HOW NAPOLEON I. CHECKMATED THE SPANISH ROYAL FAMILY
1808-1814
As Napoleon was not quite satisfied with Murat’s reports, he determined
to go himself to Spain, and Ferdinand was advised by Escoiquiz to go to
Bayonne to meet the Emperor. After holding a council on the subject at
Vittoria in the bedroom of Escoiquiz, who was ill, Ferdinand wrote a
humble letter to the Emperor, promising to go and meet him, in spite of
Savary’s objections to the want of dignity in the suggested proceeding.
In his letter to Napoleon, Ferdinand declared that he had been raised
to the throne by the free and spontaneous abdication of his father, and
to this epistle the Emperor replied:[7]
[7] Published in the _Moniteur_ in 1808.
“IN BAYONNE,
“_April 16, 1808_.
“MY BROTHER,
“I have received the letter of Your Royal Highness. You will have seen
by your father’s papers what an interest I have always shown in him, so
you will allow me now to speak to you with frankness and loyalty.
“I had hoped to come to Madrid and persuade my august friend to make
certain necessary reforms in his dominions which would give public
satisfaction. The separation of His Majesty from the Prince of the
Peace seemed to me absolutely necessary for his happiness and that
of his vassals. Events in the North retarded my journey, and the
occurrences of Aranjuez have intervened.
“I do not constitute myself a judge of what happened, or of the conduct
of the Prince of the Peace; but I know very well that it is very
dangerous to Kings for the people to become accustomed to shedding
blood in their own attempts to obtain justice. God grant that Your
Highness may not find it so yourself! It would not be for the interest
of Spain to persecute a Prince who has married a Princess of the Royal
Family, and who has so long governed the kingdom. He has no friends
already, and Your Highness will have none, either, if you come to be
disgraced one day, for people like to avenge themselves for the respect
they have had to show us.
“Moreover, how could a Cause be framed against the Prince of the Peace
without framing it also against the King and Queen, your parents?
This Cause would foment hate and seditious passions, and the result
would be fatal to the crown. To this crown Your Royal Highness has no
rights beyond those transmitted by your mother. If the Cause soils her
honour, Your Highness destroys your own rights. Do not listen to weak,
perfidious counsels. Your Highness has no right to judge the Prince of
the Peace; the sins which are imputed to him disappear in the rights
of the throne.
“I have often expressed my wish for the Prince of the Peace to be
removed from affairs. If I have not been more insistent, it has been
because my friendship for King Charles overlooked the weakness of his
affection. Oh, miserable humanity! Weakness and error are our lot. But
all this can be made right if the Prince of the Peace is exiled from
Spain, and I offer him an asylum in France.
“As the abdication of Charles IV. took place at the moment when my
armies were occupying Spain, it will seem in the eyes of all Europe
and of posterity that I sent these troops with the sole object of
dethroning my ally and friend. As a Sovereign and a neighbour, I must
therefore hear all about the event before recognizing the abdication.
“I tell Your Royal Highness that if the abdication of Charles was
spontaneous, and he was not forced to it by the insurrection and
consequent meeting in Aranjuez, I have no objection to admitting it,
and acknowledging Your Royal Highness as King of Spain. I therefore
desire to confer with Your Royal Highness on this matter.
“The circumspection I have observed for the past month in the matter
ought to convince Your Highness that you will always have my support if
factions of any kind disturb you on the throne.
“When King Charles told me of the recent events in October, I flattered
myself that I had contributed by my entreaties to the peaceful
conclusion of the Escorial matter.
“Your Highness is not free from faults; the letter you have written
me is sufficient to show that, and I have always wished to forget it.
Being a King, you know how sacred are the rights of the throne; any
step of an hereditary Prince towards a foreign Sovereign is criminal.
I consider the marriage of a French Princess with Your Royal Highness
would be conformable to the interests of my people, and, above all, as
a circumstance which will unite me by fresh bonds to a house which I
have had every wish to honour ever since I ascended the throne.
“Your Royal Highness ought to beware of the consequences of popular
insurrections; you might be able to make an assault on my scattered
soldiers, but it would only lead to the ruin of Spain.
“I have seen with regret some letters from the Captain-General of
Catalonia which tried to rouse the people.
“Your Royal Highness knows all the depth of my heart; you will observe
that I am full of many ideas which require consideration; but you can
be sure that in any case I shall behave to you as I have to the King
your father.
“Your Royal Highness must be assured of my desire to conciliate
matters, and to find occasions of giving you proofs of my affection and
perfect esteem.
“May God have you in His holy and worthy keeping!
“NAPOLEON.”[8]
[8] From the “Memorias” of Nellerto and the “Manifestation” of Don
Pedro Ceballos.
The King, oblivious of the veiled insult of the Emperor, that he had
no right to the throne beyond that transmitted by his mother, still
cringed to the Frenchman, and wrote:
“VITTORIA,
“_April 18, 1808_.
“SEÑOR, MY BROTHER,
“I have received with great satisfaction your letter of the 16th, sent
by General Savary. The confidence with which Your Majesty inspires
me, and my desire to show you that my father’s abdication was the
consequence of his own impulse, have decided me to go immediately to
Bayonne. I hope therefore to leave to-morrow for Irun, proceeding
thence to the country-seat of Marrae, where Your Majesty is.
“I am, my good Brother, with the highest esteem and sincerest affection,
“FERDINAND.”
When Ferdinand arrived at Bayonne, the Emperor went to see him at
once, and Ferdinand went down to the door to meet him. The interview
was short, but the Spanish King was invited to dinner that night. It
was noticeable that, although Napoleon was very friendly, he never
addressed his guest as “Majesty”; and hardly was Ferdinand back in his
rooms, when a message was conveyed to him by Savary to the effect that
the Emperor had determined that the Bourbons should not return to the
throne of Spain, and that, as he had determined to put a French Prince
upon the throne, he required the son of Charles IV. to renounce the
diadem of both worlds in his own name and in that of all his family.
Pedro Ceballos was loud in his indignation at such usurpation, when
Napoleon, who had heard his remarks from the next room, entered the
apartment, upbraided him for his treachery to Charles, and declined to
enter further into the matter until Ferdinand’s father was there to
speak for himself.
After Charles had sent Napoleon a protest against his abdication, he
concentrated all his efforts on gaining the liberty of the Prince of
the Peace. Indeed, the old man seemed more upset at the risks run by
his ex-Minister than he was at the treatment he had himself received.
Pursuant to Murat’s advice, Charles and his wife repaired to the
Escorial, and there, in this imposing but gloomy abode, they brooded
over the turn in their affairs until despair filled their hearts.
Murat, faithful to the promise made to Charles in the presence of the
Queen of Etruria on the eve of his departure for the Escorial, did his
best for the dethroned Sovereigns, and persuaded the Union to depute
him to accompany them to Bayonne to take part in the conference with
Napoleon. The fact of Godoy being in Bayonne was another reason for
the royal couple to wish to go there, as they had not seen him since
his release from captivity. The following letter, which the King wrote
to Napoleon announcing his departure for Bayonne, shows the esteem in
which they held Bonaparte:
“ARANDA,
“_April 25, 1808_.
“SIR AND BROTHER,
“A prey to rheumatic pains in my hands and knees, I should be
completely miserable were not my troubles alleviated by the hope of
seeing you in a few days. I cannot hold a pen, so I beg of Your Majesty
to pardon my not writing with my own hand to express the great pleasure
I have in going to enjoy your generous kindness, for I am obliged to
use a secretary.
“The Queen also writes to Your Imperial Majesty, and we beg you to
accept our united sentiments of love and confidence.
“Your protection is balm to the wounds of my heart, and I feel that the
moment in which I shall find myself in your arms will be one of the
happiest of my life, and the first, after all that has happened, on
which I shall feel sure of my existence.
“May my wishes be fulfilled!
“My sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s faithful
Ally and Friend,
“CHARLES.”[9]
[9] Published in the _Moniteur_, 1810.
The Queen’s letter to Napoleon ran thus:
“SIR AND BROTHER,
“I should have written before to Your Imperial Majesty if the trying
situation in which we undertook the journey had not presented so many
obstacles. We have now just arrived at Aranda of Duero. The King is
in a terrible state. He is troubled with rheumatic pains in his hands
and knees, but, in spite of all, we are longing for the happy moment of
throwing ourselves into the arms of Your Imperial Majesty, whose great
generosity is beyond all expressions of our gratitude.
“We ought to have arrived at Bayonne before now, but, unfortunately,
circumstances do not correspond with our ardent desires, because
my son’s journey has left us without horses, money, and all other
necessaries. Heaven grant that the moment of our interview will be
as interesting to Your Imperial Majesty as it will be to us, your
faithful, worthy friends! We are quite sure of the protection of
Your Majesty, and nothing in the world can compare with the complete
and sweet confidence which leads us to place our fate under the most
powerful protection of Your Majesty, whose immutable equity is so
great, as the critic of the situation of his faithful friend and ally,
since the unhappy epoch of the unheard-of events at Aranjuez.
“If Your Majesty’s troops had arrived then, they would have protected
our legitimate rights as their great captain deigns to do, but Heaven
sent us calamities which came like thunderbolts because we had no help,
nor had we anyone to support us.
“I do not know what day we shall arrive at Bayonne, because, if the
King’s indisposition permit it, we hope to take double journeys every
day. Your Imperial Majesty may be sure that we shall fly to your arms,
so great is our desire to strengthen the sweet ties of alliance and
friendship.
“May God have you in His safe keeping!
“Sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s most
affectionate Sister,
“LUISA.”
The affectionate tone of these royal letters shows that the royal
couple thought that Napoleon was about to restore to them the sceptre
which had been torn from their hands.
When the King and Queen arrived at Villareal, they asked what reports
were circulated about affairs, and the Duke of Mahon replied: “It is
said that the Emperor of the French is calling the Royal Family of
Spain together at Bayonne in order to deprive them of the throne.”
The Queen looked surprised, but she thought for a moment, and then said:
“Napoleon has always been a great enemy of our family. Nevertheless, he
has made Charles repeated promises to protect him, and I cannot believe
he is now acting with such scandalous perfidy.”
The royal arrival at Bayonne was announced by a salute of 101 guns,
the garrison lined the streets, and Charles, on dismounting from his
carriage, showed his pleasure at the reception vouchsafed to him by
talking even to those he did not know.
A shadow came over the King’s genial countenance when he saw Ferdinand
standing with his brother at the foot of the staircase, and it was
only the younger Prince who was given a cordial “Good-day” by the King,
and who was embraced fondly by his mother. Although Ferdinand saw
that he was ignored, he made a step forward to greet his parents. But
Charles stopped, made a movement of indignation, and began mounting the
stairs with a severe face. The Queen, however, who was behind, could
not forget that she was a mother, and folded her treacherous son to her
bosom.
Then the Princes repaired to their apartments, and their parents
hastened to greet the exile Godoy with tears of joy.
The Emperor of the French lost no time in paying his respects to the
royal travellers, but he did not ask them to dinner until the following
day.
As Charles’s rheumatism gave him some difficulty in mounting the stairs
of the imperial abode, he gladly accepted Napoleon’s arm, saying: “I
have not the strength that I had. It has been all knocked out of me.”
“We will soon see about that,” returned the Emperor. “Lean on me, and I
will find strength for both.”
Thereupon the King stopped, and said emphatically: “So I believe, and I
base all my hopes upon you.”
On taking their seats at the table, Charles noticed the absence of
Godoy, and he exclaimed with tender concern: “And Manuel? Where is
Manuel?”
So Napoleon, anxious to please his ally, sent for the Prince of the
Peace, and the party was complete.
At the meeting at which it was hoped Napoleon would bring the Royal
Family to a satisfactory understanding there were very violent scenes.
It was natural that the sight of their renegade son should revive all
the bitterness of the King and Queen’s recent trials, but it was a pity
that they did not restrain the passions which made them lose their
royal dignity.
The Emperor announced that Ferdinand would restore on the morrow to
His Majesty the crown he had snatched from his father’s brow. This
Ferdinand stoutly declared he would not do, and Maria Luisa, who had
destroyed the proofs of her son’s guilt in the conspiracy of the
Escorial, was now so mad with rage that, according to the report of
Caballero, she cried to the Emperor to punish the crimes of her son by
committing him to prison.
Ferdinand was silent during the interview, but a few hours later he
wrote to his father, maintaining that the abdication had been a _fait
accompli_ and declaring that he would only give up the crown at the
request of the Cortes and all the tribunals.
To this letter the King replied:
“MY SON,
“The perfidious counsels of the people about you have brought Spain
into a very critical condition, and only the Emperor can save it....
You have been too easily led away by the hatred which your late wife
had for France, and you have thoughtlessly shared her unjust feelings
against my Ministers, your mother, and myself.
“I was obliged, in support of my rights as a King and a father, to have
you arrested, for your papers contained proof of your crime. But as I
am approaching the end of my life, and I was miserable at the idea of
my son dying in a dungeon, I let myself be softened by your mother’s
tears. And yet my subjects have been upset by the deceitful courses of
the faction you formed, and from that time I have had no peace in my
life....
“You introduced disorder into my palace, you summoned the Royal Guard
against my own person. Your father has been your prisoner; my Prime
Minister, whom I created and received into my family, was covered with
blood, and taken from one prison to another.... I am King by the right
of my fathers. My abdication was due to force and violence. I have
nothing to accept from you, nor can I consent to any meeting or to any
new and base suggestion on the part of the people about you.”
However, Ferdinand was obstinate, and there seemed no chance of a
peaceful settlement of the disgraceful family feud.
The above letter was dated May 2, 1808, and it was on that day that
the historic blow was struck in Madrid for Spain’s emancipation from
the French. It was the sight of the young Infante Francisco’s tears
at leaving the Palace of Madrid at the call of Napoleon which acted
like a match to gunpowder. The valiant Velarde, Daoiz, and Ruiz were
martyrs on this occasion, and the dramatic way in which the Spaniards
always keep this anniversary shows that those who struck that blow are
not forgotten in the land.
When Charles IV. heard the news of the riot, he at once thought that it
had been instigated by his sons.
“Manuel, send for Charles and Ferdinand,” he said, in a firm tone.
Napoleon remained in the room restless and gloomy; Charles and Maria
Luisa looked worried and anxious. They were all seated when Ferdinand
appeared and silently stood alone before them, for his brother was ill
in bed.
The King then asked his son if he had heard the news from the capital.
When Ferdinand replied in the negative, Charles returned vehemently,
“Very well, I will tell you,” and rapidly related what had happened.
“Judge, then,” he added, “if it be possible to persuade me that you
had no part in this? And did you hasten your miserable associates to
dethrone me in order to massacre my subjects? Who advised you to this
carnage? Do you only aspire to the glory of a tyrant?”
The Duke of Rovigo, who gives us this scene in his “Mémoires,” says
that he and the other people who were listening in the adjoining salon
could not catch Ferdinand’s reply, but they heard the Queen exclaim:
“Didn’t I always presage your perdition? See into what abysses you
throw yourself and us! Ah, you would have killed us if we had not
left Spain! What! you have made up your mind not to answer? You do not
forget your old ways. You never know anything when you do something
bad.”
During this dialogue Charles IV. angrily moved about the cane which
he used when walking, and he so far forgot his dignity as to raise
it in a threatening way to his son, in his anger at his impenetrable
countenance. When Maria Luisa finished her diatribe, she lifted her
hand as if to strike the Prince, but she checked herself in time.
The final touch to Ferdinand’s humiliating position was given when the
Emperor said in cold, clear, chilling tones:
“Prince, I had formed my resolution from the events which brought you
to France, and now the blood spilt in Madrid confirms my decision. This
carnage can only be the work of the band which calls you chief, and I
will never recognize as King of Spain one who breaks the old alliance
of two nations and orders the assassination of the French soldiers,
whilst asking me to sanction the impious act of dethroning your father.
Such is the result of bad counsels. You are brought to the precipice.
It is to your father alone that I am in any way bound, and if he wish
it I will restore him to his throne and accompany him to his capital.”
But Charles IV. exclaimed vehemently: “But I don’t wish it. What could
I do in a country where they have worked up such passions against me?
And I, who have always rejoiced at seeing my country peaceful in the
midst of the upset of Europe--I should dishonour my old age if I made
war in the provinces and condemned my subjects to prison. No, no; I
don’t wish it. _My son will undertake it with more pleasure than I._”
Then, looking at Ferdinand with majesty mingled with pity, he said: “Do
you think it costs nothing to reign? You have followed these perfidious
counsels. I neither aspire to command nor can I do anything. Now you
must avoid the precipice as best you can.”
As Napoleon told Ferdinand that resistance about his resignation was
useless, and would only make his fate worse, it was agreed that the
crown should be handed over to France.
So the Treaty of Bayonne was formally signed on May 6 by the Prince of
the Peace for Charles IV., and by Marshal Duroc for Napoleon, and this
step, disastrous to the nation, can thus be distinctly traced to the
family feuds induced by the Queen’s unbridled passion for the Prince of
the Peace.
Charles had passed the twenty years of his reign in a self-indulgent,
simple life, and although he did nothing to show great devotion to
his kingdom, he certainly of his own accord would have done nothing
to disturb its peace. The Count of Toreno repeats the account which
Charles gave of his daily routine to the Emperor:
“Every day, winter and summer, I hunt till twelve o’clock, when I dine.
Directly afterwards I hunt again till evening. Manuel tells me how
things are going on, and I go to bed, to begin the same life next day,
unless there is some important ceremony.”
With a Sovereign so inert, Godoy did not demur on signing the deed of
renunciation of the throne, and as Escoiquiz sanctioned the deed, it
shows that he also felt that Ferdinand was but a broken reed.
After the humiliating events of Bayonne, the poor Queen of Etruria
sought to return to Etruria, but was detained at Nice. Miserable at
having been obliged to leave her young son ill at Compiègne, she tried
to escape to England, but, the plot being discovered, one of her
two agents was shot, the other died in prison, and she herself was
condemned to confinement in a convent at Rome; so she did not recover
her liberty nor see her child again until the fall of Napoleon. The
Queen’s claims on Etruria were subsequently nullified by the Congress
of Vienna, and she had to be contented with the nomination of her sons
to the dukedom of Lucca.
Although after the Treaty of Bayonne the city of Madrid was in the
hands of Napoleon Bonaparte, the palace could not count the Emperor as
one of the residents in the palace, for during his stay in the Spanish
capital he was installed in the mansion of the Duque del Infantado
at Chamartin, and it was from this house that he made his entry into
Madrid. “Je la tiens en fin cette Espagne si désirée,” said the French
conqueror as he passed up the magnificent staircase of the royal
palace, and placed his hand upon one of the lions on the balustrade;
then, as his eyes travelled up the matchless marbles and fine panels
and pictures of the staircase, he turned to his brother Joseph and
said: “Mon frère, vous serez mieux logé que moi.”
When passing through the magnificent apartments, he stopped before
a portrait of Philip II., and after gazing at it for some minutes in
silence turned away. Who knows what recollections may have passed
through the conqueror’s mind, of stories of this Sovereign read in
boyhood, and how little he had then thought that the throne of this
King would ever be at his disposal!
Thus ended the rapid and only visit of Napoleon to the Spanish capital,
for he went back to Chamartin, and from thence set out for Galicia.
King Joseph soon found he had a difficult part to play at the royal
palace as ruler of a foreign nation, but, although the Spaniards could
not be supposed to be fond of him, tribute was paid to the kindness
of his heart. After a meeting held at the palace to concert steps for
dealing with the fearful famine which was devastating Madrid, the
father of Mesoneros Romanos said to his son: “Joseph has certainly
not lost his head at his elevation, neither is he unduly set up by
his rank. He seemed profoundly moved at the misery of the people,
and proclaimed his intention to do all in his power to assist them.
Certainly,” concluded the speaker, “the man is good. It is only a pity
he is called Bonaparte!”
The preference entertained by Joseph Bonaparte for a beautiful lady,
the Countess Jaruco, widow of the Governor of Havana, is well known.
The lady died, and on the night of her burial her body was exhumed (one
can imagine by whose orders), and was interred under a shady tree in
her own garden. Joseph subsequently married the Countess’s daughter by
General Merlin. The hatred of the people got on the poor Frenchman’s
nerves, and for the last four years of his enforced reign in Madrid he
kept quite in retirement, spending a good deal of time in the Casa del
Campo, to which he passed by a tunnel entrance.
But it was not very long, as we know, before the day came for Joseph to
leave Spain.
“The excitement in our house,” writes Mesoneros Romanos, “at the news
of the evacuation of the royal palace by the French was extreme, and
it was the same in every Spanish home. The hatred of the foreigners
who had taken possession of us was very deep-rooted, and those who had
joined the Gallic banner were not safe from actual persecution.
“The shades of a dreadful nightmare were passed, and men talked
excitedly, and women and children laughed for joy. The Virgins del
Carmen and of the Paloma were promised new robes, and the children ran
to light up the altar, backed with a valuable picture of the Immaculate
Conception--a relic of the sacking of Godoy’s house; and after a
Paternoster and a Salve my father said: ‘Now we must go to bed, for we
must be up early to-morrow to see the entry of our friends.’
“By this was meant the Anglo-Spanish army, with its chief, Lord
Wellington, and the Generals Alava, España, and Conde de Amarante. It
was indeed a fine sight; the streets were decorated, and after a repast
served in the Town Hall the English Commander-in-Chief appeared at the
windows in response to the vociferous cheers of the crowds, and his
speech, which was as cordial as was compatible with the stiff English
manner, was received with the enthusiasm of our Southern nature.”
Then Wellington repaired to the royal palace, which the municipality
had put at his disposal. The English General’s official proclamation,
placed at the corners of the streets, struck cold on the hearts of the
Spaniards, for it savoured more of a fierce Murat than of the General
of a liberating force. The following copy is taken from the only
remaining one in the archives of the city:
“The inhabitants of Madrid must remember that their primary duty is to
maintain order, and to render the Allied Armies every assistance in
their power to continue their operations.
“The Constitution established by the Cortes in the name of H.M.
Ferdinand VII. will be proclaimed to-morrow, after which will follow
the immediate formation of the Government of the City according to the
form it prescribes.
“In the meanwhile the existing Authorities will continue in the
exercise of their functions.
“LORD WELLINGTON,
“_Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo_.”
It was soon seen that Wellington did not intend to rest upon his
laurels, for he scoured the rural park of the Retiro, where a French
detachment still lingered, and took 2,000 prisoners and 200 pieces
of artillery. This act completely confirmed the confidence of the
Spaniards in the English commander, and the heads of families eagerly
repaired to the churches to take the oath of the Constitution, which,
however, conveyed little to them beyond their emancipation from the
French and the approaching return of King Ferdinand VII.
It cannot be said that Wellington made himself very popular whilst he
was at the royal palace. He received the attentions showered upon him
in his cold and stiffly courteous way, and took little pains to be
cordial with the people of importance who called upon him.
Wellington’s fancy to have his portrait painted by Goya nearly led to
the future hero of Waterloo losing his life.
For, be it known, the illustrious Spanish painter was irascible to a
degree, the more so that he was completely deaf. So when the great
General made his appearance in the studio on the banks of the river
Manzanares, the painter’s son interpreted the Englishman’s wishes in
deaf and dumb language to his father.
The sittings took place, and the artist worked assiduously; and when he
thought the portrait was far enough advanced to be seen by the General,
he placed it before him. But, unfortunately, the picture did not please
the commander, who shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and said in
English to his friend that he would not accept such a caricature as a
gift. General Alava declined to translate this depreciatory remark; but
the artist had noticed the scornful gestures of the Englishman, and
the son in alarm saw his father turn his eyes to the loaded pistols
which always lay ready to hand on the table. The young man’s fear was
increased when Wellington rose from his seat in a discourteous way,
and put on his hat preparatory to departure. Then Goya, enraged at the
officer’s contemptuous manner, seized the pistols, and the General
clapped his hand to his sword.
The scene would have ended in a tragedy had not Lord Alava assured
the irate General that the artist was suffering from sudden mental
aberration, and young Goya restrained his father by force from using
the deadly weapons.
Wellington gave a great ball at the Town Hall the night before he left
Madrid, and with this return for the bull-fights, serenades, and fêtes,
which had been given in his honour, he took his departure from the
Spanish capital.
The English camp in the Retiro was raised a month later by General
Hill, and it is a matter of regret that the step was accompanied by the
blowing up of the royal manufactory of porcelain, for the fabrication
is now extinct. The magnificent walls and ceilings of one of the salons
of the royal palace, decorated with cherubs, fruit, and flowers, in
this beautiful ware, show that Spain boasted an industry which rivalled
that of Sèvres, Dresden, or Worcestershire.
The reason given for this act of vandalism was that the French might
have used the building as a barrack; but it did not satisfy the
Spanish, who could not contain their indignation at the deed, which
was made worse by the English withdrawing to Portugal and leaving the
capital.
Ferdinand, with his usual duplicity, wrote to Berthémy from Valençay,
where he was practically a prisoner. In this letter he pleaded in a
cringing way for the protection of Napoleon, who had robbed him of his
crown.
“My greatest desire,” he writes, “is to be the adopted son of His
Majesty the Emperor, _our Sovereign_. I believe I am worthy of this
adoption, which would make the happiness of my life, by reason of my
love and affection to the sacred person of His Majesty, and by _my
submission and entire obedience to his intentions and desires_.
“Moreover, I am anxious to leave Valençay, for this place is in every
way disagreeable to us and in no way suits us.
“I am glad to trust in the magnanimity of conduct and the generous
beneficence which always distinguish Your Imperial Majesty, and to hope
that my ardent desire will be soon fulfilled.
“Receive, etc.,
“FERDINAND.”
When Napoleon decided to publish this correspondence with Ferdinand,
he wrote and asked him to send a letter to show that he had his
authorization for doing so.
So, before the appearance of the letters in _Le Moniteur_, Ferdinand,
in obedience to the imperial request, wrote to Napoleon:
“VALENÇAY,
“_May 3, 1810_.
“SEÑOR,
“The letters now published in _Le Moniteur_ show the whole world
the sentiments of perfect love which I entertain for Your Imperial
Majesty, and the deep desire I cherish of becoming your adopted son.
The publicity which Your Imperial Majesty has deigned to give my
letters makes me hope that you do not disapprove of my sentiments nor
of the desire I have formed, and this hope fills me with joy.
“Permit me, sire, to confide to you the thoughts of a heart which I
do not hesitate to say is worthy of your adoption. If Your Imperial
Majesty would unite me to a French Princess, you would fulfil my most
ardent wish. By this union, apart from my personal happiness, all
Europe would be convinced of my unalterable respect for the will of
Your Majesty, and it would see that you deign to make some return for
such sincere feelings.
“I will venture to add that this union and the sight of my happiness
will exercise a beneficial effect on the destiny of all Spain, and will
rob a blind and furious people of the pretext of covering a country
with blood in the name of a Prince, the eldest son of an ancient
dynasty, who has, by a solemn treaty by his own choice and by the most
glorious of all adoptions, made himself a French Prince and a son of
Your Imperial Majesty.
“I venture to hope that such ardent wishes, and an affection so
absolute, will touch the magnanimous heart of Your Majesty, and that
you will deign to make me share the fate of the many Your Majesty has
made happy.
“Señor, I am, etc.,
“(Signed) FERDINAND.”
Charles Leopold, Baron de Colly, an astute and intriguing youth,
proposed to the Duke of Kent a plan for releasing Ferdinand from
his ignoble position at Valençay by taking him on board an English
man-of-war to a port of Spain.
The Duke of Kent referred the matter to his father, who sent Ferdinand
two letters by the Baron. Provided with a set of passports and all
papers necessary for the undertaking, besides supplies, in the form
of diamonds and an open draft on the house of Maensoff and Clanoy,
and a ship loaded with provisions for five months, Colly commenced
operations. He reached Paris in safety, sold part of the diamonds, and
began his preparations; but the police got wind of the plot through
Colly’s secretary Albert, and he was promptly shut up in the Castle of
Vincennes.
Fouché tried to persuade Colly to continue his work, so that Ferdinand
might be caught in the act of escaping; but the Englishman preferred
his prison to such treachery, and in this prison he remained until the
fall of Napoleon.
In the meanwhile Fouché sent to Ferdinand a man called Richard,
personating Colly. But the Prince was not caught in the trap, for, in
his rooted desire to conciliate the Emperor of the French, he sent at
once for Berthémy, the Governor, and said to him:
“The English have done great harm to the Spanish nation by using my
name, and they are now the cause of the blood which is being spilt.
The English Ministry, in their mistaken idea that I am kept here by
force, have sent an emissary to me who, under the pretext of selling
me curios, has given me a letter from His Majesty the King of England.”
The letter from George III. to Ferdinand, which was subsequently
published in _Le Moniteur_, ran thus:
“SIR, MY BROTHER,
“I have for a long time wished for an opportunity to send Your Majesty
a letter signed by my hand, to express the deep interest and the
profound feeling which I have entertained for you since you were taken
from your kingdom and your faithful subjects. Whatever the violence
and cruelty with which the usurper of the throne of Spain oppresses
that nation, it ought to be of great consolation to Your Majesty to
know that your people retains its loyalty and love for its legitimate
Sovereign, and Spain makes continual efforts to maintain the rights of
Your Majesty and to re-establish those of the monarchy. The resources
of my kingdom, my squadrons, and my armies, will be employed in aiding
the vassals of Your Majesty in this great cause, and my ally the
Prince Regent of Portugal has also contributed with all the zeal and
perseverance of his faithful friend.
“The only thing which is wanting to your faithful subjects and your
allies is the presence of Your Majesty in Spain, where it would give
fresh energy. Therefore I ask Your Majesty, with all the frankness of
alliance and friendship which bind me to your interests, to think of
the most prudent and efficacious way of escaping from the indignities
which you suffer, and to present yourself in the midst of a people
unanimous in its desire for the glory and happiness of Your Majesty.
“I beg Your Majesty to be sure of my sincere friendship, and of the
true affection with which I am--in the palace of the Queen, Monday,
January 31, 1810--sir, my Brother,
“Your worthy Brother,
“GEORGE R.”
“By command of the King,
“WELLESLEY.”[10]
[10] “_Monitor de Paris_, traducido por Don Juan Maria Blanco en el
‘Español’ publicado en Londres,” tomo i., p. 136.
But Ferdinand’s cross-grained nature was unable to follow any
straightforward advice or adopt any clear course. However, we all know
how the people’s desire to have a Spaniard on the throne, aided by the
troops of England, was finally successful, and Ferdinand the Desired
entered his capital on May 13, amid cries of delight from his people,
who were wild with joy.