brought to the precipice.
It is to your father alone that I am in any way bound, and if he wish
it I will restore him to his throne and accompany him to his capital.”

But Charles IV. exclaimed vehemently: “But I don’t wish it. What could
I do in a country where they have worked up such passions against me?
And I, who have always rejoiced at seeing my country peaceful in the
midst of the upset of Europe--I should dishonour my old age if I made
war in the provinces and condemned my subjects to prison. No, no; I
don’t wish it. _My son will undertake it with more pleasure than I._”
Then, looking at Ferdinand with majesty mingled with pity, he said: “Do
you think it costs nothing to reign? You have followed these perfidious
counsels. I neither aspire to command nor can I do anything. Now you
must avoid the precipice as best you can.”

As Napoleon told Ferdinand that resistance about his resignation was
useless, and would only make his fate worse, it was agreed that the
crown should be handed over to France.

So the Treaty of Bayonne was formally signed on May 6 by the Prince of
the Peace for Charles IV., and by Marshal Duroc for Napoleon, and this
step, disastrous to the nation, can thus be distinctly traced to the
family feuds induced by the Queen’s unbridled passion for the Prince of
the Peace.

Charles had passed the twenty years of his reign in a self-indulgent,
simple life, and although he did nothing to show great devotion to
his kingdom, he certainly of his own accord would have done nothing
to disturb its peace. The Count of Toreno repeats the account which
Charles gave of his daily routine to the Emperor:

“Every day, winter and summer, I hunt till twelve o’clock, when I dine.
Directly afterwards I hunt again till evening. Manuel tells me how
things are going on, and I go to bed, to begin the same life next day,
unless there is some important ceremony.”

With a Sovereign so inert, Godoy did not demur on signing the deed of
renunciation of the throne, and as Escoiquiz sanctioned the deed, it
shows that he also felt that Ferdinand was but a broken reed.

After the humiliating events of Bayonne, the poor Queen of Etruria
sought to return to Etruria, but was detained at Nice. Miserable at
having been obliged to leave her young son ill at Compiègne, she tried
to escape to England, but, the plot being discovered, one of her
two agents was shot, the other died in prison, and she herself was
condemned to confinement in a convent at Rome; so she did not recover
her liberty nor see her child again until the fall of Napoleon. The
Queen’s claims on Etruria were subsequently nullified by the Congress
of Vienna, and she had to be contented with the nomination of her sons
to the dukedom of Lucca.

Although after the Treaty of Bayonne the city of Madrid was in the
hands of Napoleon Bonaparte, the palace could not count the Emperor as
one of the residents in the palace, for during his stay in the Spanish
capital he was installed in the mansion of the Duque del Infantado
at Chamartin, and it was from this house that he made his entry into
Madrid. “Je la tiens en fin cette Espagne si désirée,” said the French
conqueror as he passed up the magnificent staircase of the royal
palace, and placed his hand upon one of the lions on the balustrade;
then, as his eyes travelled up the matchless marbles and fine panels
and pictures of the staircase, he turned to his brother Joseph and
said: “Mon frère, vous serez mieux logé que moi.”

When passing through the magnificent apartments, he stopped before
a portrait of Philip II., and after gazing at it for some minutes in
silence turned away. Who knows what recollections may have passed
through the conqueror’s mind, of stories of this Sovereign read in
boyhood, and how little he had then thought that the throne of this
King would ever be at his disposal!

Thus ended the rapid and only visit of Napoleon to the Spanish capital,
for he went back to Chamartin, and from thence set out for Galicia.

King Joseph soon found he had a difficult part to play at the royal
palace as ruler of a foreign nation, but, although the Spaniards could
not be supposed to be fond of him, tribute was paid to the kindness
of his heart. After a meeting held at the palace to concert steps for
dealing with the fearful famine which was devastating Madrid, the
father of Mesoneros Romanos said to his son: “Joseph has certainly
not lost his head at his elevation, neither is he unduly set up by
his rank. He seemed profoundly moved at the misery of the people,
and proclaimed his intention to do all in his power to assist them.
Certainly,” concluded the speaker, “the man is good. It is only a pity
he is called Bonaparte!”

The preference entertained by Joseph Bonaparte for a beautiful lady,
the Countess Jaruco, widow of the Governor of Havana, is well known.
The lady died, and on the night of her burial her body was exhumed (one
can imagine by whose orders), and was interred under a shady tree in
her own garden. Joseph subsequently married the Countess’s daughter by
General Merlin. The hatred of the people got on the poor Frenchman’s
nerves, and for the last four years of his enforced reign in Madrid he
kept quite in retirement, spending a good deal of time in the Casa del
Campo, to which he passed by a tunnel entrance.

But it was not very long, as we know, before the day came for Joseph to
leave Spain.

“The excitement in our house,” writes Mesoneros Romanos, “at the news
of the evacuation of the royal palace by the French was extreme, and
it was the same in every Spanish home. The hatred of the foreigners
who had taken possession of us was very deep-rooted, and those who had
joined the Gallic banner were not safe from actual persecution.

“The shades of a dreadful nightmare were passed, and men talked
excitedly, and women and children laughed for joy. The Virgins del
Carmen and of the Paloma were promised new robes, and the children ran
to light up the altar, backed with a valuable picture of the Immaculate
Conception--a relic of the sacking of Godoy’s house; and after a
Paternoster and a Salve my father said: ‘Now we must go to bed, for we
must be up early to-morrow to see the entry of our friends.’

“By this was meant the Anglo-Spanish army, with its chief, Lord
Wellington, and the Generals Alava, España, and Conde de Amarante. It
was indeed a fine sight; the streets were decorated, and after a repast
served in the Town Hall the English Commander-in-Chief appeared at the
windows in response to the vociferous cheers of the crowds, and his
speech, which was as cordial as was compatible with the stiff English
manner, was received with the enthusiasm of our Southern nature.”

Then Wellington repaired to the royal palace, which the municipality
had put at his disposal. The English General’s official proclamation,
placed at the corners of the streets, struck cold on the hearts of the
Spaniards, for it savoured more of a fierce Murat than of the General
of a liberating force. The following copy is taken from the only
remaining one in the archives of the city:

“The inhabitants of Madrid must remember that their primary duty is to
maintain order, and to render the Allied Armies every assistance in
their power to continue their operations.

“The Constitution established by the Cortes in the name of H.M.
Ferdinand VII. will be proclaimed to-morrow, after which will follow
the immediate formation of the Government of the City according to the
form it prescribes.

“In the meanwhile the existing Authorities will continue in the
exercise of their functions.

“LORD WELLINGTON,
“_Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo_.”

It was soon seen that Wellington did not intend to rest upon his
laurels, for he scoured the rural park of the Retiro, where a French
detachment still lingered, and took 2,000 prisoners and 200 pieces
of artillery. This act completely confirmed the confidence of the
Spaniards in the English commander, and the heads of families eagerly
repaired to the churches to take the oath of the Constitution, which,
however, conveyed little to them beyond their emancipation from the
French and the approaching return of King Ferdinand VII.

It cannot be said that Wellington made himself very popular whilst he
was at the royal palace. He received the attentions showered upon him
in his cold and stiffly courteous way, and took little pains to be
cordial with the people of importance who called upon him.

Wellington’s fancy to have his portrait painted by Goya nearly led to
the future hero of Waterloo losing his life.

For, be it known, the illustrious Spanish painter was irascible to a
degree, the more so that he was completely deaf. So when the great
General made his appearance in the studio on the banks of the river
Manzanares, the painter’s son interpreted the Englishman’s wishes in
deaf and dumb language to his father.

The sittings took place, and the artist worked assiduously; and when he
thought the portrait was far enough advanced to be seen by the General,
he placed it before him. But, unfortunately, the picture did not please
the commander, who shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and said in
English to his friend that he would not accept such a caricature as a
gift. General Alava declined to translate this depreciatory remark; but
the artist had noticed the scornful gestures of the Englishman, and
the son in alarm saw his father turn his eyes to the loaded pistols
which always lay ready to hand on the table. The young man’s fear was
increased when Wellington rose from his seat in a discourteous way,
and put on his hat preparatory to departure. Then Goya, enraged at the
officer’s contemptuous manner, seized the pistols, and the General
clapped his hand to his sword.

The scene would have ended in a tragedy had not Lord Alava assured
the irate General that the artist was suffering from sudden mental
aberration, and young Goya restrained his father by force from using
the deadly weapons.

Wellington gave a great ball at the Town Hall the night before he left
Madrid, and with this return for the bull-fights, serenades, and fêtes,
which had been given in his honour, he took his departure from the
Spanish capital.

The English camp in the Retiro was raised a month later by General
Hill, and it is a matter of regret that the step was accompanied by the
blowing up of the royal manufactory of porcelain, for the fabrication
is now extinct. The magnificent walls and ceilings of one of the salons
of the royal palace, decorated with cherubs, fruit, and flowers, in
this beautiful ware, show that Spain boasted an industry which rivalled
that of Sèvres, Dresden, or Worcestershire.

The reason given for this act of vandalism was that the French might
have used the building as a barrack; but it did not satisfy the
Spanish, who could not contain their indignation at the deed, which
was made worse by the English withdrawing to Portugal and leaving the
capital.

Ferdinand, with his usual duplicity, wrote to Berthémy from Valençay,
where he was practically a prisoner. In this letter he pleaded in a
cringing way for the protection of Napoleon, who had robbed him of his
crown.

“My greatest desire,” he writes, “is to be the adopted son of His
Majesty the Emperor, _our Sovereign_. I believe I am worthy of this
adoption, which would make the happiness of my life, by reason of my
love and affection to the sacred person of His Majesty, and by _my
submission and entire obedience to his intentions and desires_.

“Moreover, I am anxious to leave Valençay, for this place is in every
way disagreeable to us and in no way suits us.

“I am glad to trust in the magnanimity of conduct and the generous
beneficence which always distinguish Your Imperial Majesty, and to hope
that my ardent desire will be soon fulfilled.

“Receive, etc.,

“FERDINAND.”

When Napoleon decided to publish this correspondence with Ferdinand,
he wrote and asked him to send a letter to show that he had his
authorization for doing so.

So, before the appearance of the letters in _Le Moniteur_, Ferdinand,
in obedience to the imperial request, wrote to Napoleon:

“VALENÇAY,
“_May 3, 1810_.

“SEÑOR,

“The letters now published in _Le Moniteur_ show the whole world
the sentiments of perfect love which I entertain for Your Imperial
Majesty, and the deep desire I cherish of becoming your adopted son.
The publicity which Your Imperial Majesty has deigned to give my
letters makes me hope that you do not disapprove of my sentiments nor
of the desire I have formed, and this hope fills me with joy.

“Permit me, sire, to confide to you the thoughts of a heart which I
do not hesitate to say is worthy of your adoption. If Your Imperial
Majesty would unite me to a French Princess, you would fulfil my most
ardent wish. By this union, apart from my personal happiness, all
Europe would be convinced of my unalterable respect for the will of
Your Majesty, and it would see that you deign to make some return for
such sincere feelings.

“I will venture to add that this union and the sight of my happiness
will exercise a beneficial effect on the destiny of all Spain, and will
rob a blind and furious people of the pretext of covering a country
with blood in the name of a Prince, the eldest son of an ancient
dynasty, who has, by a solemn treaty by his own choice and by the most
glorious of all adoptions, made himself a French Prince and a son of
Your Imperial Majesty.

“I venture to hope that such ardent wishes, and an affection so
absolute, will touch the magnanimous heart of Your Majesty, and that
you will deign to make me share the fate of the many Your Majesty has
made happy.

“Señor, I am, etc.,
“(Signed) FERDINAND.”

Charles Leopold, Baron de Colly, an astute and intriguing youth,
proposed to the Duke of Kent a plan for releasing Ferdinand from
his ignoble position at Valençay by taking him on board an English
man-of-war to a port of Spain.

The Duke of Kent referred the matter to his father, who sent Ferdinand
two letters by the Baron. Provided with a set of passports and all
papers necessary for the undertaking, besides supplies, in the form
of diamonds and an open draft on the house of Maensoff and Clanoy,
and a ship loaded with provisions for five months, Colly commenced
operations. He reached Paris in safety, sold part of the diamonds, and
began his preparations; but the police got wind of the plot through
Colly’s secretary Albert, and he was promptly shut up in the Castle of
Vincennes.

Fouché tried to persuade Colly to continue his work, so that Ferdinand
might be caught in the act of escaping; but the Englishman preferred
his prison to such treachery, and in this prison he remained until the
fall of Napoleon.

In the meanwhile Fouché sent to Ferdinand a man called Richard,
personating Colly. But the Prince was not caught in the trap, for, in
his rooted desire to conciliate the Emperor of the French, he sent at
once for Berthémy, the Governor, and said to him:

“The English have done great harm to the Spanish nation by using my
name, and they are now the cause of the blood which is being spilt.
The English Ministry, in their mistaken idea that I am kept here by
force, have sent an emissary to me who, under the pretext of selling
me curios, has given me a letter from His Majesty the King of England.”

The letter from George III. to Ferdinand, which was subsequently
published in _Le Moniteur_, ran thus:

“SIR, MY BROTHER,

“I have for a long time wished for an opportunity to send Your Majesty
a letter signed by my hand, to express the deep interest and the
profound feeling which I have entertained for you since you were taken
from your kingdom and your faithful subjects. Whatever the violence
and cruelty with which the usurper of the throne of Spain oppresses
that nation, it ought to be of great consolation to Your Majesty to
know that your people retains its loyalty and love for its legitimate
Sovereign, and Spain makes continual efforts to maintain the rights of
Your Majesty and to re-establish those of the monarchy. The resources
of my kingdom, my squadrons, and my armies, will be employed in aiding
the vassals of Your Majesty in this great cause, and my ally the
Prince Regent of Portugal has also contributed with all the zeal and
perseverance of his faithful friend.

“The only thing which is wanting to your faithful subjects and your
allies is the presence of Your Majesty in Spain, where it would give
fresh energy. Therefore I ask Your Majesty, with all the frankness of
alliance and friendship which bind me to your interests, to think of
the most prudent and efficacious way of escaping from the indignities
which you suffer, and to present yourself in the midst of a people
unanimous in its desire for the glory and happiness of Your Majesty.

“I beg Your Majesty to be sure of my sincere friendship, and of the
true affection with which I am--in the palace of the Queen, Monday,
January 31, 1810--sir, my Brother,

“Your worthy Brother,
“GEORGE R.”
“By command of the King,
“WELLESLEY.”[10]

[10] “_Monitor de Paris_, traducido por Don Juan Maria Blanco en el
‘Español’ publicado en Londres,” tomo i., p. 136.

But Ferdinand’s cross-grained nature was unable to follow any
straightforward advice or adopt any clear course. However, we all know
how the people’s desire to have a Spaniard on the throne, aided by the
troops of England, was finally successful, and Ferdinand the Desired
entered his capital on May 13, amid cries of delight from his people,
who were wild with joy.

CHAPTER IV

KING FERDINAND VII. AND HIS HOME LIFE

1814-1829

So Spaniards once more had a King of their own blood. The pity of the
matter was that the man himself was so unworthy of the people’s trust.
Brought up in a Court honeycombed with intrigue, truth and sincerity
seemed unknown to Ferdinand, and although he constantly said, “I hate
and abhor despotism,” there never was a Sovereign more despotic than
this son of Charles IV.

Being untrustworthy himself, he thought everybody was unreliable, and
so he set spies on his entourage, and stooped to listen to stories from
his servants.

Thus, no Minister or officer was safe from being sent off to prison,
and with the duplicity which had been perfected by constant practice
in his youth sentence of condemnation would be given by Ferdinand with
an air of friendliness, with a wave of his cigar or the offer of his
caramels, followed by thrumming on the table, or the pulling of his
ear, or the slapping of his forehead, with which his courtiers were
familiar as signs of bad temper.

The Duke of Alagon was the King’s most constant attendant in any
gallant adventure, and, indeed, his departures in that respect were
those of a man who seemed to atone for his want of personal attractions
by a surplus of gallantry to the fair sex. It was whilst pursuing one
of these intrigues with a charming widow at the royal resort of San
Lorenzo that General Trinidad Balboa, in his anxiety to show his zeal
for the King in his position as commander of the police at Aranjuez,
wrote to headquarters saying:

“There is nothing fresh to report beyond the anxiety felt by the King’s
faithful servants at His Majesty so constantly risking his precious
health by being out in the cold night air of the gardens.”

But the official’s zeal was untimed, and he was politely informed that
any further reports of this nature would end in a visit to Ceuta, which
is the severest Spanish prison.

As there was but one Government in the reign of Ferdinand VII. and but
one army, and that was the Government and the army of the King, the
effect of the influence of the women who surrounded the monarch was
immense, and this was especially seen in the royal country resorts,
where the King’s Court numbered many coquettish sirens who courted him
for favours of all descriptions.

The greed and corruption of men in authority at Court became an open
secret.[11] Don Pedro Macanáz, the Minister of Grace and Justice, sold
offices at high prices, and large sums of money thus passed into the
hands of a certain Luisa Robinet, who had followed the diplomat from
France. This fact came to the ears of the King, and he determined to
stop the matter in his own way; so on November 8, 1814, Ferdinand rose
early and sallied quietly forth from the palace, only accompanied by
his confidential friend, the Duke of Alagon.

[11] “History of Ferdinand VII.,” 1843.

When they had gone some way, they were joined by a company of the
Guard, and with this escort they arrived at the house of the suspected
Minister. The unhappy man was in bed, but the King mounted to his room,
demanded his keys, and went to his desk, and there he found a letter
in which a certain person offered him 12,000 reals for a post which
he solicited. Armed with this and many other incriminating papers,
Ferdinand returned home to his courtiers, who applauded his action, and
Macanáz was condemned to imprisonment for an indefinite time in the
Castle of San Antonio in Corunna.

The corruption of the Ministers and the despotism of the King naturally
led to secret societies in Spain.

Alagon was the King’s constant companion, and at night the King used
to sally forth with him in search of adventure. Don Ramon de Mesoneros
Romanos relates that one night a small boy met two imposing-looking
figures dressed as ordinary citizens with wide-collared cloaks, and,
as there was not room on the side-walk for him to pass them without
going into the road, he made as if he would push by them, with the
discourtesy of youth. But, as the man on the inside of the pathway
removed his handkerchief from his face, the boy gazed at him with such
open-mouthed astonishment that the imposing-looking gentleman quietly
put forth his hand, and the boy found himself removed to the middle of
the road. The next day the boy’s schoolfellows were regaled with an
account of his encounter with the Sovereign.

“Yes,” said the boy, with glee, “it was King Ferdinand VII.
himself--his very self.”

During the public audiences at Court, Alagon used to stand by the King
with his hand in the breast of his coat, and by a secret language he
acquainted the King with the political opinions of the persons who
were soliciting his favour, and it was by the same dumb language that
the monarch learnt particulars about any beauties who appeared at the
Alcazar.

It was soon found that to pander to the King’s love of the table was a
sure way to favour, so not only would an impecunious noble give him a
magnificent banquet in return for exemption from paying his debts, but
the religious houses, the barracks, and the prisons, regaled the royal
monarch with great feasts, which were always followed by a request for
his patronage on behalf of some relation or connection of those in
authority at the institution.

On February 3, 1815, Ferdinand suddenly appeared with the Captain
of his Guard in the Council of the Supreme Inquisition. He told the
assembly to resume their seats and to continue their work, and this
work of persecuting humanity appeared so attractive to the royal
visitor that he decorated the Inquisitor-General with the Grand
Cross of Charles III. The superior officer a few days afterwards
gave a magnificent lunch to the monarch on the understanding that he
would favour the work of condemning heretics; so on March 17 we find
Ferdinand creating an Order of Knighthood for the Ministers of the Holy
Office.

Ferdinand’s marriage, when he was thirty-two years of age, to Isabel de
Braganza, opened a new era for Spain. As we know, Isabel’s sister, Doña
Maria Francisca de Asis, had married the King’s brother, Don Carlos,
the future claimant to the throne.

The King’s bride was soon beloved by all her subjects for her sweetness
and intelligence. Indeed, so true was her judgment in matters of policy
that, when her husband occasionally consulted with her about affairs,
he never regretted accepting her opinion.

The young Queen was, moreover, very artistic, and it was her love of
the fine arts and her skill in painting that led to the foundation of
the Academy of San Fernando, intended especially for the exhibition of
foreign pictures.

But, clever as the young Queen was, she was woman enough to wish to win
her husband’s admiration, and in this aim she resorted to all sorts of
girlish artifices.

Once, when the King was passing through the royal apartments with
his pompous step, he was accosted by a charming maiden in Andalusian
attire. With her fine features shaded by a rich white mantilla, her
beautiful blue eyes bubbling over with fun, and her lovely hands
holding up the castanets, she gracefully took a few steps of a
Sevillian dance before curtseying to His Majesty. When the King saw
that the charming girl was the Queen, he was surprised into admiration
for his beautiful wife, and every time that she astonished him by such
successful artifice she increased his love for her.

[Illustration: MARIA ISABEL FRANCISCA OF BRAGANZA]

But, unfortunately for Isabel’s happiness, Ferdinand was constantly
on his guard against falling, like his father, too much under the
influence of his wife, and, as a weak nature like his was bound to be
under some domination, it was subjugated by such men as the dissolute
Duke of Alagon and his servitor Chamorro, and the Queen’s influence was
shunned.

However, the bright, buoyant, loving way in which Isabel sought to gain
her rightful place in Ferdinand’s affections would have succeeded in
any Court less corrupt than that of Madrid. But the stream of a sweet,
pure influence was checked by the stagnating effect of flattery and
lies, and the King shut himself out of the joys of a happy home life by
the barricades of self-interested friendship, and he strove to satisfy
his young wife by showering such public marks of favour upon her as
having the Buen Retiro made into a perfect garden of Paradise for her
use. But, even as the beautiful Queen trod the lovely glades and gazed
at the gorgeous flowers, she sighed for more frequent signs of her
husband’s love and confidence, which would have filled her heart with a
joy unobtainable by any outward pomp and prettiness.

Alagon and Chamorro indeed formed an insurmountable barrier between the
royal couple, and all Isabel’s efforts seemed powerless to break it
down.

The King’s charming compliments to his wife sometimes soothed her
chafed spirits, and consoled her with the hope that, if not supreme
in his confidence, she had at least no rival in his heart. But this
consolation was not long left her, for the day came when she found that
the man who had been treacherous to his father and his mother, his
family, and his friends, was also false to his wife.

The Queen was sitting one evening in the royal palace. If her pretty
forehead puckered sometimes in thought, it was probably because
she was planning some fresh fantastic surprise for the husband who
was enthroned in her heart, or perhaps she was forming some plan
for an exhibition in the Art Institution she had founded, when her
brother-in-law, Don Carlos, came into the room and informed her that
the King had gone out into the city in his mysterious way with his
confidants Alagon and Chamorro, and expeditions conducted in this
secret form signified to the Prince an _affaire de cœur_. Isabel at
first declined to believe the Infante’s statement, as Ferdinand had
told her that he was only going on business to the Mayordomo’s office.
So the Prince accompanied his sister-in-law to the office in question,
and when the King was not to be found there, and his companions also
proved to be missing, the Queen determined to wait for her husband in a
room near the door by which he would re-enter the palace. The hours of
waiting were long, and when Ferdinand finally returned it was to find
the gentle Queen too overwrought to be able to restrain her rage.

“You have deceived me!” she cried. “You come from the house of your
dear one! I congratulate you!”

The King replied in terms which showed how great was his anger with
the tale-bearer, and the dialogue between the royal brothers might
have led to fatal results had not Doña Francisca intervened; and, as
the influence which the Princess exerted over her brother-in-law was
always of great weight, the painful scene ended with the wound to poor
Isabel’s heart which never was healed.

Deceived in her husband, the young Queen devoted herself assiduously
to her baby daughter, and was never so happy as when she was doing
everything herself for it; and when the little Infanta succumbed to
an illness, Isabel’s grief was intense, and the King also was much
affected at the death of his baby daughter.

It was about this time that the serious discontent in the realm led
to a plot which was to compass the assassination of the King. Don
Vicente Richard was the chief conspirator, and as each participator in
the plot knew of only two others concerned in it, and the triangular
sections were all quite separate from each other, the names were never
disclosed. When it was time to put the match to the train, some thought
that it would be well to surprise the King in the house of a certain
beautiful Andalusian lady called Pepa, so that the whole country should
know that the perfidy of the King extended to his domestic life as well
as to matters of public concern.

But Richard’s two co-operators betrayed the plot to the palace, and
although the conspirators met the fate which such actions invite, and
the King spared neither time nor money in trying to find out their
co-operators, no further information was discoverable.

The Freemasons were at this time a great object of persecution on the
part of the Inquisition. In a curious old book called “Narration of
Don Juan Van Halem, Field-Marshal of the National Troops,” we have an
account of a secret audience he had with Ferdinand for the purpose of
making certain revelations to His Majesty on the subject.

According to the account written by Halem himself, a certain Don
Ramirez Arellano came into his cell at seven o’clock in the evening,
when he was suffering imprisonment at the hand of the Inquisition,
and told him that the King was graciously pleased to receive him, but
warned him solemnly against any indiscretion. Halem wished to put
on his uniform, with the stripes and decorations accorded to those
who had followed Ferdinand to Valençay. But Arellano forbade it.
“Nothing in the way of uniform,” he said--“nothing, nothing that may
attract attention;” and he made him don his plain cap and jacket, and,
accompanied by the alcalde and another man, they repaired to the palace.

“We reached the gallery,” writes Van Halem, “by unfrequented
stairways, and, opening a coloured window, which was a secret door,
came to the King’s private room, commonly called the _camarilla_.

“There Ramirez Arellano left us for a while, and I found that the other
incognito was Villar Frontin, the King’s secretary. At the end of
half an hour a fine-figured lady passed through the room, followed by
Arellano. He nervously made a sign to the secretary and me to follow
him, whilst the alcalde was to remain behind. When we all three arrived
at the door of the salon, Arellano called out in a loud tone:

“‘Señor.’

“‘What is it?’ cried a voice from within.

“‘Here is Van Halem.’

“‘Enter.’

“So we entered, leaving Villar Frontin near the door outside.

“The King was quite alone; he was seated in the only chair in the room,
but as we advanced he rose to his feet. The King’s dress is so familiar
to his people, down to the cut of his trousers and the stud of his
shirt-front, that there is no need to describe it.

“At a little distance from the chair was a large table, at which the
King despatched business with his Ministers, and upon which were
several papers, an inkstand, a writing-case, and a box of cigars.

“By the side of the table was a case, which was doubtless the same in
which Irriberry said the King kept the papers sent from Murcia for him.

“The King rested one hand on the table, whilst I bowed to his feet
according to Spanish etiquette, and giving me the other to kiss, he
raised me, saying: ‘And what do you want? Why do you wish to see me?’

“‘Because I am perfectly sure that, if Your Majesty will listen to me
quietly, all the suspicions with which Your Majesty has been inspired,
and which have led to my treatment, will be allayed!’

“‘But you are taking part in a conspiracy, and you ought to divulge it
to me. I know all. Don’t be frightened. Who are your accomplices?’

“‘The desire for good is not conspiracy. If Your Majesty knows all,
there will be nothing new in what I can say, and any explanation you
may deign to authorize me to make will disarm your anger, and show you
that the only reason anybody hides from your august personage is to
escape from the scourge with which people seek to make your illustrious
name odious.’

“‘Who are those who have seduced you with these errors? Tell me who
they are. Do not hesitate.’

“‘Señor, if Your Majesty knows all, you know--you must know--that
nobody has seduced me, and that I speak from an impulse of conviction
from within; and that the order of things and the distrust nowadays is
such that I cannot say I know anybody personally.’

“‘You must know the means of discovering them; you are bound in honour
to obey me. Choose, then, between grace and disgrace.’

“‘Put yourself, Your Majesty, at the head of the society, and you will
know all....’

“Then Ramirez Arellano advanced like a fury towards the King, and cried
to me in a loud voice, most unfitting for the presence of a King:
‘Here, here, we want no more preambles and sophisms! On this table
are pens and paper, and here you must put down the names of all the
conspirators. No circumlocution or subterfuges. The King is at the head
of his kingdoms, and nothing under the sun ought to be hidden from him.
I have read Barruel, Señor; I have been in France, and I know what
these Freemasonry secrets are. Where, where are the solemn oaths made
to your religion and your King?’

“During all this storm I kept my eyes on the monarch’s face, which
seemed turned to stone from the moment Arellano joined in the
conversation. Disregarding the miserable man as much as I could, I
turned to the King, and said:

“‘Señor, I know nobody.’

“Then Ramirez said: ‘Señor, the tribunal, the tribunal will make him
vomit.’

“Then the King, turning away from Ramirez, said in a tone of vexation:

“‘It is impossible that you know nothing about it; your silence is
criminal.’

“‘Señor,’ I returned, ‘if I were hiding a crime I should shun your
royal presence, and if I had committed a sin I should profit by the
opportunity of being in the royal presence, to ask pardon.’

“The King stood looking at me thoughtfully for some time, and then said:

“‘Put down in writing all that you have to tell me.’

“After a slight pause he took one of the cigars from the table, lighted
it, and began smoking.

“‘Do you smoke?’ he said.

“And when my answer was in the affirmative, he said to Arellano: ‘Give
him some cigars.’

“This act was followed by a sign for me to leave, and when I kissed His
Majesty’s hand he pressed mine with a certain touch of feeling, but, on
turning to make my bow at the door, I heard him say to Arellano: ‘What
a pity--such young man!’”

Thus, the attempt to give the King some idea of the matter did
not succeed, as the Freemason was not allowed to make any verbal
explanation, and to have followed the royal suggestion of putting in
writing any information about the society would have been to put one’s
neck into the noose.

According to Van Halem’s own story, he subsequently escaped from prison
through the help of a maid-servant.

It was on the evening of December 26, 1818, that sweet Isabel died, and
Ferdinand again found himself a widower.

The news was a great shock to the whole country. Mesoneros Romanos
relates that he was at a large municipal evening party, when the Mayor
entered in his official garb, and said in a solemn voice: “Señores,
this festivity must cease. The Queen our lady” (and he reverently
doffed his hat) “has just expired after being delivered of an infant,
which has also died.” Dismay filled the assembly, and it was with sad
hearts that the company repaired to their homes, for not only had they
lost their lovable young Queen, but the death of her infant had also
destroyed their hopes of an heir to the throne.[12]

[12] “Memorias de un Setenton, Mesoneros Romanos.”

It is said that Ferdinand showed more grief at this bereavement
than ever he had before, and, robbed of the one person whose advice
was always good and disinterested, he was soon utterly ruled by his
favourites of the _camarilla_, who wove intrigues to the ruin of the
country.

Obedient to the wishes of the State, that there should be a direct
heir to the crown, the King soon wedded Maria Josefa Amalia, Princess
of Saxony, a young girl of sixteen, just out of the convent where she
was educated; and it was soon seen that she had little or no influence
on the character and actions of her husband, for, although the verses
from her pen show that she was very intelligent, she was never known,
during the eight years of her married life, to express any opinion on
public affairs, and she occupied herself entirely in making garments
for the poor. With the extreme piety of her disposition, which had
been fostered in the convent, Maria Amalia never frequented balls or
theatres, and her drive in the Pardo was the only pleasure she allowed
herself. Studious by nature, the Queen soon mastered the language of
her new country, but study was not the accomplishment by which she
could gain ascendancy over a man like Ferdinand.

[Illustration: MARIA JOSEFA AMALIA, THIRD WIFE OF FERDINAND VII.]

The change from the society of the eager, intelligent Isabel to that
of the cold, formal Maria Amalia was great, and, as the phlegmatic
Queen never sought her husband’s confidence, it was now entirely
monopolized by his self-interested _camarilla_, who flattered and
fawned upon the King, and encouraged him in courses which gradually
robbed him of all the respect of his subjects. The King’s promises to
support the Constitution were recklessly broken, and despair at the
decay of all hopes of a good monarchical government led, in 1820, to
such a systematic proclamation of the Constitution in Corunna, Vigo,
and many garrisons of Spain, that the country became in a state of
revolt. Then the courtiers became alarmed, and the King himself could
not hide his anxiety at seeing the affection of his subjects slipping
from him. The day came when the palace was surrounded by a discontented
mob. The Queen sat silently in a corner of her room engaged in prayer,
whilst Chamorro tried to drown his master’s fears in ribald laughter.

Ferdinand paced the apartment deep in thought, and the silence which
met his companion’s ill-placed mirth showed it was unwelcome to the
monarch. At last the King’s good genius conquered, and, putting
aside the courtiers who sought to stifle every good impulse, he sent
for better councillors, and by their advice he strove to avert the
threatened blow by signing a document in which he promised to act in
conformity with his brother Don Carlos and the Junta, of which he was
President.

But the expressions in this manifesto were vague and obscure instead of
being open and frank, and Ferdinand found that the realm which had been
outraged by six years of autocratic tyranny was as difficult to get
back to subjection as an unbridled horse left to its own course.

Discontented with the lack of any binding promise in the King’s
manifesto that he would protect their constitutional rights, the people
returned in crowds to the palace, and the air echoed with their loud
cries for justice. The Royal Guard itself was lax in checking this
public ebullition of feeling, and the people began to press up the
royal staircase, when the King sent his emissaries to check their
progress and calm the sedition with promises to give attention to their
petitions. But these promises did not satisfy the people, and the
Marquis of Miraflores returned to the King to say that the citizens
demanded His Majesty to take his solemn oath of the Constitution of the
country in presence of the Corporation and the Commissioners of the
people.

Despotic as he was when in safety, Ferdinand was weak and cowardly in
danger, so he concealed his annoyance at the demand of the Commission,
and, with well-assumed benignity, took the desired oath in the
Ambassadors’ Salon at the palace. But afterwards, when alone with his
favourites, Ferdinand gave vent to the rage which he felt at having
been thus forced to do what was contrary to his love of despotism.

Indeed, this despotism was inherent in Ferdinand both by instinct and
education, and Queen Amalia’s sphere of usefulness was limited to her
never-ending self-imposed task of making garments for the poor. Spain
saw the sad hearts of those whose parents, husbands, sons, or friends,
were condemned to exile or poverty for no better cause than for having
been friendly with the French, whom their King himself had flattered
with every expression of obedience and service.

The promises for the restitution of the property which had been thus
confiscated came too late to check the surging insurrectionary state
of the people, and on the night of July 8, 1820, the insurrection in
the barracks of the King’s own Guard, in favour of those who were
proclaiming Liberty throughout the country, struck terror into the
pusillanimous heart of the King, and it was only the death of the
standard-bearer which prevented the revolution becoming very serious.

Moreover, the palace itself was the seat of a plot headed by Baso, the
King’s secretary, and Erroz, his private chaplain.

The object of this plot was to get possession of the King’s person on
the road from Burgos, and to proclaim a republic.

But Baso, who was attached to the Infante Don Francisco, warned him so
that he could repair to Old Castile, and the matter thus got wind, and
reached the ears of Echevarri, the Chief of the Police. This official
promptly ordered the bells to be set ringing in every place on the
King’s route, and the crowds of people thus brought to the road from
Burgos prevented the King being taken captive.

It was on the day following the frustration of the plot that Ferdinand
opened the Senate in state. The King went with stately step to the
royal apartments of Queen Amalia, and, accompanied by the Infantas,
grandees, gentlemen-in-waiting, and all the pomp of the occasion,
Their Majesties proceeded to the Senate in the magnificent state
coach drawn by sixteen cream horses with nodding plumes. Seated on the
throne, with the Ministers, Deputies, and Bishops, on the benches, and
a brilliant assembly of courtiers and ladies in the boxes, the King
read his opening speech; and, as he promised to maintain the rights of
the people, it seemed as if King and State were once more in union.

But the seeds of discontent were not so easily uprooted, and a
Commission of the Patriotic Society of the Café of Lorencini went at
twelve o’clock one night to the palace to request the removal of the
Marquis of las Amarillas, the Secretary of War. This request angered
the monarch, the bad feeling between Ferdinand and his Ministers
increased daily, and in the meetings the King did not hesitate to
exhibit his bad temper in spiteful and satirical allusions accompanied
by a malignant smile.

It was at this time that Riego was made Captain-General of Galicia. He
was a pleasant, valorous young fellow who suddenly became a favourite
of the populace through the bold way in which he stood up for the
constitutional rights of the nation. But after his triumphal entry
into Madrid he quite lost his head, and, instead of being the Rienzi
the people had hoped for, he had not sufficient eloquence with which
to harangue the people when they shouted for him to come and speak
for them, and the populace had to be contented with the sight of his
face in the light of their torches. Riego was indeed wanting in the
intellectual force required to lead a nation, and, though he had
thought to be its idol, he soon found he was only its plaything, but
his vanity spurred him on in the campaign for the assertion of its
rights.

Ferdinand, meanwhile, had been told by one of his secret agents of the
weak side of the leader of the insurgents; and having sent for Riego,
he flattered him by showing him how advantageous it would be to schemes
of constitutional liberty if he were to join the Ministry.

Riego then boldly declared his hope that the Ministry would be changed,
and Ferdinand, who was at that moment anxious to get rid of his
Cabinet, entered into the plan of replacing the Ministers by friends of
Riego.

It was on September 3 that Riego’s party proceeded to the theatre after
a great banquet, and there broke into a couplet composed in Cadiz--the
“Trágala” (“Swallow It,” meaning the Constitution).

Ferdinand strove to counteract this public anti-monarchical exhibition
by secret agents following him with cries of “Viva el Rey” as he passed
to and from the palace.

Fresh friction arose between the monarch and the Ministry when the law
which had been approved by the Cortes for the reform of the convents
was brought to the King for his sanction. For, supported by the wish of
the Pope, conveyed by the Nuncio, Ferdinand determined to take no step
to check the fanaticism which he himself so strongly favoured.

The people were furious at this blow to their hopes for progress, and
when all was prepared for the departure of the King and Queen to the
Escorial on October 25, his secretaries told him that a plan was laid
by his enemies to prevent his departure till he had passed the decree
to check the power of the friars and prevent their inquisitorial
courses. The King was enraged at this announcement, and he hastily
decided to leave Madrid that very minute. So he left with the Queen
and the Infantas at eleven o’clock in the morning, and brilliant
illuminations and rejoicings marked the evening of Their Majesties’
return to the Palace of San Lorenzo. Shut up in the Escorial, Ferdinand
devoured his rage in secret, and when the day came for closing the
Congress, he excused himself from attendance on the plea of a severe
cold.

It was on November 21 that the Court returned to Madrid. But at some
distance from the capital crowds of people met Their Majesties singing
the “Trágala”; and when Ferdinand, as usual, went to the window of the
palace to see the march past of the regiments in the city, he was met
by a storm of frantic cries and threatening gesticulations from the
crowds of people assembled in the Plaza del Oriente. The King was about
to turn away with an imprecation from such a scene, when he caught
sight of a child being held up above the sea of angry faces, and a look
of horror came over his face as the populace pointed to the little
boy, crying, “Lacy! Lacy!” For by this name he knew that the child was
that of the unhappy General Lacy, the leader of the victory over the
French in the Mancha, but he had met a secret and violent death at
Majorca after the failure of his _pronunciamento_ in favour of the
Constitution had led to his plot in Catalonia in 1817.

The King stood horror-struck when the cries of “Viva Lacy’s son!” and
“Viva his father’s avenger!” filled the air, but he kept his place till
the defile of the regiment was over. Then the King turned back into the
salon with a face which showed that he realized the portentous nature
of the movement he had witnessed.

The Queen was sitting weeping bitterly at these signs of discord, and
the Infantas looked distressed at the dangers which were threatening
the dynasty through their brother’s want of keeping faith with his
subjects.

The sense of danger became more pronounced when it was found that
within the very precincts of the palace a plot was brewing.

It was the honorary chaplain, Don Matios Vinuesa, and a
gentleman-in-waiting, who formed the idea of sending for the city
authorities one night and making them prisoners of the King in the
royal domain, whilst the Infante Don Carlos was to take command of the
troops of the garrison in virtue of the Absolutist party. This plot was
discovered by the betrayal of the secret printing of the proclamations,
and Vinuesa was hurried off to prison on January 21, 1821.

On May 4, Vinuesa, the Canon of Tarazona, was sentenced to ten years’
imprisonment in Africa. But this punishment did not satisfy the fury of
the people at the discovery of the plot favoured by the King. A meeting
was held in the Puerta del Sol, and from thence the outraged people
proceeded to the prison, to which their admission was only opposed by
one locked door. All the rest were open, and, penetrating the cell of
the unhappy cleric, they gave him two blows on the head with an iron
hammer. The murdered man had tried to avert his death by falling on his
knees and begging for mercy; but it was useless, and the bloodthirsty
mob followed the mortal blows dealt on the head with several more with
other weapons.

An assassination which had been connived at by those in power filled
the King with fear, for he felt that a people who could thus take
justice into their own hands might resort to the same course any day
with him.

In this state of alarm, he ordered the Guard to assemble in the wide
colonnaded square of the palace. The Guard was composed of soldiers who
had fought bravely in the Battles of Bailen, Talavera, and Albuera, and
the King did wisely to appeal to the chivalrous feeling of such men.

“Soldiers!” he cried, with a voice which became penetrating
in the speaker’s desire to make it ring in the hearts of his
hearers--“Soldiers!” he cried, “the deed committed this afternoon
against the person of the priest may to-morrow be committed against
me or against yourselves. Soldiers! I trust in you, and I come before
your ranks now to ask if you are disposed to defend your constitutional
King.”

To this appeal the Guard cried: “Viva the absolute King!” and,
satisfied with this demonstration, Ferdinand returned to the royal
apartments, somewhat reassured after the fright he had suffered.

After this episode the King seemed to avoid Madrid, with its
discontented Ministers and the insulting cries of the “Trágala”
revolutionary song, which so often fell upon his ears by the
Manzanares, and, after going with the Queen to take the baths at
Sacedon, he spent some time in the Palace of San Ildefonso at
Aranjuez. There the unstable King could be oblivious of his duties as
a constitutional monarch; and in frivolous games and boating-parties,
picnics and dances, he passed the hours away. With the gallantry
with which Ferdinand sought to compensate for his want of personal
good looks, he made himself conspicuous with many of the frivolous,
pretentious ladies who sought for his favours.

However, the King’s health began to fail visibly, and he became a
martyr to gout, which finally shortened his life.

Ferdinand’s constant struggle of his ambition against the natural
weakness of his character, and his propensity for the pleasures of the
table and gallantry, undermined his constitution, and at an age when
many men are in their prime he was broken with suffering.

When the revolution at last broke out under the Generals Alava, Copons,
and Riego, the King was in a great state of mind, and horses were
saddled and kept ready for flight at a minute’s notice.

When Ballesteros, who had been victorious with the militia in the
Puerta del Sol, arrived at the gates of the palace, the Royal Family
was horror-struck. The two battalions of the Guard were idle at the
royal domain, because the King would not let them go to the assistance
of the four battalions fighting in the town, and he had passed the
night endorsing the lists of proscription which his alarmed councillors
had presented to him. The King had, moreover, signed the warrant for
the committal to prison of Riego, Ballesteros, Palarea, etc., who
captained the militia, and the sentence was to have been executed that
very night.

But for such a task a strong Guard was needed, as despots can only
condemn citizens to death when protected by a strong line of bayonets.
The cannon thundered in the Puerta del Sol, and the militia with
Ballesteros having appeared right at the gates of the palace, a bullet
entered one of the windows.

Then the King forgot all his plans for revenge, and the dignity of the
Castilian crown was dragged in the dust, for he sent a messenger to
Ballesteros beseeching him to desist from firing, as his life would be
in imminent danger.

The General replied: “Tell the King to command the attendants about him
to lay down their arms immediately, or, if not, the bayonets of free
men will penetrate to his royal chamber.”

However, Ballesteros did order a truce to the hostilities, and sent
back the messenger to Morillo with his own Aide-de-Camp.

The permanent deputation of the Cortes, which, in virtue of Article
187, was entitled to form a regency in the case of the physical or
moral deficiency of the King, thought it was time to do so, and it
assembled in the house called the Panaderia.

Word was sent to the militia that His Majesty desired the cessation of
bloodshed, and it did not seem befitting the splendour of the sceptre
for the King’s Guard to be obliged to lay down their arms. After an
animated discussion it was decided that the four battalions which
had attacked the town should lay down their arms, and that the other
two should go out armed and take up their positions in Vicalvaro and
Leganes.

But late in the afternoon, when this arrangement was going to take
place, the four aggressive battalions, having made another attack on
the militia, fled away by the stone steps which lead from the square of
the royal palace to the Campo de Moro. Morillo brought more artillery
into play, and Ballesteros, after attacking with his cavalry the groups
of peasants who were proclaiming absolutism, also started in pursuit
of the Guards. It spoke well for the democrats that, when the palace
was momentarily left without any guard, until the Count of Carthagena
arrived with the regiment of the Infante Don Carlos, it was perfectly
respected, and no attempt was made to invade it.

But when Morillo arrived with his troops at the royal gates, Ferdinand
rushed to the window and incited his General to attack the people,
crying out: “After them! after them!” Such cowardice and treachery
seemed incredible.

Instigated by his love of double-dealing and intrigue, Ferdinand sent
again for Riego, the revolutionary leader, and deceived him by his
conciliatory assertions that he only wished his welfare and that of
all Spaniards, and that he did not believe his heart was capable of
nourishing the counsels of perfidious men.

Riego, unacquainted with the dissimulation of the Court, was quite
enthusiastic at the sudden conversion of the King, and in this spirit
he would not have the “Trágala” sung any more, and declared he would
have those who did so arrested.

The astuteness and deception of the King gave rise to inextricable
confusion in affairs. On one side he promised the French Minister
that he would establish the two Chambers, and on the other side he
was telling Mataflorida to take the reins of a Regency and proclaim
Absolutism. When the three Generals met the King as he crossed
the bridge at Cadiz connecting the island with the mainland, and
represented to him that it would be well for him to place the Regency
in their hands, he exclaimed, “Hola! But I am not mad! That is good!”
and continued his way to Cadiz.

As this is not a political book, we need not enter more fully into the
long struggle of Ferdinand’s Absolutism against the Constitutional
party, and how he was obliged to leave Madrid.

The country again saw the French called to interfere in the affairs of
the nation, and it was indeed, as we know, only due to Angoulême that
Ferdinand, after his time of humiliation in Andalusia, returned to the
capital.

Once more the people went mad with delight at the sight of the King.
Riego the revolutionist was dragged in a basket at an ass’s tail, to be
hanged and quartered as a felon, and the people who hailed the return
of the absolute monarch were indeed bidding welcome to the return of
the chains which had shackled them.

CHAPTER V

MARIA CRISTINA, FERDINAND’S FOURTH WIFE--INTRIGUES AT COURT

1829-1832

On May 17, 1829, Queen Maria Amalia passed away. She was a most
virtuous and conscientious lady, and had she realized that the duties
of a Queen were not synonymous with those of an Abbess, the King and
the country would have been more benefited by her irreproachable life.
The atmosphere of the convent hung always about her, and when not
engaged in working for the poor she was occupied with her devotions.

When the King wished to walk with the Queen, he generally had to wait
till some sewing for the poor was completed; and in all the dissensions
between the King and his subjects his wife would sit silently weeping
or praying, but never try to understand anything about the struggle
between despotism and constitutionalism, which was tearing the
realm asunder. Moreover, Maria Amalia left the field free for the
presumptuous, frivolous women of the Court, when she decided never to
go to any theatre nor to allow any balls or parties at the palace.

A drive in the Retiro or the Prado was the only relaxation the royal
lady permitted herself, and it was there that the Portuguese Princess,
Maria Francisca de Braganza, the wife of Don Carlos, also took her
daily airing in a beautiful carriage drawn by six mules. The Princess
of Naples, Princess Luisa Carlota, wife of the Infante Don Francisco,
had long felt herself slighted by this haughty Princess, and by her
sister, the Princess de Beira, widow of the Infante Don Pedro, and
after the death of Queen Maria Amalia she determined to mature a plan
by which her position at Court would be improved. For, knowing the
susceptible nature of Ferdinand, and that his obstinate nature was
weak and yielding where the fair sex was concerned, his sister-in-law
determined that this susceptibility should be turned to account in the
person of her sister, Maria Cristina. The position of Luisa Carlota
had, moreover, always been somewhat ambiguous, from the open secret of
the relation of her husband with Godoy; and as this Prince and Princess
always thus felt themselves somewhat alien from the rest of the Royal
Family, they were strongly in favour of the Liberal party, which was in
direct opposition to Don Carlos, his wife, and the widowed Portuguese
Princess.

Thus, intrigue and enmity reigned between the two parties, and Luisa
Carlota could hardly conceal her triumphant feeling when, on showing
the King the portrait of her beautiful sister, she saw that his face
expressed admiration for the bonny girl, who was daughter of Francis I.
of Naples, the brother of his first wife, and therefore his niece by
marriage; and on December 11, 1829, the beautiful young Princess made
her formal entry into Madrid as the bride of the King.

[Illustration: QUEEN MARIA CRISTINA, MOTHER OF ISABELLA II.]

When the Princess arrived at Aranjuez with her parents, she was
received by the Infantes Francisco de Paula and Don Carlos, and so the
first formal words of welcome in the name of the King were addressed to
the bride by him who afterwards became her most bitter enemy and rival.

The impression made upon the Spanish people by the Italian Princess
during her journey from Barcelona to the capital was favourable. Her
beauty and youth appealed strongly to the susceptible Spaniards, and
her kindness of heart was seen in her suggestion that the soldiers
should put their cloaks on in the inclement weather; and on the day of
her triumphal entry into Madrid as their Queen, with the King at the
right side of her carriage and the Infantas on the left, the people
went wild with joy at what they considered as the dawn of a new era for
the realm. It was soon evident that the young Queen had great influence
over her husband. Unlike her predecessor on the throne, Maria Cristina
loved to take an active part in the affairs of the realm; and Don
Carlos, who had always had ascendancy over Ferdinand, found that his
position in the confidence of his brother was gradually on the wane.

The beautiful Princess tempered Ferdinand’s fury against those who had
revolted against him, and her gentle words and calm counsel were a
beneficent antidote to the advice of Calomarde and the Bishop of Leon.

As the influence of Maria Cristina increased, the power of the
Portuguese Princesses was lessened, and the enmity of the parties
became more and more marked.

When it was evident that an heir to the throne might be expected, Don
Carlos and his wife placed all their hopes on the chance of it being a
girl, for in that case he laid claim to be heir to the throne by virtue
of the Salic Law of Philip IV. Although Charles IV. had privately
abrogated this law, Don Carlos still considered that his right was
valid, as he was born in 1788, a year before its abrogation.

The power of the Queen over the King was still more marked after the
birth of their little daughter on October 10, 1830. As heiress to
the throne, Ferdinand commanded the same honours to be accorded the
infant Princess as were customary to be given to a Prince of Asturias.
With fresh hopes for the future of his family, the King turned his
thoughts to more liberal forms of Government than he had ever before
entertained. By an autograph letter he decreed the establishment of a
Liberal Ministry. But Calomarde and the Bishop played on the King’s
natural vacillation and cowardice to persuade him that the Liberals
would abuse the power against the throne.

Gout meanwhile made great inroads in the health of the King. One attack
followed another, until it became evident that the King’s life would
not be a long one. In view of her unsettled position, Queen Cristina
determined to ingratiate herself with the army, and to this end she
celebrated the completion of Isabel’s first year by bestowing on
different companies of the soldiers banners worked by her own hands.

The ceremony took place in the historic Hall of Columns in the Palace
of Madrid, and as the Queen graciously handed her beautiful work to the
Generals, she said: “On a day so dear to my heart I wished to give you
a proof of my affection by placing these banners in your hands, which
I trust they will never leave. And I am quite persuaded that you will
always know how to defend them with the valour which is proper to the
Spanish character, sustaining the rights of your King, Ferdinand VII.,
my very dear husband, and of his descendants.” A public proclamation to
the army expressed the same sentiments, and the bestowal of the gifts
received wide appreciation.

However, the intrigues in the palace grew apace, and one of the most
constant companions of the Queen was Teresita, a dressmaker, who was
raised to such a high position of favour that even Ministers asked her
intervention with Her Majesty for the introduction of people of such
high degree as grandees of Spain, etc. As Maria Cristina’s influence
increased, she managed to get rid of the Portuguese Princess de Beira,
under the pretext that her brother required her in her native land.

After the birth of a second little Princess, the King was with his wife
at La Granja, when he fell dangerously ill. The Infante Don Francisco
and his wife were in Andalusia, and Don Carlos with the Princess of
Beira; Don Sebastian and Doña Amalia were at the palace with the King.

The attack of illness, which commenced on September 13, became so
serious that his life was despaired of. It was then that Cristina
showed her true wifely affection. Dressed in the costume of Señora
del Carmen, the royal lady was a constant and indefatigable attendant
on the patient. It was from her hands alone that he received his
medicines, and it was she who administered all the means of alleviating
his sufferings. Ferdinand seemed to cling to his wife during this
terrible time, and to her he confided his distress at the thought of
leaving her a widow with the orphaned Princesses.

Indeed, distress of mind added so much to his physical sufferings
that Cristina sent for Calomarde to see what he could do to calm his
master. Calomarde gladly profited by the permission to enter the royal
apartment, for the Infantas were refused admittance.

When the King, between the fits of exhaustion that followed the attacks
of pain, explained to his Minister with great difficulty the ground
of his anxiety, Calomarde perfidiously expressed his opinion that,
in the event of his Majesty’s demise, the kingdom would declare in
favour of Don Carlos, and that the only means of saving the crown for
his daughter would be to associate his brother in the Government. It
was, indeed, suggested that the Queen was to be authorized to despatch
business during his illness, but it was to be with the help and advice
of the Prince.

The Bishop of Leon was then called into the King’s chamber to give his
opinion, and he echoed the advice of the Minister.

In the meanwhile the apartments of Don Carlos were a hotbed of
intrigue. “Now or never” was the feeling of the Pretender to the
throne, and self-interested people came and went in constant
consultation with the Prince, and to bring news of the condition of
the King. The Portuguese Princesses were keen and intent on all that
went on, whilst their faces betrayed their anxiety. When the Count
of Alcudia appeared with the King’s decree, Don Carlos definitively
declined to share any duties of government with the Queen, and on the
departure of the messenger the Infante again reverted to his silent and
thoughtful attitude.

The Count soon reappeared with a new decree, to the effect that Don
Carlos, in company with Cristina, should be appointed guardian of
the Infanta Isabel. To this Don Carlos also gave a haughty refusal,
saying that he could not thus resign the legitimate rights which God
gave him at his birth; and with these words he closed the door to all
negotiations for recognition of the little Princess’s right to the
throne. So the King was again a prey to anxiety, and the Bishop of
Leon and Calomarde so worked on Cristina’s nerves in their accounts of
the horrors that would beset the country under the civil war, which
was imminent with little Isabel as Queen, that, at her wits’ end to
know what to do, the poor lady finally exclaimed: “Only let Spain be
happy and tranquil with the benefits of peace and order!” And in this
overwrought state she herself besought the King to revoke the Salic
Law. So the deed was done, and the King commanded a codicil to be
drawn up, declaring that he had made this supreme sacrifice for the
tranquillity and peace of the kingdom, but the fact was to be kept
secret until after his death.

This moment seemed to follow very quickly on the portentous deed; for
Ferdinand fell into a lethargy which was believed to be death, for he
lay without any signs of life, and all efforts of the doctors to revive
him were useless.

Poor Cristina put her hand to her husband’s heart, and even as she
failed to detect any movement, and thought she was a dethroned widow,
she saw Calomarde, the Bishop of Leon, and all the other councillors,
leave the room without a word of sympathy or an offer of help.
That moment taught the Queen more of the worthlessness of friends
of the _camarilla_ type than she could have believed possible. The
sight of those men leaving her in that callous way, alone with her
supposed-to-be-dead husband, showed her that Madrid would be no place
for her and her little children were Don Carlos on the throne.

[Illustration: DON CARLOS DE BOURBON, DUKE OF MADRID]

So, with tears pouring down her face, Cristina at once began to collect
her jewels and make ready for her departure, whilst her brother-in-law
was already addressed as “His Majesty” in the antechamber, and the
Portuguese Princesses embraced each other with joy at the success of
their plans.

But two unexpected events happened which put a check to the triumph of
the Carlist party--the King showed signs of life, and the Infantas
Don Francisco and Doña Luisa Carlota suddenly arrived from Andalusia.
A few minutes’ conversation with her sister put Luisa Carlota in
possession of the whole story.

After reproaching Cristina for the weakness which had led her to
sacrifice her daughter’s throne to the intrigues of the Infantas, the
Princess sent for Calomarde, and a terrible scene took place. She
upbraided the Minister for the treacherous way he had played into the
hands of the Queen’s enemy, and had abandoned her in time of need; and
when he sought to justify himself, she gave way to such fury that she
struck him on the face.

For a moment the Princess seemed shocked at her own loss of temper,
but Calomarde’s courtier-like remark, that “white hands offend not,”
showed that no further resentment on his part would be shown. In the
meanwhile, as the King was supposed to be dead, the secret societies
noised abroad the news of the Revocation of the Pragmatic Sanction,
and Don José O’Donnell sent a secret circular to the authorities and
persons of the places in favour of Don Carlos.

In fact, albeit after September 28 immediate anxiety about the King’s
life was past, Maria Cristina felt that she was on the brink of a
revolution.

It was due to the magnanimity and kind-hearted nature of the Queen
that the King at this time finally signed the decree which buried the
hatchet of the revolution in Seville, and allowed all people to return
to their native land; and it was by this deed that the beautiful young
Queen gained a surer hold on the hearts of her subjects.

Cristina was, moreover, relieved from the presence of Calomarde on the
recovery of the King, for, as he could no longer expect the favour
or confidence of his Sovereigns, he left Spain for France, and there
remained until the day of his death.

It was on October 19 that Ferdinand and Cristina returned to the
capital after all the events which had so surely sifted true friends
from false flatterers. The atmosphere seemed clearer; the King saw
that it was necessary to make Cristina Regent during his daughter’s
minority, and with this triumph of her authority Cristina wore the
bright and joyous look of a tender wife, a loving mother, a heroic
Queen, and the liberator of Spain.

Ferdinand was certainly a wreck after his severe illness. As Don
Carlos said, “he was more a corpse than a man”; but he was alive, and,
after that terrible moment when Cristina had thought she was alone and
unprotected with the dead body of her husband, the fact of his being by
her side gave her a sense of protection.

The entry of the Sovereigns into Madrid was followed by a manifesto
from the Queen, in which she set forth her love to Spain, and a
declaration was published by the King, in which he annulled the codicil
which would have abrogated the Pragmatic Sanction. After stating the
facts of the Pragmatic Sanction, the King said:

“Perfidy completed the horrible plot which sedition commenced....
Being conversant now with the falsity with which the loyalty of my
beloved Spaniards was calumniated, as they are always faithful to the
descendants of their Kings; and being quite persuaded that it is not
in my power, nor in my desires, to break with the immemorial custom of
the succession established for centuries past, sanctioned by the law,
and followed by the illustrious heroines who have preceded me on the
throne; and solicited by the unanimous votes of the kingdoms, and free
now from the influence and coercion of those fatal circumstances--I
declare solemnly of my own free will that the decree signed at the
time of my illness was torn from me by surprise, and that it was the
effect of the false terrors which upset me, and that it is now null and
void, being contrary to the fundamental laws of the monarchy and the
obligations which I owe my august descendants, as father and as King.

“In my Palace of Madrid,
“December 31, 1832.”

Ferdinand’s feeling for his wife was shown in the public letter of
gratitude which was published soon after his return to Madrid. It ran
thus:

“_The King to my very dear and beloved Wife,
the Queen._

“During the very grave and painful illness with which the Divine
Providence saw fit to afflict me, the constant care and inseparable
companionship of Your Majesty have been my consolation and delight.
I never opened my eyes without seeing you by my side, and finding
palliatives for my pain in your face and words; I never received food
which did not come from your hand. It is to you I owe consolation in
my afflictions and the assuagement of my pain. Weakened by so much
suffering, and condemned to a long and tedious convalescence, I then
gave you the reins of government, so that the despatch of business
should not be delayed; and it is with joy that I have seen the singular
wisdom and diligence with which you have directed them, and have
abundantly justified my confidence. All the decrees that you have
expedited have been to advance public education, to dry the tears of
the unhappy, or to increase the general prosperity and the receipts of
my Exchequer. In fine, all your determinations have, without exception,
pleased me much as the wisest and the best for the happiness of the
people.

“Recovered from my illness, I once more take over the affairs, and
I give Your Majesty the most heartfelt thanks for your zeal in my
assistance, and for your efficiency in the government.

“The gratitude for such signal offices, which will always live in my
heart, will be a fresh stimulus and justification for the love with
which your talents and virtues have inspired me from the beginning.

“I am proud, and congratulate myself that you have not only been the
delight of the Spanish people since your advent to the throne, but
you have given me joy and peace, and are now an example of wifely
solicitude to wives and a model of administration to Queens.

“In the Palace, etc.”

In another decree the King commanded a medal to be struck in
commemoration of the actions with which the Queen had immortalized his
name.

It was indeed an affecting sight to see the way in which the King
clung to his domestic happiness at the decline of his life. Seated
in his large gilded chair, he smiled with pleasure at his children,
and he followed every movement of his wife with eyes in which love
and gratitude were evident. In the light of this love the cruel and
self-interested influence of the _camarilla_ was weakened. His nervous
nature found repose in the firm counsels of Cristina, and, with the
confidence with which she inspired him, he had no need to resort to the
duplicity which is so often born of distrust.

But a secret power was at work in the provinces, where the Bishop of
Leon sought to work the people up in favour of the Carlists, whilst
pretending devotion to the King. “What name can be so sweet to me as
the monarch’s?” he said--“a monarch to whom I owe all, and from whom
I have received confidences in matters of grave importance which I
cannot reveal, and therefore I know how much he desires the order and
tranquillity of his people.”

When the time drew near for the administration of the oath to Isabel as
heir to the throne, Ferdinand sent a letter to Don Carlos to ask if it
was his intention to attend the ceremony or not. To this question the
Infante replied that his conscience and his honour would not permit him
to be present at the function, as he could not resign his legitimate
rights to the throne in the event of his brother dying without a male
heir. God had given him these rights at his birth, and he hoped his
brother would explain the reason of his absence to the other Sovereigns
at the ceremony.

To this communication Ferdinand replied:

“MY VERY DEAR BROTHER OF MY LIFE, THE CHARLES OF MY HEART,--I have
received your letter of the 29th ult., and I am glad to see that you
and your wife and your children are well. We are the same, thank God.
I have always known how much you have loved me, and I believe you know
the affection which I have for you. But I am father and King, and I
have to consider my rights and those of my children, as well as those
of my crown. I do not wish to thwart the dictates of your conscience,
nor can I hope to dissuade you from your pretended rights; as, being
founded on a determination of men, God alone can change them. But my
love as a brother impels me to avoid the disagreeables which would
attend you in a country where your supposed rights are not recognized,
and the duties of a King oblige me to remove the presence of an Infante
whose pretensions might serve as a pretext to malcontents. So, as you
cannot, for high political reasons, and by the laws of the kingdom,
and for the sake of the tranquillity of the country, return to Spain,
I give you permission to travel henceforward with your family in the
Pontifical States, acquainting me with your destination and the place
of your residence.

“One of my men-of-war will arrive shortly at Lisbon to take you.
Spain is independent of all action and foreign influence in what
concerns internal arrangements, and I should be acting against the free
and complete sovereignty of my throne, and against the principle of
non-intervention adopted by the Cabinets of Europe, were I to make the
communication you ask me to make in your letter.

“Good-bye, my dear Charles; believe me that you have been loved, you
are loved, and you will be always loved, by your most affectionate and
unchangeable brother,

“FERDINAND.”

It was thus that Don Carlos made himself an exile, and the two
brothers, who had always been together in the many vicissitudes of
their lives, were now parted for ever.

To the King in his declining days it was doubtless a grief to be so
separated from one with whom he had always shared his thoughts, and
on whom he had so much depended. The companionship of Don Carlos
during his years of enforced residence at Valençay had saved him being
forlorn. However, the bright and cheerful society of Cristina during
these days, when the letters of Don Carlos showed how irreparable was
the breach between the brothers, was a great solace to the King.

The Queen was always energetic, bright, and busy. The painting of
“Cupid and Psyche” by her own hand, given to the Academy of San
Fernando, showed her talent for art; and her interest in literature was
seen in her asking Ferdinand to have a bust of Cervantes placed on the
front of the house of the great author. Moreover, the School of Music
owed its foundation to the same royal patroness.

The ceremony of the administration of the oath to Isabel, as heir to
the throne, finally took place with all the pomp and ceremony for
which the Court of Spain is so famous. The King and Queen stayed the
night preceding the function at the house called San Juan, in the
Buen Retiro, and from thence they proceeded in state to the same
Church of San Geronimo where Ferdinand himself received the oath of
allegiance in 1833, and where our Princess Ena became the bride of
Alfonso XIII. _Gentiles hombres_, grandees, and generals, made a
brilliant procession. Then came the Infantes Don Francisco and Don
Sebastian, followed by Their Majesties, walking on either side of
the heir-apparent, Princess Isabel, who was carried in the arms of a
lady-in-waiting. The procession concluded with the Ambassadors and
Chamberlains, and the Royal Guard playing the national air.

The Patriarch of the Indias was seated in front of the high-altar to
receive the oath, which was read aloud by a _Camarista de Castilla_.

The Infantes came in turn to the altar, where they knelt and repeated
the words of allegiance. Then they each kissed the hand of His Majesty,
who threw his arms round their necks; and they then kissed the hands
of the Queen and the Princess, and returned to their seats. The same
order of procedure was then followed by the other Infantes, Cardinals,
Archbishops and Bishops, grandees and dignitaries; and, the ceremony
over, the city was gay with fêtes.

A long correspondence then took place between the royal brothers, when
Don Carlos declined to leave the Peninsula.

As Don Carlos was favoured by the Jesuits of Spain, the plots of the
party were incessant; and in the palace itself the intrigues of the
party were seen in the Royal Guard.

It was on July 29 that Ferdinand died. He had been left alone with the
Queen to rest, when he was seized with a sudden attack of apoplexy. As
the death was so sudden, the Queen, remembering the recent occasion
when the alarm was false, said she would not have the body touched for
forty-eight hours.

At last the poor King was laid in state in the Salon of the
Ambassadors, and the funeral took place at the Escorial.

“Señor! Señor! Señor!” cried the Duke of Alagon, the Captain of the
Guards of the Royal Person; and as the solemn silence following these
cries was unbroken, the Captain said, “As you do not reply, señor, you
are really dead,” and then broke his wand of office and placed it at
the foot of the table on which lay the remains of his royal master.

CHAPTER VI

MARIA CRISTINA AS REGENT AND AS WIFE OF MUÑOZ

1833

The testimony of Ferdinand to Maria Cristina’s fidelity and devotion
was indeed true, and, as the Queen said afterwards to her daughter
Isabel, when pleading with her not to sacrifice duty to inclination,
she herself had never wavered an instant in her loyalty to the King, in
spite of the difference of their ages, and the tax upon her time and
temper from his bad health and exacting ways. Even a Court bristling
with intrigue could find no word of complaint against the Queen in her
matrimonial relations with the King; and her grief was very genuine
when she found herself a widow, with her two little girls. When General
Cordova came to pay his respects to the Queen, he found her weeping
bitterly, and the sight of the poor woman’s tears did more to win him
over to her side than any arguments of policy, so he roundly declared
that as he had been loyal to the father, so he would be faithful to the
daughters.

When General Prim was invested as a grandee, on his return to Spain
after his glorious campaign, he declared it was his first duty to do
homage to his Queen and her Ministers for having raised him to
such rank that he could consort with the noblest in the land. “It is
the duty of a general,” he added, “as that of every soldier, to serve
his Queen and country with all possible loyalty, and therefore I will
defend your rights to the throne to the last drop of my blood and the
last breath of my body.”

[Illustration: MARSHAL PRIM]

But Maria Cristina was not always surrounded by loyal subjects, for the
clerical partisans of Don Carlos made her position very precarious. Men
who had declared themselves Liberals became lax in their allegiance,
and her only hope of saving the crown for her child was to bend to the
widespread desire for the Constitution of 1812.

The Marquis of Miraflores, who was Ambassador of Spain in England at
the time of the coronation of Queen Victoria, writes:

“Hardly was the corpse of the monarch cold when the Queen-Regent did
me the honour of seeing me; and it was at this critical moment that I
heard her say, amid her tears and sobs: ‘Nobody desires more than I do
the welfare of the Spaniards, and for that I will do all that I can;
and where I do not, it will be because I cannot.’”

And Miraflores also says, in his “Contemporaneous History,” that he had
himself heard the King, referring to the codicil to his will by which
the throne would have gone to Don Carlos, say that, both as a King and
a father, he would have done wrong had this act not been abrogated.

The outbreak of cholera in the city soon after the King’s death cast
additional gloom on the capital. Cristina’s partisans declared that the
clerical party had poisoned the water, and a young man who was said
to have been seen throwing powder into the fountain which was then in
the Puerta del Sol was assassinated on the spot. Such animosity was
stirred up against the clerics that the monasteries were invaded, and
the friars killed at the very altars; and these deeds were not limited
to the capital. Indignation against these attacks on the clerics added
force to the Carlists in the north.

Martinez Rosa’s position as Prime Minister was fraught with difficulty.
It was characteristic of the courage of the Queen-Regent that in such
a time of danger and dissension she calmly repaired from the Pardo to
Madrid to fulfil her duty of opening the Parliament.

It was very soon after this act that Don Carlos, in defiance of all
political obligations, appeared in Madrid to join his troops; and
Miraflores advised the Queen putting herself at the head of her army.

The immense power of the secret societies in Spain was now seen in
La Granja. The Government flattered itself that the Royal Guard, at
least, was proof against the power of these unions which permeated
the country, and the Queen-Regent was considered safe with her
little daughters in the Palace of San Ildefonso, with its barracks
flanking the fine promenade in front of the royal domain. But the
secret societies had gauged the force of money, and 12,000 crowns,
distributed among those who were bound in honour to defend their
Sovereign, were found sufficient to cause an insurrection of six or
seven hundred soldiers within the precincts of the royal palace itself.

A hundred and fifty grenadiers on horseback sought to quell the
_émeute_, but their superior officers seemed powerless to still the
ever-increasing cries of “Hurrah for the Constitution!” “Death to
Quesada and San Roman!” “Hurrah for England!” Maria Cristina was
terrified at this unexpected uproar at her own gates, especially
when she found herself obliged to receive a deputation of sergeants
and soldiers, who pressed for an audience within the palace. In this
historic scene the Queen was attended by Barrio Ayuso, the Minister of
Grace and Justice; the Duke of Alagon, the Captain of the Guards, who
had been such a favourite of the late King; the Count of San Roman; the
Marquis of Cerralbo; and the commanding officers of the regiments.

The deputation was plain and curt in its demand that the Queen-mother
should at once sign the Constitution of Cadiz of 1812. Maria Cristina
sought to temporize by promising that the Cortes, which was about to
open, would take the matter into consideration. But the insurgents
insisted on their demand, so she sent them into the antechamber whilst
she consulted with her advisers in the salon.

It was two o’clock in the morning when the deputation again appeared
in the presence of the Queen, and in this audience the insolent and
threatening tones of the leaders were emphasized by the accompanying
cries and constant gunshots of the rebels without.

In this state of things, Barrio Ayuso resigned his portfolio, and the
Mayor of the place also offered his resignation; and Izaga there and
then drew up and presented to the Queen for signature the following
decree:

“As Queen-Regent of Spain, I order and command that the political
Constitution of 1812 be published; and in the meantime the nation will
express its will in the Cortes on another Constitution in conformity
with the necessities of the same.”

Maria Cristina read the paper, and in despair put her name to it.

The rebels were not, however, contented with Maria Cristina signing
this document. They insisted on the chiefs of the palace also swearing
allegiance to it in front of the banners; and then, contented with
their work, the rebels finally left the palace at four o’clock in the
morning.

This was one of the most bitter experiences in the life of the
Queen-Regent; and Barrio Ayuso’s laconic message to Madrid--“Send help
at once, or I don’t know what will befall Their Majesties”--showed that
in his opinion the Royal Family was in real danger.

By permission of a hurriedly summoned Council of Ministers,
General Roman summoned the troops, but enthusiastic cries for the
Constitution and Liberty were mingled with “Vivas” for the Queen and
the Queen-mother; and when the soldiers filed past the palace, its
shuttered windows were eloquent of the terror which reigned within.

It must have been with a heavy heart that Maria Cristina waited in
La Granja till the time came for her to go to Madrid, for there were
divisions amid the revels as to what she was to be permitted to do.
Those hundred hours of deep humiliation and disillusion as to her
influence in the land left their mark upon her face. The winged figures
and mythological groups of statuary in the beautiful Italian gardens
of the palace must have mocked her, with their air of jubilation, as
she walked to and fro on the terrace and thought over her position; and
the fountain, topped with the figure of the flying Pegasus draining the
goblet of joy, was symbolical of the draughts of popularity which she
had quaffed, until now there was nothing but the dregs of dismay.

At last, after much discussion with the rebels, the Queen-Regent
set out for Madrid, after both Villiers, the English Ambassador,
and the French Minister, had frankly explained to her the danger
of withstanding the evident will of the nation with regard to the
Constitution.

It was at this time that the gallant Espartero appeared upon the scene.
The danger threatening Madrid brought him by forced marches to the
city, where he led eleven battalions and several squadrons in review
before the palace.

[Illustration: GENERAL ESPARTERO, PRINCE OF VERGARA
From a Painting by Casado del Alisal]

The severe rebuke administered in the Congress by General Sevanes
to the commanding officers whose sergeants had rebelled at La Granja
against all royal authority led to a duel between the speaker and
Captain Fernando Fernandez de Cordova, in which the General was wounded.

Madrid was soon threatened by another revolution, for Don Carlos
appeared before the city, with a large number of followers, but,
annoyed at the threat, 20,000 citizens armed themselves in defence of
their Queens. This remarkable body of loyal subjects was reviewed in
the morning on which they assembled by the Infante Don Francisco; and
when the Queen-mother, accompanied by Isabel, who was then seven years
old, and her little sister, drove down the lines of Royalists in the
afternoon, the enthusiasm of the assembly was intense.

When Espartero arrived at Madrid, Don Carlos withdrew from the capital,
and from that time the General became the most influential man in the
kingdom, though he had a powerful rival in Don Ramon Maria Narvaez.

It was certain that a Government which had witnessed twice in one
year peril at the hand of rebels could hardly be called successful,
and Espartero thought to put it on a more secure basis by instituting
military rule. He seems to have wished to act the part of a Roman
military consul, and the fact of Narvaez leading eleven battalions past
the Palace of Madrid aroused his jealousy to a great degree.

Don Carlos, whose wife had died in England in 1834, now, in 1838,
married the Princess of Beira, and when this lady came to Madrid she
boldly proclaimed herself the Queen of Spain, and the eldest son of Don
Carlos the Prince of Asturias. The effect of two Courts in the country
was most disastrous, and, in this fresh struggle with the Portuguese
Princess, Maria Cristina did not have the support of her sister Luisa
Carlota, as in the early days of her arrival in Spain, when the same
lady had, with her sister, been so jealous of her popularity in Spain;
for Luisa Carlota, who had, indeed, been instrumental in the marriage
of Maria Cristina to King Ferdinand, and who had always been the ally
of her sister, was no longer on friendly terms with her.

The main reason for this quarrel with the Queen-Regent was evidently
her secret marriage with Don Fernando Muñoz, whose rapid rise in the
royal favour savoured very much of that of Godoy with Queen Maria Luisa.

The story of this passion of Ferdinand’s widow is graphically told
in an unpublished manuscript by a Don Fermin Caballero, who was a
contemporary of the episode.

Born in 1806, in Naples, Maria Cristina had had a very poor education,
as her father, Francisco I. of the Two Sicilies, and her mother,
Maria Isabel, Infanta of Spain, thought that much intellectual work
was unnecessary for a girl, and the rollicking, jovial maiden herself
preferred the pleasures of horsemanship and hunting to any kind of
brain-work.

Gossip was busy with the name of the handsome Princess in connection
with that of Luchessi Bailen before her marriage with Ferdinand, but
from the time she came to Spain as the wife of Ferdinand VII. until
three months after his death there was not a word to be said against
her, as she was a model wife and mother. Her buxom form, clad in the
brown garb of a Sister of the Carmelite Order, was never absent from
the bedside of her husband, and for two months after his death she duly
mourned his loss.

But the reaction came. The simple, somewhat ignorant, but affectionate
nature of Maria Cristina was captivated by Muñoz, who certainly could
not be said to belong to the upper classes, as his parents kept a
tobacco-shop; and it was as the friend of the fiancé of the dressmaker
Teresita, who exercised so much power over the Queen, that the young
man was found a place at Court. The Queen’s new friend was bald,
common, and of poor education, but the influence of his royal patroness
soon raised him to be an officer of the bodyguard.[13]

[13] “Estafeta del Palacio Real,” by Bermejo.

It was about five months after Ferdinand’s death that Maria Cristina
impetuously took the reins of her destiny into her own hands, and on
December 17, 1833, she gave voice to her intention to go to La Granja,
under the escort of the Adjutant-General, Don Francisco Arteaga y
Palafox, General of the Guards, the _gentil hombre_ Carbonell, and the
honoured Muñoz. By chance or by arrangement, the favourite had the
place in front of the Queen, and the party proceeded on the way. But
the snow was so heavy that the road from the height of Navacerrada
was quite impassable, and they had to turn back, though not before the
royal carriage had collided with a bullock-cart, loaded with wood, and
the broken glass of one of the windows had cut the hand of the Queen.

The three gentlemen were all loud in their sympathy, but it was
the handkerchief of Muñoz which Cristina accepted, and she also
distinguished him by allowing him to bandage her hand. Undaunted by
the return to the capital rendered necessary by reason of the weather,
the Queen commanded the same party to be in attendance for the same
expedition on the following day.

As Arteaga and Carbonell watched their royal mistress and Muñoz on
the long drive to Segovia, they saw that this expedition, undertaken
without the attendance of any lady, signified a very serious
predilection on the part of the Queen for the parvenu.

The carriage finally turned from the interminable road across the
plain, which separates Segovia from La Granja, into the estate of
Quitapesares, whose gates open on to the Spanish chestnut-lined avenue.

When the party took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon, the Queen
soon suggested some commission to Carbonell, and Arteaga was also
dismissed on the plea of an umbrella being wanted from the palace.

Thus designedly left alone with Muñoz, the Queen soon made known to him
her royal favour.

“Who is a greater prisoner than a Princess?” the Queen may have
exclaimed, says Don Fermin Caballero, “for she can never descend
to the honest level of an ordinary woman to show her feelings and
her inclinations with the honourable liberty dictated by the noble
sentiment of her heart? Why should the glitter of a crown oblige me
to stifle the purest and most disinterested feelings, which must
necessarily bring upon me the disdain of those of my rank and the
murmurs of the multitude? Do not let my words surprise and shock you,
Fernando. My young heart requires a solace for the onerous weight of
my affairs. It longs for the contact of a living soul to assuage the
continual pain caused by the ambition of men and their party interests.
It can never be said that in search of this consolation I turned my
eyes to the brilliant position of a royal personage, or to the support
of any of the great captains who defend my daughter’s throne, or to
the influence of any of those occupied with the cares of the State.
No, modest in my aspirations, and only obedient to the impulses of my
heart, I have fixed upon a modest soldier in whose sympathy I believe
I can trust. Yes, Ferdinand Muñoz, nothing need restrain you from
accepting the hand of the Queen-Regent of Spain, who is disposed to
grant it you.”

“Your hand as a wife?” asked Muñoz in astonishment. And Cristina
replied: “What else do you think? Have I, like other unhappy
Princesses, prostituted the throne by the caprice of a disordered
appetite? Did you imagine, at the commencement of my discourse, that
for the satisfaction of a voluptuous feeling I pursued gallantry to the
injury of honesty? Did you think that I did not foresee from the first
that religion must sanctify the bond which I desire? Is she, who was
chaste and severe as the wife of Ferdinand, to be wanting in morality
as his widow? My heart is only vexed that State reasons prevent my
making public my modest inclinations.”

The soldier knelt in gratitude and adoration before the Queen who had
distinguished him in such an unmerited fashion.

So when Cristina was satisfied with the result of her declaration, she
took one or two others into her confidence, and on December 28, 1833,
the morganatic marriage of the widowed Queen with the _gentil hombre_
Don Fernando Muñoz took place at ten o’clock in the morning, the
witnesses being Herrera y Acebedo and the cleric Gonzalez, who left a
bed of sickness to perform the ceremony. Teresa Valcarcel and a lady in
retreat called Antonia were the other witnesses of the rite.

The fact of this event, if not actually known by all the Court, was
surmised, for Muñoz was seen wearing the cravat pins of the late
Ferdinand; he had a room in the palace, a magnificent carriage; he
dined with the Queen, and he was seen driving with her as an equal;
moreover, he was created Duke of Rianzares, decorated with the Order of
the Golden Fleece, and raised to the rank of grandee of the first order.

It was certainly a marriage which, if wanting in class distinction,
was not failing in morality. The Queen-mother was now so taken up with
“Fernando VIII.,” as he was called, that she preferred the more private
life of the royal country-seats to that of the palace of the capital.
So on March 15, 1834, we find her at Aranjuez, at Carabanchel on June
11, and then at La Granja, whose beautiful gardens formed a fitting
scene for the happiness she had found with Muñoz. It was at Pardo that
her child was born, and to an affectionate nature like Cristina’s the
obedience to the law of circumstances, which took the baby from the
mother’s arms, cost her many a tearful and sleepless night. The little
daughter was confided to the care of the widow of the administrator
Villarel, who had settled at Segovia, and for this reason La Granja was
the favourite resort of the Queen-Regent, as she could have her child
brought to her to Quitapesares, the beautiful estate on the road to the
palace, where she had wooed its father.

Doña Teresa Valcarcel, the daughter of the Court dressmaker, was, as
we have said, the great confidante of Queen Maria Cristina, and it
was as her friend that she first met Muñoz, who soon exercised such a
fascination over her.

When Teresa accompanied the Queen to Bayonne, she sent letters to her
mother with the official correspondence, and the well-known leader
of a gang of thieves, Luis Candelas, having discovered this fact,
determined, with the complicity of a man in the employment of the
dressmaker, to turn the fact to his advantage. Calling one day in the
uniform of an official, the servant introduced him as an agent of the
French post. The dressmaker was rather astonished at the visit, but
she admitted him. Hardly had he entered the room than he was followed
by others, and Candelas declared he had come to inspect the place.
This act the dressmaker declared was illegal except in presence of
the Mayor. Then, casting off all disguise, the robber and his gang
proceeded to pillage the place, pocketing all the jewels and money they
could find. Two ladies who called at this time were bound and gagged
like the modiste and her workers.

The robbery proved considerable, and the fact of its having taken place
in the house of the Queen’s dressmaker led to strong steps being taken
for the capture of this Spanish Robin Hood. For be it known, that
although the adventurer openly took all he could lay hands on, he never
shed blood or injured anybody if he could help it.

The efforts of justice were successful, and the fact of the robbery
being connected with the correspondence of the Queen-Regent led to the
removal of the scourge from the capital, for hitherto the police of
Madrid paid little heed to these open attacks against the safety and
the property of the citizens.

Candelas was publicly hanged on December 6, 1837, but his partner in
his burglarious campaigns escaped.

Of course, the luxurious carriage in which the child visited its
mother, and the care which attended the drive from Segovia, opened the
eyes of the people to the relation between Cristina and her little
visitor, and the coach would be followed by cries of “There goes the
Queen’s daughter!”

In the revolution of the sergeants in August, 1836, Muñoz was in the
Palace of La Granja, but he did not make his appearance on the scene,
as he was not supposed to be there. The apartments in which he spent
his time with his wife were commonly termed “Muñoz’s cage,” and on
the night of the insurrection he escaped from the royal domain by the
channels and conduits of the fountains.

But the time spent thus with Muñoz in the royal retreats was not of
unmixed joy; for whilst the Queen sought to please her husband and his
relation by playing lottery with them, or battledore and shuttlecock
with the chaplain, Muñoz soon showed that he preferred going out after
pretty girls with the Duke of San Carlos. Naturally this conduct fired
the heart of the Queen-Regent with jealousy, and, woman-like, she gave
vent to her pique by allowing a play called “Making Love to a Wig” to
be acted in the Conservatoire of Fine Arts, for the play made humorous
allusions to the baldness of Muñoz.

The disaffection of her sister, the Infanta Luisa Carlota, was a fresh
trouble to Maria Cristina, who was experiencing so many disillusions
both in her private and public life. Naturally the sister, who had been
so proud of the position to which she had been instrumental in bringing
the Queen, was much aggrieved at the wild fancy shown for Fernando
Muñoz. She called Cristina the “Muñonista,” and, in virtue of what
she termed the nullity of Cristina’s position to be guardian to her
daughter, she proposed herself and her husband as those fitted for the
office. This fact outraged the poor Queen-Regent both as a wife and as
a mother, and her anger was shown by her declining to authorize the
appointment of her brother-in-law, Don Francisco de Paula, as a senator.

Thus war between the sisters was declared, and Luisa Carlota sought
by every means to enlist the support of the powerful Espartero in her
favour.

At this time there was some talk of the marriage of Isabel with a
Prince of the House of Coburg. The report was without foundation;
but the Infante Don Francisco sent for the Spanish Ambassador in
Paris, and made a solemn declaration of his disfavour to any project
of the Princess marrying with any but a Spaniard. The Ambassador
was accompanied in the interview by his secretary, and he sent the
Infante’s message to Madrid, adding his own opinion in its favour, and
this was echoed by the Queen and the Government.

In the meantime Don Carlos was obliged by the foreign diplomats and
Vergara to retire to the frontier of Spain, so the country once more
settled down under the Queen.

But Espartero was the ruling power. The soldier who, but six short
years before, had arrived in Madrid to take his orders as a brigadier
officer was now Captain-General of the Army, Count of Luchana, Duke of
Victoria and Morella, held decorations of the highest order, including
that of the Golden Fleece, and was a grandee of Spain.

The enthusiasm for Espartero was unbounded, for not only was the
country grateful for the way he had led the royal troops to the rout
of the Carlist companies in the North, and thus put an end to the long
Seven Years’ Civil War, but he represented the Progressive party,
which was favoured by England.

Queen Maria Cristina wished to share the popularity of the hero, and so
she arranged to meet him at Lerida, on her way to Barcelona, under the
pretext that sea-baths were required for her daughter Isabella. In the
interview with the General, the Queen suggested that he should take the
post of Prime Minister; but this honour the soldier declined, unless
the Congress were closed and the Bill for the election of the Mayors
of the Corporations by royal order abandoned, as it was contrary to
the Constitution of 1837. These conditions the Queen declined, and she
did not see Espartero again until he entered the Catalonian capital in
triumph, after giving the final blow to Carlism by the rout of Cabrera
at Berga. The ovation given to the General was tremendous. “Viva
Espartero! Viva la Constitution! Down with the Law of the Corporations!
Down with the Government!” came the cries from the people.

The Queen-Regent was alarmed, and it is said on good authority that she
sent for the Count of Lucena, the bizarre Don Leopold O’Donnell, and
told him of the difficulty.

“Well, you have only to send for a company of grenadiers to shoot
Espartero,” said the leader of the Moderate party; to which Maria
Cristina returned: “Be silent! You frighten me.”

[Illustration: MARSHAL LEOPOLDO O’DONNELL, DUKE OF TETUAN]

At last the military hero arrived at the palace, which then stood where
there are now some little houses, opposite the old Custom-house.

The interview seems to have been somewhat stormy. Maria Cristina is
reported to have said: “I have made you a Count, and I have made you a
Duke, but I cannot make you a gentleman.”[14]

[14] Series of biographies of Spanish generals published in _La
Vanguardia_ during 1907.

At last the Queen-Regent had to submit, and she had to agree to the
conditions under which Espartero was willing to accept the post of
Prime Minister.

On August 21 there was a meeting in Barcelona for the purpose of
manifesting loyalty to Maria Cristina, and when the Queen-Regent
appeared in her carriage, with her little daughters, the leaders of the
meeting exclaimed: “This is the true expression, lady, of the opinions
of Barcelona!” It was commonly known as the “frock-coat meeting,” as it
consisted of those of a superior class; but the confusion caused by the
“blouse” people led to a cessation of the cries of “Viva la Reina!” The
matter would have blown over if Francisco Balmes, a lawyer partisan of
the Queen-Regent, and Manuel Bosch de Torres, had not been shot in a
street fray on the following day.

Then, unfortunately for Maria Cristina, she acted under the advice of
the French Ambassador, M. de Redotte, who came to pay her his respects
in the Palace of Barcelona, and declined to dissolve the Cortes or to
withdraw the project for the Corporation elections by royal decree.

Maria Cristina was evidently now very unpopular, and the press was
full of calumnious attacks about her secret marriage with Muñoz.

When, moreover, the Ministry suggested that the Queen’s post as Regent
should be shared with Espartero, the Prime Minister, she proudly
declared that, as she had decided to go abroad, it could be given to
whom they thought fit.

The scene was worthy of Maria Cristina as Queen and mother. Fate had
been against her. She had failed where success had seemed so easy,
and the most dignified thing was to leave the field to him who, she
declared, whilst pretending to maintain her influence, had never ceased
to undermine it. So on August 28 the Queen-Regent left Barcelona for
Valencia, without even bidding farewell to the Corporation.

The parting between the Queen-mother and her little girls was very
sad, and, while going in the carriage of Espartero’s wife down to the
port, she was eloquent in her injunctions to the General to protect her
fatherless children; and when the ship left the port, it was to leave
Espartero practically master of the situation.

The triumph of Espartero was accentuated by the banquet given in his
honour on August 30, when he was given a crown of gold laurel-leaves.

From Valencia Maria Cristina strove to form a new Ministry, but,
though she would not accept the Progressists’ programme, she was
finally obliged to put the reins of power in Espartero’s hands, who
was proclaimed in Madrid sole Regent of Spain; whilst Maria Cristina
left her land for France. The well-known General O’Donnell accompanied
his royal mistress into exile, and remained with her till Espartero’s
overthrow in 1843.

So it was on October 12, 1840, that the royal children returned to
Madrid for the opening of Parliament under the new condition of
affairs, in which Espartero was Regent. It was said that he had the
same solicitous affection for the little Queen and her sister as he had
for his own children. He certainly did well in appointing Don Manuel
José Quintana, the illustrious poet, as preceptor to the Queen his
charge, Agustin Argüelles as tutor-guardian, and Martin de los Heros as
steward of the royal household.

When Espartero had the Regency in his hands, he was practically ruler
of the whole country, and this supremacy of an officer whose ideas of
military rule left little room for constitutional liberty was bitterly
resented by some of the other generals. La Concha, Leon, and O’Donnell,
formed the bold idea of getting possession of the persons of the young
Princesses, so as to use them as a lever for a less autocratic form of
government. Espartero was also opposed by the Carlists, and before many
months had gone the bold design was formed, by the disaffected chief,
of getting hold of the royal children, and putting them in the hands of
the Moderate party, under Maria Cristina, who was under the protection
of the French.

CHAPTER VII

QUEEN ISABELLA’S GIRLHOOD, AND THE DANGERS WHICH BESET IT

1840-1846

The little Princesses now lived in the imposing Palace of Madrid, with
all the retinue befitting their position, but far from the mother who,
with all her faults, loved her little girls, and had only left them
to save them from the greater losses with which they were threatened.
Espartero, who was now a sort of Dictator of Spain, took up his
residence in the Palace of Buena Vista, in the Alcalá in Madrid, which
is now the Ministry of War.

The secret influence which was working in Madrid in favour of Luisa
Carlota and her husband led to their being suggested as guardians to
the royal children, in a little book called “The Maternal Guardianship
of H.M. Isabel II. and Her Royal Highness’s Sister, Maria Luisa
Fernanda.”

But Government declared against the appointment of personages who were
known to nourish such hatred to the mother, who sent an indignant
protest from Paris against the project. So Argüelles was appointed
guardian, and in his choice of coadjutors certainly did his best
to improve the environment of the little Princesses. Of course the
appointment caused much discontent on some sides. The uncle and aunt
declared that it was made in the desire to separate the Princesses from
their relatives, and that it was wrong to put them under a man who had
been an enemy of their father.

Argüelles had indeed suffered at the hand of Ferdinand VII., who gave
him seven years at Ceuta when he returned to Spain as King; but this
had only been for his political opinions. Indeed, the Minister was so
eloquent that he was called “the divine Argüelles.”

As the army reigned supreme, in the person of Espartero as Regent, the
counter-influence of Argüelles in the palace was very beneficial.

The Royal Guard, both outside and inside the palace, was now formed of
the famous halberdiers, and it was on the night of October 7, 1841,
that the valour of this body of soldiers was put to an unexpected test.

General Don Manuel de la Concha and General Leon plotted with
Queen Maria Cristina to get possession of the persons of the young
Princesses, carry them off to France, and hand them over to Don
Evaristo Perez de Castro and a Canon, a partisan of the ex-Regent, by
whom they would be escorted to their mother in Paris; and for this bold
proceeding they had only a small number of soldiers. General Concha
was to get possession of the person of the Regent, whilst General Leon
was to carry off the Princesses from the palace. General Dulce was the
guardian angel of the little girls that night. He was standing on the
landing of the grand staircase, when he saw a company of armed soldiers
coming up the steps, under the command of a young lieutenant called
Boria.

“Where are you going?” asked Dulce.

“Where my duty takes me,” was the curt reply.

“Then, you ought to stop your men in this shameful course; you are
young, and to-morrow you will repent your conduct.”

As he did not reply, Dulce checked his progress by putting his sword
to his breast; but the young man stepped aside, and cried with a loud
voice: “Lads, fire!”

But here General Concha interceded by exclaiming: “Stop, Manolito, stop
the firing! For God’s sake remember we are in Her Majesty’s palace!”

So the firing was stopped, and the little girls, alarmed at the noise,
fell into each other’s arms, and cried with fright, whilst the Countess
of Mina strove to still their fears. The noise of firing was heard down
the corridors and the staircases known by the names of those of the
Lions and the Ladies. General Dulce was not content with quelling the
invasion of the palace by firing down the chief staircase to prevent
the ascent of any interloper, but, leaving Barrientos in command of
half the Guard at that spot, he went with the other half into the Salon
of the Ambassadors, and there fired on the insurgents from the windows,
until the whole Plaza de la Armeria was swept free from any more
possible invaders of the royal abode.

In the meanwhile Boria, Don Diego Leon, and others, were caught in the
Campo del Moro, the gardens of the palace. No mercy was shown to the
would-be perpetrators of such a deed as the kidnapping of the royal
children, and Diego de Leon, who had been covered with laurels for his
brilliant services in the civil war, was shot with his accomplices
without demur.

In the meanwhile General Espartero, in his Palace of la Buena Vista,
was ignorant of the tragic scenes enacted at the palace until they were
over. Brought thither by the sound of firearms, he arrived just as the
insurrectionary force had been driven from the palace, and hastening
up the staircase stained with blood, he found the royal children in
their room weeping bitterly and much terrified, albeit at the time of
the alarming scene they had shown more courage than could have been
expected at such an early age. The Regent led the little girls to a
window of the palace to still the fears of the people, who had hastened
from all quarters at the noise of the firing, and the halberdiers who
had defended their young Queen and her sister so bravely were all
publicly applauded, promoted, and subsequently given the Cross of San
Fernando. The fact of gunshot penetrating the royal apartment was
unprecedented in history, and although the halberdiers pressed into the
room to protect the royal children, they abstained from firing there on
the invaders without, for fear of hurting those in their charge. When
the Cortes opened, Espartero escorted the Princesses to the ceremony,
and they were received with enthusiastic demonstrations of loyalty.

A short time afterwards Argüelles had to insist on the Order of the
Palace, by which the French Ambassador was not allowed entry to the
palace without official permission from the Regent.

When the Infante Don Francisco and Luisa Carlota decided to go to Spain
to see what personal influence could do in obtaining power over their
nieces, the King of France did all he could to prevent the fulfilment
of the plan. Difficulties were put in the way of the illustrious
travellers having horses for the journey, but Luisa Carlota exclaimed:
“This new obstacle will not stop us, as, if we can’t get horses, we
will go on foot.”

The exiled Queen-mother did all she could to influence her children
against their aunt, and she placed within the leaves of a book of
fashions, which she sent them from Paris, a paper which ran thus: “Do
not trust that woman! She causes nothing but disgrace and ruin. Her
words are all lies; her protestations of friendship are deceptions; her
presence is a peril. Beware, my child. Your aunt wants to get rule over
your mind and your heart to deceive you, and to claim an affection of
which she is unworthy.”

It was in 1842 that, eluding the vigilance of the Countess of Mina,
the lady-in-chief of the royal children, Luisa Carlota managed to see
a good deal of her young niece Isabel. The Infanta constantly joined
the young Queen in her walks, and, not content with talking to the
young girl about her cousin Don Francisco, so as to make her think
of him as an eligible _parti_, she one day gave her niece a portrait
of her son in his uniform as Captain of the Hussars. This portrait
Isabella was seen to show to her little sister, and so annoyed was
the Marchioness of Belgida, the chief Lady-in-Waiting, at what she
considered the breach of confidence on the part of the Infanta, that
she resigned her post. Argüelles had striven to warn Luisa Carlota
against the imprudence of her course, for the question of the young
Queen’s marriage was one in which the dignity of the Government, the
honour of the Queen, and the good name of the Regent, had all to be
considered. Therefore any attempt to compromise the Queen by forcing
any opinion from her which could not be based on experience was
detrimental to all concerned. In the Cortes he said: “I do not believe
in _absolute_ isolation for a young Queen, but I think she ought to
be surrounded by those who will give her a good example of prudence
and self-reflection.” On the day that the Marchioness of Belgida’s
resignation was accepted the widowed Countess of Mina was raised to be
a grandee of Spain of the first order, and she was appointed to the
post vacated by the Countess. Then, in pursuance of the opinion of the
Ministers, Espartero had the Princesses taken to Zaragossa so as to
prevent further intrigues about the Queen’s marriage.

In the “Estafeta del Palacio Real,” Antonio Bermejo compares Olozaga
with Argüelles. “He was,” he says, “austere like Argüelles, who might
be a little brusque, but never had a word or a single phrase left
the lips of this old man which could sully the purity of a Princess.
Moreover, the new guardian of the Queen was so dense that he let
a book be circulated in the royal apartment, called ‘Theresa, the
Philosopher,’ which was said to be at the root of much of the light
behaviour of our girls. Who allowed this book in the palace? Whence
came this vile work, calculated to pollute the throne of San Ferdinand?
Narvaez and Gonzalez Brabo saw the book lying on a chimney-piece in the
palace, and they indignantly cast it into the fire. It was thus that
people sought to shake the foundation of the throne; it was thus that
the seed of corruption was sown which resulted in so much weakness and
failure!”

CHAPTER VIII

MINISTERIAL DIFFICULTIES IN THE PALACE

1843

There is doubtless truth in the opinion that the wish of the Government
for the majority of the Queen to be declared at the age of thirteen
instead of fourteen proceeded from the desire of self-interested
personages to rid the country of the Regent, and hasten the time when
the power would be fully in the hands of the young Sovereign, when it
could be turned to the designs of the Moderates.

This project soon took form by the Ministry presenting a petition to
Isabella, saying:

“The nation wishes and desires to be governed by Your Majesty yourself.
Your Majesty will have heard the result of the vote taken in the
Cortes which is about to assemble, and there the oath required by the
Constitution from a constitutional monarch will be received by the same
Cortes.”

So on November 8, 1843, the proposal was carried by a majority of 157
over 16, and Queen Isabel was endowed with full power as Queen of the
realm--a Queen of only thirteen years of age, whose education had been
grossly neglected, and who was inclined to follow the dictates of an
undisciplined sensual nature.

[Illustration: RECEPTION OF ISABELLA II. AT THE ESCORIAL
From a Painting by R. Benjumea]

Don Salustiano de Olozaga was then appointed President of the Ministry
which had supported the deed, whilst Francisco Serrano, who was
subsequently to play such an important part in the history of Spain,
remained Minister of War, and Frias Minister of the Marine.

But on November 29 the nation was astounded by the publication in the
_Gazette_ of the decree for the dissolution of the Government which had
put the full power in the young Queen’s hand.

The reason for this course was not far to seek. Olozaga was not only
anxious to free himself from a Parliament with a majority of Moderates
(Tories), but he wished to be freed from the influence of Narvaez, who
represented the influence of the Queen-mother in the palace. It was
the fact of this influence which had decided both Cortina and Madoz to
refuse office.

The fact of the Provisional Government having appointed Olozaga
guardian of the young Queen showed that he was known to have great
influence over her, and whilst holding that appointment he had been
flattered by the grant of the decoration of the Golden Fleece. This
distinction was declared by some to have been the outcome of his own
astuteness, and it certainly made him unpopular.

The decree for the dissolution of the Parliament was promptly followed
by incriminating whispers against the President of the Council.

Mysterious allusions were made to Olozaga having been so wanting
in respect to his Queen that he insisted with undue force on the
dissolution of the Parliament, and when she objected and wished to
quit the apartment, he locked the door, and forcibly drew her back to
the table, where he made her sign the document.

“There are,” says Don Juan Rico y Amat, “those who say that this
report was got up by the Moderates on the exaggerated story of the
young Queen, as they wished to get him out of power; but this theory
is opposed by the difficulty of believing that a story which tended to
lessen the dignity of the Crown could have arisen only through Isabella
herself, and those acquainted with the Minister knew the story was in
accordance with his imperious, impetuous nature, well known in the
palace. It had, moreover, often been noticed that the Prime Minister
had entered the royal apartments with a freedom unbefitting the respect
due to royalty.”

Olozaga wrote to General Serrano, saying that the fact of the Queen
sending him a letter saying she would be glad to have the decree,
granted at the instance of Olozaga, returned to her, for the
rectification of the first lines, saying, “For grave reason of my own I
have just dissolved,” etc., showed the absurdity of the invention that
it had been obtained from her by force. “But if anybody,” continued
Olozaga, “still insists on such an idea, I will have the honour of
suggesting a means whereby the truth will be declared in my presence.”

None of the Moderates surrounding the Queen had the courage to seize
the reins of government at this time of confusion, and Narvaez
himself, whose power in the palace was well known, and whose position
as Captain-General of Madrid would have assured him of a large number
of followers, hesitated to take the rudder of the deserted ship.

Whilst all was hesitation in the audience chamber, a young man suddenly
made his appearance, and passed with fearless step and bold bearing
through the assembly of timorous people, right up to within two
steps to the throne in the Salon of Ambassadors, and there assumed
the leadership which was shunned by those who could have claimed it,
by exclaiming in a loud, commanding tone: “The Queen before all! A
revolution or I....” And thus by this splendid _coup_ the premiership
was taken by Gonzalez Brabo, a man almost unknown in Madrid, except for
his talent as a journalist.

His paper, _El Guirigay_, had been prohibited for its gross attacks on
the Queen-mother, and his Liberal ideas were well known. The splendid
coolness and courage with which this young man thus contravened the
storm of revolution in the very palace itself was calculated to arouse
the hatred of the populace, who had looked to a revolution as a reform
in all the conditions which make life burdensome.

Thus three days later, when Gonzalez Brabo crossed the Plaza de Oriente
for his audience with the Queen at the palace, his coach was stopped by
a mob, and the threatening attitude of the people would have checked
anyone less cool and determined in his course.

The day of the reopening of the Congress after its suspension for the
formation of the new Cabinet was a very anxious one, for it was clearly
seen that the Queen had either been treated with flagrant disrespect or
her report of the Minister’s conduct had been untrue.

The mace-bearers, with their plumed hats and their breasts bearing the
embroidered arms of the city, were standing in statuesque immobility
on their elevated places directly under the canopy at the head of the
chamber. Every seat was filled; the boxes had their full complement
of ladies, and outsiders and representatives of the press crowded the
gangways. The President of the Congress sat at the official table,
flanked by his officials, and all was expectation when the slight,
dapper figure of Brabo, dressed in black and bearing the scarlet
portfolio of office under his arm, walked with determined step to
the seat of honour on the black[15] bench of the Ministers, and
from thence returned the astonished glances of the deputies with a
scornful smile and a contemptuous look. After waiting for the storm
of dissentient remarks to subside, the Minister rose to his feet,
and in clear, concise tones declared that he had been summoned by
the Queen to the palace at 11.30 on November 3, and, being admitted
to the royal presence, he found that the audience included all the
staff of the _gentiles hombres_, including General Domingo Dulce, who
had distinguished himself so bravely on the night of the attempted
kidnapping of the little Princesses; Don Maurice Carlos de Onis,
President of the Senate; the Duke of Rivas; the Count of Ezpeleta; the
Marquis of Peñaflorida, and the Marquis of San Felices, Secretary of
the Senate, with Don Pedro José Pidal, President of the Congress of
Deputies, the President of the Academy of Languages, etc. The gathering
also included the Patriarch of the Indias and the Notary of the King.
And it was in the presence of this august assembly that Her Majesty had
made the following declaration: “On the evening of the 28th of last
month, Olozaga proposed my signing a decree for the dissolution of the
Cortes, and I replied that I did not wish to sign it, having, among
other reasons, the fact that this Cortes had declared me to be of age.
Olozaga insisted; I again objected, rising from my seat and proceeding
to the door at the left-hand side of the table. Olozaga intercepted my
passage and locked the door. Upon this I turned to the other door, but
he then stepped to that one, which he also locked. Then, catching me by
the dress, he made me sit down, and seized me by the hand and forced me
to sign the document. Before leaving me he told me to say nothing of
the occurrence to anybody, but this I declined to promise.”

[15] The Ministerial seats are now upholstered in blue.

“Then,” continued Brabo, “at Her Majesty’s request, we all signed the
royal declaration, for its transmittance to the archives.”

It was with great dignity and cleverness that Olozaga followed the
statement of Brabo by refuting the points, holding his own as to his
innocence, and yet not incriminating the Queen of untruth. When the
unfortunate man had entered the Cortes with his brothers, cries of
“Death to him!” came from a box filled with officers of the regiment of
San Fernando, whilst shouts of “Viva!” came from other directions.

“Happen what may,” said Olozaga, “I deserve the confidence of the
Queen, which I won as a Minister;” and it was in a voice trembling
with emotion that he continued: “The life I have led justifies me--the
person of my heart, my daughter, my friends. My colleagues have all
found me always an upright man, incapable of failing in my duties, and
this opinion I cannot sacrifice to the Queen, nor to God, nor to the
Universe. Being a man of integrity, I must show myself as such before
the world, even if it were on the steps of the scaffold itself.”

It is difficult to get an impartial opinion upon this episode, so
fraught with importance and so conclusive of the short-sighted policy
of putting the kingdom into the hands of a young girl of thirteen, who
was utterly inexperienced in the art of government, as the Regent had
lived away from the palace, and fate had sundered her from mother,
aunts, uncles, and relatives, who, in any other station of life, might
have aided her with their counsels. In the excitement of the moment the
Minister had doubtless treated the Queen as he would his own daughter,
and, keenly anxious to gain the decree which would empower him to
rid himself of the majority of Moderates in the House, Olozaga had
not stopped to consider how an exaggerated report might colour his
action to the tone of that of a man guilty of gross _lèse-majesté_.
The Queen was but a child in his eyes, and when she demurred at the
seeming cruelty and ingratitude of dissolving a Cabinet which had been
so favourable to the anticipation of her majority, it is probably true
that the Minister patted her familiarly on the wrist, and said, with a
smile of satisfaction and superiority: “I will accustom My Lady to such
cruelties!”

The return of the Queen-mother was now solemnly demanded by a
deputation of grandees, senators, and deputies. The necessity of the
young Queen having a person of experience at her side was eloquently
set forth; and those who were envious of the power of Gonzalez Brabo
eagerly advised a course which would curtail his influence and lead to
the supremacy of the Moderates. So Maria Cristina returned to Spain on
February 28, 1844, arriving at Barcelona on March 4, and at Madrid on
March 21.

However, Gonzalez Brabo managed to retain power under the new state of
affairs, albeit at the price of being termed a traitor by his own party.

In spite of being accused of acting as a panderer to the Moderates,
Olozaga’s advice to the Queen to legalize the marriage of her mother
with Don Fernando Muñoz was a step of good policy. The ceremony in
the chapel of the royal palace was celebrated by the Patriarch of the
Indias.

The husband was endowed with the decorations and dignities of his
position, and the Queen published the following decree:

“With due regard to the weighty reasons set forth by my august
mother, Doña Maria Cristina de Bourbon, I have authorized her, after
listening to the counsel of my Ministry, to contract a marriage with
Don Fernando Muñoz, Duke of Rianzares, and I declare that the fact
of her contracting this marriage of conscience, albeit with a person
of unequal rank, in no way lessens my favour and love; and she is
to retain all the honours and prerogatives and distinctions due to
her as Queen-mother. But her husband is only to enjoy the honours,
prerogatives, and distinctions, due to his class and title; and the
children of this marriage are to remain subject to Article 12, of Law
9, Title 11, Book 10, of the Novisima Recopilacion, being able to
inherit the free property of their parents according to the laws.

“Signed by the Royal Hand
and the Minister of Grace and Justice,
“LUIS MAYANS.

“Given in the Palace,
“October 11, 1844.”

Wherever the young Queen appeared with her sister in the country,
their simple, unsophisticated ways filled the people with love and
admiration. One day, being only accompanied by two Ladies-in-Waiting,
they went to a village fête not very far from San Sebastian.

“Do you come from San Sebastian?” asked the peasants, with the freedom
characteristic of the country-folk in Spain.

“Yes, we do,” replied the Queen.

“And do you belong to the military?”

“No,” said the Queen, repressing a smile, “we are not military people.”

“But at least you are Castilians?”

“Yes,” returned the Queen promptly; “we are girls from Madrid.”

“And do you like this part?” queried the interlocutor.

“Very much,” replied the Queen. “It is very cheerful.”

“Well,” continued the peasant, with frank familiarity, “sit down a bit
and see the lads dance.”

“Thank you very much,” replied the Queen, “but we must be going.”

“You will have noticed,” rejoined the peasant, “that the roads are very
bad, and you will get very tired. These mountains are only fit for
strong feet, and not little delicate ones like yours.”

“Never mind,” returned Isabel; “we like to accustom ourselves to
everything. You don’t know, then, who we are?”

“It is not easy to guess,” was the answer; “but you are certainly
daughters of people of position and money.”

Then Isabel said: “I am the Queen.”

“The Queen! the Queen!” cried the people with delight; and cider,
fruits, and cakes, were pressed upon the royal party.

The Queen and her sister received constant signs of affection in the
neighbourhood of Guipuzcoa. They went to Pampeluna to receive the
Duke and Duchess of Nemours and the Duke of Aumale, the arrival of the
distinguished French guests was celebrated in the city by a magnificent
banquet and bull-fight, and the distinguished Frenchmen stayed with the
Count of Ezpeleta.

The fall of Miraflores, the able Prime Minister, was heralded by the
evident desire of both the Queens for a change of Ministry, and those
who wished to compass the fall of the Prime Minister were listened to
by the royal ladies.

Miraflores found Queen Isabella alone one day in the palace, and Her
Majesty said to the Minister:

“I have heard that the scandal this afternoon in the Congress has been
so great that the President of the Congress put on his hat in his want
of consideration for the Court.”

Miraflores explained that this act proceeded from no want of respect
for the Cortes.

“Nevertheless it must be dissolved to-morrow,” was the reply.

Narvaez became Minister of War as well as President of the Congress.
The part played at the palace in the change of Ministries is seen in
the scene between Pacheco and the Queen-mother.

Maria Cristina remarked to the Minister that the Government would
not last long. Upon this Pacheco placed two ounces of gold upon the
mantelpiece, saying:

“I bet you that money that the Cabinet will not fall to-morrow as you
say.”

Whereupon the Queen took another two ounces from her purse, and
placing them beside those of the diplomat, she said:

“The bet is made: if the Ministry does not fall to-morrow, the money is
yours; if it does, it is mine.” And the Ministry did fall.

This insidious influence of the _camarilla_ was daily becoming more
dangerous. Presumptuous and illegal, it held its sway over all that
was prudent and constitutional, and thus the intrigues of the palace
came between the Cortes and the throne, and the country and the Queen,
exercising power to the detriment of the national representation, the
throne, the nation, and the Sovereign. “The royal palace,” says Don
Antonio Bermejo, “was a gilded cage where men were slaves to envy and
idleness.”

CHAPTER IX

ROYAL MATRIMONIAL SCHEMES--HOW ISABELLA’S SISTER FLED FROM PARIS
IN 1848

1843-1848

Isabella’s marriage was now a burning subject of discussion and
intrigue. The objection offered to her marriage with one of the sons of
the Infanta Luisa Carlota was the hatred reigning between the mother of
the proposed bridegroom and Queen Maria Cristina.

Louis Philippe of France had also his own designs in these marriage
prospects, and would fain have united the Dauphin to the young Queen.
But, as we know, England put her veto upon this alliance, as it would
have upset the balance of European power; so the French King had
to be contented with the marriage of his younger son, the Duke of
Montpensier, with Isabel’s sister Luisa Fernanda.

There was a strong party in favour of the Queen’s marriage with the
Count of Montemolin, son of Don Carlos, as this union would have put
an end to the rivalry reigning between these two branches of the Royal
Family.

But finally attention was turned to the sons of Don Francisco de Paula
as the most suitable candidates for the hand of the Queen. Miraflores
explains that it was natural for the Duke of Cadiz, the eldest son of
the Infante, to be preferred by the existing Cabinet in Spain and the
Queen-mother, as he was a quiet, judicious Prince, who had accepted and
fulfilled with honour the post of Colonel of a cavalry regiment; whilst
Don Henry was of a turbulent disposition, whose conduct left much to
be desired at the Court of the Queen-mother, to whom he had written
from Bayonne very disrespectfully, and in Brussels he had distinguished
himself by publishing ideas which bordered on being revolutionary.

[Illustration: ISABELLA II., QUEEN OF SPAIN
After a Painting by De Madrazo]

Whilst the royal party was at Pampeluna a mysterious document in
French fell into the hands of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, signed
“Legitimista.” The document ran thus:

“_To the Minister of Foreign Affairs._

“Before the Duc de Nemours and the Duc d’Aumale left Paris as the
emissaries of His Majesty the great ‘Père de famille,’ French
legitimists knew that the meeting at Pampeluna was merely a matter of
form. The Duc d’Aumale cannot be the husband of Doña Isabel; his father
knows it; M. Guizot and M. Bresson know it; and the Queen, wife of the
Citizen-King, knows it, and she is the most strongly opposed to the
union.

“The Duc de Montpensier will be the husband of the Infanta; this is
what is arranged, and what will take place. The Citizen Louis has
made a plan by which he thinks that in time Montpensier will occupy
the throne of Spain by the side of the immediate heiress, Luisa
Fernanda, because experienced doctors in medicine have declared to
Bresson that the Queen is very ill with an hereditary disease which
will take her to the grave. Why has not the Princess got it? That is
a mystery which time will reveal. Who will give his hand in marriage
to Queen Isabel? We hear that the candidature of Prince Henry is in
favour. But this illustrious youth cannot be the husband of the Queen,
neither can his brother, Don Francisco de Asis.

“The Minister whom I have the honour of addressing is ignorant of the
reason, and I can give it to him.

“The Minister must know that when Princess Luisa Carlota was on her
death-bed she did not, even in this sad moment, forget the troubles
of her sister; and impelled by conscientious scruples, she sent for
her illustrious sons, and, taking them each by the right hand, she
said these solemn words to them, in a sad tone and with a tenderness
which was truly Christian: ‘My sons, I wish to reach heaven, I wish
to quit you and the world without remorse, and therefore I declare I
repent having contributed through imprudent affection to thwarting
the legitimate succession of the Crown of Spain, and this I swear on
my salvation. So I command you as a mother, as a Princess, and as a
repentant sinner, to swear that neither of you will aspire to the hand
of Isabella.’”

Narvaez showed that this document was a fraud, as, at the death of the
Infanta, Don Henry was at some distance from Madrid, and Francisco was
at Pampeluna.

Isabella’s own feelings about her marriage were hardly taken into
consideration at all. As a matter of fact, she had been more inclined
to Prince Henry, the younger son of Doña Luisa Carlota, than to
Francisco, and it will be remembered that even as a child she had
admired the portrait of the Prince, which had been secretly sent by
the mother to the young Queen; but inclination had no part in the
negotiations, which were regulated entirely by self-interest and
policy, so the tide of influence was soon seen to be in favour of the
eldest son of Prince Francisco de Paula.

Don Henry was furious when he found he was left out in the cold in the
negotiation for the marriages of Isabella and her sister.

In a letter to Bulwer Lytton he writes:

“The old man at the Tuileries is very delighted and pleased. He has
written three letters full of hypocritical words, telling the great
Mama that she has drawn the first prize, and that she is very fortunate
to be marrying her daughters to Paquito (Francisco) and Montpensier. A
French fellow has arrived at the palace. You will recollect that I told
you before last night that, judging from the appearance of things, you
and I were going to have our noses put out of joint.

“Istarez is very pleased. Cristina is delighted, and from what I hear
the weddings will take place very soon. When I see you I will give you
more particulars, which I cannot trust to the pen.”

The Queen-mother had been inclined to the idea of the Count of
Trapani, her brother, who had been educated in a Jesuit college at
Naples, as her son-in-law; but, as this idea had not been welcome to
the Government, attention had again been turned to one of the sons
of the Infante Don Francisco de Paula. Don Francisco, Duke of Cadiz,
the eldest, was favoured by France, whilst England gave preference to
Don Henry, Duke of Seville. As Miraflores says, it was natural for
the Queen-mother to prefer the eldest son of Don Francisco, as he was
a quiet Prince and one who had fulfilled his duties with credit as
Colonel of a cavalry regiment; whilst Don Henry was of a more turbulent
nature, and his antagonistic conduct to the Queen-mother had excited
some disturbance in the palace. In the letters he sent from Brussels
to Madrid he had manifested a revolutionary spirit, which filled the
Moderates with alarm. However, poor Isabel preferred this hot-headed
Prince to his more peaceful-minded brother, and long were the arguments
the young Queen held with her mother against the project of her union
with the elder brother. Fortunately, however, the young Queen seemed
somewhat pleased with the appearance of Don Francisco, and at the fêtes
given in honour of the engagement she seemed very cheerful.

In an interview with Queen Maria Cristina, Bulwer Lytton said: “I can
understand your joy as a mother at seeing your eldest daughter destined
for a Prince who will make for the happiness of the royal domestic
hearth; but as to the marriage of the Infanta----”

Here Cristina interrupted him, saying: “It is decided that her union
with Montpensier will take place on the same day as that of the Queen.”

The Duke of Rianzares had evidently favoured the alliance of the
Princess Luisa Fernanda with the Duke of Montpensier, for when the
matter was fully arranged Louis Philippe wrote to Queen Maria Cristina:

“Please give my kind regards to the Duke of Rianzares, and thank him
for the part he has taken in the matter I have so much at heart.”

So France and her supporters in Spain gained the day, and the double
wedding of the young sisters was fixed for October 10, 1846. It was
with all the magnificent state for which the Court of Spain is famed
that the reception by Isabel and Fernanda took place at the palace
(for the publication of the marriage contracts) in the Salon of the
Ambassadors. Alexandre Dumas was among the distinguished Frenchmen
accompanying the bridegroom of the Infanta Fernanda, and the great
author attended a bull-fight with the noblemen as toreadors, and the
fêtes all the week were of surpassing splendour.

The religious ceremony itself was held in the Church of Atocha with all
imaginable pomp and splendour. The Patriarch of the Indias received
the brides at the door of the church, and noticeable among the French
guests was Alexandre Dumas, author of “The Three Musketeers.” All the
Diplomatic Corps were there with the exception of the English.

In the ceremony the Patriarch placed upon the open palms of the Queen’s
bridegroom the thirteen pieces of money pledged as his dowry, which was
then passed by the bridegroom to the hands of his bride, saying, “This
ring and this money I give you as a sign of marriage,” and the Queen
replied, “I accept them.”

The same ceremony was used with the Infanta and her bridegroom, and
then the prelate, with his mitre and crook, escorted the royal couples
to the altar, and there read the Mass. During the Epistle the Patriarch
presented the candles, veils, and conjugal yoke, and at the conclusion
of the Gospel the Patriarch turned to the Queen and her bridegroom,
and said to the latter: “I give Your Majesty a companion, and not a
servant; Your Majesty must love her as Christ loves His Church.” And
then the same words were said to the other couple. The periodical which
published this account of the wedding remarked that the Queen and her
husband looked smiling and pleased, but the Infanta looked sad.

The attempt on the life of the Queen soon after her marriage caused
great excitement, and the trial of Angel de la Riva, a native of
Santiago, in Galicia, and editor of a paper called _El Clamor Publico_,
who was caught just after firing the shot, was followed with the
deepest interest.

The testimony of Don Manuel Matheu, officer of the Royal Guard of
Halberdiers, a man of thirty-five years of age, gives some idea of the
etiquette of the time.

He declared that on May 4, 1847, he was on duty, so when the Queen
returned from her drive he went as usual to receive her at the foot of
the staircase with his little company of six halberdiers, and a Captain
with a lamp, and two other attendants with their axes. On descending
from the carriage, Her Majesty said to him: “Do you know that on
passing through the Calle de Alcalá two shots were fired at me.”

The officer returned: “Two shots at Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” was the reply; “you cannot doubt it; I saw them get down from a
carriage or cab.”

The Colonel was not aware if Her Majesty said an open carriage or a
shut one.

“I felt something,” she added, “pass over my forehead which hurt me.”

“And as this was evident,” continued the officer, “I could but give
credit to Her Majesty’s words. Moreover, Her Highness the Infanta Doña
Maria Josefa added: ‘There is no doubt of the fact, for I myself saw
the men.’”

Then Her Majesty told the witness he was to inform the Ministers of
what had happened. This he did, leaving a message at the door of the
Secretary of State, and sending a halberdier to inform the Minister of
War.

It is not necessary to give further particulars of the long trial
of the accused. He was, as we know, first condemned to be beaten to
death, and being saved from this dreadful fate by the able defence of
Perez Hernandez, he was in November, 1847, condemned to twenty years’
imprisonment. But on July 23, 1849, the Queen showed her generous
spirit by commuting the sentence to four years’ exile from Madrid and
all the royal resorts, as Her Majesty nobly gave full benefit to the
representation of the murderous lawyer’s madness, or the influence
exercised by others.

In the rapid and unexpected flight of the French Royal Family from
the Palace of the Tuileries, Princess Clementina, wife of the Duke of
Saxony, and the Duchess of Montpensier, were separated from the King
and Queen. When the Duke of Montpensier accompanied his father to the
carriages waiting for them in the Place de la Concorde, he thought he
would have no difficulty in returning to fetch his wife, who had been
confined for some days in her apartments on account of her interesting
condition of health. But the crowds which had collected meanwhile in
the gardens made it impossible for the Prince to return to the palace.
He had fortunately left the Princess in the care of some of his suite
and Monsieur Julio de Lasteyrie, who was distinguished for his loyalty
and popularity. So the Duke mounted his horse and followed his father.

Directly Monsieur Lasteyrie saw that the palace was invaded, he gave
his arm to the Duchess of Montpensier, and in the confusion of the
moment they passed unnoticed from the gates and mingled with the crowd.
Monsieur de Lasteyrie hoped to arrive in time to put the Princesses
into the royal carriages, which, however, started off at a gallop just
as they arrived within sight of them.

So Lasteyrie escorted the royal ladies to the house of his mother. In a
few minutes Princess Clementina left the timely refuge, and continued
her way to the Trianon, where she met her father; whilst the Duchess of
Montpensier remained for the night under the protection of Madame de
Lasteyrie.

There she heard from her husband at Dreux that she was to join him at
the Castle of Eu, whither the King was going.

But the monarch found it impossible to get to this haven, so when the
young Princess arrived there the following day she found the place
deserted. Hearing an alarming rumour that a party of workmen were
coming to pillage the Palace of Eu, as they had ransacked the one at
Neuilly, the Duchess quietly left the place, and repaired to the house
of Monsieur Estancelin, a diplomat of the Bavarian Embassy. Under the
escort of this gentleman and that of General Thierry she started off
for Brussels. On passing through Abbeville, the sight of the carriage
attracted attention, and the people cried: “There are royal fugitives
in that coach!” Monsieur Estancelin put his head out of the window,
and, as his name was known in the district, he declared that the lady
was his wife, and he was going abroad with her. To put the people off
the scent, he then gave orders to the postilion to drive to the house
of a friend of his, well known for his republican opinions. Arrived at
the house, Estancelin whispered in the ear of his friend the name and
rank of the lady under his escort.

But the man, in fear of the consequences of the discovery of the
secret, declined to give his aid in the matter, in spite of all
arguments of both gentlemen in charge of the Princess, setting forth
the dreadful consequences of her being frightened or subjected to
imprisonment in her delicate condition.

It was all in vain; the republican declined to receive the Princess,
and they had to turn away from the door in despair, for several people
had gathered in front of the house, curious to see who could be seeking
shelter at such a late hour.

So Monsieur Estancelin bade General Thierry conduct the lady out of the
town by a particular gate leading to the bank of the river, whilst he
went in search of other friends, who might aid him to get fresh horses
and a carriage with which he would meet them.

So the poor Princess started forth with her military ally.
Unfortunately, the gate of the town led through a narrow exit only
meant for pedestrians. So they wandered along in the cold rain, picking
their way over the stones and rubbish of this out-of-the-way road. The
General, alarmed at the drenched condition of the Princess and her
evident exhaustion and fatigue, decided that he had better let her sit
on a stone to rest, whilst he went in search of a guide or a refuge.

The officer hastened along the road, fearing to call the attention of
the enemy to the lady in his care, and yet anxious to get a guide to
the rendezvous appointed by Estancelin. Finally, to his delight, he was
accosted by a friend of Estancelin, who had sent him in search of the
couple, and, quickly returning to the Princess, they escorted her to
the carriage which was waiting on the highroad to Brussels.

“What dreadful adventures this awful night!” exclaimed General Thierry,
as the Duchess of Montpensier sought to recover one of her shoes which
had slipped off her weary wet feet in the mud.

“Never mind,” returned the brave Princess; “I prefer these adventures
to the monotony of the round table of work in the sumptuous salons of
the Tuileries.”

The relief with which the letter announcing the safety of her sister
was received by Queen Isabella can well be imagined, as in those days
the limited communication by telegraph was stopped on account of the
fog.

The fall of Louis Philippe relieved England of the fear of the upset
of the balance of European power from the astuteness with which he had
arranged the marriages of the Spanish Queen and her sister.

There was no doubt of the intentions which had led to the Duke of
Montpensier being the brother-in-law of the Queen, and the unsuspicious
girl was a prey to the reports which were spread by the ambitious
Orleanists.

CHAPTER X

A ROYAL QUARREL AND THE RECONCILIATION

It was soon seen that General Serrano’s influence with the Queen
surpassed the ordinary grade, and the Moderates were alarmed.

There were two parties in the royal palace--one on the side of the
Queen, and the other on that of the King; and the leaders of these
parties fostered the difference between the royal couple.

Francisco Pacheco, the King’s partisan, declared that a President
of the Congress was wanted who would give more independence to the
Crown, and who would receive the counsels of an intelligent husband
of the Sovereign; for the King-Consort should not be in a position so
secondary to that of the illustrious mother-in-law that she can boast
of having more power than he has.

When Isabella saw that Queen Maria Cristina’s influence in the State
was much resented by the Ministers, she advised her to go on a visit to
her daughter, the Duchess of Montpensier, and this counsel was followed.

However, the want of union between the King and Queen was soon
evident to the world, and when it was announced that Isabella was
going to spend the rest of the summer at Aranjuez alone, whilst the
King remained in Madrid, it was seen that the Serrano influence had
become serious enough to cause a separation between the royal couple.
Isabella’s naturally good heart seemed softened when she was leaving
the palace, and it was evidently remorse which prompted her to look
anxiously back from the carriage, in search of a glimpse of the husband
at one of the windows of the royal pile. But the coach rattled on,
and the Queen’s search was in vain; whilst her sad face, with its
traces of tears, showed that things might have been better had not the
differences of the royal couple been fostered, for their own ends, by
intriguers of the _camarilla_.

Forsaken by his wife, Francisco followed the advice of his friends,
to enjoy himself in his own way; so he repaired to the Palace of the
Pardo, where banquets, hunting-parties, and other festivities deadened
his sense of injury at his wife’s conduct.

Those interested in the welfare of the land were disappointed when the
birthday of the Queen was celebrated by her holding a reception alone
at Aranjuez, whilst the King had a hunting expedition at the Pardo.
The Ministers came to the reception at Aranjuez, and then promptly
returned to the capital, leaving the Queen with her trinity of Bulwer,
Serrano, and Salamanca. General Salamanca was at last sent by the King
to Aranjuez to advise Isabella to return, but she would not accept the
condition of a change in the Serrano position.

This refusal made the King decline to assist at the reception of the
Pope’s Nuncio at Aranjuez, and he was forbidden to return to the royal
Palace of Madrid.

Benavides, a courtier, anxious to heal this unhappy division in the
Royal Family, came to Francisco, and said:[16]

“This separation cannot go on; it is not good for the Queen or for Your
Majesty.”

[16] “Estafeta del Palacio Real,” Bermejo, vol. ii.

“That I can understand,” returned the King; “but she has chosen to
outrage my dignity as husband, and this when my demands are not
exaggerated. I know that Isabelita does not love me, and I excuse her,
because I know that our union was only for State reasons, and not
from inclination; and I am the more tolerant as I, too, was unable
to give her any affection myself. I have not objected to the course
of dissimulation, and I have always shown myself willing to keep up
appearances to avoid this disgraceful break; but Isabelita, either from
being more ingenuous or more vehement than I am, could not fulfil this
hypocritical duty--this sacrifice for the good of the nation. I married
because I had to marry, because the position of King is flattering. I
took the part, with its advantages. I have no right to throw away the
good fortune which I gained from the arrangement. So I made up my mind
to be tolerant, if they were equally so with me, and I was never upset
at the presence of a favourite.”

Here the King was interrupted by Benavides saying:

“Allow me, Sire, to observe one thing. That which you now say with
regard to tolerance of a favourite is not in accordance with your
present line of conduct, for do you not demand the withdrawal of
General Serrano before agreeing to the reconciliation we are asking?”

Then, with a singular calmness, the King returned:

“I do not deny that this Serrano is the main drawback to an agreement
with Isabelita, for the dismissal of the favourite would be immediately
followed by the reconciliation desired by my wife; but I would have
tolerated him, I would have exacted nothing, if he had not hurt me
personally by insulting me with unworthy names, failing in respect to
me, and not giving me proper consideration--and therefore I hate him.
He is a little Godoy, who has not known how to behave; for he at least
got over Charles IV. before rising to the favour of my grandmother.”

The Minister of the Government listened with astonishment to the King’s
words. Don Francisco saw it, and continued:

“The welfare of fifteen million people demands this and other
sacrifices. I was not born for Isabelita, nor Isabelita for me, but the
country must think the contrary. I will be tolerant, but the influence
of Serrano must cease, or I will not make it up.”

Benavides replied that the Ministry deplored this unhappy “influence,”
which was getting burdensome to the Queen herself; but Serrano had
such a fatal ascendancy everywhere, and had won over to his side the
opposing elements, that any sudden step to put an end to the evil
would result in deplorable consequences for the nation. “However,
the Ministry has decided to get rid of this pernicious influence,”
continued Benavides. “It is seeking a way to do so without a collision
and its consequences; and one of the things which would help to this
course of the Cabinet would be the immediate reconciliation of Your
Majesties, as the preliminary to the other steps which will lead to
Serrano’s overthrow.”

The King refused. He said that his dignity demanded the withdrawal of
the “influence.” Fresh evident proofs had been given that this hateful
man was the cause of the Queen’s separation from him, and therefore he
was not inclined to go back from his word about him.

So Pacheco and all the other Ministers, excepting Salamanca, determined
to resign if Serrano did not retire from the Court.

Benavides and Pacheco were among the deputation who petitioned the
favourite to agree to this step, but it was in vain. The Ministers went
backwards and forwards to La Granja without gaining their purpose.
Finally, in pursuance of the Pope’s advice, the Queen decided to return
to Madrid; and Salamanca, as Prime Minister, went to the Escorial to
report the fact to Bulwer.

It must be noted that Salamanca’s name was not in the list of Ministers
suggested by Narvaez. The Queen wished it to be added, but Narvaez
declined to follow suit, as he knew that this statesman was supported
by Bulwer, whose dislike of the King was well known; and the way he had
spoken of Francisco before his wedding naturally made the King averse
to seeing him.

Bulwer worked with Bermejo against Isabella during the premiership of
Salamanca, and the publication in _The Times_ of a demand for the royal
divorce was due to him.

At last Francisco and Isabella were reconciled. It was on October 13
that the King returned to the capital. He entered the gate of the
palace in a carriage drawn by six horses, with a mounted escort of
the Guardia Civil. He was dressed quietly in black, and Brunelli, the
Pope’s Legate, was seated on his left. Narvaez, Count Alcoy, Count
Vistahermosa, rode by the coach, and two carriages followed with the
high dignitaries of the palace.

The King looked pleased. General Serrano, whom he hated so cordially,
had left Madrid, and the Queen was waiting for him at the window.
Brunelli was about to follow the royal couple as they walked away after
their first meeting, but Narvaez said: “Whither away, Your Eminence?
Let them be alone with their tears and kisses. These things are done
better without witnesses.”

The Queen arrived that day at her dwelling in the Calle de las Rejas.
There was a family dinner-party in the evening at the palace, and, in
a private interview with her daughter, Maria Cristina begged her to be
more discreet in future; and she reminded her that although she had,
as a widow, allowed herself to be captivated by a commoner, whilst she
was the wife of the King she had never allowed her thoughts to wander
beyond the circle of her rank and her duty.

The reckless extravagance of the Queen excited much remark. Courtiers
are still living who recollect seeing Isabella give her bracelets to
the beggars who sometimes infest the courtyard of the palace.

When Miraflores, who was considered the soul of truth, received a
reckless order from the Queen to dispense a certain amount of money on
some petitioner, he had the sum put in pieces on a table, and it was
only the sight of the large sum which was thus laid before the Queen
which showed her the extravagance of her command.

A great influence was soon found to be at work in the palace in the
person of Sister Patrocinio, whose brother, Quiroga, was one of the
gentlemen-in-waiting.

CHAPTER XI

ATTEMPT ON THE LIFE OF QUEEN ISABELLA--THE OVERTHROW OF THE
QUEEN-MOTHER, MARIA CRISTINA

1850-1854

There was much variety of feeling when it was known that an heir to
the throne was expected. On the day of the birth, July 12, 1850, the
clerics, Ministers, diplomats, officers, and other important personages
of the realm, assembled at the palace to pay their respects to the
expected infant. But the bells and cannon had hardly announced to the
nation the birth of the girl-child when it expired. So the dead form
of the infant, which had only drawn breath in this world for five
minutes, was brought into the assembly of dignitaries, and after this
sad display the gathering dispersed in silence. The kind-heartedness of
the Queen was shown in her thoughtful generosity to the nurses who were
disappointed of their charge.

“Poor nurses, they must have felt it very much!” she exclaimed. “But
tell them not to mind, for they shall be paid the same as if they had
had my child.”

In February, 1852, an heir to the throne was once more expected, and
the birth of the Infanta Isabella was celebrated by the usual solemn
presentation. When the King showed the infant to his Ministers, he said
to the Generals Castaños and Castroterreño:

“You have served four Kings, and now you have a Princess who may one
day be your Sovereign.”

It was on February 2, 1852, that the dastardly attempt was made on the
life of the Queen, just before leaving the palace for the Church of
Atocha, where the royal infant was to be baptized. The Court procession
was passing along the quadrangular gallery, hung with the priceless
tapestries only displayed on important occasions, when Manuel Martin
Merino, a priest of a parish of Madrid, suddenly darted forward from
the spectators lining the way, with the halberdier guard. The petition
in the cleric’s hand and his garb of a cleric led to his step forward
being unmolested, and the Queen turned to him, prepared to take the
paper. But the next moment the other hand of the assassin appeared from
under his cloak with a dagger, which he swiftly aimed at the royal
mother. Fortunately, the Queen’s corset turned aside the murderous
weapon, and, although blood spurted from her bodice, the wound was not
very deep; but she was at once put to bed and placed under the care of
the royal physicians.

The royal infant was promptly seized from the arms of its mother at
the moment of the attack, by an officer of the Royal Guard, and for
this presence of mind the soldier was afterwards given the title of the
Marquis of Amparo.

With regard to the assailant, the Queen said to her Ministers: “You
have often vexed me by turning a deaf ear to my pleas of mercy for
criminals, but I wish this man to be punished immediately.” And, with
the outraged feeling of the object of such a dastardly deed, Isabella
turned to the would-be murderer, and said: “What have I ever done to
offend you, that you should have attacked me thus?”

During the trial in the succeeding days the Queen softened to the
criminal, and said to her advisers: “No, no! don’t kill him for what he
did to me!”

However, justice delivered the man to the hangman five days after his
deed.

The efforts to discover Merino’s accomplices were fruitless, and it was
thought that the deed had been prompted more by the demagogue party
than by the Carlists.

The cool, cynical manner of the cleric never left him even at the
moment of his execution.

When the priest’s hair was cut for the last time, he said to the
barber: “Don’t cut much, or I shall catch cold.”

The doomed man’s request to say a few words from the scaffold was
refused. When asked what he had wished to say, he replied: “Nothing
much. I pity you all for having to stay in this world of corruption and
misery.”

The ovation which the Queen had when she finally went to the Church of
Atocha to present the infant surpasses description. Flowers strewed the
way, and tears of joy showed the sympathy of the people with the Queen
in her capacity as mother, and at her escape from the attempt on her
life.

From 1852 to 1854 Isabella failed to please her subjects, and the
outburst of loyalty which had followed the attempt on her life
gradually waned. Curiously indifferent to what was for her personal
interest, as well as for the welfare of the country, Isabella turned
a deaf ear to the advice of her Ministers to dissolve a Cabinet which
was under the leadership of the Count of San Luis, who was known
to be the tool of Queen Maria Cristina, now so much hated by the
Spaniards. Miraflores wrote a letter to Isabella, advising the return
of Espartero, the Count of Valencia, but the letter never reached its
destination.

Remonstrances which had been made upon the Government were now directed
straight to the Throne.

“You see,” said her advisers, “how the persons whom you have
overwhelmed with honours and favours speak against you!”

The Generals O’Donnell and Dulce finally took an active part against
the Ministry, supported by the Queen-mother and Rianzares.

The Count of San Luis was a man of fine bearing and charming manners.
He had been conspicuous in his early days for his banquets and
gallantries, but he had also been known for many a generous deed to his
friends; and it was noticeable that when the tide of favour left him he
was deserted by all those to whom he had been of service.

The birth of another royal infant in 1854 excited little or no
interest in the capital, where discontent with the reigning powers was
so evident. General Dulce was accused in the presence of the Queen
and San Luis of having conspired against the Throne. This the officer
indignantly denied on the spot, declaring that never could he have
believed in the perfidy which had prompted the report.

At last the storm of revolution broke over Madrid, and the parties of
the Generals O’Donnell and Dulce came into collision with those of
the Government. Insulting cries against the Queen-mother filled the
streets, and during the three days’ uproar the house of Maria Cristina,
in the Calle de las Rejas, was sacked, as well as those of her
partisans. The furniture was burned in the street, and Maria Cristina
took refuge in the royal palace.

After the Pronunciamento of Vicalvaro and O’Donnell to the troops, it
was evident that the soldiers of the Escorial would also revolt against
the Government.

It was then that Isabella was filled with the noble impulse to go
alone to the barracks of the mutinous regiments and reason personally
with them. With her face aglow with confidence in her soldiers and in
herself, she said: “I am sure that the generals will come back with me
then to Madrid, and the soldiers will return to their barracks shouting
‘Vivas’ for their Queen.”

But this step, which would have appealed with irresistible force to
the subjects, was opposed by the Ministers, who objected to a course
which would have robbed them of their portfolios by the Sovereign
coming to an understanding with those who were opposed to their
opinions.

[Illustration: THE COUNCIL OF MINISTERS OF ISABELLA II. DECLARES WAR
AGAINST MOROCCO
From a Painting by R. Benjumea]

At this time Isabella received from the Infanta Josefa, daughter of
the Infanta Louisa Carlota and Francisco de Paula, a letter which
showed that the Princess had inherited her mother’s hatred of the
Queen-mother, Maria Cristina; for she wrote:

“Your Majesty should distrust the artificial and partial counsels of
the Queen-mother. This lady, to whom you owe your birth, is sacrificing
you to her insatiable greed of gold. Beyond your life you do not owe
anything to Maria Cristina. She has done nothing for Spain that you
should give her submission and obedience in your conduct as Queen.
Hardly had Your Majesty’s father gone down to his grave than his widow
gave you the pernicious example of an impure love, which began in a
scandal, and ended, ten years later, in a morganatic marriage, to the
incalculable harm of the country.

“Maria Cristina is lax in the principles of morality, which ought to
be the foundation of the education of Princes, and she knew not how to
inculcate them in the mind of Your Majesty. Whilst you were a child,
she did nothing but accumulate money and arrange for her future booty.

“The disinterestedness and the generous sentiments which enrich Your
Majesty’s heart, and the high tendencies which have shone in your
mind, and which have only been suffocated by the pettiness of your
entourage, are exclusively a gift from Heaven, and under favourable
circumstances they would have developed into great and glorious deeds.
When the time arrived for the marriage of Your Majesty--an event of
such import to your destiny--Your Majesty knows that the Queen-mother
only used her influence to make you marry a man whose sole merit lay in
his power of ministering to her omnivorous nature. Never did a mother
behave in such a self-interested way in what concerned her daughter’s
domestic happiness! And now she continues the soul of the Government,
counselling Your Majesty for her own ends, and with utter disregard of
the wishes of the people.”

This letter, which gives an idea of the dissensions of the Royal
Family, and the expression of feeling against Maria Cristina, was
shared by the people. Indeed, the hatred of the Queen-mother was
publicly shown after she took refuge in the royal palace. The Plaza de
los Ministros resounded with the cries from the townsfolk of “Death to
Cristina!” A storm of stones broke all the windows of the palace. The
soldiers fired on the people. The palace gate of El Principe had to be
guarded by two cannon commanding the Plaza de Oriente. Twelve guns were
stationed in the great courtyard called the Plaza de las Armas, and all
the cavalry at Madrid was summoned to the defence of the royal abode;
and during the siege there was serious anxiety that the provisions
would not last long.

Queen Isabella sought to encourage and support her mother, but she saw
that the stream of public hatred was now too strong to be stemmed.

The arrival of Espartero in Madrid, on July 29, raised the siege of
the palace, and the people, delighted at the sight of their favourite
leader, gave a loyal ovation to Queen Isabella when she appeared at a
window of the palace.

The days from July 17 to August 28 were fraught with anxiety for the
Queen of Spain. The cries for the dismissal of the Queen-mother, and
for her trial for the appropriation of State moneys, could no longer be
silenced, and the day came when the royal lady found that her personal
safety demanded her departure from the country. So, accompanied by a
mounted escort, Maria Cristina submitted to the decision of Espartero,
as the mouthpiece of the people, and she finally bade farewell to her
weeping daughter at the palace door, and left the country, never more
to return.

Espartero made a crusade against the undue priestly influence at Court.
The weak-minded King was quite under the power of “the bleeding nun,”
as Patrocinio was called, and his constant visits to her apartments
in the palace were said to have been in search of spiritual counsel,
with which she was supposed to be miraculously endowed by reason of the
wounds in her forehead and hands, which refused to be healed, as they
were said to be illustrative of those of the Saviour. The Queen and all
the Royal Family became hysterically hypnotized by this phenomenon.

But Espartero soon put an end to the matter by having the lady put
under the authoritative care of a doctor, who had her hands tied so
as to prevent her irritating the wounds; and thus in a short time the
supposed miracle was over, and the power of the religieuse and her
brother, the Archbishop Claret, was at an end.

Espartero had O’Donnell as his Minister of War. Dissensions broke
out again in the Cabinet, and O’Donnell reaped the success of his
_camarilla_ influence at the midnight Council meeting held before the
Queen in July, 1856. For when Espartero found that his measures for the
new Constitution were rejected, he offered his resignation; and then,
to his surprise, the Queen, by a prearranged concert, turned to his
colleague with her sweetest smile, saying, “I am sure you won’t abandon
me, will you?” and he was sworn in as Prime Minister the following day.

But O’Donnell had a powerful rival for favour at the palace in the
person of Narvaez, a General of some fame, whose alert, dapper little
figure, said to have been improved by corsets, made him popular at
Court as a dancer.

This officer was extremely arrogant, and noting that the grandees, by
right of their special prerogative, stood covered in the royal presence
during the ceremony of the King washing the feet of the poor, and
feeding them in the historical Hall of Columns, he promptly put his own
cocked hat on his head, and bade his officers do the same.

O’Donnell, who was of a heavier, clumsier build than his rival,
suffered much at the sight of the success of Narvaez in the arts of
society. One day at a state ball at the palace the two Generals stood
in readiness to conduct the Queen through the mazes of the _rigodon_.
As Prime Minister, O’Donnell considered that the distinction of taking
Isabella’s hand for the figures was his by right, but Isabella could
not resist the temptation of having for a partner a man distinguished
as a follower of Terpsichore, and she therefore singled out Narvaez as
her partner.

In a fury at what he considered a public slight, O’Donnell gave in
his resignation the next day as President of the Council, and General
Narvaez was chosen to fill the vacant place.

It was well known at Court that the British Ambassador, Bulwer Lytton,
was working against the Court of Spain in England, and consequently
he was an object of great aversion to the military leader of the
Government.

Irritated at the Englishman’s assumption of authority, Narvaez said
one day to Bulwer Lytton that Spain did not interfere with the affairs
of Queen Victoria like England did with those of Isabella II. To this
remark the British diplomat returned that Victoria did not owe her
throne to foreign intervention, as Isabella did.

One day Narvaez was in his bureau in a great state of irritation
about some action of the British Ambassador, when Bulwer Lytton was
announced. He drew a chair close to Narvaez, and, although the Spaniard
pushed his back, drew his seat still closer. Upon this Narvaez jumped
up in his excitable manner, and then, wishing to seat himself again,
he missed the place and found himself lower than he wished.

Upon this the Ambassador made some remark which added fuel to the fire
of the General’s wrath, and, advancing to the Englishman, he made him
rise from his seat, took him by the neck, and kicked him so that he
nearly fell to the ground. The Ambassador took his papers for England
that day, and this incident doubtless added to the bitterness with
which Bulwer reported on the affairs of Spain.

The incident just related, of this last interview of Sir Bulwer Lytton
with the Spanish Premier, was evidently never reported in all its
bearings, but enough was known for it to be seen that the Ambassador
was apt to embroil matters. For in “The Letters of Queen Victoria,”
vol. ii., p. 207, Her Majesty writes:

“_May 23, 1848._

“The sending away of Sir H. Bulwer[17] is a serious affair, which will
add to our many embarrassments. The Queen, however, is not surprised at
it, from the tenor of the last accounts of Madrid, and from the fact
that Sir H. Bulwer has, for the last three years, been sporting with
political intrigues. He invariably boasted of being in the confidence
of every conspiracy, though he was taking care not to be personally
mixed up in them; and, after their various failures, generally
harboured the chief actors in his house under the plea of humanity. At
every crisis he gave us to understand that he had to choose between a
revolution and a palace intrigue, and not long ago he wrote to Lord
Palmerston that if the Monarchy with the Montpensier succession was
inconvenient to us, he could get up a Republic.”

[17] “Lord Palmerston had written a letter to Bulwer (which the latter
showed to the Spanish Premier) lecturing the Spanish Queen on her
choice of a Minister. This assumption of superiority, as Sir Robert
Peel calls it, led to a peremptory order to leave Spain in twenty-four
hours.--EDITOR.”

But Isabella’s realm was still torn by insurrections. In January, 1860,
the Prefect of the Police reported that a rebellion was being prepared
in Spain against the throne by the Carlist party, under Don Carlos
Luis de Bourbon y de Braganza, Count of Montemolin. When justice was
prepared to take its course against the insurrectionists, Don Carlos
wrote to Isabella, saying:

“I am certain that your compassionate heart, which has always shown
pity for the unfortunate, will not fail to have mercy on your cousins,
and not deny the pardon that we crave.”

This mercy was also eloquently pleaded for by the unhappy mother of the
delinquents. So, obedient to the impulse of her kind heart, Isabella
said to the weeping parent: “Be at rest; your son shall not die.”

However, the Carlist family soon forgot the clemency of the Queen, and
the letter of Juan de Bourbon, son of Don Carlos, Ferdinand’s brother,
showed that the spirit of animosity burnt as powerfully as ever in the
breast of the claimant to the throne.

“Twenty-seven years you have reigned,” ran the Prince’s letter to
his royal cousin, “and you must confess that the hand of God has not
helped you. I know the country; I know equally well that your heart
is good, and that you do good when you can, and you regret the evils
which afflict Spain. But you try in vain. You cannot fight against
Providence, which never wills that evil should prosper. Be assured,
dear cousin, that God did not choose you to make the happiness of
Spain, and that Divine Providence has denied you the lot of being a
great Queen. Descend, Isabella--descend from the throne! Show yourself
great in this matter, and take the place to which you have a claim in
my family as my dear cousin, and as having occupied the throne for so
many years, and do not expose yourself to final disaster and bring ruin
on the family.”

CHAPTER XII

COURT INTRIGUES

1864-1868

On November 28, 1857, “the birth of Alfonso XII.,” as Martin Hume says,
“added another thong to the whip which the King-Consort could hold over
the Queen for his personal and political ends, and it also had the
apparently incongruous effect of sending Captain Puig Moltó into exile.”

Of course there were the usual rejoicings at the birth of a Prince,
but things were far from satisfactory at the Court. The Queen had now
a taste of personal power and a higher notion of her own political
ability. The Congress was in slavish servitude to the palace, and,
acting in accordance with this sentiment, it had managed to get rid
of the men in the Senate who had been working for the constitutional
privileges of the country which would have led to the indispensable
protection of the prerogative of a true suffrage; and freed from these
patriots, the press was silenced and Parliament was suspended.

The return of Maria Cristina, the Queen’s mother, was another step
which added to the unpopularity of Isabella II. Once more wearied out
with waiting for the realization of constitutional rights, the people’s
exasperation was voiced by the soldiers at the barracks of San Gil,
within view of the royal palace of Madrid. O’Donnell at once took steps
for the suppression of the insurrection.

The cries of “Viva Prim!” “Viva la Libertad!” showed that the spirit of
republicanism was rampant.

Swiftly as O’Donnell went to the scene of action, Narvaez was before
him, and so the Prime Minister had the mortification of seeing his
rival carried into the palace to be tended for the slight wound he had
received in the conflict.

The rebellion was soon quelled, and the insurgents were shot; but
disinterested advisers of the Queen might have shown her that such
_émeutes_ proved that the fire of discontent was smouldering, and with
a strong Government for the constitutional rights for which the country
was clamouring the revolution of 1868 would have been avoided.

On the day following the San Gil insurrection a man of influence at the
Court went to plead pardon for two of the insurgents from Her Majesty
herself.

The interview was characteristic of the kind-heartedness of the Queen.

After waiting for half an hour in the antechamber, the gentleman was
shown into the royal presence.

“You have been quite lost,” said Isabel graciously, as her visitor bent
over her hand. “It is a thousand years since you have been to see me.”

Whilst excusing himself with courtly grace, Tarfe noticed that during
the two years in which he had been absent from the palace the Queen had
grown much stouter, and had thus lost some of her queenly dignity. She
seemed distrait and troubled, and the red lids of her limpid blue eyes
gave her an expression of weariness. They were, moreover, the eyes of
a woman who had been brought in contact with the encyclopædic array of
the various forms of the despoilers of innocence.

The petitioner submitted his plea for mercy for his friends by saying
that his request was backed by a letter from the holy _Mother_, begging
her to write two letters to General Hoyos for their release. To the
delight of the intercessor, the Sovereign at once wrote the letters.
When this was done, the surprise of the courtier was increased when the
Queen, who was generally _mañanista_, said in a quick, nervous tone:
“Do not delay giving these letters; do not wait till to-morrow; do it
to-day!”

Before leaving the royal presence, Tarfe ventured to say that O’Donnell
was much upset by the events of the preceding day, and the Queen
replied in a tone curiously devoid of feeling: “Yes, I like O’Donnell
very much.” This she said three times in the same passionless voice,
and then, seeing that he was dismissed, Tarfe took leave of Her
Majesty; and after fulfilling the mission to Hoyos, he went to see
O’Donnell at his palace of Buenavista.

The General declined to believe the reports of his friends, of the
intrigues which were to compass his fall.

The victor at Tetuan was more able to repel the open advance of an
enemy than the underhand plots of a palace.

But when Ortiz de Pinedo suddenly came in, and said, “Gonzalez Brabo
has left San Juan de Luz to-day, and he is coming to form a Ministry
with Narvaez,” the General was somewhat taken aback.

On the following morning, after finishing a long despatch for the royal
signature, he repaired to the palace, and, anxious to know the real
state of affairs, he submitted to Her Majesty the list of appointments
to the Senate-house, many of which had been suggested by Isabel herself.

To the surprise of the Minister, the list was rejected by the Queen in
a cold, disdainful way, so O’Donnell found himself forced to offer his
resignation. This was accepted with the usual meaningless smiles and
compliments.

Then O’Donnell returned to his house, where his friends were waiting
for him. His face betrayed his rage and mortification, and, throwing
his gloves on the table with an angry gesture, he exclaimed:

“I have been dismissed just as you would dismiss one of your servants.”

“My General,” exclaimed one of the partisans of the ex-Minister, “the
_camarilla_ delayed the change of Ministry for two days after the
mutiny; why was that? And Ayala returned because it was better for
Narvaez that we should have the odium of shooting the insurgents. Now
he can take his place in Parliament with all the airs of clemency.”

O’Donnell, who could not deny the truth of this remark, took General
Serrano by the arm into another room, but they could plainly hear their
indignant followers saying: “Eso, señora, es imposible!”

The Marquis of Miraflores says that a General Pierrad, the head of the
Pronunciamento, told a chief of the halberdiers that he had better
tell the Queen that there were no means of putting down meetings, and
this for two reasons: Prim and his friends only wanted a change in
the power by a disciplined Pronunciamento, but the artillery, through
some strange influence, would not recognize military chiefs. He who
said this was to have been shot down by them; he saw them drunk and
faithless to their commands. This communication was made to the Queen.
In 1867 an important interview took place in the Palace of Madrid
between Isabel II. and her sister, the Duchess of Montpensier.

It will be remembered that, after the adventures of the royal couple in
the revolution of 1848, the Duke and Duchess retired to Seville, where
they lived in the Palace of San Telmo with all the state dignity of
sovereigns. The Queen had made the Duke an Infante of Spain, and he had
also been appointed Captain-General.

The Duke decided to take his wife to Madrid to counsel her sister to
adopt a more liberal policy. The Duchess was expecting another child,
but she was advised not to postpone her visit to the royal palace
of Madrid. The interview was far from satisfactory, for Isabella
had no intention of allowing Montpensier to have an active part in
the Government. So the Princess returned to Seville, and Isabella
afterwards wrote her a letter, in which she expressed displeasure at
her aims. This letter received an angry reply, first from the husband,
and then from the wife. So a coldness grew up between the sisters, and,
indeed, Isabella’s want of confidence in Montpensier was proved by the
subsequent events in 1868, when Prim himself rejected the Duke’s offer
to raise forces in his favour.

During all this time the little Prince of Asturias, who was nine
years old when the insurrection broke out in the barracks of San Gil
for Prim, was pursuing his education in the palace. The style of the
Prince’s education is given in the remark of the royal child’s playmate
to his father, when he had been to spend a day at the palace.

“Papa,” said the boy, “Alfonso does not know anything. He is taught
nothing but religion and drilling. After the religious lesson, which
was very dull,” the child continued, “Alfonso was given a spear and a
sword, and he waved them about so much that Juanito and I were afraid
he would hurt us.”

A record was kept of the little Prince’s doings during the day. His
frequent colds, his coughs, his acts of devotion, his appetite at
meals, his games, his toys, his little tempers, his deeds of obedience,
were all entered in the register as signs of his temperament and as
indications of his future character as a man.

The Prince’s apartments were dreary. The windows were high up in
the thick walls, the ceilings were low, and, as a grandee says when
speaking of this fact, it seemed strange that the light and air so
essential for a child should be insufficiently supplied to a future
King. General Pavia, who was gentleman-in-waiting to Alfonso, only
shrugged his shoulders at this remark, but Señor Morphy ventured to
say: “That is our opinion, but she who commands, commands.”

When the grandee was introduced to the little Prince, he returned the
salutation with the manner of one accustomed to it, but with a pretty
smile which was very attractive.

“Yes,” said his attendant, “His Royal Highness is better to-day. He
only has a little cough now, but the doctor says he is not to be tired
with lessons to-day; he is only to rest.”

“Last night,” said the General, “His Highness asked for his lead
soldiers to play with in bed. He did not want to say his prayers. So I
had to fetch the new prayer-book which Her Majesty sent a few days ago,
and I read the prayers whilst he repeated them after me. So in this way
he said his prayers, but not willingly.”

Hereupon Alfonso protested, saying: “But this morning, Marquis, I said
my prayers without your reading anything.”

“Yes, yes,” returned the gentleman; “but Your Highness did not want to
get up, so I had to read stories to you until the doctor came.”

A few pages from the diary of the young Prince of Asturias gives some
insight into the dreary daily life of the delicate child:

“_October 1, 1866._--His Highness breakfasted at 11 o’clock. At 1
o’clock he had drilling till 1.40. At 2 o’clock a writing lesson with
Señor Castilla; at 3 o’clock religion with Señor Fernandez; 4.30, rice
soup as usual; 4.50 he went up to the rooms of Her Majesty to go for a
drive with her.

“_October 4._--His Highness played about till 2.15. He had no lessons
to-day, as being Her Majesty’s saint’s day. At 2.43 he went up to the
Queen’s apartments to assist at the reception. He wore the uniform of
a sergeant, with the Cross of Pelayo. The ceremony over at 6.15, when
His Highness came down with Señor Novaliches, as a boot hurt him (not
the Marquis, but His Highness). The said Marquis took off the boot, and
carefully examined the foot, but he found nothing to account for the
pain. Mention is made of this circumstance as the Chief of the Chamber
of His Highness thinks it fitting to do so....

“_October 6._--My Lord Prince lunched at 12 o’clock. I gave him his
lessons. He went to the Church of Our Lady of Atocha. He went to bed
at 10 o’clock, and slept ten hours. He took some chocolate, made his
confession at 9.30, and Father Fernandez celebrated Mass.

“_October 9._--He breakfasted with appetite. He had his lessons at the
marked hours, and he was somewhat restless. At 4 o’clock he took some
soup, and went out for a walk with the Mayordomo, Señor Marquis de
Novaliches, Professor Sanchez, and Juanito. He had supper at 8 o’clock,
and played till 10 o’clock with Juanito, but left off when he knocked
his left leg against a table. He slept from 10 o’clock till 9 o’clock
in the morning. He got up at 9.30 without feeling any pain in his leg
from the blow. He did his orisons, assisted at the Mass in his room;
he went out for a walk with his Mayordomo, returned at 11 o’clock, and
assisted at the Mass with Their Majesties and the Princesses; and at
11.45 he had his hair cut.”

As Perez Galdos says in his works, the long hours of religious
instruction every day would have qualified the little Prince for the
Council of Trent. When any Bishops came to visit Isabella, they were
sent to the apartments of her little son; and thus Morphy writes in the
register: “I gave the lesson to His Highness in the presence of the
Bishops of Avila, Guadix, Taragona, and of other dioceses whose names
I do not remember.” And Losa wrote: “He opened his eyes at 8.30; he
dressed and gave thanks to God; he took his chocolate with appetite,
and at 10 o’clock had his religion lesson in the presence of the
Cardinal of Burgos, who was pleased with his progress, and noted that
His Highness was ‘magnificent in everything.’”

Courtiers who were true of heart saw with apprehension the artificial
character of the Prince’s education.

“Ah!” said a man who would gladly have been frank with the Queen, but
he felt he was powerless against her crowd of flatterers, “Alfonso is
a very intelligent child. He has qualities of heart and mind which
would give us a King worthy of the people, were they only properly
cultivated; but we shall never see this ideal realized, because he is
being brought up like an idiot. Instead of educating the boy, they are
stultifying him; instead of opening his eyes to science, life, and
nature, they blind them so that his sensitive soul remains in darkness
and ignorance.”

The same courtier implored the Prince’s educators to give the lad a
chance. “Take him out of this atmosphere of priests and nuns, and
devotional books by Father Claret. If you want Alfonso to be a great
King, let him breathe the pure air of fine deeds. Take him away from
the gloomy atmosphere of the royal palace; let him inhale the fresh
breezes of liberty. His talents will develop, and he will become a
different boy.”

It was indeed true the little Prince was in an unnatural atmosphere in
the palace, where the tunic of the nun Patrocinio had become an object
of worship, and where the King, in his stuffy apartments, gave himself
over to the study of relics which were brought to him at a high price
by the priestly folk, who made harvest out of his credibility.

The situation of Queen Isabella is graphically given by the historian
Galdos in the reflections of a loyal courtier whilst having, with his
wife, an audience of Isabella II.:

“Oh, your poor Majesty!” he said to himself. “The etiquette invented
by the set-up gentlemen of the Court to shut you off from the national
sentiment prevents me telling you the truth, because it would hurt you
to hear it. Even those on the most intimate terms with you shut you
out from the truth, and they come to you full of lies. So, kind-hearted
Isabella, you receive the homage of my gilded untruths. All that I have
said to you this afternoon is an offering of floral decorations, the
only ones received on royal altars.... You, who are more inclined to
the ordinary and the plebeian than other Kings--you let the truth come
to you in external decorative, and verbal matters, but in things of
public consequence you like nothing but lies, because you are educated
in it, and falsity is the religious cloak, or rather the transparent
veil, which you like to throw over your political and non-political
errors. Oh, poor neglected, ill-fated Queen...!”

The reflections of the courtier were here interrupted by Isabella
saying to his wife: “Maria Ignacia, I want to give you the ribbon of
Maria Luisa.... I shall never forgive myself for not having done it
before. I have been very neglectful--eh?”

The Marchioness was eloquent in her thanks, and Beramendi could only
say: “Señora, the kindness of Your Majesty is unbounded.... How can we
express our gratitude to Your Majesty?”

But the Marquis said to himself: “We take it, because even as you
accept our lying homage, so we receive these signs of vanity. King and
people we deceive each other; we give you painted rags of flattery,
which look like flowers, and you bestow honours on us which take the
place of real affection.”

Isabella continued: “I must give you a title of Count or Viscount,
which your son can take when he comes of age.”

The Marquis’s wife returned: “Our Queen is always so good; that is why
the Spaniards love her so.”

“Ah, no, no!” exclaimed Isabella in a melancholy tone, “they do not
love me as they did.... And many really hate me, and yet God knows
I have not changed in my love for the Spaniards.... But things have
got all wrong.... I don’t know how it is ... it is through the heated
passions of one and the other. But, Beramendi, it is not my fault.”

“No, indeed,” returned the courtier; “you have not caused this
embroiled state of affairs. It is the work of the statesmen, who are
moved by ambition and egoism.”

This indeed was true, for even as Serrano used the Queen’s favour to
his own ends, and had his debts twice paid by Her Majesty, he was the
first to lead the country against her.

“Do you think that matters will improve, and that passions will calm
down?” asked Isabella anxiously.

“Oh, señora, I hope that the Government will confirm your authority,
and that those that are in rebellion will recognize their error.”

“That is what they all say,” said Isabella, with a little satirical
smile. “We shall see how things will turn out. I trust in God, and I
don’t believe He will forsake me.”

“Ah!” said Beramendi to himself, whilst his royal mistress continued
in the same strain of religious trust to his wife, “do not invoke the
true God whilst you prostrate yourself before the false one. This god
of thine is an idol made of superstition, and decked in the trappings
of flattery; he will not come to your aid, because he is not God. I
pity you, blind, generous, misled Sovereign.... Those who loved you so
much now merely pity you.... You have been silly enough to turn the
love of the Spaniards to commiseration, if not to hatred. I see your
goodness, your affection, but these gifts are not sufficient to rule a
nation. The Spanish people have got tired of looking for the fruit of
your good heart.”

When Isabella gave the sign of dismissal of the courtier and his wife
by rising to her feet, he said to himself sadly:

“Good-bye, Queen Isabella; you have spoilt your life. Your reign began
with the smiles of all the good fairies, but you have changed them
into devils, which drag you to perdition.... As your ears are never
allowed to hear the truth, I cannot tell you that you will reign until
O’Donnell will permit the Generals to second Prim’s plans. Oh, poor
Queen! you would think me mad if I said such a thing to you; you would
think I was a rebel and a personal enemy, and you would run in terror
to consult with your devilish nuns and the odious set which has raised
a high wall between Isabella II. and the love of Spain. Good-bye, lady
of the sad destiny; may God save your descendants, as He cannot save
you!”

The good-heartedness of the Queen was, indeed, seen by all about
her, and there are people still at the Palace of Madrid who remember
seeing Her Majesty take off her bracelets and give them to the beggars
which infest the royal courtyard. All the best impulses of Isabella
were turned to her own ruin for the want of true patriots, who by
supporting the constitutional rights of the nation would have secured
the sovereignty to the Queen. The self-interested conduct of the
generals and statesmen, whose command in the _camarilla_ of the palace
meant rule over the heart of Her Majesty, tended naturally only to the
overthrow of personal rivals, and to the neglect of the welfare of the
land.

Prim therefore became the hope of the nation. With his return to the
capital, thought the people, crushed down by taxation and deprived
of constitutional liberty, there will be an end to the _camarilla_,
Narvaez, and Patrocinio, and we shall have the pure fresh air of
disinterested policy.

The death of O’Donnell at Biarritz relieved Narvaez of the fear of his
rival’s return, but the General had the mortification of seeing his
royal mistress utterly in the hands of Marfori, who had been raised
from the position of Intendente of the Palace to the position of
supreme personal favour.

When the Queen heard of O’Donnell’s death, she is reported to have
said: “He determined not to be Minister with me again, and now he can
never be.”

The Queen now committed the suicidal act of making Gonzalez Brabo
Prime Minister in the place of Narvaez. The poor lady seemed quite to
have lost her head, and there was no one to put her on the right path,
surrounded as she was with harpies.

According to a letter from Pius IX., found in the Princess’s
prayer-book in the royal palace after the Queen had taken flight, the
Pope counselled the marriage of the Infanta Isabella with a Neapolitan
Prince. Even whilst the fêtes of the marriage were going on, Gonzalez
Brabo was concerting with the revolutionary Generals, and the name of
“Prim and Liberty!” was heard on all sides, and messengers were sent to
consult with the leader of the Republican party in London.

The supporters of the Montpensier party hoped that the dethronement
of Isabella would mean the acceptance of the Duchess of Montpensier
as Queen, and her husband as Prince-Consort. But this idea was soon
nipped by Monsieur de Persigny, the President of the Privy Council of
the Emperor of the French, saying to Olozaga, who was then Spanish
Ambassador at Paris, that he would never consent to the crown of Spain
being on the head of either the Duke or the Duchess of Montpensier.

After the historic day of September 29, 1868, when Prim made his
successful _coup_ at Cadiz, the Royal Family fled to San Sebastian.

The haste with which the flight was made could be seen in the
collections of jewels and money which had been thrust into bags which
were after all left behind.

In the Hôtel d’Angleterre of the seaside resort Isabella still seemed
to expect a miracle to take place in her favour. A throne does not fall
every day, and a crowd hovered about the hotel to see how the Queen
would accept her overthrow.

A murmur of satisfaction broke out among the bystanders when the
loyal-hearted Marquis de Beramendi was seen entering the hotel. “That
is a good thing,” they said, “for Isabella will listen to his advice,
which is certain to be wise.”

The courtier’s remarks to the Lady-in-Waiting were short and to the
point.

“I have come to tell you,” he said, “that, if the Queen keeps to the
good idea of abdicating, certain infatuated people ought to be kept
from opposing it. I have had direct news from Serrano, and he says
that, if Doña Isabella will abdicate in favour of Don Alfonso, he will
save the dynasty, and she herself will be saved. The Duke of Torres
will not put obstacles in the way of this course.”

“Better than that,” returned the Lady-in-Waiting, in a voice which a
cold rendered almost inaudible, “I thought that Her Majesty had the
same idea, ‘that she had better go to Logroño, and abdicate in favour
of the Prince of Asturias in the presence of Espartero.’”

“That’s admirable!” said Beramendi.

“And then, after abdicating, the Queen will depart immediately for
France, leaving the new King in the power of the Regent Espartero.”

“Admirable! splendid!” cried Beramendi; “but there is not a minute to
lose.”

“The departure will be arranged this evening.”

“But, my God, I fear delays will be fatal; I am afraid that some bad
friend, some plotting courtier of the _camarilla_, will spoil this
saving step----”

“Well, I must go upstairs now,” returned the lady. “The Señora, Don
Francisco, and Roncali, are busy with manifestoes for the nation.”

“And Spain will say, ‘Manifestoes to me!’ Now is the time to show the
country fine deeds, and not empty rhetoric.”

On the following morning, when Beramendi went to the hotel, he came
upon Marfori; and although he had had little to do with this nephew
of Narvaez since royal favouritism had raised him to such undue
importance, he said, in a tone of assumed respect: “So Her Majesty is
going direct to France? Something was said about her travelling to
Logroño?”

Upon this Marfori frowned angrily, saying: “You don’t understand,
my dear Marquis, that it would be very humiliating for the Queen of
Spain to ask protection from a General, although he bear the name of
Espartero. All concert with Progressists is dangerous. The Queen is
leaving Spain under the conviction that she will soon be recalled by
her people.”

“I knew it was useless to say more. Don Carlos Marfori was busy giving
orders to the servants. I regarded him with resentment, because he was
the personification of the evil influence which brought the Queen to
her ruin.

“His Arab type of handsomeness, with his large mouth and heavy jaw, was
eloquent of sensuality, and his obesity robbed him of the attraction
which he had possessed in earlier days. He was impetuous, overbearing,
and wanting in the courtesy common to a superior education.”

The Marquis was then taken into the presence of the Queen, and as he
bent over her hand she whispered: “You know we have given up the idea
of going to Logroño. No more humiliations! I am going away so as not to
aggravate matters, and to prevent bloodshed; but I shall be recalled,
shall I not?”

“I had to console Her Majesty with one of the usual Court lies, and the
Royal Family soon took its departure, the Queen leaning on the arm of
Don Francisco, the little Infantas with their Ladies-in-Waiting, and
the Prince of Asturias, in a blue velvet suit, led by Señora de Tacon.
The poor little fellow looked pale and sad; his great eyes seemed to
express the royal and domestic sadness of the scene, and nothing was
now wanting but the order for departure.”

Marfori was always much disliked by people at Court. It was in the
summer of 1867. Many courtiers and ladies of high rank were promenading
in the beautiful gardens of La Granja. The soft, well-kept turf of the
shady alleys by the countless sparkling fountains set off the beauty
of the dresses, when, with his usual courtly grace, General Narvaez
advanced to meet the Countess of Campo Alange.

This illustrious lady, whose salons in Madrid were graced by the
highest in the land, was soon to give a ball.

“I have received your invitation,” said the General, after he had
greeted the Countess.

“It is almost the first that I have sent,” returned the lady.

“I have just met Marfori,” said the Duke of Valencia, “and he tells me
he has not received his.”

“Neither will he,” replied the lady sharply.

“And why, being a Minister?” queried the General in surprise, knowing
how the slight to the Queen’s favourite would be resented at Court.

“Simply because Cabinet Councils are not held at my house,” returned
the lady caustically, firm in her decision to show her dislike of the
man.

General Narvaez, whose dapper figure and perfect dancing made him
always a welcome guest at the Spanish Court, was still unmarried when
he had to withdraw to Paris as an exile. He had always been fond of
feminine society, but, gay butterfly as he was, he did not fix his
affections upon any one lady.

The beautiful Leocadia Zamora had been once the object of the officer’s
attention, and, indeed, the charming way she accompanied herself on the
harp fascinated other admirers beside the Count of Valencia. She was a
constant visitor in the salons of the Countess of Montijo, where the
lovely Eugénie shone with the brilliance and charm which were so soon
to be transported to the Court of France.

But fate did not reserve the joy of a happy marriage for the lovely
Leocadia, and the sweet spirit, disillusioned by an unhappy love,
retired to a convent in Oviedo, where she passed the rest of her life
performing the duties of a Lady Abbess.

It was said that it was the gallant Don Salvador de Castro who had
taken Leocadia’s heart captive, when she was young; and, indeed, it is
not surprising if this report be true, for he was a typical courtier
of his time, and when he was home from his duties as Ambassador in
Italy he seemed to dwarf all the attractions of the lady’s other
admirers. Leocadia was, in truth, a star of the Court of Spain, and
the beautiful picture by Frederick Madrazo shows the perfection of her
charms, with no other ornament than a white rose to adorn her simple
white dress. Salvador de Castro was honoured by the friendship of King
Francis II. and Queen Maria Sophia when the Italian Revolution robbed
them of the throne of the Two Sicilies, and he was able to render them
marked services and prove himself as loyal a friend as he was perfect a
gentleman. After the capitulation of Gaeta, the King and Queen rewarded
his loyalty by granting him the title of Prince of Santa Lucia, with
the gift of the beautiful palace on the banks of the Tiber which is
known by the name of the Farnesina, whilst the gardens were sold to the
Emperor Napoleon. The place was deserted, and so near to its ruin that
sheep and goats fed in its grounds, and the custodian took his meals in
the beautiful hall of the frescoes of Sodon.

It was in this palace that Michael Angelo painted a head on the wall,
which is known by the name of “The Visiting Card,” as he left it as a
sign of his call on Raphael when the artist was out.

The Prince of Santa Lucia had the palatial dwelling restored, and he
gave magnificent entertainments in this palace, of which it was not
destined that the lovely Leocadia should be mistress. Indeed, the lady
abandoned all thoughts of love and pomp when she entered a convent in
Oviedo, where she ended her days as Lady Abbess; whilst the daughter
of her old admirer wedded the Marquis of Bey, and made a mark in Court
society of Madrid.

But to return to the gallant little General. His affections were at
last taken captive by another friend of the young Empress of the
French, the beautiful daughter of the Count of Tacher. The Empress
Josephine had belonged to this family, and her parents, the Duke and
Duchess de Tacher de la Pogerie, were much beloved by Queen Marie
Amélie, wife of King Louis Philippe.

It was General de Cordova, who had played such an important part during
the Regency of Queen Maria Cristina, who first took him to the house
of the Tachers. When Narvaez paid a second visit to the palace on the
Boulevard Courcelles, he found that nobody was at home; and he was
waiting in the drawing-room for the return of the lady of the house,
when the daughter came in, looking beautiful in a white dress, but with
her face tied up.

“Are you ill?” asked the General, with concern.

“Yes,” she returned; “I have a swelled face.”

“How sorry I am!” said the soldier sympathetically, “for I came this
afternoon in the hope of hearing you sing.”

“And so you shall,” returned the girl kindly. “You shall not go away
disappointed.” And, taking the bandage from her face, she sang song
after song to the fascinated General.

The progress of the courtship was swift, and the marriage was
celebrated with great magnificence in the palatial abode of Queen Maria
Cristina in Paris, with the attendance of representatives of the most
distinguished families of France and Spain.

When General Narvaez returned to Madrid he became Prime Minister of
Spain.

Unfortunately, the marriage did not prove a happy one, and, indeed,
it would have been difficult for anyone to live peacefully with the
irascible Spaniard. This irascibility was seen at the funeral of
General Manso de Zuñiga, who had died in the expedition against Prim,
in the mountains of Toledo. General Narvaez was chief mourner on the
occasion, as the deceased officer had been husband of Doña Valentina
Bouligni, a lady of great importance at this epoch, with whom he was
connected; and the Bishop of Pharsalia was master of the ceremonies.

At a certain point in the function the order was given to kneel. But,
probably absorbed in some knotty State question, the Duke of Valencia
still stood. Upon this the Bishop quickly approached the grandee, and
said:

“Kneel down, kneel down!”

“But I don’t want to kneel,” returned the General petulantly, and so he
remained standing for the rest of the service.

[Illustration: GENERAL NARVAEZ]

When she came to Madrid as the wife of the great General, the Duchess
of Valencia was appointed Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Isabella, and she
never failed in her loyalty to the dynasty which was in power when she
came to the country of her adoption by marriage.

Many years later she was in an hotel in Switzerland, where she purposed
making a long stay, when Don Carlos happened to come to the same
hotel, accompanied by his secretary. As the Duchess of Valencia was
unacquainted with the Pretender to the throne of Spain, she wondered
who the imperious-looking new arrival could be, who was greeted so
respectfully by everybody. Her curiosity was soon satisfied, for the
gentleman’s secretary presented himself before her to say that the Duke
of Madrid begged the honour to pay his respects to her.

The message filled the Duchess with dismay, for, although she held
the Princes of the blood in great respect, she had no intention of
receiving one who disputed the throne with the reigning Queen.

So, summoning all her dignity to her aid, she said, in a tone of icy
politeness:

“Tell the Duke of Madrid that I am very sorry not to have the honour of
receiving his visit, but to-morrow I leave for Paris.”

And in effect the lady left the hotel on the morrow, and thus the
meeting of one of the oldest and most valued Ladies-in-Waiting with Don
Carlos was avoided.

Isabella certainly never expected that she would be dethroned, for a
few weeks before the revolution of September, 1868, the celebrated
General Tacon, Duke of the Union of Cuba, announced the forthcoming
marriage of his daughter Carolina with the Marquis Villadarías, of the
_première noblesse_, and a perfect type of a Spanish grandee, and she
said: “I congratulate her sincerely on her engagement; but,” she added
sadly, “for myself I am sorry, as I shall see her no more at Court.”
The Queen here referred to the well-known Carlist opinions of the
Marquis Villadarías, which would have made it impossible to receive the
Marchioness at the palace if she had remained there.

So Isabella II. was dethroned in 1868, and she can truly be said to
have been the victim of circumstances. From the moment King Ferdinand
died his daughter had been the object of intrigue and ambition.
Whilst our Queen Victoria was carefully educated and drilled in high
principles, Isabella was the prey of those who wished to rise to
power by her favour. Ministers made love to the Sovereign instead of
discussing the welfare of the nation; flowery speeches on patriotism
meant merely the gratification of the orator’s vanity to be remarked by
Her Majesty. Personal advancement was the end and aim of those in the
Government, and thus poor Isabella’s susceptibilities were worked upon
to an awful extent.

It is well known that General Serrano, who might have been thought to
have the welfare of his country at heart, gained an undue influence
over the Queen by means of her affections, and fomented to a great
extent the matrimonial differences between her and her husband.
Generous to a degree, Isabella paid the debts of this courtier twice,
and yet it was this same General who was the first to have her hurled
from the royal palace.

When the great Canning visited Madrid, Bulwer Lytton showed him at a
Court ball the many women who were the favourites of the Ministers,
and there was, indeed, hardly a statesman who would not sacrifice
principles to the pleas of his mistress. It was at this Court, steeped
in immorality, that Isabella was brought up with little or no knowledge
of right and wrong, and even in her marriage she was a victim to the
intrigues and ambitions of other Courts of Europe as well as those of
her own. She was, in fact, a scapegoat of the nation.

Harassed and in desperation at being pressed on to a miserable marriage
destitute of all that could justify it, Isabella, after one of those
long and fruitless discussions with her mother, once addressed a letter
to our Queen Victoria; but in a pure Court like that of England little
idea could be formed of the stagnant atmosphere of the Spanish palace
from which the poor young Queen sent forth her plaint. Beyond the Court
raged the stormy discontent of the country, which had been thwarted for
more than thirty years of the fulfilment of its constitutional rights
promised by Ferdinand VII. as the condition of his return to the throne
of Spain.

Whilst Queen Victoria was daily increasing in the knowledge of
constitutional rights which are the base of a Sovereign’s power, poor
Isabella’s Prime Ministers resigned at any moment in pique or jealousy
of some other politician, and the people grew daily more discontented
at finding the Parliament was a farce, and it meant neither the
progress of the land nor the protection of the people.

Bulwer Lytton was constantly sending despatches to England about the
shortcomings of Isabella II. as a woman, but he seemed to lay no
stress on the cause of her failure as a Queen. Under proper conditions
Isabella doubtless would have been a good woman and a great Queen,
but choked with the weeds of intrigue she was lost. Undisciplined and
uneducated, the poor Queen fell a victim to what, if properly directed,
would have been virtues instead of vices.

The marriage to which Isabella was forced by intrigue was, of course,
the greatest evil which could have befallen such an impulsive,
warm-hearted girl, who knew no more how to turn a deaf ear to a
claimant for her favour than to keep her purse shut to the plea of an
unfortunate beggar.

The Right Hon. Henry Lytton Bulwer wrote a little later from the
British Embassy at Madrid to the Court of St. James’s, saying that he
“looked at the Queen’s conduct as the moral result of the alliance she
had been more or less compelled to contract, and he regarded her rather
with interest and pity than blame or reproach.”

Isabel’s natural intuition of our Queen Victoria’s good heart prompted
her letters to her. They were sent by a private hand, and who knows
what evils might have been prevented in the Court of Spain if the long
journey, so formidable in those days, had not placed the sister-Queens
so far apart?

Espartero’s plea for Isabel to marry Don Enrique de Assisi, the man
of her heart, met no support in a Court torn with intrigue, and the
sad, bad story of Isabel doubtless had its source in the tragedy of an
unhappy marriage. At the plea of a persistent wooer, who knew that the
Queen had the right of dissolving a Ministry, a Government would fall;
and as the station of her favourites became lower and lower, as time
went on the ill-regulated Sovereign had a Government as undependable as
her friends.

Treachery was the keynote of the Court of Spain, and some of the
leaders of the revolution were those who had used the Sovereign’s
ignorance and foolhardiness to their own ends. In such an atmosphere
of untruth and treachery such men as Espartero, Prim, etc., could
play no enduring part. Hardly had Espartero swept the Court clean of
the Regency of Queen Maria Cristina than his fall was encompassed by
O’Donnell, his rival. The flagrant falsification of the Parliamentary
election returns--which is still the cankerworm of the country--was
the check to all progress. Count San Luis made a primitive effort
for the reform of the elections; he suggested that the names of the
candidates as deputies should be put in a bag, and drawn out by a child
blindfolded, for the law of chance seemed to him better than the custom
of deception.

Isabella’s acts of generosity are still quoted with admiration at the
royal palace of Madrid by those who served her as Queen.

Four hundred girls owed their marriage _dots_ to Isabella, and it
was the fathers of these four hundred royally endowed brides who
treacherously worked for her expulsion.

One day, hearing the story of the penury of a clever man of letters,
Isabella commanded 20,000 francs to be sent to him. The administrator
of her finances, thinking the Queen could hardly know how much money
this sum represented, had twenty notes of 1,000 francs each changed
into small money, and put out on a table by which she had to pass.

“What is all this money for?” asked Isabella, when she saw it spread
out to view.

“It is the money for the man of letters, and this shows Your Majesty
how large is the sum of 20,000 francs.”

“So much the better,” was the prompt reply; and the courtier saw it was
not by proving the amount of the boon that he could check his Sovereign
in her generous actions.

A Court official at Madrid, who has been sixty years in office at the
palace, told me he often saw Isabella take off her bracelets, and give
them to the beggars who pressed upon her as she crossed the courtyard
of the royal domain.

“And who could help loving her?” said the old courtier, with tears in
his eyes; “I know I could not.”

Caught in the darkness of ignorance and intrigue, Isabella was
naturally enraged at the revolution. When her son Alfonso was nearly
made captive by the Carlists at Lucar, she said: “I would rather
my Alfonso be a prisoner of the Carlists than a captive of the
revolutionists.”

Isabella had a faithful friend in the Marquis of Grizalba, and he said
to Croze:[18]

“It is the loss of faith which causes our woes; the charm of death has
been destroyed with the hope of a hereafter. But Spain will die like a
gentleman.”

[18] The author of “La Vie intime d’Alfonse XIII.”

From September 19, 1868, to 1870 there is no history of the Court
of Spain, as there was no King, and it was not known if there ever
would be one again. Isabella lived, as we know, in Paris, and her son
pursued his education in Vienna, in the Theresan College, and later at
Sandhurst. The young ex-Prince was devoted to society and to gaiety,
and, seeing how his mother was fêted in Paris, he was often heard to
say:

“I should rather like to be a dethroned King and live in Paris with
plenty of money.”

In Spain, meanwhile, Serrano, Duke de la Torre, was enjoying his
long-sought-for ambition of being supreme in the country, whilst
General Prim was President of the Council of Ministers. The Duchess
of la Torre made an ineffectual attempt to gather a Court around her
at La Granja; but a palace made after the essentially royal abode of
Versailles, with its countless well-kept alleys and its many panoramas
of fountains adorned with allegorical scenes and figures, did not lend
itself to anything but the stately entourage of a royal Court.

Whilst the Republican party grew in power in the Parliament, the
Generals who had made the revolution sighed after a monarchy.

The Duke of Montpensier, the brother-in-law of the ex-Queen, might have
had a good chance as candidate to the throne, and he was supported
by Topete and the three Liberal Generals; but Spain could not forget
his treachery and ingratitude to Isabella by joining with her enemies
against her, and he found he could gain no real support from the
country. And this coldness became more marked after the tragedy in
which he was the chief actor made a dreadful stain on Court history.

It will be remembered that Prince Henry of Bourbon, the brother of the
ex-King, whom Isabella had personally preferred to the husband she was
finally obliged to accept, and who married, in 1849, Helena, daughter
of the Count of Castellvi, had been removed from his position of a
General of the army, to which he had been appointed by his cousin, and
expatriated for a writing which was very insulting to the Queen.

Having thus associated himself with republicanism, Prince Henry
became the source of many disloyal publications against the Queen and
her Ministers, and when the blow was struck for the dethronement of
Isabella, he openly welcomed the revolution.

The final opinions which caused the tragic ending to his life were
expressed in an article entitled “The Montpensiers,” and this so
enraged the candidate to the throne that he called out the author of
the pamphlet in a duel, and a wave of horror swept over the Court of
Spain when the ex-King’s brother thus met his death at the hand of the
Duke of Montpensier.

The funeral of the Prince was solemnized with all the insignia of his
rank as Lieutenant-Colonel and the owner of the Collar of Charles III.,
and with the rites due to a Freemason of high office. He was buried in
the Escorial, and it is said that his remains will be finally removed
from the simple niche where they now lie to the imposing tomb of “the
Infants.”

Another tragedy befell the family of the ex-Queen of Spain in December,
1871. On May 13, 1868, the Infanta Isabella, the eldest daughter of
Queen Isabella II., married Count Frederick Girgenti, who created a
most favourable impression in the country by the valiant way he fought
in the Battle of Alcolea under the Marquis of Novaliches.

But the brave young Prince was subject to epileptic fits, and one
day in December, 1871, to the horror of his wife, he shot himself in
Lucerne. The poor man lived for some hours, tended by his sorrowing
wife. But neither love nor science could avail in such a case, and
the Infanta Isabella found herself a widow at the age of twenty.
However, the Infanta never allowed sorrow to kill her sympathy for her
compatriots, and to go to Spain is to find that no philanthropic scheme
or project is considered complete without the patronage of the Infanta
Isabella.

CHAPTER XIII

THE COURT OF SPAIN UNDER ITALIAN SWAY

In February, 1869, Serrano was chosen head of the Executive Government,
and in June of the same year Serrano, Duke de la Torre, was appointed
Regent until a King should be elected.

To General Prim, whose ideal had always been that of Liberty, it was
not surprising that, in seeking a Sovereign who, it was hoped, would
steer the country through the shoals of self-interest and stagnation,
set up by an autocrat monarchy, his eyes should turn to Prince Amadeus
of Savoy, whose father had led such a splendid struggle for the freedom
of the country from the despotism of clericalism. A deputation, formed
by deputies who subsequently became Ministers of Alfonso XII., presided
over by Ruiz Zorilla, who was later a pronounced republican, were thus
sent to Italy to submit the offer of the throne of Spain to the Prince
of Savoy. Their mission to the Prince over, they proceeded to the
bedroom of his young wife, who had recently been confined, and there
conveyed to her in due form the invitation to become Queen of Spain.

The claim of the Italian Prince to the throne rested on the royal
decree of Philip V. of Spain, which formed the integral part of
the Treaty of Utrecht, November 5, 1712. This decree set forth the
claim to the throne of Spain through failure of legitimate line by the
Duke of Savoy, and through failure of the male line by Prince Amadeus
of Carignano and his sons, as descendants of the Infanta Catharine,
daughter of Philip II. When the question of the claims to the throne of
Spain was put to the vote, it was found that Amadeus registered 199,
Espartero 8, Alfonso 2, and for a Republic 63.

Castelar used all his eloquence against the Italian candidate. “Who are
these wretched Dukes of Savoy,” he said, “that run like hungry dogs in
the wake of the coach of our Kings?”

[Illustration: EMILIO CASTELAR]

Courage was a great characteristic of young Prince Amadeus. When only
twenty-one, in 1866, he saved a wounded soldier’s life by carrying him
out of danger on his own mule, in one of the skirmishes during the
struggle for Italy’s liberty.

The young man’s calmness in the hour of danger was shown in 1867, when
the boiler burst on the ship on which he was returning to Italy, after
attending the function of the opening of the Suez Canal. The Count
of Castiglione was killed, and the panic on board threatened more
disaster. But Amadeus was cool and collected. He calmed the people and
insisted on the sailors’ return to their several duties, and the ship
was successfully brought back.

Fortunately, the young Prince was allowed to marry the lady of
his choice, who proved a devoted friend and companion in all the
vicissitudes of their lives.

When Signor Francisco Cassini, the President of the Chamber of
Deputies, told King Victor Emmanuel whom his son wished to marry, the
royal father said: “Do the young people love each other?”

“They idolize each other,” returned the statesman.

“Then very well; they shall be married,” was the reply. “It is not for
me to stand in opposition to the sentiment of my son.”

So the royal couple were married, and thus fate led to Princess Maria
del Pozzo becoming Queen of Spain.

Naturally, Amadeus was not attracted by all he heard of the country
over which he was called to reign. However, when his father said, “Of
course, it is very hot in Spain at this time, and by going there you
would also run the risk of a disagreeable adventure, and perhaps even
get a bit of lead in your ribs,” the natural courage of the Prince
was stimulated, and he declared he would accept the invitation to the
throne, come what may.

As the new King of Spain’s wife had not recovered sufficiently from her
recent confinement to travel, her husband went alone to Spain. Before
starting for his new country, Amadeus said to his friends:

“I go to fulfil an impossible mission. Spain, now divided into various
parties, will unite against a foreign King, and I shall soon be obliged
to return the crown they offered me.”

[Illustration: AMADEUS OF SAVOY, DUKE OF AOSTA, AFTERWARDS KING OF
SPAIN]

However, the Italian Prince knew he had a valiant supporter in General
Prim, who used all his oratory and influence to get the sympathy of
his countrymen on the side of the new-comer. But, as we know, it was
not the fate of the pioneer of Liberty to see the realization of the
scheme which he had hoped would be for the welfare of the country, and
on December 30, 1870, the day on which Amadeus landed on Spanish soil,
Prim was foully murdered by Spaniards.

Long inquiry and investigation never revealed convincingly the hand
that shot the General in the street. It was supposed by some to have
been a partisan of an unsuccessful candidate to the throne; others
think it was a gipsy, who did it as a deed of outlawry. Be that as it
may, strong suspicion fell upon Señor Paul y Angulo, who expressed his
indignation strongly in the prologue to his paper on “Revolutionary
Truths”:

“The sacrifices that I have made for my country have been no light
matters, and all I have in return is to find myself obliged to leave my
poor country, to be the victim of vile calumniators, and to have to fly
from persecution as if I were some horrible criminal.”

Prim’s death was accompanied with much suffering, for some of his
fingers were so seriously injured by the shot, it was thought that
their amputation would save his life. But the operation was in vain,
and the General died in two days, just as Amadeus landed at Carthagena.

When the sad news reached the new King, that his ardent supporter had
fallen a martyr to his cause, he said:

“Gentlemen, my duty is clear: I must go on to Madrid.”

Arrived at the Spanish capital on January 2, 1871, where a fall of snow
added gloom to the occasion, Amadeus at once repaired to the Church of
Atocha, to pay his respects to the remains of the man to whom he mainly
owed the throne of Spain.

As the young King gazed at the corpse of the great leader, who had
inspired trust and confidence in all with whom he came in contact, he
prayed for strength to be able to fulfil the hopes which the Spaniard
had directed to himself. With Prim, the pioneer of Liberty in Spain,
young Amadeus, who had fought for the same cause in his own country,
had always felt in sympathy.

Those who had suffered for their religious opinions had looked to the
great soldier as the herald of a new era. Juan Cabrera, the leader
of the Protestant movement, who had fled to Gibraltar for fear of
imprisonment, and there led a life of exile and hardship, hastened to
meet Prim after the _coup_ which put Spain practically in his hands.

“May I return to my country?” asked Cabrera, when he saw him at
Gibraltar.

“Yes, yes, my man,” replied the General, whilst fixing his keen eyes on
the Protestant’s face, worn with study and anxiety, “you can go back to
Spain now with your Bible under your arm.”

And this the preacher of the reformed faith found to be true, for
Spain had no longer to fear the active persecution of those who
resisted the introduction of the Bible into their land.

As Amadeus gazed at the features of the General, set in death, he
sighed deeply in sorrow at his loss, and when he arrived at the royal
palace, the magnificent setting of so many scenes of struggle for
supremacy in the country, he sat down wearily, and said:

“I feel sure that my loyalty will not be able to save Spain from the
fury of contending factions.”

When the new King took up his abode in the fine domain, with Prim dead,
he felt as if he were starting for a voyage on a ship of which the
rudder was lost, for he knew not whom to trust or to whom to turn for
counsel.

But Amadeus was not a man to let himself be enervated by fears and
doubts for the future, although the first few weeks of his residence in
the palace were additionally anxious from the fact of his wife being
ill at Alassio. For the new young Queen of Spain had not been able to
accompany her husband to Spain, as she was not sufficiently recovered
from her confinement; and when, in her desire to join Amadeus in the
new sphere of influence, the journey was made too soon for her health,
she was for some time ill at Alassio.

At last the new Queen was able to undertake the ten days’ journey by
sea to Alicante, where she was received with great delight by the young
King.

The bright spring day which saw the arrival at Alicante of Queen Maria
Victoria seemed to augur well for the success of the young couple. A
thrill of pride passed through the young wife when she saw her husband
come out to meet her in a white-and-gold launch, his face bright with
hope, and looking every inch a King. As the bright barque cut through
the sunlit waters, with Amadeus accompanied by his Ministers, who had
come to welcome her in state, she stepped to the prow with pretty words
of greeting on her lips, and when she was finally taken off from the
Italian ship to set foot on Spanish soil, a storm of cheers burst from
the throats of the Italian sailors, to be echoed by those from the
Spanish crews and sight-seers anxious to welcome the new Sovereign. The
bright and intelligent young wife did indeed seem to bring sunshine
to Spain, and in the opening of the Senate there was a sincerity in
the royal speech which found an echo in the hearts of those who really
wished for the welfare of the country.

“When my feet touched Spanish soil,” said Amadeus, in a voice which
penetrated to every part of the house, “I determined to merge my ideas,
my sentiments, and my interests, in those of the nation who elected
me as its head, and whose independent character would never submit to
foreign and illegitimate intrigues. My sons will have the good fortune
to receive their first impressions of life here; their first language
will be Spanish; their education will be in accordance with the customs
of the nation; they will learn to think and feel as you think and feel;
and we shall unite with imperishable bonds our own fate with your
fate.”

But no patriotic sentiments could entirely extinguish the sparks of
smouldering resentment that a foreigner should be set over Spain.

The pride of the Castilians was wounded, and no salve of sympathy
could prevent the canker caused by such a hurt. Everything the Italian
King and Queen did was purposely misinterpreted. He was dubbed “King
Macaroni,” and this mocking appellation expressed the resentment of the
Court and country.

The very democratic simplicity of the young couple was an offence to a
land which revels in old-world ceremony and stately Court etiquette,
and the clerical party never let the people forget that it was Victor
Emmanuel, the father of their new King, who had ousted the Pope from
his position of political supremacy.

Of course Isabella was very indignant when she heard who had been
elected as ruler at the Court of Spain, and she expressed her feelings
in a torrent of speech.

“The revolution continues,” she said, whilst her eyes blazed with
indignation, “and it has just disavowed the rights of my son, who is
to-day your legitimate King according to all the Spanish constitutions,
by calling to the throne of St. Ferdinand a foreigner, whose merits,
however great, cannot entitle him to be your Sovereign, in the face of
the rights of a whole dynasty, which is the only one that has in its
favour the legitimacy which has been consecrated by the lapse of ages
and by constitutions which it has been a signal folly to disavow.”

Of course the Bourbon party echoed these sentiments of its ex-Queen,
and Amadeus felt the want of unity which has ever been the main defect
of the country.

People who came into contact with Amadeus at the Court of Spain admired
the sense of his opinions, although the form of their utterance was not
in accordance with that adopted by former rulers at the palace; for the
King had many habits of a nervous man. One of these was to take hold of
a chair when he was talking, and twist first one of his long legs, and
then the other, in and out of the woodwork as he turned it about before
him.

As simplicity was a very marked trait in the young royal couple’s
tastes, they rejected the idea of establishing themselves in the
magnificent apartments used by the ex-Sovereigns, and chose a simple
suite of somewhat small rooms commanding a beautiful view of the Casa
de Campo, and there the King passed the happiest hours of the day with
his wife and children. The young Queen’s fine intelligence rendered her
an able confidante for her consort’s State difficulties, and she was
generally present at the discussions with the Ministers.

Sunday generally saw an intellectual gathering round the royal
dinner-table, but the admiration of the select few who began
to appreciate the gifts and aims of the young couple did not,
unfortunately, represent the feeling of the country, and it required
all the charity and philosophy of King Amadeus and Queen Maria
Victoria to ignore the half-concealed sneers of those at Court who
mocked at the foreigners and their simple, superior tastes.

Indeed, the Alfonsists never lost an opportunity of testifying their
allegiance to the Bourbon dynasty, and, as they studiously avoided
the royal palace from whence it had been expelled, the Court society
of Madrid presented a strange medley of people who were so little
conversant with the customs of such centres that Amadeus began to doubt
if Madrid had any really good society.

A certain Señor B., who was subsequently a Minister during the Regency,
was invited to a function at the palace. So he went to a first-rate
shirt-maker and ordered a shirt for the occasion. The shirt came with
the fine embroidered cambric frill set out over blue tissue-paper. So,
thinking the blue paper was meant to be worn with the shirt, Señor B.
strutted into the royal presence quite proud of his attire--paper and
all.

So naturally Don Amadeus was constantly saying: “But there is no
society in Madrid.” This remark was repeated in one of the salons
of the aristocracy on the eve of the funeral of Blanca Osma, the
Marchioness of Povar, mother of the present Duke of Arion, who had
been renowned for her beauty and elegance, and, stung at this slight
to their circles, somebody said: “Well, to-morrow Amadeus shall see
whether there be any good society in Madrid, for we will all parade in
front of the windows of the palace after the funeral.” And so they
did, and thus the demonstration of sympathy for the family of Osma and
Malpica became one of political importance.

February 10, 1872, was celebrated at the palace of the Dukes of
Bailen by a magnificent ball. The minuet was danced by ladies in most
beautiful Pompadour dresses, trimmed with handsome lace, and their hair
powdered in the style of the last régime, and the gentlemen showed
their high degree in dress and dignity. This minuet was repeated in the
Palace of the Plaza del Angel by request of the mother of the Empress
Eugénie, and society kept alive the feeling for the ex-régime by the
same sort of fêtes until the day dawned for the restoration, which
doubtless these gatherings aided, for the little rooms adjoining the
salons were the scene of many councils in the cause of the Bourbons.

One day this feeling of antagonism was expressed in a more patent and
painful form.

It was a hot evening, which the King and Queen had spent listening
to the music in the gardens of the Buen Retiro. The royal couple was
returning to the palace by the Arenal, when suddenly a vehicle opposed
the passage of the carriage by crossing just in front of it. The
coachman checked the horses and cleverly prevented a collision, and
just then a shot was directed towards the royal party.

Upon this the King sprang boldly to his feet, exclaiming:

“Here is the King! Fire at him, not at the others!”

But no further attempts were made at assassination, and the retinue
reached the palace in safety, where the young Queen sought to still her
tremors of anxiety by the sight of her brave young husband standing
sound and well before her.

To the King the late hours of the Court were particularly disagreeable.
At work from six o’clock in the morning, he rang at eight o’clock
for breakfast; astonishment was on the lackey’s face when answering
the summons; he heard that it had never been customary for their
ex-Majesties to be served before eleven o’clock. So Amadeus, wishing
to avoid any friction by insisting on earlier hours, adopted the habit
of going to a café for his early meal after long application to State
matters had made him conscious of the necessity of breaking his fast.

Thus the maids, who sally forth in Madrid with baskets on their arms to
be filled with necessaries for the household, would often return and
regale the ears of their mistresses with how they had brushed against
His Majesty as they did their business in the market-place. In one of
these peregrinations Amadeus noticed that Castelar, the leader of the
Republican party, raised his hat to him. Surprised at this sign of
respect from the enemy, the young man stopped, and said he wondered
that anybody of Castelar’s opinions should salute royalty, to which the
great orator replied, with all the grace and charm of an accomplished
Castilian:

“My salute was not to royalty, sire, but to the bravest man in
Christendom.”

And it was this bravery which aroused the admiration of Spain.
However, no quality could overcome the country’s rooted prejudice
against “the foreigner,” and when Amadeus had taken his seat on the
throne in the magnificent crimson-and-gold setting of the state salon
of the palace, it was not to take real possession of his subjects’
hearts. There was no antagonism against the Italian King, but utter
indifference for him, which was much more difficult to deal with.
He was unknown to the Spaniards, a mere guest, and the necessity of
forming a Court for his wife was attended with the difficulty of the
ladies of high degree being Alfonsists or Carlists, and thus many of
them considered themselves superior to the lady on the throne.

The ladies of the last régime openly showed the Italian royal couple
that their loyalty was still directed to the Spanish ex-Sovereigns, by
constantly presenting themselves in the Buen Retiro, and other resorts
where they drove or walked, in the white lace mantillas and other
characteristics of costume especially Spanish.

As a counterfoil to these signs of disrespect to those in power,
the ladies who were followers of King Amadeus and his wife arranged
a cortège formed of women of the town, who were all dressed like
the Spanish doñas of high degree, and they were accompanied by a
noisy, bullying sort of fellow who obviously represented the King’s
Chamberlain, the Duke of Sexto.

Thus the feeling of the Court of Spain at this epoch was manifested in
a series of spiteful acts unworthy of people of high position.

The Court ladies showed little sympathy with the philanthropic aims of
Queen Maria Victoria. The existing Home for the Children of Laundresses
is still a standing proof that the sight of the thousands of women on
their knees by the side of the River Manzanares, washing linen, had
evoked a feeling of pity in the heart of the young royal mother.

The King found it impossible to take any action for good in his
adopted country. The want of sympathy, and suspicion, which met every
suggestion of the young King, allied with the confusion reigning in
every department of the Government, made progress unattainable, and the
King, having nothing to do with his time in a serious way, was soon
found to be an easy prey to the seductions of designing Spanish women,
and it was not known till some time afterwards that the Government had
to interfere in ridding the Court of an adventuress who managed to get
into the Court circle.

As Queen Maria Victoria wrote to a valued friend in Italy, she seemed
wanting in the essential to make her a good Queen of Spain, and that
was the desire to remain in the country.

Sensitive as the young Sovereign was, she was ever conscious of the
half-concealed looks of scorn of those about her, who wondered that
she preferred the simple customs of a happy domestic life to the pomp
and etiquette of an old Court régime. The Countess della Alinma and
the Marquis of Ulugares sympathized with Their Majesties’ tastes,
but these two friends could not stop the whispers of discontent and
disapprobation reaching them from the large circles of the great palace.

Much of the rigidity of Court etiquette was abandoned during the
short reign of Amadeus and Maria Victoria. The custom of courtiers
prostrating themselves on their knees before Their Majesties was
abandoned, and, thanks to the good sense of Alfonso XII., it was never
more resumed.

Queen Maria Victoria created an Order which was called by her name, but
it lapsed after her departure from the palace.

We read in “Cosas del Año 1873” (Things of the Year 1873), by Carlos
Frontaura, that many open insults had been levelled at the Italian
Sovereigns during the last few weeks of their reign. At the Court
reception which is always customary on New Year’s Day in Spain, the
Conservative deputies were conspicuous by their absence, and Generals
Serrano, Concha, Infante, Rivero, Allende, Zabala and Hoyos, Topete,
Malcampo, Martinez Espinosa, and the ex-Ministers Rios, Rosas, etc.,
all excused themselves from attending the banquet which took place in
the evening.

The Countess of Heredia-Spinola gave a magnificent ball in her house in
Calle Fernando el Santo, and all the guests wore the fleur-de-lis as a
sign of their devotion to the Bourbon family.

Society at the Court of Spain was very different in the year 1872 from
what it had been during the late dynasty.

As Napoleon I. said, “You may confer titles and dignities, but you
cannot give that particular _cachet_ which goes with real Court
society.”

The Countess of Campo Alange always said, “Did So-and-so learn the
minuet when he was young?” For if the answer to this question were in
the negative, it showed that the courtier only belonged to the new
dynasty.

The Marquis of San Rafael was then Prime Minister, but when the
Marchioness wished to enter the Queen’s presence she was not allowed to
pass, whereas an arrogant lady of the old aristocracy quickly forced
her way in. The Prime Minister was advised to report this slight to
Amadeus himself. When the King heard of the matter, he only shrugged
his shoulders, and said, “Let them fight it out.”

The King and Queen felt that their days in Spain were numbered, and it
only wanted some incident to put the match to the train of discontent.

The ostensible cause of the break of the King with the Government was
the appointment to the command of the artillery of Hidalgo, who five
years before had been in command of the company which had made the
insurrection in the barracks of San Gil in 1866. The King himself did
not favour this appointment, but when Ruiz Zorilla showed him a vote
of confidence in the course carried by the Congress, Amadeus thought
it time to resign the crown which meant nothing but mortification
to himself and his wife. So on that evening (February 11, 1873) the
republic was proclaimed, and six o’clock the following morning saw
the sad exit from Spanish Court life of the Italians who had been so
fruitlessly summoned to its circle.

Queen Maria Victoria had also been wounded in her susceptibilities
as a mother. When her second child was born to her about a fortnight
before the proclamation of the republic, the young Sovereigns naturally
expected that the Ministry, Diplomatic Corps, military dignitaries, and
clerical leaders, would be ready to greet the baby Prince according
to the Court etiquette of the country. But the representatives of the
country did not feel sufficient interest in the birth of “the little
foreigner” to hasten to pay him their respects; and although the red
and yellow flags waved triumphantly above the royal palace, it was
several hours before there gathered in the audience chamber an assembly
sufficiently large and august to receive the presentation of the son of
Amadeus and Maria Victoria.

It was hardly a fortnight later when the die was cast, and the Italians
decided to abandon the throne of Spain.

The personal attendants of the Queen wept as they saw her carried
to the entrance of the palace still weak and ill from her recent
confinement. The dethroned young King took the frail form of his wife
in his arms when she was taken from the litter at the foot of the
grand staircase, and, after placing her in the carriage waiting in the
archway, proudly saluted the Guard and stepped in by her side.

In a departure arranged so hurriedly, all the necessary comforts were
forgotten, and the royal invalid was faint for want of nourishment,
which was only attainable after hours of travelling. Amadeus was
grateful indeed for the soup he was at last able to procure at a little
railway-station on the line, and he boldly met the remarks and curious
looks of the people who crowded to see the royal fugitive as he bore
the cup from the restaurant to his wife.

Once in Portugal, Amadeus had nothing more to fear for the personal
safety of the family, and it was from thence they soon sailed quietly
for Italy.

CHAPTER XIV

SOME TRUTHS ABOUT THE REPUBLIC

1873-1874

We have an interregnum in the history of the Court of Spain during
the republic which held rule from February 11, 1873, until the
restoration of the monarchy on December 30, 1874; but those readers,
who like to have some idea of what was passing in Spain whilst the
palace was empty, may be interested in the following particulars,
drawn from a book entitled “Contemporaneous Truths,” by His Excellency
Vicente Lafuente. These truths were republished by Colonel Figuerola
Ferretti[19] in 1898, with an able prologue from the officer’s pen, to
show those malcontents who wished to return to this form of government
how baneful it was for the welfare of the land.

[19] This Spaniard is connected on his mother’s side with Pope Pius IX.
(Mastai-Ferretti), whilst his father was Figuerola, the patriot of Cuba.

[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-COLONEL LUIS DE FIGUEROLA FERRETTI
From a Painting by Miss A. J. Challice, exhibited at the Royal Academy,
London]

Queen Maria Cristina graciously accepted the book from the Colonel,
who was then a Chamberlain at her Court, and it doubtless served to
disperse the false ideas as to the nature of a Spanish republic which
had arisen in the minds of those who were absent from the country
whilst it held sway.

Twenty-five years had elapsed since Spain adopted the republic, but, as
Figuerola Ferretti reminds his readers, that time had not obliterated
the horrors of that period from those who belonged to that time.

Those who were inclined to regard a republic as an ideal form of
government were reminded that the fatal night of February 11, 1873, saw
the opening of the Pandora box, whence issued all sorts of moral and
political calamities, which spread like a black cloud over the Spanish
nation in both worlds. With the enthronement of moral and material
disorder, licence and anarchy came from all sides, to the increase of
impiety and corruption of customs, the ruin of families, the debasement
of the public credit, the demoralization of the forces on sea and
land, the loss of honour and national dignity, and the peril of the
independence and integrity of the country both in the Peninsula and in
America.

Such is the picture of the republic from the night of February 11,
1873, until the morning of January 3, 1874, when it was dissolved by
the _coup_ of General Pavia. This opinion is no mere expression of
party rancour, for, as it is founded on the facts and events recorded
in the _Gazette_ and the _Journal of the Sessions of the Cortes_, which
were noted day by day, they became, under the pen of the historian
Lafuente, the true history which, according to Cicero, is “the light of
truth and the master of life.”

A few quotations from this diary of facts, which Ferretti republished
as an antidote to the anti-dynastic feelings which were aroused by the
loss of Cuba, give some idea of the effect of the republic on Spain:

“_February 16, 1873._--Assassinations in Montilla under shocking
circumstances. Eight houses sacked and burnt; Señor Robobo assassinated
and quartered. Abolition of the oath of loyalty in the army.

“_February 20 and 21._--During these days the theatre of Barcelona
was the scene of dreadful military orgies and acts of immorality and
barbarism. The column of Cabrinati rebelled in Santa Coloma de Farnés,
at the instigation of the republicans, and the cry of ‘Down with the
officers!’ was heard all over Catalonia.

“_February 24._--There was a general Carlist rising in Navarre, and a
call to arms of all men between twenty and forty years of age.

“_February 28._--The neighbourhood of Madrid, in view of the prevailing
want of discipline and the ease with which dwellings could be invaded,
began organizing armed bands.

“_March 15._--The battalion of ‘the Cazadores of Madrid’ committed
unspeakable horrors in Falset, and several companies of Catalonia began
a course of pillage and immorality.

“_March 17._--General Hidalgo harangued the savage soldiers of Falset,
but he was so hissed that he was obliged to retire, like almost all the
other officers.

“_March 18._--A great meeting was held at San Isidro, where the public
commemorated what they called ‘the glories of the Commune of Paris,’
which they were evidently seeking to imitate.”

The record of March closes with the mention of the occupation of the
churches of Barcelona as barracks and theatres.

April 3 we read: “The republicans of Manresa invade and profane a
church, take possession of the library and rooms of the seminary, and
the town-hall of Tarragona.

“_May 13._--An electoral meeting in Barcelona; the popular Mayor Buxó
is wounded by a stone. The voluntary troops of Madrid knock down and
wound the chaplain of the hospital, insult the officials who seek to
release him, and commit various robberies and assassinations, so that
the troops have to be called out against them.

“_June 3._--In Madrid and other places the procession of the Corpus
Christi could not take place on account of the uproars in the streets.
Orgies in the churches of Belen and San José at Barcelona, and indecent
balls, in which the mysteries of our redemption were mocked at.

“_June 16._--Horrible assassinations at Bande (Orense). Sixty unhappy
beings of all ages and both sexes fell victims to this savagery.”

After three days’ fighting the international incendiaries and assassins
were expelled from Seville, leaving the city stained with blood and
injured by fire.

“_September 23._--General Don Manuel Pavia was appointed Governor of
Madrid.”

Carlism was rapidly gaining ground during these months. There were
8,000 Carlists in Aragon and Valencia, and as many more in Catalonia,
12,000 in Navarre, and more than that number in the Basque provinces,
thus making more than 40,000 Carlists in all Spain.

“_November 7._--Señor Castelar, the President of the Republic, was
daily losing power in the Congress, where neither eloquence nor good
sense seemed to have any sway over the turbulent spirits.”

When the Corporation of the city became disaffected from the
Government, it seemed to the Governor of Madrid that it was time for
him to assert the power of military rule.

So on December 2, when the chamber of the Congress was nothing but a
scene of riot and disorder, each deputy striving by his loud voice and
violent actions to overpower his fellow, the cultured Castelar, the
head of the republic, whose orations would have reflected honour on the
Areopagus of old, was met by a vote of want of confidence.

Then was the time for General Pavia’s action. Arthur Houghton,
correspondent to _The Times_ at Madrid, gives, in his “French History
of the Restoration of the Bourbons,” the account of this _coup_ in the
General’s own words; for, favoured by the soldiers’ friendship, Mr.
Houghton had the opportunity of hearing the story first-hand, and the
smart General, looking spruce and trim in his well-cut black frock,
would often talk to the Englishman, when he met him in the salons
of Madrid, of the way he took matters into his own hand when the
republican Parliament could not manage the Congress.

“No, no,” said the former Governor of Madrid, “I admitted nobody into
my counsel, but, under the stress of circumstances, I took all the
responsibility upon myself. When I heard how the Assembly had given
voice to a vote of want of confidence in Castelar, I thought the
hour had come; and as the session the next day increased in force
and disorder, whilst the hours of early dawn succeeded those of the
evening and the night in fruitless and violent discussion, I called
a company of the Civil Guard, and another of the Cazadores, and, to
their surprise, I led them to the square in front of the Congress, and
stationed them all round the building. Then, entering the Parliament
with a few picked men, I surprised the deputies by ordering them to
leave the House. A few shots were fired in the corridor on those who
sought to defy the military order, so the members did not long resist,
and by four o’clock in the morning I found myself in complete command
of the House. I called a Committee, with the power to form a Ministry,
of which General Serrano was once more elected President, and thus
ensued the second period of the republic.”

This brilliant and successful _coup_ reminds one of that of our Oliver
Cromwell when he freed the country of a particular Government; but in
this case of military sway in Spain General Pavia acted from no aims of
self-interest, but only for the restoration of order, which it was his
duty as Governor of the city to preserve.

During the second period of the republic, which lasted from January 4,
1874, till December 30 of the same year, Serrano had his hands weighted
with two civil wars--the never-ceasing one of Carlism in the Peninsula,
as well as that of Cuba--and, as Francisco Paréja de Alarcon says, in
the criticism which he publishes in the above-mentioned work on this
period, the Government formed under Serrano proved unable to restore
order and save Spain from the dishonour which was threatening it.

So when the Ministers heard of the rising at Sagunto, on December 29,
1874, for the restoration of the monarchy, they knew that the movement
was really supported by leading military men, who had been inspired
thereto by the ladies of the land, who resented the irreligion and
disorder of the republic; and, as they saw that resistance would
only lead to another disastrous civil war, they resigned their posts
peacefully.

It was thus that the son of Isabella II. was raised to the throne. And
Alarcon says: “The hypocritical banner of ‘the country’s honour’ was
set aside; for had it not meant the support of a foreign monarchy,
destitute of prestige; and then an unbridled, antisocial, impious, and
anarchical republic, which was a blot on the history of our unhappy
Spain in these latter days, which have been so full of misfortunes
under the government of the ambitious parties which harrowed and
exploited under different names and banners?”

The Circulo Hispano Ultramarino in Barcelona, agitating continually
for the restoration of Alfonso XII., was a strong agent in the
monarchical movement. Figuerola Ferretti worked strenuously as
secretary of the society, and this officer is the possessor of the only
escutcheon signed by Alfonso XII., in which he paid tribute to the
Colonel’s valiant conduct in the Cuban War of 1872.

It is interesting to see that the opinion of the republic published
in “Contemporaneous Truths” by this Ferretti was echoed by the great
leader of the party himself, for Señor Castelar writes: “There were
days during that summer of 1874 in which our Spain seemed completely
ruined. The idea of legality was so lost that anybody could assume
power, and notify the fact to the Cortes, and those whose office it was
to make and keep the laws were in a perpetual ferment against them.

“It was no question then, as before, of one Ministry replacing another,
nor one form of government substituting another; but a country was
divided into a thousand parts, like the Kalifat of Cordova after its
fall, and the provinces were inundated by the most out-of-the-way ideas
and principles.”

When the great republican speaks in such a derogatory way of the
republic of which he was the leader, it is not strange that public
opinion turned to the restoration of the Bourbons as the salvation of
the country. Society clamoured for such balls and entertainments as had
formerly taken place at Court, or which had been patronized by the
palace, and the dreary disorder wearied both politicians and patriots.

The house of the Dukes of Heredia-Spinola never ceased to be the scene
of the reunion of Alfonsists, and as General Martinez Campos played his
daily game of tresillo at their table, many expressions of hope for the
return of the ex-Queen’s son fell upon his ears; whilst the Countess of
Tacon, who had been Lady-in-Waiting to the little Prince of Asturias as
a child, was loud in her opinions. It is interesting to note that this
lady subsequently filled the same office for the restored King’s little
daughter, the Princess of Asturias, Doña Maria de las Mercedes.

From a social point of view the salon of the old Countess of Montijo
ranked foremost in Madrid, and it assembled within its walls the
frequenters of Court society in the reign of Isabella. Scenes from
“Don Quixote” were given with great success at the Countess’s little
theatre; and the year of the restoration was marked by a very
successful dramatic representation, in which some of the members of the
old nobility took part.

Moreover, the services held every Friday in the private chapel of the
mansion, where great preachers made remarkable orations, were a protest
against the irreligion of the period. On these occasions ladies of
Court society, among whom may be noted Clara Hunt, wife of one of the
diplomats of the English Embassy--who was quite a notable singer--gave
proofs of their talent.

The niece of the Count of Nava de Tajo was another of the distinguished
ladies who frequented the salon of the Countess of Montijo. The Count
was varied in his interests. One afternoon he paid a series of visits,
beginning with the Pope’s Nuncio, going on to the house of Canovas,
then to Roque Barcia, who was asking for subscriptions for his famous
dictionary, and ending with the unhappy Lopez Bago, who was seeking
support for his _Review of the Salons_, of which only three or four
numbers were ever published.

CHAPTER XV

THE REVIVAL OF COURT LIFE IN SPAIN UNDER ALFONSO XII.

1874-1884

The foregoing brief sketch of the political and social life in Spain
during the republic will have given some idea of the joy which filled
Spanish hearts at seeing the Bourbons once more on the throne of Spain
in the person of Alfonso XII. Madrid indeed was wild with joy when the
little Prince whom we saw at eleven years of age, in his blue velvet
suit and lace collar, leaving his country as an exile, with his mother
and family, re-entered the royal palace as a young man eighteen years
old in January, 1875, having wisely passed through Catalonia, which
Martinez Campos had gained over to the cause, and pleased the people by
saying: “I wish to be King of all Spaniards.”

As Isabella had abdicated in favour of her son on June 26, 1870, there
was no impediment to his taking the oath of coronation soon after he
was summoned to the Spanish capital. Of a good figure, gentlemanly,
and well cultured, Alfonso added the art of good dressing to his other
attractions, and the excellent taste and cut of his clothes led to
his being called “the Beau Brummell of Spain.”

[Illustration: KING ALFONSO XII. VISITING CHOLERA PATIENTS AT ARANJUEZ
From a Painting by J. Bermudo y Mateos]

The Countess of Campo Alange, who had assisted at the ceremony,
in Paris, of Isabella’s abdication in favour of her son, was one
of the first to pay her respects to Alfonso XII. on his return as
King to the Court of Spain. She went in a beautiful costume of
crushed-strawberry-coloured satin, and she carried in her hand a
snuff-box decorated with a picture of the entry of Charles IV. into
Badajoz, and it was with a graceful speech that the Countess drew the
King’s attention to the miniature.

“What a memory you have, Marchioness!”

“Oh, facts and people remain in my mind when they are forgotten by
others,” returned the lady; and the affectionate look she cast at the
King reminded him of her fidelity to his family.

In his youthful exuberance of spirits, the young King was always ready
to join in any frolic, although he was not lacking in serious and
intelligent application to matters of State.

It was the Monday preceding Shrove Tuesday, and Alfonso had remarked
somewhat regretfully that the rollicking spirit of the season seemed
somewhat subdued. This the Duke of Tamanes determined to remedy, so,
when the Cabinet was assembling for a royal audience, he swiftly
emptied a bag of flour over the head of the Minister of War, who
gravely sat down to business in his transformed condition, much to the
amusement of Alfonso.

The young King was always genial and affable, and anxious to avoid too
much ceremonial etiquette when it might cause discomfort to those who
followed it.

One day he came unexpectedly into the Archæological Museum of Madrid
with an Austrian Prince. There he found two men studying with their
hats on; for all those who use public institutions in Madrid know
that the cold is intense during the winter in these buildings. At the
entrance of Alfonso the students promptly bared their heads.

“Don’t do that,” said the young King kindly; “put your hats on again,
or I shall have to take off mine.”

Alfonso was a bright and attractive figure in Spanish Court society.
His gift of making verses, either gay or sentimental, as the occasion
warranted, was always attractive, and he slackened the stiff rules of
Court life as much as possible.

The _Ilustracion Española y Americana_ publishes an excellent account
of the historic ball given by the restored monarch:

“The festivities which celebrated the restoration of King Alfonso XII.
in the feudal mansions of Spain finally saw their culmination in the
magnificent ball given at the royal palace by the young monarch and
his widowed sister, the Infanta Isabella, the heir to the throne, on
January 15, 1877.

“The state apartments were illuminated by millions of candles in the
crystal chandeliers; the double-winged splendid staircase--guarded at
the foot by the historic white marble lions, and lined with the Royal
Guard of the Halberdiers in their high black-cloth leggings, slashed
scarlet cutaway coats, tricorn white-banded hats, and their glittering
Toledan steel halberds, at attention--was crowded with thousands of
guests in gorgeous uniforms and lovely toilettes, who were radiant at
this opportunity of once more greeting royalty at a great fête.

“The King, with his sister, looked smiling and happy, and their genial
words of welcome warmed the hearts of the guests.

“The fine ballroom was soon filled with the stream of people in
gorgeous array; the large mirrors on the wall reflected the dancing of
the stately _rigodons_, so that they could be seen from the entrance
of the room even by those who could not obtain a place within its
precincts.

“A magnificent supper was served, and so perfect was the arrangement
that 3,000 people were able to partake of it without confusion.

“To the royalties who gave this ball it offered little real enjoyment,
for the strict Court etiquette only allowed them to dance a few
_rigodons_ according to the protocol, and to pass through some of the
illuminated salons, where they greeted those privileged to approach
them.”

In his anxiety to make acquaintance with his kingdom, Alfonso went this
year to Barcelona, Granada, Malaga, Seville, Asturias, Galicia, etc.,
and he took his place as the head of the grandees of Spain when, with
all due pomp and ceremony, he was made Grand Master of the Orders of
Santiago, Alcantara, Calatrava, and Montesa.

It was on December 8 in this year that the Duke of Sexto went to
Seville to formally ask for the hand of Doña Maria Mercedes, the
seventeen-year-old daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Montpensier, in
marriage for her cousin Alfonso XII.

The royal suitor had long been attracted to this charming girl, and
during the years of his exile many were the happy days he spent with
his cousin in his vacations from Sandhurst at Vichy. When walking out
together in the watering-place, the thoughts of the young people would
sometimes wander to the possible future, and the young cadet, whose
purse was occasionally very attenuated, would regretfully turn away
from some pretty present he would gladly have bought for his cousin,
saying: “It is rather dear; but never mind, I will buy it when I am
King.”

The account of the delicate mission of the Duke of Sexto, the Marquis
de la Frontera, the Chamberlain, and Don Fernando Mendoza, Secretary
of the Etiquette and Mayordomo of the Royal Palace, is given in the
publication mentioned below.[20] The Duke and Duchess of Montpensier
were in the white salon of their palace when they received the request
for the hand of their daughter in marriage to the reigning King of
Spain; and they were well pleased with the suggested alliance, as they
trusted that the hope of Louis Philippe, that his descendant should sit
upon the throne of Spain, would soon now be fulfilled.

[20] “The Wooing and Marriage of Alfonso XII.”

When Alfonso followed the favourable reception of his request by a
visit to Seville, all went merrily enough in the royal circle.

A magnificent Court ball was given at the Palace of San Telmo on
December 26, to celebrate the royal engagement. The first _rigodon_
was led off by the King with his fiancée, looking fascinating, gowned
in white and glistening with jewels; the Infanta Doña Luisa Fernanda
danced with the Duke of Sexto, and Alfonso excited much admiration by
the able way he conducted the cotillon.

However, the Princess of Mercedes had not been the only girl friend
young Alfonso had had during his exile. For when he could not go to the
Montpensiers at Vichy, the ex-King liked to visit the Austrian Archduke
and Duchess at Biarritz, as he found their daughter Maria Cristina
_très bonne camarade_, and well able to hold her own with him in a game
of tennis or billiards. Maria Cristina seems to have been attracted
by Alfonso, for when his marriage was announced with Mercedes of
Montpensier, she joined the rich and noble Chapter of Prague, of which
she accepted the responsible office of Lady Abbess, with an annual
income of 20,000 marks.

The marriage of Mercedes and Alfonso took place on January 23 with
all befitting ceremony. The Patriarch of the Indias blessed the union
in the Church of Atocha. The ex-King Francisco was best man, and the
Infanta Isabella represented her grandmother, Queen Maria Cristina, as
the chief lady at the ceremony.

The retinue of the palace, the grandees, the fine caparisoned horses
with their bright-liveried lackeys, the gorgeous coaches with their
magnificent trappings, all made a striking show as they swept through
the Spanish capital from the church to the Court.

But a note of horror was struck when a sudden awful sound was heard,
and a woman fell dead struck by a bomb; but no other fatality occurred,
and cheers filled the air as the troops of the capital filed before the
palace, where the Royal Family witnessed the review from the windows.

The genial character of the young King was seen in a letter to an
Archduke, a college friend, shortly before the death of his beloved
Mercedes. This friend, with all due respect to Alfonso as King,
mentioned the fact of his marriage with a young Princess of Spain.
To this communication the King replied that he never forgot college
friends, whom he preferred in many cases to later ones.

“I forbid you to address me as ‘Majesty’; treat me as you treated me in
the Teresiano. When you marry, come to Madrid with your wife, whom I
shall at once regard as a friend. Mercedes is very kind; we will hunt,
and we will chat about old times, and so your honeymoon will be spent
as happily as mine was....”

But a telegram soon followed this bright and happy letter. It ran thus:

“MY DEAR FREDERICK,

“Queen Mercedes is dead. May God give you in your marriage the
happiness which He has denied me! In your approaching days of joy
remember the woe of your friend.

“ALFONSO.”

It may be mentioned that Queen Isabella wrote to Madrid to signify her
displeasure at her son’s marriage, for the fact that the daughter of
Montpensier, who had intrigued to succeed her on the throne, became
Queen of Spain was rather a bitter pill to swallow.

However, all animosity on that score ceased at the death of the
beautiful and lovable Queen, who had had undisputed sway in the heart
of her young husband, and whose intelligence and good feeling at the
age of eighteen had promised so much good for the country. There were
not lacking those who attributed the dreadful event to the enemies of
the Montpensiers, but others said it was due to a chill. During the
sufferings of the last few hours the young husband sat in sorrow by the
bedside, and the much-loved wife strove between her attacks of pain to
comfort him with the hope of meeting in a future world.

At last all was over, and the poor young Queen was laid out in state
on a low couch in the stately Hall of Columns. This Hall of Columns
was often used for state banquets, but, after being the scene of the
last sad functions in honour of his beloved wife, Alfonso had a new
banqueting-hall built, and the salon of such sad memories has never
since been used for any but solemn ceremonies, such as the washing
the feet and feeding the beggars by royalty on Maunday Thursday, the
Chapter of one of the grand military Orders, etc.

The corpse of the young Queen was dressed in the white garb and black
cape of a nun of the Convent of Don Juan de Alarcon; the lower part
of her face was covered with a white gauze handkerchief; her beautiful
white hands, which looked like wax, were crossed on her bosom; and
her face, which had been so admired a few short weeks before--when,
according to the custom of Spain, she passed through the streets on
foot on Holy Thursday, to make her visits to the churches in company
with her husband and the Court--looked drawn with pain and fever as it
lay in the light of countless candles.

The public defiled sadly through the mortuary chapel, and many were the
Masses celebrated by the Church dignitaries on the altar erected at the
end of the hall.

On the day of the funeral the royal cortège solemnly passed down
the soldier-lined streets to the station. The sound of the horses’
hoofs was deadened by the tan with which the roads were strewn, and
the silence was only broken by the piercing note of an occasional
clarion or the dull tattoo of the muffled drums. Grandees,
Gentlemen-in-Waiting, mace-bearers, and officers, all with crape
badges, preceded the catafalque, before which was borne the standard
of the Sisterhood of the Royal House, followed by the cross and the
clerics in their vestments. Finally came the band of the halberdiers,
whose soblike strains of a funeral march was in tune with the occasion.

At last, for the first time in history, the remains of a Queen were
placed on a railway-train for the Escorial, and so the coffin of
Mercedes left the station amid the booming of the cannon and the
strains of the Royal March played for the last time in her honour.

A short time after the death of the Queen, Alfonso was the object of a
regicidal attempt as he was passing No. 93 of the Calle Mayor, on his
way from the station to the royal palace after a visit to Asturias. The
criminal was a young fellow, twenty years of age, from Tarragona, named
Juan Oliva Montcousi, and he was caught with the pistol in his hand
before he had time to discharge it. The young King was enthusiastically
acclaimed when he calmly pursued his way home as if nothing had
happened.

Alfonso’s three younger sisters, Doña Pilar, Doña Paz, and Doña
Eulalia, were often seen at this time in a quiet carriage making
excursions together, so when the news of the death of Doña Pilar spread
through the capital it gave quite a shock to Spain.

It was said that the death of the Infanta Doña Pilar was indirectly
due to a shock received during the review held in honour of the Prince
of Austria. This Prince was known to have made a favourable impression
on the Infanta, and if she had lived it would probably have resulted
in a marriage. But, unfortunately, as the artillery carriages in the
military function were passing down the Alcalá, one blew up and killed
several soldiers on the spot. Perhaps for a moment the Infanta feared
that the honoured guest was among the killed and wounded. Be that as
it may, she and other members of the Royal Family were upset in the
carriage, and she died six weeks later.

Talk of the second marriage of the King followed very soon after
the death of Queen Mercedes, as a direct heir to the throne was so
essential to the country, and all eyes turned to Maria Cristina
Enriqueta Reniera, daughter of Charles Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria,
as the future Queen of Spain. The Duke of Bailen went to Vienna to
ask the Emperor Joseph of Austria for the hand of his daughter, the
Archduchess Maria Cristina, for his Sovereign, King Alfonso of Spain.

On August 22 Alfonso arrived at Arcachon, incognito, under the title
of the Marquis of Covadonga, to claim in person the hand of the
Archduchess.

Alfonso had reason to expect he would be favoured by Maria Cristina,
as she had always seemed to enjoy his society when he came to visit
her family, as a young cadet from Sandhurst. The royal wooer gave
expression to his poetic feeling when he found himself on such a
delicate mission at the beautiful spot which had been so frequented
by our poet Shelley. People in the place seemed at once to recognize
the royal visitor, especially as he wore his arm in a sling, from the
effect of a carriage accident which had been noised abroad.

Anxious for the interview which was to decide his fate, Alfonso took a
basket pony-carriage from Monaco to Arcachon, and, in company with the
Duke of Tetuan and the Spanish Ambassador from France, he soon found
himself at the Villa Bellegarde, the abode of the Archdukes of Austria.

When the young King passed into the salon, where he was soon welcomed
by Maria Cristina, his eyes fell upon the portrait of Mercedes, whom
he had lost a few short months before, and he soon found that his
bride-elect was in sympathy with his sorrow for his loss, for, in a
voice trembling with emotion, she said:

“My dearest desire is to resemble Mercedes in all things, and even if I
am to succeed her I can never dare hope to supplant her.”

Such a sympathetic speech could but unseal the heart of the widowed
King, and, having succeeded in his wooing, Alfonso could hardly tear
himself from the side of the young Archduchess, with whom he could talk
so freely of the wife he had lost.

On August 29 the young King finally left Arcachon; the Archduchess
accompanied him as far as Bordeaux, and the royal marriage was fixed
for November 29.

When the Archduke and Duchess and their daughter arrived at the Casa
de Campo on November 23, they were met by the King, his three sisters,
and the royal retinue, who accompanied them to the Palace of the Pardo,
where the marriage settlement was signed on the 28th.

The bride-elect won all hearts by her delicate and sympathetic
behaviour on the occasion, for, turning to the Patriarch of the Indias,
she said, in a voice broken with feeling: “Pray that I may make the
King happy, for it is a difficult task to succeed a Queen who was a
saint, and who will always live in the affections of the King and the
people of Spain;” and here she drew a miniature of Mercedes from her
bosom, and gazed at it with respectful admiration.

This ceremony took place in the banqueting-hall of Ferdinand VII., and,
to the delight of the Spanish people, it was graced by the presence of
the ex-Queen, Isabella II.

“The great Isabella is coming!” was the cry that rang through the
capital, and the dethroned Queen was moved at the enthusiasm of her
quondam subjects as she passed through the city, for she saw that there
was more fidelity in her people of low degree than there had been
gratitude in the hearts of the great whom she had overwhelmed with
favours.

The wedding ceremony took place in the Church of Atocha, and hardly
was the service concluded when the King’s bride went and knelt at the
feet of Isabella and kissed her hand. It was a tribute of gratitude to
her royal mother-in-law, for it was a fact that the influence of his
mother had led the young King to take his new bride from the House of
Austria. Isabella had signified her disapproval of the union with the
Montpensiers by not being present at that wedding, but this marriage
she favoured from the beginning.

A few days after the royal marriage an attempt was made on the lives
of the young couple, by a man named Francisco Otero Gonzalez, as they
arrived at the chief entrance to the royal palace; but, fortunately,
although the bullet almost grazed the forehead and neck of the King and
Queen, they escaped unwounded.

Queen Maria Cristina is a very accomplished woman, and she soon set
herself to learn the language of her adopted country. In her eagerness
to master the tongue, she often turned to King Alfonso to supply her
with the word she required, and, in fun, he would often supply her
with some expression which she saw, by the looks of her entourage, was
hardly fitting for a lady. Maria Cristina proved she had made great
progress in Spanish when she was able, with all the gracious courtesy
for which she was noted, to ask of a certain academician, who was
complaining of the hatred of Sagasta, would he not do better to use the
word _inquina_ than _inquinia_?

The affection with which the Queen inspired the young King was seen in
his daily letters to the Court when journeys on State business obliged
him to absent himself from Madrid.

“I have just put your carnation in water,” he would write; and the many
other allusions to their little domestic joys showed that the heart of
the King was with the Queen in his absence.

The Queen had to contend with national jealousy at Court when she
intimated her wish that her Austrian physician, Dr. Riedel, should
attend her in her forthcoming accouchement. Court etiquette was not,
however, to be set aside even by the chief lady in the land, so the
matter was finally settled by the doctors of both countries presiding
jointly over the event. Thus the little Princess of Asturias made her
entry into the world, on September 11, 1880, with her right hand held
by the Austrian physician, Dr. Riedel, and her left in the grasp of
the Court doctor of Spain.

The young King proudly presented his little daughter to the Prime
Minister and his Cabinet, the Court officials, and the military
diplomats and clerical dignitaries, assembled in the antechamber, as
she lay in a nest of costly lace on the historic silver tray.

On September 14 the baptism of the infant Princess of Asturias was
celebrated with all the pomp usual to the occasion. The galleries were
hung with the historic tapestries, representing Bible scenes. The Royal
Guard, in their classic dress and with their shining halberds, formed
a line on either side of the gallery between the people and the royal
procession.

First came the Gentlemen-in-Waiting, _de casa y boca_ (of the house
and the mouth), their gold or silver keys signifying the respective
offices of attendance; then came four mace-bearers, grandees of Spain,
the men-at-arms with the royal arms, all the Infantes and Infantas in
full Court dress, with their ladies and gentlemen in attendance; the
seven gentlemen of the Chamber--the Marquis of Salamanca, the Dukes
of Almenara and Valencia, Count Villanueva de Perales, the Marquis
of Sotomayor, the Marquis of Benamejis de Sistallo, and the Count of
Superunda--all passed in gorgeous dress and with stately step, bearing
respectively the salt, cut lemon, cruse of oil, piece of cotton-wool,
the cake, the white cape, and the water of Jordan, which all had their
part to play in the baptismal service.

The royal infant itself was carried between Isabel II., who was
godmother, and the Pope’s Nuncio, who represented His Holiness as
godfather. Then followed the proud young father, accompanied by
his military suite, and the procession ended with the band of the
halberdiers, playing a cheerful march from an opera. By the wish of the
Queen, the infant Princess was named, after her predecessor, Mercedes.

[Illustration: DON CARLOS, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, AND HIS LATE WIFE, THE
INFANTA MERCEDES]

It was in 1882 the King and Queen paid a visit to the Duke and Duchess
of Montpensier at their beautiful Palace of Sanlucar de Barrameda,
and the Queen won the hearts of her host and hostess by her charming
manners and the admiration with which she always spoke of their
daughter, the late wife of Alfonso.

On November 12, 1882, the Infanta Maria Teresa was born, and two days
later she was baptized with the customary ceremony.

On April 2, 1883, the King’s sister, Doña de la Paz, was married
very quietly to Prince Lewis Ferdinand of Bavaria. The Prince is a
very able surgeon, and when he comes to Madrid he delights in going
to the military hospital and exhibiting his scientific skill on some
soldier-patient.

The newly wedded pair laid the foundation-stone of the Cathedral of the
Almudena, and, according to the custom, the Princess de la Paz placed
in the casket a poem from her own pen to the Virgin of the Almudena.
The departure of the Infanta de la Paz left the Infanta Eulalia with
no companion in her musical and artistic tastes, for the sisters had
worked, played, painted, and poetized, together.

In September, 1883, Alfonso XII. went to France and Germany. True
to his old friends, the King went to see the Warden of the Teresian
College at his private house. As he was not at home, Alfonso asked for
a pencil and paper to write him a note, which he handed to the servant.
When she saw that the letter ran,

“I came to pay a debt of gratitude by coming to see you. I shall be
going to the Teresian College in two hours.

ALFONSO, King of Spain”

she fell on her knees and entreated forgiveness for her stupidity in
having asked the royal visitor into the kitchen.

But Alfonso, with his usual kindness, expressed interest in this, the
first kitchen he had ever seen. He asked many questions about the
utensils, and showed great curiosity about the use of a ceramic vessel,
which, according to the description he subsequently gave and the sketch
he made of it to show the Court officials, proved to be an egg-poacher.

The enthusiastic reception accorded to Alfonso at Homburg excited the
ire of the French, and so antagonistic was the exhibition of public
feeling as the young King was crossing Paris alone that he informed the
President of the Republic that he would recall his Ambassador at once.
This prompt act brought the necessary apology, and the King of Spain
subsequently attended the banquet given in his honour at the Elysée,
at which the Minister of War was absent, as the President of France had
asked him to send in his resignation.

The news of this contretemps reached Spain, and when the Queen
returned from La Granja to Madrid she was at first quite alarmed at
the enthusiasm shown by the people at the station. She clasped her
children to her breast, and seemed to think she was on the brink of
a revolution. But her fears were soon stilled when somebody shouted:
“Señora, the Spanish people are only protesting against the recent
events in Paris.”

The return of the King from France saw an ovation of equal enthusiasm,
and, in defiance of all Court etiquette, the people pressed up the
staircases and into the galleries of the palace, crying: “Viva el Rey y
la Reina!”

It was on Maunday Thursday, 1884, that the Court went for the last time
in state to make the customary visits on foot to the chief churches of
the capital. There was the usual service in the morning in the chapel
of the palace, the washing of the beggars’ feet and feeding them,[21]
and the solemn, imposing public procession at three o’clock in the
afternoon. The streets were strewed with tan to soften the cobbled
stones to the feet of the ladies, whose high-heeled velvet shoes rather
impeded their walk. The streets were lined with troops, and the Plazas
de Oriente, Mayor, and La Encarnacion, were respectively filled with
the regiment of the Princess of Pavia and the artillery.

[21] This ceremony is described on pp. 332-4.

First came a mounted company of the Civil Guard; then a long line of
kettle-drummers, the grooms and all the officials of the Court, all in
full dress; then the six men-at-arms with their embroidered vestments,
the Chamberlains, _gentiles hombres_, the grandees of Spain, the King’s
military retinue, etc.

Their Majesties walked between the lines of halberdiers, followed by
the Patriarch of the Indias, the Ministers of the Crown, the chiefs of
the palace, the Ladies-in-Waiting, and the Aides-de-Camp of the King
and Queen.

A Captain of the Guard and about thirty lackeys carried the historic
sedan-chairs, and notable among them were those of the Dukes of
Granada, Osuna, and Villahermosa, ornamented with beautiful paintings.

The procession ended with a company of halberdiers and a squadron of
the royal escort.

Don Alfonso walked with martial step, his head in the air, and
smiling pleasantly to all the friends he saw. He was in the uniform
of Captain-General, with the Order of the Golden Fleece and other
decorations.

In this final public visit to “the Virgins,” the Queen wore a white
velvet robe embroidered with gold and ornamented with sapphire buttons,
and her necklace and bracelets were of the same precious stones. She
wore the Orders of Maria Luisa and the starred Cross of Austria. The
dress of the Infanta Isabella was of pale blue velvet embroidered with
flowers, and all the dresses and mantles of the royal ladies were of
equal magnificence, with tiaras of jewels and feathers and mantillas on
their heads, and, as all the ladies of the Court also had their places
in the procession in splendid attire, one can imagine it was a superb
show; but it was not one to be seen again in the public streets.

The health of the King was now beginning to give anxiety at Court, and
loyal subjects regretted that people in high places did not use their
influence to stimulate the King in his good desires for the welfare
of the land, instead of pandering to his fancies with adulation and
flattery.

Charming ladies literally forced their way into the palace, and one day
Queen Maria Cristina gave a well-deserved[22] box on the ears to the
Duke of Sexto, when she came upon him introducing a dancer of light
character to His Majesty. It is noteworthy that one of the first acts
of the Queen as a widow was to ask this Duke to resign his post at the
palace.

[22] “La Vie intime d’Alfonse XII.,” par Croze.

It was to such flattering courtiers that Maria Cristina owed the
shadows which crossed the happiness of her married life, for under good
influence Alfonso would always have been true to Maria Cristina, as
the King loved and venerated her above all women; but when politicians
encouraged the escapades of an attractive young Sovereign the wife’s
influence was weakened. Queen Maria Cristina was deeply offended when
she found that her husband’s connection with this Elena Sanz was a
well-known fact, two sons being born to the singer.

It was then that it was seen that the Queen was no mere weak woman who
would submit calmly to what might be termed _los costumbres_ (custom)
of the Court; and when she found that the King had a rendezvous with
a señorita in the Casa de Campo, the magnificent wide-stretching park
beyond the palace, she declared she would leave Spain and go back to
Austria.

Nothing but the strong pleas and arguments of those about her,
including Alfonso XII., persuaded her to stay at the Spanish Court, and
it was certainly due to this illustrious lady that a higher morality
there became customary. For, as nobody ever was able to breathe a
word against her honour, she subsequently exercised her right, as
Queen-Regent, of sweeping the Court clean of those who smirched its
purity.

Moreover, those who had expected Alfonso XII. to save Spain by the
introduction of a pure and unmystified suffrage, such as he had seen in
England when studying at Sandhurst, were disappointed in their hopes;
for Canovas, the leader of the Conservatives, openly said at Court: “I
have come to continue the history of Spain”--which meant the history
when the voice of the people is not heard; and Sagasta, the head of the
Liberals, acted in the same spirit, although he did not express himself
so openly.

Canovas, the leader of the Conservatives, and Sagasta, the chief of the
Liberals, used all their eloquence at the Court of Spain to persuade
Alfonso XII. that sincere elections in Spain would lead to the Carlists
attaining a majority in the Congress. So the King, not seeing that
the leaders of both parties wished to prevent the realization of a
true Parliamentary representation, because it would lose them their
patronage of deputies’ seats, ended by signing the Pacto del Pardo.
This document, endorsed by the King at the country palace, was simply
an arrangement between Canovas and Sagasta, by which each was insured
an equal period as Prime Minister, so that their respective partisans
could feel that their patrons had the same amount of influence.

[Illustration: PRAXEDES MATEO SAGASTA, LIBERAL PRIME MINISTER]

And yet Alfonso XII., who was overborne by what he considered the
experience of the two leaders, had the welfare of his country at
heart, for he said to Ernest Daudet: “I am Sovereign, and as long as
I am King of Spain I will never allow a Ministry to be overthrown by
an intrigue in the palace, as it has frequently happened hitherto. If
the country wants a Liberal Government, it shall have it; but, before
talking of liberty, Spain herself must have both liberty and stability.
As to those who say I am not accessible to truth, it is because they
have not tried to show it to me. The country is difficult to manage;
it is impatient, and cannot see, as I do, that its condition requires
prudence and management. We have remade the army; we have not had a
manifesto for three years. We have a standing army of 80,000 men, and
we have been able to send 20,000 to Cuba. The insurrection of Cuba is
a great wound, and it must be healed before we can cure the other
evils.” But the King was never allowed to take the sure means of
healing these wounds; he was never permitted to say: “I wish to respect
the people and their votes, and by the Law of the Universal Suffrage
they can go to the polls.”

With the loss of the love of his life, the young Queen Mercedes,
Alfonso seemed to become enervated, and self-interested courtiers found
that they could use the King’s pocket for the protection of needy
ladies of all ranks.

Canovas and Sagasta were both aware of this abuse, and, indeed, both
these Ministers were themselves under the influence of certain ladies,
who used their power over these Ministers to their own pecuniary
advantage; for they themselves were liberally rewarded for the titles
which they persuaded these politicians to ask the King to grant.

The Queen’s ignorance of Spanish when she first came to Madrid made
it more difficult to contravene the influence of the _camarillas_,
which wove their nets round the young husband, whose real wish for the
welfare of the country would have made him a willing disciple of good
advice.

Moreover, flattering courtiers carefully concealed from the King
the sad results which would inevitably follow his course of
self-indulgence, and the palace became a constant scene of _camarillas_
and intrigues which could but be disastrous to the land.

Even Nakens (whose protection of the anarchist Morral, after the
bomb tragedy of the royal marriage morn of May 30, 1906, led to his
being imprisoned for nearly two years) pays tribute to the wish of the
young King to act for the welfare of the kingdom, for, in a collection
of his articles published when he was in gaol,[23] we read an appeal to
Alfonso to consider his own good with regard to his health, and not to
listen to self-interested advisers.

[23] “Muestras de mi Estilo,” Nakens.

“Nobody,” says the writer in this appeal, “has the courage to warn you
of the impending evil. When the doctors order you change of climate,
the Government opposes the course for reasons of State. ‘Reasons of
State’ imperil the life of a man! And a man to whom we owe so much!

“Therefore, even as a republican, I beg you, as the occupier of the
throne, to look to your health, if it be only to overthrow some
iniquitous plan, or some unworthy object which is contingent on your
illness; and if scientists think it well for you to pass the winter
in some other place in Spain, or abroad, follow their counsel, and
not that of interested politicians, in sacrificing your life to their
ambitions.”

It was certainly true that the King was overborne by the intrigues of
the politicians in the palace. Even in such a little social matter as
that of wishing to go in costume to a fancy ball, the King could not
have his own way, for Canovas showed such aversion to Alfonso donning
fancy attire for the occasion that he had to abandon the idea and wear
his ordinary dress.

If such influence had been used to the prevention of the King favouring
a danseuse like Elena Sanz, which brought so much sorrow and so many
complications in the Royal Family, his life might certainly have been
prolonged. It was true that the doctors advised the King’s wintering
in Andalusia, but “State reasons” led to the failing Sovereign being
exposed to the colder climate and sharp winds of the Palace of the
Pardo, where politicians could use their influence with the invalid,
and remind him continually that he alone was the arbiter of parties.

Alfonso was only twenty-seven years of age when he felt he was doomed
to an early death; but his natural energy led him to take horse
exercise, despatch business with his Ministers every day, and, in spite
of daily increasing weakness, to do as much as possible.

If his longing for the sea-breezes of San Sebastian had been gratified,
his life might have been prolonged; but politicians gave little heed to
the plea, and their authority was paramount.

On November 24, 1894, the royal invalid was seized with faintness when
he came in from a walk. Queen Maria Cristina, Queen Isabella, and the
Duchess of Montpensier, were called to his side. Seeing his wife by
him when he recovered consciousness, the King embraced her, and the
alarming symptoms vanished for a time; but the following day he was
seized with another fainting fit, which proved fatal.

We read in _La Ilustracion Española_ of this date, that when Queen
Maria Cristina was told by Dr. Riedel that all was over, she fell
weeping at the head of the bed of her unhappy husband, whilst covering
his hand with kisses.

[Illustration: DEATH OF ALFONSO XII.
After the Painting by J. A. Benlliure y Gil]

Cardinal Benavides performed the sacred office of the occasion. The
doctor could not suppress his emotion, and hid his face, covered with
tears, in his hands; and Count Morphy, the King’s faithful secretary,
went sorrowfully to announce the sad news to the Queen-mother and the
rest of the Royal Family.

At nine o’clock the next morning the little daughters came to embrace
their father for the last time. The Queen, with only the assistance
of Dr. Camison, prepared the body of her husband for burial, and she
assisted at the obsequies in the Escorial with her little daughter,
the Queen of Spain. Arrived at the historic monastery, the Augustine
Brothers came to meet the sad cortège, in their black vestments and
holding lighted torches, and, headed by the Prior and the Principal,
the procession passed to the burial-place of the Kings.

The iron seemed to enter the soul of Maria Cristina when the Chief of
the Palace cried before the catafalque: “Señor, señor, señor!”

Solemn silence reigned. “Then our Sovereign really is no more,” said
the Chamberlain. He broke his wand of office, whilst the drums of
the halberdiers, the bells of the cathedral, and the booming of the
cannon, added to the solemnity of the occasion. The Bishop of Madrid
officiated at the final office, after the coffin was finally carried
with countless candles down into the Pantheon, which he had entered
ten years before in all the exuberance and with all the illusions of
youth.

Then the unhappy widowed Queen returned to Madrid, there to pass the
sad months till the child should be born who might prove the future
King of Spain.

It was an impressive sight to see the Queen, with her orphaned little
girls, take the solemn oath of Regency. Putting her hand on the
Gospels, which the President held open, she said:

“I swear by God to be faithful to the heir of the Crown during the
minority, and to guarantee the Constitution and the laws. May God help
me and be my Defence; and if I fail, may He require it of me!”

Then the Queen sat down with her little girls, and the Prime Minister
made the following formula:

“The Parliament has heard the solemn oath just made by Her Majesty the
Queen-Regent, to be faithful to the legitimate successor of Don Alfonso
XII., and to guard the Constitution and its laws.”

The marriage of the Infanta Eulalia with Don Antonio, son of the Duke
and Duchess of Montpensier, in 1886, was the next interesting function
at the Court of Spain.

The Montpensiers seized this fresh opportunity of becoming connected
with the Spanish Royal Family, and Doña Eulalia augmented their riches
by a large sum of money; but it seemed as if fate wished to warn the
Infanta that the marriage would not be happy, for it was postponed
through the illness and death of her brother, and she was weeping as
she came out of the royal chapel on her wedding-day. And, indeed, it
was not long before the Infanta found her husband was utterly unworthy
of her, and she now lives apart from him.

The Infanta Eulalia was a great loss to the Court of Spain, where
her bright intelligence and charming ways had made her presence like
sunshine. She was twenty-two years of age when she married, very pretty
and high-spirited, an expert in riding and driving, and a lover of all
kinds of activity.

Her father, Don Francisco, and the Duke of Montpensier--who, we know,
killed Don Enrique, her uncle, in a duel--supported her at the altar;
and Queen Isabella, the Comtesse de Paris, the Queen-Regent and her
little daughters, were also at the ceremony.

This Infanta is often seen at the Court of Spain, with her son Alfonso.
It was she who warned Alfonso XIII., when he presented his new-born son
to the assembled Ministers, that the infant might catch cold if exposed
too long; and at the royal baptism on June 2, 1907, she looked striking
in her long train of scarlet velvet, with the satin front sewn with
jewels, and with scarlet plumes surmounting her tiara of diamonds.

Even those who had not been in favour of Alfonso were rapidly gained
over to the Bourbons when they saw the difficult position of the
Queen-Regent. All the chivalry of the Spaniards was aroused to support
the young widowed mother in her trying task.

When a lady of the Court condoled one day with the royal widow, and
expressed wonder that she could so valiantly seek to steer the ship of
State whilst suffering the pain of loss, and not knowing how fate would
settle the question of the future Sovereign of Spain, Maria Cristina
looked up at the speaker, and said with a smile in which courage seemed
to conquer sorrow:

“But, Duchess, everything is easy when one has hope.”

The character of Alfonso XII. is sympathetically drawn by Don José
Fernandez Bremon. He says:

“He was affable and extremely simple in his manner, and opposed to
strict etiquette and Court ceremonies; much given to riding, hunting,
shooting, and all physical exercises. His favourite study was that
of the relation of science with war. He was an adept of poetry, and
he much liked public applause. His facility in speaking and his flow
of language inspired confidence in his auditors and in those whom he
received in audience. His affability gave people more the idea that
they were speaking with the emigrant from Vienna than the King of
Spain. He was short, but well-proportioned and slender. His eyes were
expressive, and he was what the Spaniards call very _simpatico_. He
liked starting discussions on daring theories. He was very prudent in
the Council Chamber. He was clever, and he sometimes spoke as if he
felt himself taken captive in the gilded cave of government.”

CHAPTER XVI

THE PALACE AND POLITICS DURING THE REGENCY OF QUEEN MARIA CRISTINA

1894-1902

The country was certainly in a very unsettled condition at the
commencement of the Regency, and the difficulties of administration
were increased by the insurrections in Cuba and the Philippines, which
were unquestionably due to the corruption of the Government of the
mother-country.

The recently published “History of the Regency,” by Señor Juan Ortega
Rubio, which I had the privilege of studying in the library of the
royal palace at Madrid, throws much light on the state of affairs
at this period; for the author ably sets forth in the prologue the
political condition of the country during the Regency.

“There were certainly plenty of vehement politicians and eloquent
orators,” says the writer, “but we can scarcely cite one true
statesman. Favouritism was never more dominant and prevalent than it
was at this time. And favourites whose advancement was due to adulation
and daring, if not to insolence, gave no support to industrious men,
and much less so to those who were firm and energetic.

“The army, professorate, Church, and, indeed, all the professions, were
regarded as schools of politics, and were in the greatest state of
decadence.

“No respect could be accorded to flattering courtiers or to an ignorant
people. If the beautiful sun of religious tolerance shone upon the
whole of Europe, Spain would be the one country condemned to dwell in
the shades of fanaticism.

“It is necessary to raise the moral sense of the Spanish people. If
this be necessary in all moments of history, it is more than ever
indispensable now that despair is taking possession of all hearts,
doubt of all spirits, egoism of all consciences, and positivism of all
men.

“From the sixteenth century Spain has been gradually going down. We
do not lose hope, but we think, like the Roman Plato, that the sun
of education will gradually pierce the clouds of ignorance, slavery,
doubt, and sophistry, and the dawn of justice, order, and faith, will
break over our land.”

Thirty prelates came to condole with the Queen on the death of the
King, and the Church always made a great claim on the attention of the
Queen-Regent in consideration of her former position in the religious
house in Austria.

It was said that, if the Pope left his magnificent home at the Vatican,
he would come and take up his abode in Spain; but, as the _Figaro_ said:

“The Government of the Queen-Regent will thus put itself completely
under the power of Leo XIII., who will be treated like a Sovereign; and
he will, they say, be given the Palace of Aranjuez for his residence.”

When the Queen-Regent asked Canovas whom she ought to appoint President
of the Ministry, he promptly said, “Sagasta”; but the Congress was a
fictitious Congress, for, as Martin Hume says when referring to the
Parliament in the earlier part of the century:

“There was not then, and never has been since, any sincerity or reality
in the pretended antagonism of the political parties.”

The lack of sincerity in the political opinions, even of those devoted
to the monarchy, is shown by Rubio in the speech of Martinez Campos to
Silvela; for he said:

“I am neither a Liberal nor a Conservative. I made myself a Liberal
because I thought the King wanted the Liberals to come in, and now I
am a Conservative because the Queen wanted to give the power to the
Conservatives.”

The politicians in the _camarillas_ at the palace always brought
forward the phantom of Carlism to scare the Sovereigns from fulfilling
their desire of promoting true Parliamentary elections, and true
patriots sought to show King Alfonso XII., Queen Maria Cristina, and,
later, Alfonso XIII., that those who tried to prevent the country from
enjoying this constitutional privilege of going to the polls were
only anxious to preserve their own patronage in the nomination of the
deputies, and that the monarchy would be adored by the nation if it
favoured the reform which had been promised in the days of Ferdinand
VII.

The Queen-Regent Maria Cristina was told that the public offices were
in the hands of patrons, and it was well known that a recorder in the
law courts of Barcelona was blind, but he owed his place to being the
brother of the _cacique_ (or influential person) who supported Canovas
in Catalonia; and there was also a magistrate in Madrid who could not
see, but he, too, had his patron.

The Queen lent a willing ear to the plea of the Chamberlain for reform
in these matters, and an inquiry was instituted about the blind
recorder at Barcelona. But so powerful is patronage that, although the
recorder had been seen to have his hand guided to sign the necessary
documents, it was declared that he was not blind; and the informer of
the abuse nearly lost his life at the hand of a relative of the man in
power who had allowed such a state of things, for he was struck by a
sabre at the back of the head, and prostrated senseless to the ground.

Naturally, the wounded man wished to call out his assailant for such an
insult, but the Queen-Regent, who sent daily for news of the injured
man, begged him, as a favour to herself, to abstain from further steps.

To this request the officer was obliged to accede, on the condition,
which was confirmed, that the assailant should formulate a full apology
for his deed, and this was done.

It is difficult for foreigners to realize the power of the _cacique_ in
Spain. He is always the most influential person in the district, and
the appointment of Judges, Alcalde (Mayor), Governor, and deputy, are
all in his hands. The man he suggests as representative of the district
in the Congress is sure to be elected, and when the Ministers wish a
certain person to have a place in Parliament, the name has only to be
sent to the _cacique_ who supports that Minister.

Caciquism cripples Spain, and the collection of magnificent speeches
and articles published in a large work under the title of “Oligarchy
and Caciquism” shows that every man of importance in Spain can give his
testimony against the evil which crushes the country; but, eloquent as
they are on the matter, the Ministers do not take a step to do away
with a system which advances their own ends.

So, as Martin Hume says, “No attempt is made, or, indeed, can be made
under present circumstances, to trample out the evil that is sapping
Spain’s vigour--_empleomania_; no bold politician dares to look facts
in the face and speak the whole truth. And so the evil circle is
complete; dishonest Governments are faced in sham battle by dishonest
oppositions, and Parliamentary institutions, instead of being a public
check upon abuses, are simply a mask behind which a large number of
politicians may carry on their nefarious trade with impunity.”

And when it is remembered that, according to the law of Spain, it is
the King alone who has the right of appointing a Ministry, it is he who
has to bear the onus of what goes wrong.

An amusing story is told of a Señor Comas, who was a _cacique_ of
Sagasta’s. The gentleman had been bidden to an audience of Her Majesty
at half-past six. He arrived at the palace punctually, as he had
promised to return to dinner with his grandchildren. Some hours elapsed
in the antechamber; diplomats came and went, and many others who,
according to the strict Court etiquette, were to take precedence of the
politician.

At last he became impatient, and the thought of his grandchildren
waiting so long for his return overcame all politeness; he took up his
coat, put it on, and, to the astonishment of the Court officials, he
prepared to depart.

“You are going, sir?” said the lackey at the door.

“Certainly,” was the reply; “it is dinner-time, and my grandchildren
are waiting for me.”

“But what shall we say to the grandee?” said the servant, raising his
hands to heaven, and referring to the grandee in attendance on the King.

“Tell ‘the great one’ (_el grande_),” returned Comas, “that ‘the little
one’ has gone off.”

And so he did.

The remark was repeated at Court, and the following day the
Queen-Regent received the _cacique_ with demonstrations of respect.

Queen Maria Cristina always encouraged those who really wished to
counsel her for the welfare of Spain. When, therefore, somebody was
loyal and disinterested enough to present a programme to Her Majesty
which would do away with the abuses of the Government by introducing a
true Parliamentary representation, she pressed the paper to her bosom,
crying: “Yes, yes, it is true, it is true, and I will do it!”

But politicians would not support a course which limited their
exclusivism, and so things went on in the same fatal way.

To the surprise of the Court, Castelar, the great republican leader,
made at this time a great speech in which he showed that the advanced
opinions of his partisans were not incompatible with monarchy, for he
said:

“When our fanaticism made us think that monarchy was incompatible with
public liberty, we did not understand the monarchical principles of
England, Sweden, or Norway. But now I can tell you that a monarchy
should be a Liberal monarchy.”

And the orator went on to say that a Liberal monarchy is a democratic
monarchy in so far as the universal suffrage became an accomplished
fact, for a democratic monarchy is the formula of this generation.

Of course this speech, which certainly showed that the leader of
republicanism had considerably modified his views, called forth much
remark, and gossip in the press even went so far as to associate the
name of a “charming royal widow” with that of the great orator.

But Sagasta set the matter right by saying, in one of his speeches,
that “those who spread such reports were strangely ignorant of the
temple of the soul of the august lady, and that no credence was to be
given to the stories.”

More sincere than the monarchists, Castelar made a strong protest
against the mode of Parliamentary elections, for he said: “The census
is a lie, votes do not exist, and scrutineers destroy what there are.”

This statement of facts could not be refuted, and the Central Union
gave voice to the opinion that “municipal elections, like all others,
should be the result of universal opinion, and that the indirect
intervention of the Ministers was deserving of censure.”

Such expressions of opinion show that there was a deeply rooted feeling
of the falsity of the Spanish Parliamentary system, but it required
politicians to be patriots to reform them.

The corruptions in the Spanish colonies were, indeed, a standing
proof of the evil wrought by the Parliamentary system of patronage,
as it introduced people to places of importance in the colonies who
were utterly unfit for them. The Marquis of Salamanca made a vehement
protest against these abuses in the colonies, which were estranging
them from the mother-country; and Maura, as Minister of Foreign
Affairs, made one of his first marks as an orator by setting forth
before the Congress the evils of the dishonest actions of those whose
advance had been due to their patrons instead of their patriotism.

Canovas declared in the Congress that “he was very anxious that the
Great Antilles should elect its own representatives, so that its voice
could be heard in the national Congress”; but, unfortunately, the
statesman did nothing to promote such an advisable course, and the
leaders of the political groups held to the power which they gained
from the patronage of the colonial posts.

Canovas, who now called himself the “Liberal-Conservative,” in his fear
that his Liberal rival should gain more partisans than himself, went
on to say that “the Government recognizes the necessity of introducing
great reforms in the administrative and financial affairs of the island
of Cuba, for the political posts ought to be filled by the sons of the
colony”; and he ended by saying: “When the triumph of our arms is an
accomplished fact, and when the rebellion is suppressed, these reforms
will be realized in a wide and generous spirit.”

But unfortunately the triumph of the Spanish arms could not be
accomplished, for they were led against insuperable difficulties, and
it was an injustice of the mother-country to expect that her forces
could prove victorious against the forces of a continent like that of
America.

It required a strong hand to save the Spanish Court from the
overbearing of one whose father had adopted revolutionary ideas.

It was the Duke of Seville, the eldest son of the late Don Enrique,
who, when in command of the Guard at the palace, entered the
antechamber of Maria Cristina’s apartments one day, and demanded an
interview. The Gentleman-in-Waiting said that Her Majesty had just
returned tired from a walk, and had given orders that she could not
receive anybody. But the Duke insisted, uttering disrespectful remarks
as to what he could do if he were driven to desperation. These words
were repeated to the Captain-General, who commanded the division to
which the Duke of Seville belonged, and he was summoned before a
court-martial.

The Minister of War made a speech, in which he said: “When the whole
nation vies in showing respect and sympathy to a lady who claims
protection in her dignity and her misfortunes as a widow, it is
deplorable when a person of the family of the Bourbons shows such
disrespect, which has such a bad effect on all, and which can only be
explained as a momentary aberration of reason.”

The trial led to the Duke of Seville being condemned to eight years of
imprisonment.

The Queen-Regent was always far more concerned about matters of the
State than about those of her own comfort, and the Court was certainly
wanting in good service at this time, and Her Majesty caught a severe
chill one cold day, because the fur cloak she had asked for was not
forthcoming, when she had to go out in an open carriage to attend an
important function.

And it can be said with truth that the luxuries of a Court did not
include the necessary one of having fresh eggs for breakfast. A
Chamberlain having noted the sweet patience with which the Queen bore
the daily vexation of finding the eggs musty, finally ventured to
present her with a little egg-boiler and some fresh eggs. The gifts
were accepted with the Queen’s usual grace, and with the assurance that
she would now be able to enjoy an egg in her own apartment, like one
of her subjects.

In the evening Maria Cristina played dominoes, listened to music, or
conversed with the greatest affability with those present, whilst
trying to forget for a time the cares of the State.

It was now that Catalonia began to show signs of insisting on a true
suffrage, and Ferretti saw that it would be much better for the
monarchy to satisfy this natural desire for a voice at the polls than
for it to be enforced, as it subsequently was, to the misrepresentation
of the Region in Madrid. So the Colonel wrote to press the matter
on the consideration of Señor Canovas de Castillo. But the Prime
Minister’s insight was not willing to read the signs of the times, for
he wrote the following letter, which I translate from the original:

“_February 4, 1887._

“_To Colonel Señor Don Luis de Figuerola
Ferretti._

“MY DEAR AND HONOURED SIR,

“In reply to your letter of the 1st instant, stating that I gladly note
the regionalist tendencies of Catalonia are fortunately unauthorized
by sensible people, and it seems that the effervescence of the first
moments is passing off, I think it best not to publish anything that
has reference to the matter.

“However, I thank you very much for your efforts in the cause of order,
and I beg to remain,

“Yours very sincerely,
“A. CANOVAS DEL CASTILLO.”

Thus the statesman wilfully shut his eyes to the importance of the
movement, which they vainly hoped was a mere passing feeling.

[Illustration: ANTONIO CANOVAS DEL CASTILLO, CONSERVATIVE PRIME
MINISTER]

But, sure in his presage of the signs of the times, Ferretti strove to
show the Queen-Regent that the politicians turned a deaf ear to the
will of the Catalonians, because they wished to keep the patronage of
the seats of the deputies in their own hands; for if deputies were
elected at the polls there would be an end of patronage, and people
fitted for the representation of the respective centres would be
elected by the constituents themselves.

Moreover, the dreadful abuses in the colonies from this same source
of patronage made the Cubans raise their voices high on the matter.
Martinez Campos had seen things as they were in Cuba in 1878, and he
found that Spain could only put an end to the Cuban War by promising
the Cubans the autonomy for which they craved. But when the General
returned to Spain he was unable to keep the promise made in the name of
his Government, as the Parliament did not wish to abandon the fruitful
field of patronage.

It was some time before Martinez Campos received any reward for his
loyalty in proclaiming the restoration of Alfonso XII. in 1874.
Politicians told how Alfonso XII. refused any title as a sign of
gratitude, and as time went on disappointment was expressed at the
seeming neglect of the officer. It was then that a Chamberlain at Court
ventured to say to the Queen-Regent: “Your Majesty will have been
told that Martinez Campos has refused a title for himself; but may
it be suggested that a title be offered to his sons?” And thus Maria
Cristina, who was always ready to render justice, conferred the title
of the Duke of Leo d’Urgel on the eldest son, and that of the Marquis
of Bastan on the second one. Moreover, after the death of the great
soldier, the Queen-Regent made his widow a grandee of Spain.

The enthusiasm shown in the spring of 1907, when a statue was unveiled
to the memory of the ardent Monarchist, showed that neither the Royal
Family nor the country had forgotten his services to the throne.

The failure of the country to keep the promises of Martinez Campos
to the colonies in 1878 was felt in 1897; but politicians in the
palace still represented matters, and the Queen-Regent was under the
impression that autonomy would mean Separatism. It was then that a
Chamberlain showed Her Majesty a letter from a cousin in Cuba, the
mother of more than one leader of the insurrection, for in this letter
the mother said that she would willingly sacrifice her sons for the
autonomy which would save the island from ruin, through the abuses
and corruptions of the Government at home. And with the grant of the
autonomy America would have no further excuse to interfere in the
matter.

With a true Parliamentary representation in Spain, such an important
State matter could not have been left in the hands of a man like
Sagasta, who, like other politicians, used the intrigues of the palace
for a perversion of the truth. The deputies, if they had been real
patriots instead of being merely the tools of those in power, would
have risen as one man against the refusal of the autonomy; the good
sense of the Queen-Regent would have been satisfied, and the prestige
of Spain and her colonies would have been saved. And to those who think
this statement exaggerated, I must say that as Maura, the present Prime
Minister, permitted me to address him some questions on the policy of
Spain, I asked the great statesman if it were true that the abuses in
the Governmental departments caused the loss of Cuba, and he replied
emphatically in the affirmative. This confirmed the report in the
country, for it is well known that, as Minister of Foreign Affairs at
the time, Maura lifted up his voice in the Congress for the reform of
the evils which threatened and finally caused the loss of the colonies.

Moreover, Maura boldly took up his stand for the much-required suffrage
for Spain, when he said in the Congress:

“A country cannot maintain its loyalty to the Crown in the integrity of
its national being, if it cannot count on the will and the hearts of
the inhabitants.”

When the country was filled with anxiety at the sudden serious
illness of the little King, the stocks fell, the Carlists began to
make themselves conspicuous again, and evil threatened the land with
the shadow overhanging the Court, and the anxious royal mother was
constantly heard to cry:

“Oh, child of my heart! My God, do not take him from me!”

[Illustration: THE INFANTA MARIA TERESA AND KING ALFONSO XIII]

But it was not in idle tears that the royal mother spent her time by
the baby boy’s bedside. Everything that the knowledge of hygiene and
her love as a parent could suggest was brought into use, and finally
Maria Cristina had the triumph both as a Queen and a mother to report
the child out of danger.

Castelar wrote to Sagasta at this time, saying:

“I am very anxious for you to convey my respects to Her Majesty, and
tell her that I have inquired after her august son, the King, twice
every day; and please do not forget to add how sincerely I congratulate
her on his restoration to health.”

It was, indeed, quite due to the rare intelligence of the Queen-Regent
and her knowledge of the laws of hygiene that little Alfonso XIII. was
saved for Spain.

It was by such proofs of her intelligence that Maria Cristina gradually
asserted her just sway at Court. It had been a great struggle in the
first years of her widowhood to gain this sway, for she was liable to
be set aside as a stranger in a foreign country, of which the language
was unknown to her, and she could not help knowing that derogatory
remarks were made about her even by her royal relations. Her very name
was against her, as Spaniards associated it with that of the mother of
Isabel II., who was said to have exploited the land to her own ends.
The Duke of Seville, Prince Henry of Bourbon, was heard to say, in the
presence of the Royal Guard, in 1886: “Of course, the Regency cannot be
entrusted to a foreign Princess.” But he found afterwards he was wrong
in the estimate he had formed of the Austrian lady.

Whilst Alfonso XII. had been alive, Maria Cristina did not feel she
was merely a stranger in a foreign land, and she was often compared to
a ray of sunshine, so bright and joyous was she at Court. For, always
active, merry, and happy, her six years of married life had passed
without heed of the cares of the State, so it was a surprise to the
Spaniards to find that she was possessed of such diplomatic power.

Moreover, the Queen-Regent’s intelligent care of her child during his
illness was a practical lesson to those around her; for, fond mothers
as Spanish women are, the laws of hygiene play little part in their
education.

The little Prince, Alfonso XIII., was indeed a charming child, and soon
gave proofs of his affection for those about him, whilst being the
despair of his governess, Señora Tacon, by the way he set the strict
laws of Spanish Court etiquette at defiance.

“Ah, Juanito! bon petit Juan!” he would call out to the distinguished
General Juan de Cordova, Marquis of Sotomayor; and the Duke of Bivona
he dubbed “Xiquena.” Señora Tacon strove to prevent this familiar style
of address by saying:

“But, Sire, Your Majesty must recollect that the gentleman to whom you
are speaking is the Duke of Bivona.”

“The Duke of Bivona!” returned the little King mockingly. “That’s
all very well, but I know it is Xiquena. Are you not Xiquena?” he
continued, addressing the grandee. Then, seeing a smile on the solemn
countenance of the Duke, he continued: “You see, this lady is always
giving different names to people. She says that my Juanito is General
Juan de Cordova, Marquis of Sotomayor. Don’t be silly!” he added,
turning to Señora Tacon. “That is my Xiquena, and the other is my
Juanito--so there!”

The King’s childish way of settling things developed as he grew into a
lad into the power of forming logical conclusions which would have done
credit to any statesman.

A Chamberlain one day ventured to suggest to the Queen-Regent that
it would be good for the kingdom if a royal visit could be paid to
Barcelona; for if the King did not go to Barcelona, it was not a
question of Catalonia separating itself from the rest of Spain, but of
the Court separating itself from Catalonia. The courtier’s idea was
repeated to the young King by his mother as he came into the room.

“Yes, yes,” returned Alfonso, with his prompt acceptance of a good
suggestion. “If we do not go to Catalonia, it is just as if a prelate
did not visit one part of his diocese, which would mean separation from
that district.”

It was in 1898 that the terrible débâcle of Cuba realized the worst
fears of patriots. The Queen, who had been so badly advised in the
Council by Sagasta, was overwhelmed with grief. The army and navy,
and even the throne of Spain, were loudly attacked, instead of the
Government which had brought them the disaster.

It was then that Figuerola Ferretti had the clever idea of having a
great illustration placarded about the streets of Madrid, headed by a
representation of Mercier’s picture of an angel carrying a wounded man,
with the device “Gloria Victis.” For glory was due to the men who had
suffered nobly and hopelessly in the struggle to which politicians had
provoked the colonies by their maladministration; and leaflets, setting
forth the same idea, were distributed broadcast by thousands in the
streets of Madrid.

This daring protest for the prestige of the Spanish army and navy
doubtless stemmed the tide of public opinion, and the Queen-Regent
congratulated the chamberlain on his loyal course.

Castelar, in an article he published in _La Nouvelle Revue_, put all
the blame of Spain’s misfortunes on Maria Cristina, even going so far
as to compare her with Marie Antoinette, who was so fatal to France.
But one must recollect that, as Rubio says, Castelar said in the
Congress: “‘I am an historical republican, an invincible republican,
a republican all my life by conviction and by conscience, and he who
doubts my republicanism offends and calumniates me, and for this reason
I do not wish to be anybody in any monarchy.’”

But General Blanco declares, with greater justice, that the blame of
the Cuban disaster should rest on the shoulders of Sagasta; and _El
Liberal_ of that date says:

“Señor Sagasta is the one, and the only one, responsible for the
terrible misfortunes which assail our country.

“It was he who advised the Queen-Regent to persist in the course which
led Cuba to seek the intervention of America; and when the royal lady
seemed ready to listen to the wisdom of patriots who pleaded for the
autonomy of the colony, he would present himself at Court, and there
once more persuade the Sovereign to his false view of the matter.”

As Rubio says in his able “History of the Regency”:

“When Sagasta, Romero Robledo, Silvela, and Gamazo spoke in the House
on this burning question, their speeches seemed more like essays in
polemics in an athenæum than discussions in an assembly of legislators
on a matter entailing the salvation or the ruin of the country.”

To those who preferred to be true patriots to flattering courtiers
the state of affairs was desperate, for they felt indignant at the
Queen-Regent being persuaded to a course for which, as Sovereign, she
would have to bear the chief share of the blame; and Ferretti, who
years before had served under General Blanco at Saint Domingo, and had
keenly felt the loss of prestige to the Spanish army when he had to
obey orders and lead the last company from the island, fought hard to
prevent a similar disaster in Cuba in 1898.

In August, 1897, a shudder ran through Spain when Canovas fell by the
hand of an Italian anarchist, and the fact was still more shocking as
the republican Nakens had been told by the perpetrator that the deed
would take place, and he did nothing to warn the statesman.

For ten years Canovas had been the foremost figure in the Congress
and the Court of Spain. The prominent part he had taken in the
restoration had placed what we should call the “strawberry-leaves” on
the brow of his wife; and when, after the tragedy of Santa Aguedas,
the widow followed her husband’s corpse into their palace in the
Castellane, it was to retire definitely from the banquets, reunions,
and great functions in which she had always shone so successfully and
conspicuously as the wife of the Prime Minister of Spain.

After the death of Canovas, Silvela came forward as the leader of the
Conservatives, for the _camarillas_ and intrigues of the followers
of Canovas had hitherto barred his way to high preferment in the
Parliament.

It was known that the Queen-Regent was inclined to patronize General
Polavieja, and there were also Villaverde, Romero Robledo, and
numerous other politicians who all had their partisans, and sought by
_camarillas_ in the palace to gain power for their partisans.

The Queen-Regent often used her charm as a woman to captivate those
opposed to the monarchy, and this power, exercised with all the
rigidity of a lady of strict morality, had its due effect on General
Cazola. It was well known that this officer enjoyed great prestige in
the army, and as he was republican in his opinions, he could have
become a sort of Oliver Cromwell in Spain. He was the only man Canovas
stood in fear of, and Sagasta did not breathe freely till death removed
him from his path.

Maria Cristina was quite aware that he admired her, and when she heard
that the General had given voice to one of his speeches, which might
prove fatal to the loyalty of the army, she sent for the officer,
and with all the charm of her manner she let him see that she was
conscious of the power he could exercise against the dynasty if he
wished. Touched with the evident anxiety of the Queen, all the chivalry
of the gallant General was called into play, and, putting his hand on
his heart, he soothed the fear of the Sovereign by saying: “Do not be
afraid. Your Majesty is sacred in my eyes.”

Such conquests were a satisfaction to Maria Cristina, both as Queen and
woman; and when one noted the great personal influence of the widowed
lady, one could only wish she had given herself more scope for its
exercise, and had not submitted herself so freely to priestly guidance.

Some dissatisfaction was caused among the Liberals by the Queen’s
appointment of a Bishop especially for the palace, where the Prelate of
Madrid had officiated formally. As he had no diocese, the Pope gave him
the title of Bishop of Alcalá and Sion, and this appointment meant the
institution of forty Canons at the Court. The duties of these Canons
was specified as that of drawing the curtains in the royal boxes of
the chapel, but now there are no curtains to draw.

It was whispered by the partisans of Silvela that Polavieja was
favoured by the clergy, and with him in power the Queen-Regent and
the country would be given over to the clerical party. Canovas had
allowed the lady in power to be called the “priestess,” and Sagasta had
repeated to the Queen-Regent reports which were circulated as to Señora
Canovas boasting of having more power than the Queen herself.

Finally, after the death of Canovas, and a short term of power of
General Azcarraga, Silvela was put at the helm of affairs. But the
_camarillas_ at Court again led to the fall of the Ministry, for
Silvela’s choice of Loño as Minister of War was opposed by the choice
of Polavieja by the Sovereign.

Thus, when Figuerola Ferretti saw that the impending death of Sagasta
would lead to the Liberal party being cut up into as many groups as
that of the Conservatives, so that the country would on both sides be
a prey to the intrigues at Court of the partisans of the respective
groups, he ventured, in view of the very superior intelligence
manifested by the young King, after he had attained his majority, to
represent to His Majesty that true Parliamentary elections were the
only means of solving the problem of government, and for this he could
exercise his royal prerogative of forming a Provisional Government. The
King seemed to listen to this proposal with approval, and, indeed, if
this election of the deputies by public vote had been promoted in the
capital, it could never have been used by republicans as a cloak for
Separatism.

The petition for this step was drawn up in the names of the widows
and orphans of those who had fallen in the Cuban War. It was sent
in proof to the secretaries of the King and the Queen-Regent. But
the patriot had not counted on the antagonism of those in power; and
albeit Loygorry, the follower of Lopez Dominguez, spoke eloquently in
favour of the idea in the Senate, Moret, the Minister of the Interior,
stopped its course by forbidding the Prefecture of the Police to affix
the necessary seal to the document; and it was doubtless through such
political influence in the palace that the Chamberlain found that
further influence with the King was prevented by his removal from Court.

The cordial reception of the Colonel by Alfonso XIII., when he saw him
in London in 1905, was cheering to the patriot, and it seems more than
probable that the King is unaware of the Court intrigue by which his
valued adviser was removed from his side.

It was in 1905--only a fortnight before his death--that I had the
privilege of seeing Don Francisco Silvela, who had spent so much time
and effort in the service of his country.

“I am utterly weary of politics,” said the statesman, lifting his tired
eyes to my face. “It is a fruitless task, and no one is safe from
the intrigues at Court. No, no; I am going to give up my spare time
to literature now, which will be far more profitable. And, indeed,
it seems like pouring water into a tank with a hole in it to expend
efforts on the country which is unsupported by a true suffrage.”

It is thus that Alfonso, in 1906, had to appoint seven different
Governments in the space of fourteen months, and it would sometimes
require more than supernatural power to detect the real cause of the
fall of a Cabinet in Spain.

CHAPTER XVII

ALFONSO XIII

May 17, 1886, the day on which Spain hailed the birth of their baby
Sovereign, Alfonso XIII., is always kept as a fête-day in Spain.
Shortly after Señor Sagasta had proclaimed the news to the assembly
of Ministers and grandees of the realm, the Duchess of Medina de las
Torres appeared in the antechamber, bearing in her arms a basket that
contained the royal infant. Wrapped in cotton-wool, the infant King
received the homage of his Ministers.

Five days later Madrid was _en fête_ for the baptism of the royal
child. Wearing a robe of the richest English lace, and the broad velvet
sash, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, that his father had worn at his
baptism, the royal infant was borne on a silver salver, draped with
costly coverings, through the lines of officers, statesmen, and Court
ladies, into the chapel of the palace, where at a solemn service he
received the names of Alfonso León Fernando Maria Santiago Isidro
Pascual Antony.

The second birthday of the baby King was celebrated by a review in
the Prado. The Queen was on horseback, dressed in black, without any
ornaments. The Minister of War was on her left hand, and the Duchess of
Medina behind her. Her horse was startled by the quantity of flowers
thrown before the royal rider, but, being an excellent horsewoman, the
Queen controlled the animal, and no mischance happened.

Aided by the Duchess of Medina de las Torres, the Señora Tacon, and an
excellent nurse, Queen Cristina devoted herself entirely to the care
of her child. His rooms were in close proximity to her own private
apartments, and “Puby” (a German pet-name), as she called him, learned
from an infant to look for the loving good-night visit of his mother,
who, seating herself at the head of the blue silk curtained cot, would
hush her boy to sleep. Her soothing caresses grew, as time passed on,
to be tender counsel to the child.

Unwilling to sacrifice his physical health to his mental progress,
the Queen waited till her son was seven years old before planning
for him a course of serious study. With an hour’s steady instruction
daily, the young monarch soon learnt to read and write with ease. It
is interesting to know that he was never allowed to use a word without
being thoroughly acquainted with its meaning. By this means he acquired
an intelligent interest in things about him.

It was at the seaside resort of San Sebastian, in the beautiful palace
of Miramar, that the royal child’s second course of instruction
commenced. Don Regino Zaragoza was his tutor for geography and
history. About this time also he began rapidly to gain ground in
French and Latin. But the quick intelligence of the lad did not impair
the mischievousness natural to his age. I was told by the King’s
Chamberlain that once, when he was about eight years old, streams of
water were seen running down the corridor from the bath-room of the
royal palace. The door of the apartment was found to be locked, and it
was only when the Queen herself insisted on its being opened that the
young delinquent was discovered enjoying what he called “a naval battle
in high seas,” the ships being logs abstracted from the wood baskets,
and the high seas the overflowing bath.

The same courtier told me that once, when staying at the Casa de Campo
(the country place near Madrid), the boy escaped from his governors to
climb up on to the roof of a building, which he had remarked as the
resort of some roosters.

It must be remembered that the young King’s courses of instruction
were always those of the Universities and institutes of the kingdom.
He usually wore the uniform of a cadet of the Military Academy, except
when, on a visit to a man-of-war, he adopted the naval dress. That his
tutors found him a docile pupil can be gathered from the following
anecdote: When one day a professor stood waiting for his royal pupil
to be seated, he laughingly shook his head, saying: “No; you are the
master, and I am the pupil. It is for you to be seated first.”

[Illustration: ALFONSO XIII., KING OF SPAIN]

Queen Cristina overcame her son’s difficulty with German by composing
a small grammar for him, which enabled him to master the rules of
the language in a simple and amusing form. His inquiring turn of mind
and his desire to thoroughly understand many subjects were early made
apparent by his leaning towards natural science, chemistry, etc.

The King’s love for all that is military dates from his earliest
childhood, when his great delight was to watch the change of the
royal palace Guard from his nursery window. His boy regiment is now
almost historical. Many of its members still talk of their delight at
its promotion to the dignity of a Mauser gun of a most professional
calibre. Their young Captain’s power of resource and command was
evidenced in the way he carried the day in a wager made with his child
soldiers that they should not on the morrow meet the admiring eyes of
their parents at that part of the royal palace where the Foreign Office
then had its bureaux. The following day the young battalion approached
the palace. The little subalterns, about to glance at the windows,
thought they had won the bet, when lo! in clear sharp young tones there
rang out the command: “Vista à la derecha!” (Look to the right!). Not
an eye was turned towards the palace windows, and the royal commander
scored.

Early rising has, of course, been always an essential part of the
young King’s programme, or he would not have time for such pursuits
as photography (developing his own plates, and in this he excels),
swimming, bicycling, music, painting, etc., as well as his graver
studies.

During his minority Alfonso XIII. rose at 7 o’clock, and, after a cold
bath and some exercise in the gymnasium near his bedroom, he had a
light breakfast with his mother and sisters. From 9 to 10 o’clock came
a lesson in French from Don Luis Alberto Gayan, or in English from Don
Alfonso Merry de Val. At 10 o’clock he went for a ride on horseback
until 12 o’clock, when he lunched with the Queen and the Infanta.
Then, after a lesson in German or music from Señorita Paula Czerny,
or in painting from Don José Pulgar, the King again walked or rode,
generally in the company of his mother. At 2 o’clock he had military
instruction, and between 3 and 4 o’clock a lesson in universal history,
or in fencing with other boys, under Don Pedro Carbonell. From 5.30
to 6.30 came a lesson in political law and administration, and once a
week a lesson in general Spanish literature and classics. Dinner was at
7.30, and the remainder of the evening would be passed pleasantly in
conversation or in playing duets with his sister Maria Teresa until it
was time to retire to rest.

This programme was punctually adhered to, under the direction of Don
Aguirre de Lejada, the director of His Majesty’s studies, and excepting
when the King went to church on a Saturday afternoon at 5 o’clock with
his mother and sister, it was rarely relaxed.

It was the royal youth’s natural simplicity, combined with his splendid
education, that saved him from embarrassing self-consciousness on the
great occasion, when on May 17, 1906, he took the Constitutional oath
(the Jura), which gave him the full rights of a King, in the Houses
of Parliament (Palacio del Congreso), before the brilliant assembly of
Princes, Ambassadors, and Ministers assembled for the occasion. The
words were simple, but impressive:

“I swear before God upon the Holy Gospels to maintain the Constitution
and the laws. If I do so, God will reward me, and if not, He will
require it of me.”

All present were touched at the young monarch’s evident disinclination
to take precedence of his mother when leaving the Palacio del Congreso.
But the law of etiquette had to be observed: the Regency was over, the
reign had commenced; the Queen’s power had ceased, the King’s sway had
commenced, and, as the first person in the realm, he had to precede his
mother.

But that very day the King issued a decree to the nation by which the
royal mother retained all the privileges of the position she had held
as Regent, which permits no one but the possible future wife of the
King to take precedence of her. This, the first royal proclamation,
shows the devotion of the son to the mother, for as Queen Cristina
is out of the line of possible inheritance to the crown, she would
otherwise have taken lower rank than her sisters-in-law or her
daughters.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN-MOTHER MARIA CRISTINA OF SPAIN]

As the young Sovereign, after the solemn ceremony in the cathedral,
took his place under the white satin canopy, and passed down the aisle,
filled with the highest representatives of Church and State, the sun,
streaming in Spanish intensity through the heavily carved oaken door
of the cathedral, fell upon his face. He looked like some youthful
knight of olden days. With his dark head held high and a look of
resolution on his features that seemed to bode well for his office, he
passed out of the cathedral into the sunshine and air, thrilling with
the applause of his people.

The close association of the King of Spain with the Ministry gives play
to intrigues at the palace, which cause dissatisfaction in the country,
and the King alone has the responsibility for the result.

It was towards the end of 1906 when General Lopez Dominguez, the fifth
Prime Minister in less than a year, was the object of a palace intrigue
which brought his work to an end, and excited much discontent in the
country. The Cabinet had given a vote of confidence in the General, and
the officer subsequently reported the matter to the King.

But in the meanwhile the partisans of Moret had been intriguing at the
palace, and the Prime Minister’s assertion of the confidence shown him
was met by a sceptical look from Alfonso, as he drew from his pocket a
private letter from Moret, in which he threw doubt on the satisfactory
state of Parliamentary affairs. The General, who had grown grey in the
service of the King, stared blankly at the treacherous letter.

“Then Your Majesty has not complete confidence in me?” he asked, in
astonishment.

The King did not reply, so the Prime Minister took the only possible
course in the matter, and promptly offered his resignation.

Thus, Moret had plotted for his return to power, and, indeed, he was
asked by the King to take the helm of affairs. This he did; but he
was not prepared for the indignation of the Congress at the turn of
affairs, and when he went to the Congress to make his opening speech,
he was met by such storms of disapproval and with such silent contempt
that he abandoned his post in three days.

When Maura permitted me to address him some questions on his policy, I
asked if he did not think a pure suffrage would be for the progress of
the nation.

“Yes,” he replied; “but the intervention of the Government is only to
supplement the inertia of the nation.”

But the Prime Minister did not seem to take into account the despair
of the people at the uselessness of their efforts. Sometimes there is
a call to arms against this want of activity, but to such appeals the
Spaniard shrugs his shoulders.

“What is the use of my going to the poll, when I know perfectly well
that my vote will be either destroyed or burnt?”

“It is, then, the duty of the Government,” writes a pioneer in the
Press, “to take great precautions for the protection of the polls, and
even if necessary to guard them with a military force; for it is in the
verity of the elections of these representatives in Parliament that
lies the secret of the recovery of the virility of Spain.”

Catalonia, as we know, has recovered this virility by insisting on the
return of her own deputies, and the enormous enthusiastic meeting held
in a great hall of Barcelona on June 29, 1908, to hear the deputies’
opinions on a great matter of legislation shows how deep is the
public interest in matters of politics, and how much the constituents
appreciate their hardly-won privilege of being represented in the
Congress by men they trust.

CHAPTER XVIII

PRINCESS VICTORIA EUGENIE OF BATTENBERG AS QUEEN OF SPAIN

1906

As the Spanish authoress Concepción Gimeno de Flaquer devotes the
last chapter of her book, “Mujeres de Regia Estirpe” (Women of Royal
Degree), to Queen Victoria Eugénie of Spain, it seems that I should
fall short of the mark were I not to publish some of the Spanish
impressions of the present English Queen at the Court of Spain.

[Illustration: VICTORIA EUGÉNIE, QUEEN OF SPAIN]

Señora Flaquer says: “The presence of the beautiful Princess at the
royal palace is like a shining star on a dark night, a soft balmy
breath of wind in a violent storm, a refreshing dew in hot weather, and
a ray of hope in depression.”

This description is Spanish in its imagery, and it is interesting to
note the more measured language in which Figuerola Ferretti expresses
the joy of Spain at the news of the engagement:

“The news is like a fresh spring of hope to us Spaniards, who regard
any English girl as a symbol of sincerity and sweetness, and how
much more so when that girl is grand-daughter of the great Queen
Victoria, whose name is venerated throughout the Peninsula!

“Whilst regarding the entry of Princess Ena into Spanish spheres as the
commencement of a new era for the education and progress of our women,
who are only waiting for the opportunity to prove their intellectual
worth, I must say I might have some fears lest the Princess should be
chilled by the restrictions of Spanish Court etiquette, had not King
Alfonso already shown himself capable of breaking down the unnecessary
barriers which would prevent his future bride continuing the happy
outdoor life and the social pleasures which brighten the existence of
royal ladies in England.

“‘Manners maketh man,’ it is said, but it is also true that ‘man maketh
manners,’ and when our monarch follows the natural and noble impulses
of his heart, it is always to the making of a manner which expresses
good feeling.

“The young Spaniard has marked with great interest King Alfonso’s
foreign mode of courtship, which oversteps the lines of our customs;
and as he follows in the footsteps of the royal _fiancé_, he will
soon see that invigorating motor-car excursions and walks in a garden
with the queen of his heart are more conducive to mutual knowledge of
character than perpetually thrumming on a guitar outside the lady’s
window, or only being permitted to whisper words of love in a corner of
a room where the rest of the family is assembled.

“To judge from ancient records, the arrival of the young Princess
Eleanor of England in 1170 as the bride of Alfonso VIII. of Spain led
to a reaction against the strictures of etiquette introduced by the
Moors to the extreme limitations of the liberty of our ladies; and
it was by the natural assumption of a certain freedom of action that
the daughter of young Henry II. passed a happy life of nearly half a
century as Queen-Consort in our country. And Princess Ena is not likely
to fall short of her English predecessor in her natural love of liberty.

“Readers of Mariana’s ‘History of Spain’ may be struck with the
resemblance of the meeting of the young royal lovers on the borders
of Spain in 1170 and that of the illustrious couple at Biarritz. The
ardent young Alfonso VIII. was charmed with his English Eleanor,
even as our Alfonso XIII. admired the Ena of your land; and as Queen
Eleanor associated herself with the promotion of learning and letters
for men, and supported the foundation of the University of Palencia,
our future Queen Ena will doubtless encourage the present movement
for the education of girls, which has just culminated in the opening
of the Middle-Class College under the committee of ladies of the
Ibero-American Society, presided over by Queen Maria Cristina.”

The joy foretold by the Spanish courtier was more than realized at
the arrival of the English bride. Her bright, sunny smile and ready
acknowledgment of the people’s evident admiration of their future Queen
delighted the people.

But the tragedy of the bomb cast in the bouquet, which caused so much
disaster, came like a sudden frost, and nipped the spontaneous joy
of the young Queen, and the drives and walks in the city of Madrid
became a source of fear instead of joy. It is hard to us here in
England to realize what the bomb outrage on her marriage-day was to
Queen Victoria of Spain.

[Illustration: QUEEN VICTORIA OF SPAIN AND THE QUEEN-MOTHER AT A
BULL-FIGHT]

Wearers of the Victoria Cross and the D.S.O. have not often gone
through such a terrible ordeal. For soldiers on active service are at
least prepared for such tragedies, but in the glitter and gaiety of a
marriage-day the blow was dealt in the dark.

An officer in the Wad Ras Regiment, who was close to the carriage, told
me that he can hardly bear to speak of it even now. The gaily-decorated
street was suddenly transformed into the fearful scene of a
battle-field. The cries of the dying and the sight of the killed sent
many people out of their minds. With the calm courage of a soldier’s
daughter, Queen Victoria neither swooned nor went into hysterics; but
the shock went deep into her soul, and she naturally fears a repetition
of the horror when she is in the city.

The people, therefore, are a little disappointed at their greetings not
meeting with the quick response of the first days in her new land; and
as Spaniards would do anything for a smile, and love to see happiness,
this inborn terror, begotten of the tragedy of her wedding-morn, would
form a barrier between the English Queen and her people, were they not
reminded of the source of the set expression on her face.

In La Granja this is different. The freedom of the country life gives
scope again for our Princess’s smiles, and the beautiful gardens and
the charm of the palace seem far removed from the tragedy of the city.

“Oh, how we adore her when she is like that!” said the simple-hearted,
sympathetic Spaniards, as they saw the eager, guileless way the Queen
showed her young cousin, Princess Beatrice of Coburg, her lovely
country residence; and after she had passed up the fine staircase of
the palace, lined by the halberdiers sounding their drum tattoos of
welcome, she appeared at one of the windows to smile on the soldiers as
they saluted her in their parade past the palace.

[Illustration: PRINCE FERDINAND OF BAVARIA, BROTHER-IN-LAW OF ALFONSO
XIII.]

Bouquets are naturally, of course, still looked upon with suspicion at
the Spanish Court. When Miss Janotha, the celebrated pianist, wished
to leave a beautiful bouquet at the palace as an offering to Princess
Henry of Battenberg, when she was in Madrid, the lackey looked at it
askance, saying:

“We are not to take bouquets.”

Miss Janotha looked regretful, and I was very glad when a superior
official stepped forward and said:

“We do not take bouquets, but as it comes with the English lady we know
here, it is all right.”

This confidence I acknowledged gratefully; the Polish pianist was
pleased, and the bouquet was taken.

“The Queen is always her bright, merry self on the yacht,” said a
distinguished naval officer, when speaking of the shock of the bomb to
the young Queen. “She sings, and is as happy as the day is long, for
there is no fear of such tragedies on board ship.”

One always connects Spain with sunshine, and Queen Victoria was
interested at seeing the after-effects of a snow-storm in Madrid. Their
Majesties sallied forth in a motor-car to the park of the Retiro. The
Queen expressed her admiration at the clever efforts in statuary made
of the snow which had fallen in the morning. The newly-appointed Prime
Minister, Maura, was easily distinguished as a snow-man, and many other
celebrities were recognized in this exhibition of snow-figures made
by the street _gamins_. Great lions in front of the War Office also
showed the skill of the officials in turning the snow into form when
clearing the pathways, and in the squares and streets there were many
presentments, both male and female.

The Infanta Maria Teresa was driving across the Puerta del Sol with her
young husband during the inclement weather, when a mule of her carriage
slipped on one of the tram-lines, which form a perfect network at
this busy centre, and the carriage came to a standstill. The Princess
descended from the vehicle, and would have walked home had she not
herself slipped on the treacherous footwalk. Fortunately, the etiquette
which formerly forbade a commoner to touch royalty even in a time of
danger does not now prevail, and a policeman raised the Infanta from
the ground, and placed her in a tram, in which the rest of the journey
to the palace was made.

[Illustration: THE INFANTA MARIA TERESA, AFTERWARDS WIFE OF PRINCE
FERDINAND OF BAVARIA]

AN AUDIENCE AT THE COURT OF SPAIN.

It was one morning during this short season of snow in 1907 that a
charming Spanish lady, Señora doña Carmen Burgos de Seguí, called
to ask if I would join her and two or three other members of the
well-known Andalusian Centre in their visit to the palace to invite
King Alfonso XIII. and Queen Victoria to a forthcoming fête to be held
by the Centre at a theatre. All the formalities with reference to the
audience had been arranged, and I was pleased to accept the invitation
to join the commission.

As a fall of snow precluded the possibility of being able to obtain a
carriage or cab--for the cobbled stones of the roads make it unsafe for
horses in slippery weather--I put on my snow-shoes and fur cloak, and
soon arrived with my companions at the royal palace, which flanks the
whole side of the great Plaza de Oriente, and towers majestically above
the richly-wooded valley of the River Manzanares.

The white-cloaked sentries, in their three-cornered hats, saluted us
respectfully as we passed, and the colonnaded, rich-carpeted staircase
soon led us to the gallery which lines the quadrangle of the royal
palace.

A sympathetic porter helped me to remove my cloak and overshoes, and as
I shook out my dress and donned my white gloves he said:

“Her Majesty will be very pleased to see a compatriot, for since last
June she has not seen an English lady.”

The ring of the halberds on the floor of the gallery as the historic
halberdiers changed guard, and the quick word of command, were the only
sounds to break the solemn silence as darkness fell on the courtyard,
where snow was falling softly.

A lackey in gold livery now issued from the royal apartments and met us
in the gallery. He then conducted us to an imposing doorway leading to
the landing of the state double-winged staircase, which is only used on
very important occasions. It was in this gallery that the young King
and his sister, Maria Teresa, startled Queen Victoria, on her first
Shrove Tuesday in Spain, by jumping out at her disguised with masks.

The white marble lions, the blazing lights of the fine chandeliers,
the rich carpets, the carved marble rails and handsome walls, looked
like a scene in a fairy-tale as we saw it for the first time, and after
passing several footmen and officials on the landing we reached an
antechamber, where we were asked to wait our turn of audience.

The walls of this salon were hung with rural scenes embroidered on
tapestry set in crimson velvet. Large mirrors reached from the floor to
the painted ceiling, and reflected the crystal candelabra and the works
of art which lined the room, with its crimson-satin-covered furniture
on a velvet-pile carpet.

Just before we were summoned to the royal presence, I was told it was
contrary to Court etiquette to wear a veil, so I removed it in time to
obey the summons of the Court official, who appeared with the papers
relating to our visit; and being handed over to the usher, we ran the
gauntlet of the eyes of Chamberlain and military men standing about
in uniform in every salon, and passed through a large anteroom with
green-satin-panelled walls hung with pictures of the royal predecessors
of the present King, and thence into a room like a large and splendid
ballroom, where a lady was sitting on duty in full Court dress with a
companion, and we were finally ushered into the presence of the King
and Queen.

The Queen looked fair and regal as she stood in the beautifully
decorated French salon in a perfectly-made pale pink dress trimmed
with the finest lace, and the King was in the undress uniform of a
Captain-General.

The Queen looked somewhat sad as she graciously received us, and she
must, indeed, have thought that it was another wearisome occasion
of speeches and remarks which would be in an unknown tongue to her.
According to the etiquette of the Spanish Court, the King and Queen
were both standing to receive us in the beautiful little boudoir.
Indeed, the room seemed only arranged for such audiences.

My introduction to the King as an Englishwoman at once met with a
cordial shake of the hand and a pleasant “How do you do?” after the
Queen had gracefully greeted us. As Her Majesty looked pleased to see
somebody from her native land, I begged to be allowed to address Her
Majesty, and, passing behind the King to her side, I soon had the great
delight of hearing her speak with pleasure of the Shakespearian Bazaar
in London, where I had last seen her as Princess Ena; and when speaking
of my friend, Miss Janotha, she said, “Yes, I have known her since I
was so high,” holding her hand a little distance from the floor.

In the talk with the Spanish ladies, Alfonso pleased one who has rather
advanced opinions by the gusto with which he said, “Yes, there are
indeed far too many associations in Spain!” for this remark showed
that His Majesty is alive to the evil; and if the clerical party would
only allow action to be taken to prevent this overwhelming number of
religious associations in Madrid, it would be to the joy of the country.

For these associations ply their trades of printing, chocolate-making,
boot-making, needlework, etc., and they undersell the trades of the
lay-workers, as they have neither taxes nor rent to pay. This abuse
the Government was seeking to remove by bringing in a law for the
diminution of such societies, but the _camarillas_ of the palace,
instigated by the clerical party, checked the progress which Canalejas,
the President of the Congress, was making in this direction, by causing
the fall of the Ministry. It was falsely reported at the palace that
Canalejas is atheistic and antagonistic to the Church, whereas he
told me himself that he is very religious. He has a private chapel in
his house, where Mass is celebrated every day. But, as the Minister
said, this matter of the associations (of which many are from Belgium,
France, and other parts of the Continent) militating against the
trade of Spain is a matter of State policy, and has nothing to do with
religion.

“And now the King is offended with me, and I have no chance of an
explanation with His Majesty,” said the ex-Minister, who a short time
before had been patted on the back for his zeal for the welfare of the
land.

When I looked at the young Queen, so tall, so elegant, and so alone in
a foreign land, I felt how difficult it must be to fulfil her rôle to
the satisfaction of all parties.

The report that the expected royal heir’s layette was to be made
entirely in Spain excited much commendation; but when I went to see the
things at the best shop in Madrid, I could but note that they were not
so fine as I had expected.

“No, no,” said the proprietor of the place; “all the best things are
made in the convents, and we have only the second and third best. The
Queen, I believe, meant to benefit the trade of Madrid, for she was so
sweet and gracious when she called here, but the priests gave most of
the work to the societies in which they are interested.”

Moreover, the King not only expressed himself frankly about the
associations at our audience at Court, but he showed a deep interest in
the details of the Andalusian fête to which we had come to invite Their
Majesties. It is the King’s keenness in all matters which captivates
those about him.

“What dances will there be?” he asked eagerly. “And will there be songs
of the Region?” he queried. To all these questions the Spanish ladies
answered, flattered at the interest manifested.

During the talk I was privileged to have with Her Majesty in English,
I was charmed with her evident affectionate recollection of things in
England, whilst graciously interested in the subjects which had brought
me to Spain.

She smiled sweetly when I kissed her hand on leaving, as I said I
did not know whether I did it as a Spanish subject or as an English
compatriot, but in either case it was an honour I could not forego.

Then, the audience over, we were conducted with the same pomp and
ceremony as before through the stately salons and guarded galleries
till we were once more in the free atmosphere of the Plaza de Oriente,
environed by the statues of past Spanish Sovereigns, who looked
spectral in the moonlight, and met by editors who wished to make copy
out of our audience.

The King said we could see the state apartments of the palace on the
following day, but, as the weather was bad, I proved to be the only one
who appeared the next morning to profit by the royal permission.

There was much discussion in the Chamberlain’s office as to the right
course to pursue about my visit. The royal permission, which is rarely
granted whilst Their Majesties are in residence, had been given to the
party of ladies, and only one had come. Was that one to be given the
privilege or no? I was amused at hearing the flow of oratory which the
subject aroused among those in the office, but directly I suggested
myself deferring the visit to another day, the traditional courtesy of
the Spaniards gained the day, and with many bows and protestations of
pleasure I was escorted past the sentries on guard by a courtly guide,
who did the honours of the salons. If I describe these state apartments
in the words of Pierre Loti, it will be seen that I do not exaggerate
their magnificence, for the French author writes:

“The place is decorated by Velasquez, Bayeu, Tiepolo, Mengs, Luis
Lopez, Rubens, Vicente Lopez, Luis Gonzalez, etc. A whole world of
splendour seems to unfold, and as one passes through what seems an
interminable line of salons, all marked with the particular ideas of
the artists employed on them, one is struck by a series of surprises.

“The great frames of the doors are all made of agate or rare marbles,
whose colours and veined surface harmonize beautifully with the
brocades of the walls.

“The Salon of Charles III. is hung with blue satin starred with silver.
Other salons are hung with exquisite old satin, with furniture of the
time of Louis XV.; others are hung with an inimitable red embroidered
with gold of the time of the Renaissance, or with pale green curiously
blended with yellow or saffron colour, or deep blue embossed with
yellow, with the stiff but elegant furniture of the Empire period.

“Then there is a salon with the whole ceiling and panels of faience,
and when the artist died before completing the work, his wife finished
it by inaugurating and superintending the exquisite embroidery of
garlands of white and pink roses on panels of grey silk.”

There is another salon with the walls covered with cherubs
of the white pottery for which the factory of the Retiro was
famous--viz., the throne-room, with its ceiling painted by Tiepolo,
its crimson-satin-hung walls, its long mirrors, its many crystal
chandeliers, its busts of the Roman Emperors on pedestals, and, above
all, its magnificent throne with its crimson and gilt chairs. The four
steps of the throne are guarded by two large lions of gilt brass,
and the royal seats are flanked by figures representing the cardinal
virtues; and the banqueting-hall, with its magnificent columns, panels
of porphyry and marble, is a perfect picture.

Spanish ladies declare that Victoria of Spain looked every inch a Queen
when she first took her seat by her royal Consort. Her diadem-crowned
golden hair, beautiful face, and her exquisite toilettes, make a
striking feature at the State receptions; and when we consider that
it was in an unknown tongue the talk went on, it was wonderful she
could preserve her stately and quiet demeanour. Now the Queen has
become mistress of the Spanish tongue, her subjects can admire her
intellectual as well as her physical charms.

THE COURT OF SPAIN AT CANDLEMAS.

The protocol of the royal Court etiquette at Madrid and the rites of
the Roman Catholic Church produce a pageant in the Spanish palace at
the Feast of the Purification (commonly called Candlemas) which, in
splendour and solemnity, savour more of the Middle Ages than of the
present practical period.

The galleries on the first-floor of the magnificent quadrangular
Palace of Madrid showed the advent of a great event, for the windows
looking on to the spacious colonnaded courtyard were hidden by the
fine tapestries of the same character that lined the walls on the
opposite sides. Rich carpets covered the floors, and the companies
of stalwart halberdiers, the Guard of the palace, were placed at ten
o’clock along the corridor, bearing on their shoulders their halberds
with the inscription, “Fabrica de Toledo, Alfonso XIII., 1902,” which
were presented to them when the present King was added to the list of
the Sovereigns to whom the corps had the honour to be the bodyguard.
Officials of the palace and officers constantly passed to and fro,
giving orders and seeing that the soldiers stood in their right places.

The three-cornered hats edged with white, the high black leggings
reaching to the white breeches, and the blue coat decorated with
scarlet badges bearing the castle and the crowned lion, is the same
uniform of the Royal Guard as it was in the early part of the last
century, and it reminds one of the pictures of Napoleon, etc., of that
time.

A clap of the hands from a Court official announced the opening of a
large door leading to the apartments of the Infanta Maria Teresa and
her husband, Prince Ferdinand of Bavaria. Bright and happy looked
the young Princess as she passed along, with her ready sweet smile
for familiar faces, and looking quite pretty in her pale blue dress.
The merry eyes of the stalwart, fair young Prince were cast about in
cheerful greetings as he swung along in his striking blue and scarlet
hussar uniform, with the jacket slung on one shoulder, revealing the
richly embroidered sleeves underneath.

There was a pause after the young couple passed to the seats set apart
for the Royal Family in the chapel; then the strains of a march from
an opera were heard from the band of the Royal Halberdiers in the
courtyard below, the halberdiers stood at attention, and the royal
procession was seen coming along the gallery.

The gentlemen of the Court, with the badges marking their respective
offices, the Chamberlain, all in full dress, with white silk stockings
and richly embroidered coats, were followed by the grandees and
officers in their striking uniforms. They walked in two single files,
so as to leave clear the view of the Royal Family. The Infantas of
Bavaria and the Infanta Isabel came with their respective Ladies
and Gentlemen in Waiting in full Court dress. The widowed Prince of
Asturias was in his place, and lastly came the King in his uniform as
Admiral, and wearing the Order of the Golden Fleece and the Collar of
Carlos III., and the procession solemnly passed through the guarded
portals of the chapel, where the Queen-mother and the young Queen
Victoria had already taken their places. For after December 25, 1886,
when a special service was held in the royal chapel of the palace, in
which the Virgin’s protection was petitioned for the young Sovereign,
the Court was in gala costume for two days. A reception was held,
congratulations received, and from then till the birth of the expected
heir Queen Victoria did not sit with the King on the throne in the
chapel, but in the royal box on the ground-floor. All eyes were soon
turned in admiration to the youthful English Sovereign of Spain, who
looked like a beautiful picture in her white mantilla shading her
diamond-crowned beautiful hair, and dressed in a rich, soft white Court
dress.

The doors of the chapel were soon again flung open, the halberdiers
were again called to attention, and the procession issued from the
chapel in the same order in which it had entered, only now it was
preceded by the Canons of the palace and other clerics in gorgeous
vestments, with the Archbishop of Sion in gold-and-white mitre and
emblazoned cope; and everybody in the procession carried a long candle,
as they solemnly made the tour of the gallery to the tune of the psalm
of old in which Simeon declared that the Babe brought to the Temple
would be “a Light to lighten the Gentiles.”

The King, as he bore his candle, looked ruefully at his sister, as much
as to say: “How am I to manage this?” The Infanta smiled pleasantly,
and her young husband’s eyes twinkled with fun. The evident strain on
the dignity of the stately grandees and Chamberlains to carry their
lights befittingly gave a touch of humour to the stateliness of the
scene, and I overheard a grandee say, when he was asked by one behind
him not to walk so slowly: “I can’t go any quicker, or I shall spill
some grease on the Infanta’s train!”

The tour of the galleries made, the procession returned to the chapel,
the King went back to his throne, and Queen Victoria of Spain to the
royal box, the Chamberlains, grandees, Court ladies, the Infanta Maria
Teresa, the Infante Ferdinand, Don Carlos, and the Infantas of Spain,
all knelt reverently with their candles, whilst the incense was swung
in front of the King after he had partaken of the Holy Sacrament.

Then, when the candles were removed by the Chamberlains, the strains
from the beautiful stringed orchestra accompanied the fine voices
of the hidden choir, which swelled in harmony in the chants of
the occasion. The lofty cupola of the chapel, with its mythical
painting supported by the gilt cherubs poised above the marble and
porphyry-pillared panels of the walls, were a fitting setting to the
scene.

Then the candles were once more handed round, and the glittering
company again knelt in prayer. When the torches were finally taken from
the worshippers, the assembly all left the chapel in solemn order, each
grandee kneeling in turn for a second before the altar, and crossing
himself before saluting the Queens in the royal box. The Infanta Maria
Teresa, the Infanta Isabel, and the Court ladies, made a low reverence
to both the Queens in the royal box before leaving the chapel, and the
King, with his characteristic freedom from the fetters of etiquette,
disregarded the scarlet mat, and knelt on the carpeted floor for a
minute before the altar; and then with his natural grace he made a
respectful salute to both his mother and his wife, and left the church,
to pass once more with his retinue, and followed by the military, along
the tapestry-lined galleries to the royal apartments.

The Court of Spain is especially noted for its cult of symbolism. The
events of the Church calendar are presented in a realistic way which is
suggestive of the Middle Ages.

I believe the Courts of Spain and Austria are alone in their dramatic
representation of Christ’s act of washing the feet of the disciples and
feeding them on the eve of the Crucifixion.

HOW THE KING WASHES THE FEET OF THE BEGGARS AND FEEDS THEM ON MAUNDAY
THURSDAY.

It is only by special invitation from the chief Court Chamberlain that
one can witness the King’s performance of this religious function on
Maunday Thursday. Being the fortunate possessor of this permit, I
passed at three o’clock in the afternoon to the Hall of Columns in
the palace. There the Court soon assembles in state, the ladies in
magnificent dresses, of which the trains are tastefully arranged by the
Gentlemen-in-Waiting over the backs of the chairs behind them, and the
throng of nobles, Ministers, and officers in their gorgeous uniforms,
make a brilliant show.

The King soon appears, attended by the Bishop of Alcalá and Sion, some
clerics, and twelve grandees in Court attire. After divesting himself
of his sword, Alfonso is girded with a towel by the prelate, and passes
to the line of beggars, who sit humbly waiting for the honour which is
to be paid them.

These poor men are chosen by lottery about a fortnight preceding the
function, and their feet naturally undergo a course of preparation
prior to the ceremony, and they are all swathed in the long Spanish
cloaks given them for the occasion.

The twelve grandees in attendance have meanwhile knelt in front of
the twelve beggars and taken off their shoes, and the forms of these
stately personages in this humble position make a sort of screen
between the eye of the public and the King’s action of passing a towel
over the feet of the poor men, which have been sprinkled from the gold
ewer of the Bishop who precedes the Sovereign.

The King then passes to the long table, of the form and laid in the
style familiar to us in pictures of the Last Supper, and the beggars
are handed by their respective grandees to their seats at the board.
The poor men on the last occasion were blind, but this in no way
affected their calm acceptance of the fact of being the cynosure of a
Court in splendid state and the object of their Sovereign’s service.
Stolid were the faces as the King swiftly passed the items of the long
menu before their sightless eyes, and as the smell of the good things
was wafted to their nostrils they knew that time would give them a more
substantial realization of the dainties.

For the dish of each part of the menu found its way to the baskets for
the respective beggars, after being handed by the King to the grandees
in attendance. Thus twelve large pieces of salmon, twelve joints of
beef, and a dozen dishes of every item, were distributed by the august
purveyor.

The menu finished, His Majesty completed the programme by handing also
the glasses and cruets to the distinguished retinue, they also finding
their way to the poor guests; and finally the King concluded the
function by folding up the tablecloth with the zest characteristic of
his actions.

The final privilege granted to these beggars on Maunday Thursday is the
sight of the state apartments. This benefit seems to be thrown away
on those whose affliction deprives them of the appreciation of their
splendour, but etiquette must be preserved.

On Good Friday the King exercises his power of pardoning criminals, so
he stands in front of the high-altar, and, raising to heaven the gold
salver containing the names of the privileged persons, he says: “These
I pardon for their crimes, even as I hope God will pardon my sins.”

The carving of the lamb on Easter Sunday is quite a religious function
at the King’s table. The Bishop of Sion has a service of benediction,
and the King and Queen take their places in state on this occasion.

One of the most striking ceremonies preceding the birth of a royal
infant in the palace is that of transporting the arm of St. John the
Baptist, a sash said to have belonged to the Virgin Mary, and other
relics, from the chapel to the bedroom of the Queen. The King and the
Court all take part in the function, attended with all the ceremony
due to the occasion, and so fatiguing is the ritual that in May, 1907,
Queen Victoria nearly fainted during the performance. Indeed, so many
are the wearisome rites which Queen Victoria had to follow, according
to the customs of the Court of Spain, that more than one editor of
a democratic paper declared that if he were interested in the royal
succession he would see that the authorities did not thus imperil it.

On Saturday afternoon the King and Queen go to hear the _Salve_ in a
quiet, simple fashion at the Church of the Buen Suceso. Women who press
their hungry children to their bosoms as they gaze up into the face of
the young Queen as she sits in the royal box on this occasion wonder
if Her Majesty knows what their sufferings are. The rise in the price
of bread, which the Spanish Press speaks of as an act of unjustifiable
oppression, recently drove the women to desperation, and made them
break the windows of the bakers’ shops in some quarters of the city.
This strong measure was successful, and bread is now at its usual
price; for, as a Spanish lady said, “The determination of hardly-driven
mothers can accomplish more than the discussions of men.”

The poor people who greeted the Queen with such loud acclamations on
her arrival in Spain wonder, moreover, if she knows that the liberal
gifts bestowed on such festivals as the King’s Saint’s Day (January
23) to the orphans of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Real Associación
de Beneficencía Domiciliaría, etc., are devoted to the maintenance of
the friars and nuns of these associations rather than to the benefit of
the needy.

The Queen’s philanthropic spirit is, moreover, only appealed to on
behalf of the orphanages and schools in the hands of the clerics, and
so she is not in touch with the lay side of her country’s efforts.

“If such serious matters as the lessening of the heavy duties on
articles of food which go to the support of the friars, and the
limitation of the associations which kill our industries, are not soon
settled by the Government, they will be settled in the street!” say
many thoughtful men in Spain; and it was those who saw the seriousness
of the aspect who expressed their disappointment that the English Queen
was so gracious in her reception of the deputation which presented the
King with a petition, signed by leading ladies of fashion, against
the Law of Associations; for these ladies are naturally unable to
realize the struggles of their sisters against the monopoly by these
associations of many of the industries on which their bread depends,
such as chocolate-making, perfume-distilling, embroidery, lace-making,
etc.

A bitter smile wreathes the lips of people as they read of the royal
sympathy for these organizations, but they say: “What can one expect,
when the young Queen is only environed with Spanish ladies, whose
support of the clerics smoothes their lives, and with the Spanish
priests, who dictate every deed of sympathy to the Sovereigns of
Spain?”

In speaking of Queen Victoria, it must be remembered that all opinions
expressed are modified by the reminder of the Queen’s difficulty of
knowing the real circumstances of a strange land of which she had to
master the language, and that conventional greetings, gala receptions,
and State dinners, do not lead to a true knowledge of the country and
its needs.

It is hoped by patriots that the Queen’s advent will lead to the
adoption of a system of Parliamentary elections in Spain similar
to that of England; for, as everybody says, if the deputies of the
Congress were elected by the votes of the people instead of by the
voice of the Ministers, the country’s conventional love would be
cemented into real devotion to the dynasty, and the reforms would be
enacted which would save the land from stagnation and poverty.

The article published in an English review by a Spaniard, called
“Spain’s Hopes of a New Era,” showed that the English Queen was looked
upon as the coming saviour of the country from much that has so far
crippled it; and the twenty-four short articles and poems published
in the _Woman’s Agricultural Times_ from the pens of leading literary
and professional ladies, begging their future Sovereign to encourage
the lighter branches of agriculture as professions for women, show the
hoped-for result of the new reign.

Disappointment has been expressed that this spontaneous act from
Spanish women of note, many of whom have influence in the Press, has
not so far resulted in any royal act of encouragement in the direction
desired; so the people do not know whether their Sovereign is in
sympathy with their needs or not. Directly Her Majesty is in touch with
the more progressive women of her country the Press will be filled with
the fact, and the warm hearts of the people will beat with gratitude,
and they will be able to talk about more than the beauty of the Queen’s
hair and complexion.

The Spanish Court seemed to surpass itself in magnificence in the
splendid functions of the christening of the first heir to the throne.

Every seat in the chapel of the royal palace was reserved for those of
the highest degree, and the gallery along which the royal procession
passed on its way from the royal apartments to the church was crowded
by people, who could only gain admittance by tickets from the Chief
Chamberlain of the palace.

The magnificent tapestries only used on State occasions were displayed,
the halberdiers lined the way, and the ladies, all in mantillas, with
their cavaliers in uniform or evening dress, waited in breathless
impatience for the advent of the new Prince of Asturias. At last came
the announcing hand-clap, and with solemn, stately step the procession
came round the angle of the gallery.

[Illustration: CHRISTENING OF THE PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, SON OF ALFONSO
XIII.]

First came the mace-bearers, then the ushers, all in double file, then
two long lines of Chamberlains in gold-laced coats and white silk
stockings, followed by the grandees of Spain in their striking military
uniforms and feathered cocked hats. Then came seven grandees carrying
the seven salvers with such requisites for the holy ceremony as a
salt-cellar, a gold basin and ewer, a cut lemon, a lace towel, a cape,
and a large cake. Behind this party came the royal Prince himself,
looking really an ideal infant in his beautiful laces. His fair little
uncovered head, and sweet, placid, tiny face, and clenched fists were
the admiration of all beholders. He was in the arms of the Marquesa de
los Llanos, who is the chief of his retinue, and on one side walked the
Nuncio, who is the representative of His Holiness, as godfather, and
on the other was the Queen-mother, as the godmother. The King looked
dignified in his new position, as father. The Infantes and Infantas
followed, with their suites. The Infanta Maria Teresa and her husband,
Infante Fernando, being only convalescent from measles, were unable to
be present. Don Carlos, the widowed husband of the King’s late sister,
the Infanta Mercedes, led little Prince Alfonso, who was known as the
heir to the throne until the birth of his little cousin, and by the way
he tripped along and evidently enjoyed the brilliant sight he seemed in
no way saddened by his deposition from his former rank.

It was then understood that Don Carlos would marry before long the
beautiful daughter of the Princess of Orleans.

The little sister of the ex-heir was led by the hand by the Infanta
Isabel, at whose side walked Princess Henry of Battenberg, beautifully
robed in grey velvet and ermine. Prince Arthur of Connaught, with
Captain Wyndham and the Princes from Russia and Germany, etc., all
had their places in the procession. China was also represented. The
personal staff of the King was conspicuous, and the halberdier band of
music marshalled the glittering throng to the chapel.

The altar was decorated with white flowers. The historic font in which
the members of the Royal Family have for centuries been baptized was in
the centre of the chapel.

Thirty-six Bishops and four Cardinals officiated. The royal neophyte
was very good in the arms of his grandmother, Queen Maria Cristina. The
water sprinkled on his brow was from the River Jordan. The christening
ceremony over, the King decorated his infant son with the Order of the
Golden Fleece, the Order of Isabella the Catholic, and the Collar of
Charles III. All the ladies of the Court were in full dress.

Then the procession filed back to the royal apartments in the same
order in which it had come. The dresses of the ladies of the nobility
were all rich in colour and profuse with splendid jewels. The white
satin, gold-embroidered train of the Duchess of Arion set off the
beauty of her person.

Amid the many stately personages, the majestic figure of Sir Maurice de
Bunsen was conspicuous, and Lady de Bunsen attracted attention by her
beauty and her beautiful and yet simple Court dress. The ceremony was,
indeed, one not easily to be forgotten as the occasion of a gathering
of important personages or their representatives from far and near,
and no infant could have taken its prominent part on such an important
occasion with greater equanimity than did the beautiful babe--the
Prince of Asturias. To sleep and to smile seem easy things to do, but
to do them during the solemn, stately functions in which Church and
State meet together to do him honour is not always an easy thing for
an eight-day-old infant, and by accomplishing this task little Prince
Alfonso added to the affection and admiration with which he is regarded.

It is always pleasant to Queen Victoria Eugénie to pass from the
pageantry and pomp of the palace of Madrid to the less formal
surroundings of the country. It is by no mere figure of speech that it
can be said that when they are at the Palace of San Ildefonso, at La
Granja, King Alfonso and Queen Victoria Eugénie lead the simple life.

The King rises early in the morning, and takes a long walk or
ride--sometimes alone, sometimes attended by one gentleman, and
sometimes accompanied by the Queen--or he has a bicycle spin in the
grounds.

Not long since, when the King was driving alone with the Queen in
a motor, he saw a soldier thrown from his horse, upon which he
immediately jumped from his automobile and rushed to the assistance of
the poor man.

The King’s interest in his soldiers is very marked, and when the bell
rang at dinner-time, when he was in consultation one morning with the
commanding officer, he went with him to inspect the food, and tasted it
himself.

The Prime Minister could hardly hide his surprise, when he arrived from
Madrid one day to transact political business, to meet his Sovereign
in his shirt-sleeves, the young King having taken off his coat, as it
was a hot day for golfing.

King Alfonso and Queen Victoria like to go about unattended together,
and the Spanish custom of wearing no hat in the country has been quite
adopted by the English Sovereign; and people in the little town are
pleased to see the Queen pass by on foot to pay a visit to some friends
without anything on her head, but, of course, carrying a parasol. Both
the Sovereigns spend hours with their baby son in the beautiful gardens
of La Granja. The King will often take him in his arms and carry him
about, or if they meet the baby Prince in his little white carriage
when they are out walking they stop and fondle and talk to him.

The Queen is beginning to share King Alfonso’s interest in golf, and,
indeed, she takes her part well in the game, and can easily do the full
round over the rough ground without any sign of fatigue.

When the weather is too hot for golf, Her Majesty much enjoys a
peaceful afternoon by the river, trout-fishing. In this sport she is
quite an expert, and the large basket of fish caught by the Queen and
the Duquesa de San Carlos was carried home in triumph on one occasion,
and figured on the royal menu for dinner.

In the Court, surrounded by courtiers and people, whose rôle is to
please, the Queen may hardly gauge the depth of Spain’s devotion to
their English Sovereign.

When the people of Galicia presented the island of Cortegada to Alfonso
XIII., they said it was also a tribute of sympathy to their Queen. “It
will be nice for Her Majesty to be within sight of the English ships as
they lie at anchor off the coast,” they said. “It will be easy to go
to England from there, and she will perhaps be reminded of her Isle of
Wight. Then, we hope to see King Edward in the Spanish island home.”

The enthusiasm for England is very great since the royal alliance, and
for the successful recommendation of any fashion, game, or sport it is
only necessary to say it is English.

It is, therefore, hoped that a nearer acquaintance with our
Parliamentary system will lead to its adoption in Spain.

As, in face of his overwhelming influence, it is not possible for the
people to elect a deputy of either party in opposition to the one
chosen or supported by the _cacique_ of the district, the deputies
elected by public vote have mostly been republicans. Hence the suffrage
is associated with republicanism in Spain, and Catalonia, where this
has been successful, is connected with the idea of Separatism. Thus,
with the misreport of things in Madrid, it is thought that Catalonia is
wanting in Monarchists. But whenever the wisdom of the King leads to a
royal visit to Barcelona, the enthusiasm for the royal visitor always
proves that the Press has misinterpreted the state of feeling there;
and the welcome that will be given to Queen Victoria when she makes the
long-looked-for visit to Barcelona will show that Catalonia is also
content that an English Queen should reign over them.

At Cortegada the peasants to whom I was introduced made the sign of the
cross, for they said they had never seen an Englishwoman before; but
they had one for their Queen, and she was welcome in the land.

“Viva la Reina Victoria!” was the cry which floated across the moonlit
waters as the peasants returned to the mainland after the celebration
of their annual festival on the island which had been offered for the
acceptance of the King and the Queen, and, indeed, this cry is echoed
throughout the land.

INDEX

Alagon, Duke of, 79, 81, 84, 85, 121

Alava, General, 72, 73, 101

Alcalá Galiano, historian, 3

Alfonso XII.: birth, 193;
education, 198-202;
made King, 248;
character, 252-4, 280;
travels through Spain, 255;
marriage, 257;
second marriage, 264;
visit to Germany, 268;
return, 269-71;
ill-health, 271, 275;
escapades, 271-2;
government, 273;
death, 276

Alfonso XIII., 294-6, 303;
chapter on, 305-13;
baptism, 305;
instruction, 306-8;
youthful occupations, 308-9;
coronation oath, 309-10;
affection for his mother, 310, 315;
grants audience to authoress, 320;
personal traits, 322-3;
ceremony on Maunday Thursday, 332-4;
daily life, 341-2

Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, 338-41

Amadeus of Savoy, King of Spain, 224;
claim to the throne, 224-5;
his courage, 225-6, 228-31, 236;
Court life, 232-4;
abdication, 240-1

Angelo, Michael, the painter, 212

Aranjuez: revolution at, 35, 42, 44, 53;
arrival of Maria Cristina at, 107;
Isabella II. at, 174

Arellano, Ramirez, 87, 91

Argüelles, Agustin, guardian of Isabella II., 142-3, 146-7

Ballesteros, General, 101, 103

Baso, Secretary of Ferdinand VII., plot of, 95

Bayonne, 61;
Treaty of, 67;
Maria Cristina at, 134

Beauharnais, Marquis of, French Ambassador in Spain, 14, 39

Beira, Princess of, 106

Benavides, Cardinal, 176-7, 277

Beramendi, 202-5, 208-9

Berthémy, 73, 74

Bonaparte, Joseph, King of Spain, 68-70

Bonaparte, Lucien, Prince of Canino, 6, 24

Bonaparte, Napoleon: proposes Spanish marriage, 10;
has letter from Charles IV., 6, 19;
designs on the Peninsula, 24, 25-35, 38, 51;
plots against the Royal Family of Spain, 53-78;
enters Madrid, 68;
letter to Ferdinand VII., 53-6

Brabo, Gonzalez, Prime Minister, 148, 152, 156, 206-7

Bulwer, Lord Lytton, British Ambassador in Spain, 164-5, 178, 189-90,
217-18

Cabrera, Juan, 228

Caciquism, 284-5, 343

Cadiz, Constitution of 1812, 125

Calomarde, Minister, 110-12

Campos, Martinez, 292-3

Canalejas, President, 323-4

Canovas, Conservative leader, 272-3, 274-5, 288-9;
letter to Ferretti, 291;
death, 299-300

Carlos, Don, claimant to Spanish throne, 83, 108;
intrigues, 111;
refuses oath of allegiance, 117;
an exile, 119;
appears before Madrid, 128, 137, 215

Carlos, Don Juan, son of preceding, 191

Carlos, Don, Count of Montemolin, son of preceding, 161;
rebellion of, 191;
letter to Isabella II., 191-2

Carlos, Don, son of Alfonso XII., 339

Caroline, Queen, of Naples, 9;
opposition to Napoleon, 10

Castelar, Emilio, 225, 287-8, 295, 298

Chamorro, 84, 85

Charles III., 2;
opposes French marriage, 6

Charles IV., 2, 3;
quarrel with Ferdinand, 5-18;
writes to Napoleon, 19, 43, 45, 59;
at Bayonne, 61;
letter to his son, 63;
abdication, 67

Concha, Manuel de la, General, plot of, 143-5

Cuba, insurrection, 292-3, 297

Dulce, General, 143-4, 153, 183-4

Erroz, chaplain to Ferdinand VII., plot of, 95

Escoiquiz, tutor to Ferdinand VII., 4;
dismissed, 5;
influence at Court, 3, 6, 7, 50

Espartero, General, 127;
Captain, General, and Grandee, 137-8;
Regent, 140-2, 145, 187, 218-19

Estancelin, 170-1

Eulalia, Doña, 261;
marriage, 278-9

Ferdinand VII., Prince of Asturias, 1;
marriage, 6;
hatred of Godoy, 7;
intrigues against his parents, 9-23;
writes to Napoleon, 14, 53, 74-5;
duplicity, 25-9;
receives letter from Napoleon, 53-6;
at Bayonne, 61;
scene with his parents, 65-7;
letter to Berthémy, 73;
and George III., 77;
King, 79;
disposition, 85-6;
home life, 79-104;
second marriage, 83;
third marriage, 92;
fourth marriage, 107;
plot of Baso, 95;
martyr to gout, 101, 108;
attitude towards the revolution, 99-104;
increasing weakness, 110-12;
recovers, 113;
gratitude to his wife, 115-17;
letter to Don Carlos, 118;
death, 121

Ferdinand, Prince of Bavaria, 328-9, 331, 339

Ferretti, Figuerola, Colonel, 242-3;
diary of, 244-6, 249, 291, 298-9, 302;
greeted by Alfonso XIII., 303, 314

Fouché, 76

Francisco, Duke of Cadiz (Infante), 106, 146, 165;
marries Isabella II., 166, 174

George III., King of England, 77

Girgenti, Count Frederick, 223

Godoy, Manuel, Prince de la Paz, 2, 23;
overthrow, 24-52;
seized by the guard, 29;
house ransacked by the mob, 30

Goya, painter, and Wellington, 72-3

Halem, Juan Van, 87, 91

Henry, Prince of Bourbon, 222;
killed in duel, 222

Isabella II.: accepted as future Queen, 120;
plot to seize, 143-5, 147;
proclaimed Queen at thirteen years, 149;
forced to sign a decree, 154;
authorizes her mother’s marriage to Muñoz, 157;
popularity, 157-8;
marriage proposals, 161, 164;
marriage, 166;
attempt on life of, 167-9;
separation, 174-7;
goes to Aranjuez, 174;
returns, 177;
reconciled to her husband, 178;
attempted assassination of, 181-2;
popularity wanes, 183;
mutiny against, 184;
insurrection against, 194;
coldness towards her sister, 198;
at San Sebastian, 207;
dethroned, 216;
character, 216-221;
intrigues against, 208;
in Paris, 221, 231;
present at the wedding of Alfonso XII., 264

Isabella (Infanta), 180;
marriage proposals, 207, 223, 329, 331, 339

Isabella of Braganza, second wife of Ferdinand VII., 83, 86;
death, 91

Izquierdo, 39

Janotha, Miss, 318

Josefa (Infanta), 185

La Granja: secret societies at, 124, 130;
Maria Cristina at, 134;
Queen Victoria at, 317, 341-2

Lacy, General, 98

Leon, Diego de, General, plot of, 143-5

Leopold, Charles, Baron de Colly, 76

Luisa Carlota of Naples, 106, 136-7, 142, 146-7, 163

Luisa Ferdinanda (Infanta), 144, 166;
marriage, 166-7, 169-72, 197

Macanáz, Pedro, Minister of Justice, 80-1

Madrid: riot of May 2, 1808, 64;
in hands of Napoleon, 68;
cholera at, 123;
Don Carlos appears before, 128, 129

Marfori, Don Carlos, 209-10

Maria Antonia of Naples: marriage, 6;
correspondence with Queen Caroline, 9-10;
dissensions of, 11;
death, 12

Maria Cristina of Naples, fourth wife of Ferdinand VII., 106-21;
Regency of, 122-41;
her beauty and charm, 107;
influence at Court, 108-9;
manifesto, 114;
decree, 126;
conduct in face of the rebels, 125-7;
infatuation for and marriage with Muñoz, 129-33, 156;
daughter by Muñoz, 134-5, 138;
goes to Valencia, 140;
to France, 141;
returns to Spain, 156;
visits her daughter, 173;
unpopularity, 185-7;
leaves Spain, 187;
returns, 193, 242;
influence over Alfonso XII., 271-2;
grief at husband’s death, 276-7;
Regent, 278-80, 264-304;
devotion, 294-6, 306-8;
decree as to, 310, 340

Maria Cristina of Austria, second wife of Alfonso XII., 262-5

Maria de las Mercedes, Princess of Asturias, 250, 339

Maria Francisca de Asis, wife of Don Carlos, 83

Maria Josefa Amelia, third wife of Ferdinand VII., 92-5;
death, 105;
her character, 105-6

Maria Luisa of Parma: marries Charles IV., 2;
Queen, 3;
infatuation for Godoy, 4, 8;
letters to her daughter, 30-4, 39;
correspondence, 40-3, 47, 59;
at Bayonne, 61

Maria Luisa, Princess of Etruria, 34;
writes to Murat, 42, 144

Maria Mercedes, Queen of Alfonso XII., 256-7;
death, 258-9;
funeral, 259-60

Maria Teresa (Infanta), 267, 319, 321, 328-9, 331, 339

Maria Victoria del Pozzo, wife of Amadeus, 226, 230, 237-8, 240

Marie Amélie, wife of Louis Philippe, 213

Maura, 294, 312, 319

Mercedes, Princess of Asturias, 265-7

Merino, Manuel Martin, attempts to assassinate Isabella II., 180;
executed, 181

Miraflores, Ambassador, 123, 159, 161-2, 179

Montijo, Countess of, 250-1

Montpensier, Duke of, 162;
marries Infanta Fernanda, 166, 169, 222, 278-9

Moret, Minister, 303, 311-12

Morillo, General, 103

Muñoz, Fernando: marries Maria Cristina, 129, 130;
Duke of Rianzares, 133, 156

Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, General: in Spain, 27;
at Madrid, 37-9, 43;
correspondence, 43-6, 51

Nakens, 274, 300

Narvaez, Ramon Maria, General, 128, 148, 150;
War Minister and President, 159, 163;
arrogance, 188-90, 194, 210;
exiled to Paris, 211, 213;
marriage, 214;
Prime Minister, 214

Nelson, 11

O’Donnell, Leopold, General, 138, 183-4, 188-9, 194-7;
death, 206

Olozaga, Salustiano, President, 150-1, 154-5

Pacheco, Francisco, 173, 177

Pavia, General, 243, 245-7

Paz, Doña de la, 261;
marriage, 267

Philippe, Louis, 161, 166;
fall of, 172

Pilar, Doña, 261

Pius IX., 207

Prim, General, 122, 221, 224;
murdered, 227

Riego, Captain, General of Galicia, 96-7, 101, 104

Romanos, Mesoneros, historian, 70, 81-2, 91

Rosa, Martinez, Prime Minister, 124

Rovigo, Duke of, 65

Rubio, Juan, historian, 281-2, 298-9

Sagasta, Liberal leader, 272-4, 286-7, 295, 299

Salamanca, Premier, 174, 177-8, 288

San Gil, insurrection of, 194, 239

San Luis, Count of, 183, 219

San Rafael, Marquis of, 239

Serrano, Francisco, General, 150-1;
influence, 173, 178, 216, 221;
Regent, 224, 248

Seville, Duke of, condemned, 290, 295

Silvela, Minister, 300, 302-3

Tacon, General, 216

“Trágala,” popular song, 101, 104

Valcarcel, Doña Teresa, 133-4

Vicente Richard, conspirator, 86, 87

Victor Emmanuel, King, 226

Victoria Eugénie, Queen of Alfonso XIII.: chapter on, 314-44;
bomb outrage on, 316-17;
grants audience to authoress, 320;
personal traits, 322, 324-5, 327

Victoria, Queen of England, letter of, 190, 217, 315

Vinuesa, Matios, Canon, plot of, 99

Wellington, Duke of, 70;
proclamation to Madrid, 71;
and Goya, 72-3

Zamora, Leocadia, 211-12

Zorilla, Ruiz, 224

BILLING AND SONS, LTD.,
PRINTERS, GUILDFORD

Transcriber's Notes

The following changes have been made to the text as printed.

1. Illustrations and footnotes have been located in appropriate
paragraph breaks.

2. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

3. Accentuation in this book may differ from modern Spanish usage, but
accents or absence thereof have been retained as printed, except where
noted below.

4. Where a word is used repeatedly in the same way, hyphenation has
been made consistent, preferring the form most often used in the
printed work, or failing that the more usual form in general use at the
time of publication.

5. So as to allow presentation within limited width, many names in the
family tree on Page xiii have been abbreviated, and a key provided
below the diagram.

6. Page 99: "the infant Don Carlos" has been changed to "the Infante
Don Carlos".

7. The following changes have been made to Spanish names, in line with
sources consulted:
Pages ix and 138: "Duke of Teutan" has been changed to "Duke of
Tetuan".
Page xiii (key): "Count of Girgente" has been changed to "Count of
Girgenti".
Page 37: "Archdeacon of Alcáriz" has been changed to "Archdeacon
of Alcaraz".
Pages 56 and 58: "Pedro Caballos" has been changed to "Pedro
Ceballos".
Pages 68 and 69: "Charmartin" has been changed to "Chamartin"
[location in Madrid].
Page 70: "Conde de Amirante" has been changed to "Conde de Amarante".
Page 103: "Vicaloaro" has been changed to "Vicalvaro".
Page 139: "Francisco Baimes" has been changed to "Francisco Balmes".
Page 141: "Manuel José Quintina" has been changed to "Manuel José
Quintana".
Page 141: [General] "Las Concha" has been changed to "La Concha".
Page 152: "El Guerigay" has been changed to "El Guirigay" [newspaper].
Page 157: "Luis Mayang" has been changed to "Luis Mayans".
Page 158: "Guipazcoa" has been changed to "Guipuzcoa" [province].
Page 173: "Francesco Pacheco" has been changed to "Francisco Pacheco".
Page 197: "Palace of San Felmo" has been changed to "Palace of
San Telmo".
Page 267: "San Lucar de Bairameda" has been changed to "San Lucar
de Barrameda".
Page 269: [Plaza de] "La Incarnacion" has been changed to "La
Encarnacion".
Page 320: "Carmen Burgos de Segúi" has been changed to "Carmen
Burgos de Seguí".
Page 340: "Duchess of Ariot" has been changed to "Duchess of Arion".

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