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

THE SECRET HISTORY OF

THE COURT OF SPAIN

DURING THE LAST CENTURY

BY

RACHEL CHALLICE

WITH THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK

D. APPLETON & COMPANY

MCMIX

[p. v]

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[p. vi] 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.

[p. vii]

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

[p. ix]

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 [p. x] 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.[p. xi] 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

[p. xiii]

[p. xv]

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.

[p. 1]

CHAPTER I

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

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[p. 2] 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,[p. 3] 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[p. 4] 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[p. 5] 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[p. 6] 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,[p. 7] 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[p. 8] 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!’”

[p. 9]

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[p. 10] 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,[p. 11] 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.

[p. 12]

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.”

[p. 13]

“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[p. 14] 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[p. 15] 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:[p. 16] “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[p. 17] 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[p. 18] 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[p. 19] 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:

“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[p. 20] 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.

[p. 21]

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;[p. 22] 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.”

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.”

[p. 23]

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.

THE OVERTHROW OF GODOY

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[p. 25] 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[p. 26] 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[p. 27] 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[p. 28] 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[p. 29] 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[p. 30] 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]

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.

[p. 35]

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]

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[p. 36] 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[p. 37] 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.

[p. 38]

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]

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[p. 39] 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[p. 40] 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]

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[p. 41] 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[p. 42] 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:

[p. 43]

“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[p. 44] 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[p. 45] 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:

[p. 46]

“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.”

[p. 47]

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:

[p. 48]

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[p. 51] 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[p. 52] 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.

HOW NAPOLEON I. CHECKMATED THE SPANISH ROYAL FAMILY

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]

[p. 57]

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:

“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[p. 58] 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:

[p. 59]

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[p. 60] 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[p. 61] 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[p. 62] 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[p. 63] 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[p. 64] 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[p. 65] 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[p. 66] 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[p. 67] 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[p. 68] 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,[p. 69] 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[p. 70] 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[p. 71] 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:

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[p. 72] 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[p. 73] 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[p. 74] 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:

[p. 76]

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[p. 77] 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:

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.

KING FERDINAND VII. AND HIS HOME LIFE

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 