COURT INTRIGUES
1864-1868
On November 28, 1857, “the birth of Alfonso XII.,” as Martin Hume says,
“added another thong to the whip which the King-Consort could hold over
the Queen for his personal and political ends, and it also had the
apparently incongruous effect of sending Captain Puig Moltó into exile.”
Of course there were the usual rejoicings at the birth of a Prince,
but things were far from satisfactory at the Court. The Queen had now
a taste of personal power and a higher notion of her own political
ability. The Congress was in slavish servitude to the palace, and,
acting in accordance with this sentiment, it had managed to get rid
of the men in the Senate who had been working for the constitutional
privileges of the country which would have led to the indispensable
protection of the prerogative of a true suffrage; and freed from these
patriots, the press was silenced and Parliament was suspended.
The return of Maria Cristina, the Queen’s mother, was another step
which added to the unpopularity of Isabella II. Once more wearied out
with waiting for the realization of constitutional rights, the people’s
exasperation was voiced by the soldiers at the barracks of San Gil,
within view of the royal palace of Madrid. O’Donnell at once took steps
for the suppression of the insurrection.
The cries of “Viva Prim!” “Viva la Libertad!” showed that the spirit of
republicanism was rampant.
Swiftly as O’Donnell went to the scene of action, Narvaez was before
him, and so the Prime Minister had the mortification of seeing his
rival carried into the palace to be tended for the slight wound he had
received in the conflict.
The rebellion was soon quelled, and the insurgents were shot; but
disinterested advisers of the Queen might have shown her that such
_émeutes_ proved that the fire of discontent was smouldering, and with
a strong Government for the constitutional rights for which the country
was clamouring the revolution of 1868 would have been avoided.
On the day following the San Gil insurrection a man of influence at the
Court went to plead pardon for two of the insurgents from Her Majesty
herself.
The interview was characteristic of the kind-heartedness of the Queen.
After waiting for half an hour in the antechamber, the gentleman was
shown into the royal presence.
“You have been quite lost,” said Isabel graciously, as her visitor bent
over her hand. “It is a thousand years since you have been to see me.”
Whilst excusing himself with courtly grace, Tarfe noticed that during
the two years in which he had been absent from the palace the Queen had
grown much stouter, and had thus lost some of her queenly dignity. She
seemed distrait and troubled, and the red lids of her limpid blue eyes
gave her an expression of weariness. They were, moreover, the eyes of
a woman who had been brought in contact with the encyclopædic array of
the various forms of the despoilers of innocence.
The petitioner submitted his plea for mercy for his friends by saying
that his request was backed by a letter from the holy _Mother_, begging
her to write two letters to General Hoyos for their release. To the
delight of the intercessor, the Sovereign at once wrote the letters.
When this was done, the surprise of the courtier was increased when the
Queen, who was generally _mañanista_, said in a quick, nervous tone:
“Do not delay giving these letters; do not wait till to-morrow; do it
to-day!”
Before leaving the royal presence, Tarfe ventured to say that O’Donnell
was much upset by the events of the preceding day, and the Queen
replied in a tone curiously devoid of feeling: “Yes, I like O’Donnell
very much.” This she said three times in the same passionless voice,
and then, seeing that he was dismissed, Tarfe took leave of Her
Majesty; and after fulfilling the mission to Hoyos, he went to see
O’Donnell at his palace of Buenavista.
The General declined to believe the reports of his friends, of the
intrigues which were to compass his fall.
The victor at Tetuan was more able to repel the open advance of an
enemy than the underhand plots of a palace.
But when Ortiz de Pinedo suddenly came in, and said, “Gonzalez Brabo
has left San Juan de Luz to-day, and he is coming to form a Ministry
with Narvaez,” the General was somewhat taken aback.
On the following morning, after finishing a long despatch for the royal
signature, he repaired to the palace, and, anxious to know the real
state of affairs, he submitted to Her Majesty the list of appointments
to the Senate-house, many of which had been suggested by Isabel herself.
To the surprise of the Minister, the list was rejected by the Queen in
a cold, disdainful way, so O’Donnell found himself forced to offer his
resignation. This was accepted with the usual meaningless smiles and
compliments.
Then O’Donnell returned to his house, where his friends were waiting
for him. His face betrayed his rage and mortification, and, throwing
his gloves on the table with an angry gesture, he exclaimed:
“I have been dismissed just as you would dismiss one of your servants.”
“My General,” exclaimed one of the partisans of the ex-Minister, “the
_camarilla_ delayed the change of Ministry for two days after the
mutiny; why was that? And Ayala returned because it was better for
Narvaez that we should have the odium of shooting the insurgents. Now
he can take his place in Parliament with all the airs of clemency.”
O’Donnell, who could not deny the truth of this remark, took General
Serrano by the arm into another room, but they could plainly hear their
indignant followers saying: “Eso, señora, es imposible!”
The Marquis of Miraflores says that a General Pierrad, the head of the
Pronunciamento, told a chief of the halberdiers that he had better
tell the Queen that there were no means of putting down meetings, and
this for two reasons: Prim and his friends only wanted a change in
the power by a disciplined Pronunciamento, but the artillery, through
some strange influence, would not recognize military chiefs. He who
said this was to have been shot down by them; he saw them drunk and
faithless to their commands. This communication was made to the Queen.
In 1867 an important interview took place in the Palace of Madrid
between Isabel II. and her sister, the Duchess of Montpensier.
It will be remembered that, after the adventures of the royal couple in
the revolution of 1848, the Duke and Duchess retired to Seville, where
they lived in the Palace of San Telmo with all the state dignity of
sovereigns. The Queen had made the Duke an Infante of Spain, and he had
also been appointed Captain-General.
The Duke decided to take his wife to Madrid to counsel her sister to
adopt a more liberal policy. The Duchess was expecting another child,
but she was advised not to postpone her visit to the royal palace
of Madrid. The interview was far from satisfactory, for Isabella
had no intention of allowing Montpensier to have an active part in
the Government. So the Princess returned to Seville, and Isabella
afterwards wrote her a letter, in which she expressed displeasure at
her aims. This letter received an angry reply, first from the husband,
and then from the wife. So a coldness grew up between the sisters, and,
indeed, Isabella’s want of confidence in Montpensier was proved by the
subsequent events in 1868, when Prim himself rejected the Duke’s offer
to raise forces in his favour.
During all this time the little Prince of Asturias, who was nine
years old when the insurrection broke out in the barracks of San Gil
for Prim, was pursuing his education in the palace. The style of the
Prince’s education is given in the remark of the royal child’s playmate
to his father, when he had been to spend a day at the palace.
“Papa,” said the boy, “Alfonso does not know anything. He is taught
nothing but religion and drilling. After the religious lesson, which
was very dull,” the child continued, “Alfonso was given a spear and a
sword, and he waved them about so much that Juanito and I were afraid
he would hurt us.”
A record was kept of the little Prince’s doings during the day. His
frequent colds, his coughs, his acts of devotion, his appetite at
meals, his games, his toys, his little tempers, his deeds of obedience,
were all entered in the register as signs of his temperament and as
indications of his future character as a man.
The Prince’s apartments were dreary. The windows were high up in
the thick walls, the ceilings were low, and, as a grandee says when
speaking of this fact, it seemed strange that the light and air so
essential for a child should be insufficiently supplied to a future
King. General Pavia, who was gentleman-in-waiting to Alfonso, only
shrugged his shoulders at this remark, but Señor Morphy ventured to
say: “That is our opinion, but she who commands, commands.”
When the grandee was introduced to the little Prince, he returned the
salutation with the manner of one accustomed to it, but with a pretty
smile which was very attractive.
“Yes,” said his attendant, “His Royal Highness is better to-day. He
only has a little cough now, but the doctor says he is not to be tired
with lessons to-day; he is only to rest.”
“Last night,” said the General, “His Highness asked for his lead
soldiers to play with in bed. He did not want to say his prayers. So I
had to fetch the new prayer-book which Her Majesty sent a few days ago,
and I read the prayers whilst he repeated them after me. So in this way
he said his prayers, but not willingly.”
Hereupon Alfonso protested, saying: “But this morning, Marquis, I said
my prayers without your reading anything.”
“Yes, yes,” returned the gentleman; “but Your Highness did not want to
get up, so I had to read stories to you until the doctor came.”
A few pages from the diary of the young Prince of Asturias gives some
insight into the dreary daily life of the delicate child:
“_October 1, 1866._--His Highness breakfasted at 11 o’clock. At 1
o’clock he had drilling till 1.40. At 2 o’clock a writing lesson with
Señor Castilla; at 3 o’clock religion with Señor Fernandez; 4.30, rice
soup as usual; 4.50 he went up to the rooms of Her Majesty to go for a
drive with her.
“_October 4._--His Highness played about till 2.15. He had no lessons
to-day, as being Her Majesty’s saint’s day. At 2.43 he went up to the
Queen’s apartments to assist at the reception. He wore the uniform of
a sergeant, with the Cross of Pelayo. The ceremony over at 6.15, when
His Highness came down with Señor Novaliches, as a boot hurt him (not
the Marquis, but His Highness). The said Marquis took off the boot, and
carefully examined the foot, but he found nothing to account for the
pain. Mention is made of this circumstance as the Chief of the Chamber
of His Highness thinks it fitting to do so....
“_October 6._--My Lord Prince lunched at 12 o’clock. I gave him his
lessons. He went to the Church of Our Lady of Atocha. He went to bed
at 10 o’clock, and slept ten hours. He took some chocolate, made his
confession at 9.30, and Father Fernandez celebrated Mass.
“_October 9._--He breakfasted with appetite. He had his lessons at the
marked hours, and he was somewhat restless. At 4 o’clock he took some
soup, and went out for a walk with the Mayordomo, Señor Marquis de
Novaliches, Professor Sanchez, and Juanito. He had supper at 8 o’clock,
and played till 10 o’clock with Juanito, but left off when he knocked
his left leg against a table. He slept from 10 o’clock till 9 o’clock
in the morning. He got up at 9.30 without feeling any pain in his leg
from the blow. He did his orisons, assisted at the Mass in his room;
he went out for a walk with his Mayordomo, returned at 11 o’clock, and
assisted at the Mass with Their Majesties and the Princesses; and at
11.45 he had his hair cut.”
As Perez Galdos says in his works, the long hours of religious
instruction every day would have qualified the little Prince for the
Council of Trent. When any Bishops came to visit Isabella, they were
sent to the apartments of her little son; and thus Morphy writes in the
register: “I gave the lesson to His Highness in the presence of the
Bishops of Avila, Guadix, Taragona, and of other dioceses whose names
I do not remember.” And Losa wrote: “He opened his eyes at 8.30; he
dressed and gave thanks to God; he took his chocolate with appetite,
and at 10 o’clock had his religion lesson in the presence of the
Cardinal of Burgos, who was pleased with his progress, and noted that
His Highness was ‘magnificent in everything.’”
Courtiers who were true of heart saw with apprehension the artificial
character of the Prince’s education.
“Ah!” said a man who would gladly have been frank with the Queen, but
he felt he was powerless against her crowd of flatterers, “Alfonso is
a very intelligent child. He has qualities of heart and mind which
would give us a King worthy of the people, were they only properly
cultivated; but we shall never see this ideal realized, because he is
being brought up like an idiot. Instead of educating the boy, they are
stultifying him; instead of opening his eyes to science, life, and
nature, they blind them so that his sensitive soul remains in darkness
and ignorance.”
The same courtier implored the Prince’s educators to give the lad a
chance. “Take him out of this atmosphere of priests and nuns, and
devotional books by Father Claret. If you want Alfonso to be a great
King, let him breathe the pure air of fine deeds. Take him away from
the gloomy atmosphere of the royal palace; let him inhale the fresh
breezes of liberty. His talents will develop, and he will become a
different boy.”
It was indeed true the little Prince was in an unnatural atmosphere in
the palace, where the tunic of the nun Patrocinio had become an object
of worship, and where the King, in his stuffy apartments, gave himself
over to the study of relics which were brought to him at a high price
by the priestly folk, who made harvest out of his credibility.
The situation of Queen Isabella is graphically given by the historian
Galdos in the reflections of a loyal courtier whilst having, with his
wife, an audience of Isabella II.:
“Oh, your poor Majesty!” he said to himself. “The etiquette invented
by the set-up gentlemen of the Court to shut you off from the national
sentiment prevents me telling you the truth, because it would hurt you
to hear it. Even those on the most intimate terms with you shut you
out from the truth, and they come to you full of lies. So, kind-hearted
Isabella, you receive the homage of my gilded untruths. All that I have
said to you this afternoon is an offering of floral decorations, the
only ones received on royal altars.... You, who are more inclined to
the ordinary and the plebeian than other Kings--you let the truth come
to you in external decorative, and verbal matters, but in things of
public consequence you like nothing but lies, because you are educated
in it, and falsity is the religious cloak, or rather the transparent
veil, which you like to throw over your political and non-political
errors. Oh, poor neglected, ill-fated Queen...!”
The reflections of the courtier were here interrupted by Isabella
saying to his wife: “Maria Ignacia, I want to give you the ribbon of
Maria Luisa.... I shall never forgive myself for not having done it
before. I have been very neglectful--eh?”
The Marchioness was eloquent in her thanks, and Beramendi could only
say: “Señora, the kindness of Your Majesty is unbounded.... How can we
express our gratitude to Your Majesty?”
But the Marquis said to himself: “We take it, because even as you
accept our lying homage, so we receive these signs of vanity. King and
people we deceive each other; we give you painted rags of flattery,
which look like flowers, and you bestow honours on us which take the
place of real affection.”
Isabella continued: “I must give you a title of Count or Viscount,
which your son can take when he comes of age.”
The Marquis’s wife returned: “Our Queen is always so good; that is why
the Spaniards love her so.”
“Ah, no, no!” exclaimed Isabella in a melancholy tone, “they do not
love me as they did.... And many really hate me, and yet God knows
I have not changed in my love for the Spaniards.... But things have
got all wrong.... I don’t know how it is ... it is through the heated
passions of one and the other. But, Beramendi, it is not my fault.”
“No, indeed,” returned the courtier; “you have not caused this
embroiled state of affairs. It is the work of the statesmen, who are
moved by ambition and egoism.”
This indeed was true, for even as Serrano used the Queen’s favour to
his own ends, and had his debts twice paid by Her Majesty, he was the
first to lead the country against her.
“Do you think that matters will improve, and that passions will calm
down?” asked Isabella anxiously.
“Oh, señora, I hope that the Government will confirm your authority,
and that those that are in rebellion will recognize their error.”
“That is what they all say,” said Isabella, with a little satirical
smile. “We shall see how things will turn out. I trust in God, and I
don’t believe He will forsake me.”
“Ah!” said Beramendi to himself, whilst his royal mistress continued
in the same strain of religious trust to his wife, “do not invoke the
true God whilst you prostrate yourself before the false one. This god
of thine is an idol made of superstition, and decked in the trappings
of flattery; he will not come to your aid, because he is not God. I
pity you, blind, generous, misled Sovereign.... Those who loved you so
much now merely pity you.... You have been silly enough to turn the
love of the Spaniards to commiseration, if not to hatred. I see your
goodness, your affection, but these gifts are not sufficient to rule a
nation. The Spanish people have got tired of looking for the fruit of
your good heart.”
When Isabella gave the sign of dismissal of the courtier and his wife
by rising to her feet, he said to himself sadly:
“Good-bye, Queen Isabella; you have spoilt your life. Your reign began
with the smiles of all the good fairies, but you have changed them
into devils, which drag you to perdition.... As your ears are never
allowed to hear the truth, I cannot tell you that you will reign until
O’Donnell will permit the Generals to second Prim’s plans. Oh, poor
Queen! you would think me mad if I said such a thing to you; you would
think I was a rebel and a personal enemy, and you would run in terror
to consult with your devilish nuns and the odious set which has raised
a high wall between Isabella II. and the love of Spain. Good-bye, lady
of the sad destiny; may God save your descendants, as He cannot save
you!”
The good-heartedness of the Queen was, indeed, seen by all about
her, and there are people still at the Palace of Madrid who remember
seeing Her Majesty take off her bracelets and give them to the beggars
which infest the royal courtyard. All the best impulses of Isabella
were turned to her own ruin for the want of true patriots, who by
supporting the constitutional rights of the nation would have secured
the sovereignty to the Queen. The self-interested conduct of the
generals and statesmen, whose command in the _camarilla_ of the palace
meant rule over the heart of Her Majesty, tended naturally only to the
overthrow of personal rivals, and to the neglect of the welfare of the
land.
Prim therefore became the hope of the nation. With his return to the
capital, thought the people, crushed down by taxation and deprived
of constitutional liberty, there will be an end to the _camarilla_,
Narvaez, and Patrocinio, and we shall have the pure fresh air of
disinterested policy.
The death of O’Donnell at Biarritz relieved Narvaez of the fear of his
rival’s return, but the General had the mortification of seeing his
royal mistress utterly in the hands of Marfori, who had been raised
from the position of Intendente of the Palace to the position of
supreme personal favour.
When the Queen heard of O’Donnell’s death, she is reported to have
said: “He determined not to be Minister with me again, and now he can
never be.”
The Queen now committed the suicidal act of making Gonzalez Brabo
Prime Minister in the place of Narvaez. The poor lady seemed quite to
have lost her head, and there was no one to put her on the right path,
surrounded as she was with harpies.
According to a letter from Pius IX., found in the Princess’s
prayer-book in the royal palace after the Queen had taken flight, the
Pope counselled the marriage of the Infanta Isabella with a Neapolitan
Prince. Even whilst the fêtes of the marriage were going on, Gonzalez
Brabo was concerting with the revolutionary Generals, and the name of
“Prim and Liberty!” was heard on all sides, and messengers were sent to
consult with the leader of the Republican party in London.
The supporters of the Montpensier party hoped that the dethronement
of Isabella would mean the acceptance of the Duchess of Montpensier
as Queen, and her husband as Prince-Consort. But this idea was soon
nipped by Monsieur de Persigny, the President of the Privy Council of
the Emperor of the French, saying to Olozaga, who was then Spanish
Ambassador at Paris, that he would never consent to the crown of Spain
being on the head of either the Duke or the Duchess of Montpensier.
After the historic day of September 29, 1868, when Prim made his
successful _coup_ at Cadiz, the Royal Family fled to San Sebastian.
The haste with which the flight was made could be seen in the
collections of jewels and money which had been thrust into bags which
were after all left behind.
In the Hôtel d’Angleterre of the seaside resort Isabella still seemed
to expect a miracle to take place in her favour. A throne does not fall
every day, and a crowd hovered about the hotel to see how the Queen
would accept her overthrow.
A murmur of satisfaction broke out among the bystanders when the
loyal-hearted Marquis de Beramendi was seen entering the hotel. “That
is a good thing,” they said, “for Isabella will listen to his advice,
which is certain to be wise.”
The courtier’s remarks to the Lady-in-Waiting were short and to the
point.
“I have come to tell you,” he said, “that, if the Queen keeps to the
good idea of abdicating, certain infatuated people ought to be kept
from opposing it. I have had direct news from Serrano, and he says
that, if Doña Isabella will abdicate in favour of Don Alfonso, he will
save the dynasty, and she herself will be saved. The Duke of Torres
will not put obstacles in the way of this course.”
“Better than that,” returned the Lady-in-Waiting, in a voice which a
cold rendered almost inaudible, “I thought that Her Majesty had the
same idea, ‘that she had better go to Logroño, and abdicate in favour
of the Prince of Asturias in the presence of Espartero.’”
“That’s admirable!” said Beramendi.
“And then, after abdicating, the Queen will depart immediately for
France, leaving the new King in the power of the Regent Espartero.”
“Admirable! splendid!” cried Beramendi; “but there is not a minute to
lose.”
“The departure will be arranged this evening.”
“But, my God, I fear delays will be fatal; I am afraid that some bad
friend, some plotting courtier of the _camarilla_, will spoil this
saving step----”
“Well, I must go upstairs now,” returned the lady. “The Señora, Don
Francisco, and Roncali, are busy with manifestoes for the nation.”
“And Spain will say, ‘Manifestoes to me!’ Now is the time to show the
country fine deeds, and not empty rhetoric.”
On the following morning, when Beramendi went to the hotel, he came
upon Marfori; and although he had had little to do with this nephew
of Narvaez since royal favouritism had raised him to such undue
importance, he said, in a tone of assumed respect: “So Her Majesty is
going direct to France? Something was said about her travelling to
Logroño?”
Upon this Marfori frowned angrily, saying: “You don’t understand,
my dear Marquis, that it would be very humiliating for the Queen of
Spain to ask protection from a General, although he bear the name of
Espartero. All concert with Progressists is dangerous. The Queen is
leaving Spain under the conviction that she will soon be recalled by
her people.”
“I knew it was useless to say more. Don Carlos Marfori was busy giving
orders to the servants. I regarded him with resentment, because he was
the personification of the evil influence which brought the Queen to
her ruin.
“His Arab type of handsomeness, with his large mouth and heavy jaw, was
eloquent of sensuality, and his obesity robbed him of the attraction
which he had possessed in earlier days. He was impetuous, overbearing,
and wanting in the courtesy common to a superior education.”
The Marquis was then taken into the presence of the Queen, and as he
bent over her hand she whispered: “You know we have given up the idea
of going to Logroño. No more humiliations! I am going away so as not to
aggravate matters, and to prevent bloodshed; but I shall be recalled,
shall I not?”
“I had to console Her Majesty with one of the usual Court lies, and the
Royal Family soon took its departure, the Queen leaning on the arm of
Don Francisco, the little Infantas with their Ladies-in-Waiting, and
the Prince of Asturias, in a blue velvet suit, led by Señora de Tacon.
The poor little fellow looked pale and sad; his great eyes seemed to
express the royal and domestic sadness of the scene, and nothing was
now wanting but the order for departure.”
Marfori was always much disliked by people at Court. It was in the
summer of 1867. Many courtiers and ladies of high rank were promenading
in the beautiful gardens of La Granja. The soft, well-kept turf of the
shady alleys by the countless sparkling fountains set off the beauty
of the dresses, when, with his usual courtly grace, General Narvaez
advanced to meet the Countess of Campo Alange.
This illustrious lady, whose salons in Madrid were graced by the
highest in the land, was soon to give a ball.
“I have received your invitation,” said the General, after he had
greeted the Countess.
“It is almost the first that I have sent,” returned the lady.
“I have just met Marfori,” said the Duke of Valencia, “and he tells me
he has not received his.”
“Neither will he,” replied the lady sharply.
“And why, being a Minister?” queried the General in surprise, knowing
how the slight to the Queen’s favourite would be resented at Court.
“Simply because Cabinet Councils are not held at my house,” returned
the lady caustically, firm in her decision to show her dislike of the
man.
General Narvaez, whose dapper figure and perfect dancing made him
always a welcome guest at the Spanish Court, was still unmarried when
he had to withdraw to Paris as an exile. He had always been fond of
feminine society, but, gay butterfly as he was, he did not fix his
affections upon any one lady.
The beautiful Leocadia Zamora had been once the object of the officer’s
attention, and, indeed, the charming way she accompanied herself on the
harp fascinated other admirers beside the Count of Valencia. She was a
constant visitor in the salons of the Countess of Montijo, where the
lovely Eugénie shone with the brilliance and charm which were so soon
to be transported to the Court of France.
But fate did not reserve the joy of a happy marriage for the lovely
Leocadia, and the sweet spirit, disillusioned by an unhappy love,
retired to a convent in Oviedo, where she passed the rest of her life
performing the duties of a Lady Abbess.
It was said that it was the gallant Don Salvador de Castro who had
taken Leocadia’s heart captive, when she was young; and, indeed, it is
not surprising if this report be true, for he was a typical courtier
of his time, and when he was home from his duties as Ambassador in
Italy he seemed to dwarf all the attractions of the lady’s other
admirers. Leocadia was, in truth, a star of the Court of Spain, and
the beautiful picture by Frederick Madrazo shows the perfection of her
charms, with no other ornament than a white rose to adorn her simple
white dress. Salvador de Castro was honoured by the friendship of King
Francis II. and Queen Maria Sophia when the Italian Revolution robbed
them of the throne of the Two Sicilies, and he was able to render them
marked services and prove himself as loyal a friend as he was perfect a
gentleman. After the capitulation of Gaeta, the King and Queen rewarded
his loyalty by granting him the title of Prince of Santa Lucia, with
the gift of the beautiful palace on the banks of the Tiber which is
known by the name of the Farnesina, whilst the gardens were sold to the
Emperor Napoleon. The place was deserted, and so near to its ruin that
sheep and goats fed in its grounds, and the custodian took his meals in
the beautiful hall of the frescoes of Sodon.
It was in this palace that Michael Angelo painted a head on the wall,
which is known by the name of “The Visiting Card,” as he left it as a
sign of his call on Raphael when the artist was out.
The Prince of Santa Lucia had the palatial dwelling restored, and he
gave magnificent entertainments in this palace, of which it was not
destined that the lovely Leocadia should be mistress. Indeed, the lady
abandoned all thoughts of love and pomp when she entered a convent in
Oviedo, where she ended her days as Lady Abbess; whilst the daughter
of her old admirer wedded the Marquis of Bey, and made a mark in Court
society of Madrid.
But to return to the gallant little General. His affections were at
last taken captive by another friend of the young Empress of the
French, the beautiful daughter of the Count of Tacher. The Empress
Josephine had belonged to this family, and her parents, the Duke and
Duchess de Tacher de la Pogerie, were much beloved by Queen Marie
Amélie, wife of King Louis Philippe.
It was General de Cordova, who had played such an important part during
the Regency of Queen Maria Cristina, who first took him to the house
of the Tachers. When Narvaez paid a second visit to the palace on the
Boulevard Courcelles, he found that nobody was at home; and he was
waiting in the drawing-room for the return of the lady of the house,
when the daughter came in, looking beautiful in a white dress, but with
her face tied up.
“Are you ill?” asked the General, with concern.
“Yes,” she returned; “I have a swelled face.”
“How sorry I am!” said the soldier sympathetically, “for I came this
afternoon in the hope of hearing you sing.”
“And so you shall,” returned the girl kindly. “You shall not go away
disappointed.” And, taking the bandage from her face, she sang song
after song to the fascinated General.
The progress of the courtship was swift, and the marriage was
celebrated with great magnificence in the palatial abode of Queen Maria
Cristina in Paris, with the attendance of representatives of the most
distinguished families of France and Spain.
When General Narvaez returned to Madrid he became Prime Minister of
Spain.
Unfortunately, the marriage did not prove a happy one, and, indeed,
it would have been difficult for anyone to live peacefully with the
irascible Spaniard. This irascibility was seen at the funeral of
General Manso de Zuñiga, who had died in the expedition against Prim,
in the mountains of Toledo. General Narvaez was chief mourner on the
occasion, as the deceased officer had been husband of Doña Valentina
Bouligni, a lady of great importance at this epoch, with whom he was
connected; and the Bishop of Pharsalia was master of the ceremonies.
At a certain point in the function the order was given to kneel. But,
probably absorbed in some knotty State question, the Duke of Valencia
still stood. Upon this the Bishop quickly approached the grandee, and
said:
“Kneel down, kneel down!”
“But I don’t want to kneel,” returned the General petulantly, and so he
remained standing for the rest of the service.
[Illustration: GENERAL NARVAEZ]
When she came to Madrid as the wife of the great General, the Duchess
of Valencia was appointed Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Isabella, and she
never failed in her loyalty to the dynasty which was in power when she
came to the country of her adoption by marriage.
Many years later she was in an hotel in Switzerland, where she purposed
making a long stay, when Don Carlos happened to come to the same
hotel, accompanied by his secretary. As the Duchess of Valencia was
unacquainted with the Pretender to the throne of Spain, she wondered
who the imperious-looking new arrival could be, who was greeted so
respectfully by everybody. Her curiosity was soon satisfied, for the
gentleman’s secretary presented himself before her to say that the Duke
of Madrid begged the honour to pay his respects to her.
The message filled the Duchess with dismay, for, although she held
the Princes of the blood in great respect, she had no intention of
receiving one who disputed the throne with the reigning Queen.
So, summoning all her dignity to her aid, she said, in a tone of icy
politeness:
“Tell the Duke of Madrid that I am very sorry not to have the honour of
receiving his visit, but to-morrow I leave for Paris.”
And in effect the lady left the hotel on the morrow, and thus the
meeting of one of the oldest and most valued Ladies-in-Waiting with Don
Carlos was avoided.
Isabella certainly never expected that she would be dethroned, for a
few weeks before the revolution of September, 1868, the celebrated
General Tacon, Duke of the Union of Cuba, announced the forthcoming
marriage of his daughter Carolina with the Marquis Villadarías, of the
_première noblesse_, and a perfect type of a Spanish grandee, and she
said: “I congratulate her sincerely on her engagement; but,” she added
sadly, “for myself I am sorry, as I shall see her no more at Court.”
The Queen here referred to the well-known Carlist opinions of the
Marquis Villadarías, which would have made it impossible to receive the
Marchioness at the palace if she had remained there.
So Isabella II. was dethroned in 1868, and she can truly be said to
have been the victim of circumstances. From the moment King Ferdinand
died his daughter had been the object of intrigue and ambition.
Whilst our Queen Victoria was carefully educated and drilled in high
principles, Isabella was the prey of those who wished to rise to
power by her favour. Ministers made love to the Sovereign instead of
discussing the welfare of the nation; flowery speeches on patriotism
meant merely the gratification of the orator’s vanity to be remarked by
Her Majesty. Personal advancement was the end and aim of those in the
Government, and thus poor Isabella’s susceptibilities were worked upon
to an awful extent.
It is well known that General Serrano, who might have been thought to
have the welfare of his country at heart, gained an undue influence
over the Queen by means of her affections, and fomented to a great
extent the matrimonial differences between her and her husband.
Generous to a degree, Isabella paid the debts of this courtier twice,
and yet it was this same General who was the first to have her hurled
from the royal palace.
When the great Canning visited Madrid, Bulwer Lytton showed him at a
Court ball the many women who were the favourites of the Ministers,
and there was, indeed, hardly a statesman who would not sacrifice
principles to the pleas of his mistress. It was at this Court, steeped
in immorality, that Isabella was brought up with little or no knowledge
of right and wrong, and even in her marriage she was a victim to the
intrigues and ambitions of other Courts of Europe as well as those of
her own. She was, in fact, a scapegoat of the nation.
Harassed and in desperation at being pressed on to a miserable marriage
destitute of all that could justify it, Isabella, after one of those
long and fruitless discussions with her mother, once addressed a letter
to our Queen Victoria; but in a pure Court like that of England little
idea could be formed of the stagnant atmosphere of the Spanish palace
from which the poor young Queen sent forth her plaint. Beyond the Court
raged the stormy discontent of the country, which had been thwarted for
more than thirty years of the fulfilment of its constitutional rights
promised by Ferdinand VII. as the condition of his return to the throne
of Spain.
Whilst Queen Victoria was daily increasing in the knowledge of
constitutional rights which are the base of a Sovereign’s power, poor
Isabella’s Prime Ministers resigned at any moment in pique or jealousy
of some other politician, and the people grew daily more discontented
at finding the Parliament was a farce, and it meant neither the
progress of the land nor the protection of the people.
Bulwer Lytton was constantly sending despatches to England about the
shortcomings of Isabella II. as a woman, but he seemed to lay no
stress on the cause of her failure as a Queen. Under proper conditions
Isabella doubtless would have been a good woman and a great Queen,
but choked with the weeds of intrigue she was lost. Undisciplined and
uneducated, the poor Queen fell a victim to what, if properly directed,
would have been virtues instead of vices.
The marriage to which Isabella was forced by intrigue was, of course,
the greatest evil which could have befallen such an impulsive,
warm-hearted girl, who knew no more how to turn a deaf ear to a
claimant for her favour than to keep her purse shut to the plea of an
unfortunate beggar.
The Right Hon. Henry Lytton Bulwer wrote a little later from the
British Embassy at Madrid to the Court of St. James’s, saying that he
“looked at the Queen’s conduct as the moral result of the alliance she
had been more or less compelled to contract, and he regarded her rather
with interest and pity than blame or reproach.”
Isabel’s natural intuition of our Queen Victoria’s good heart prompted
her letters to her. They were sent by a private hand, and who knows
what evils might have been prevented in the Court of Spain if the long
journey, so formidable in those days, had not placed the sister-Queens
so far apart?
Espartero’s plea for Isabel to marry Don Enrique de Assisi, the man
of her heart, met no support in a Court torn with intrigue, and the
sad, bad story of Isabel doubtless had its source in the tragedy of an
unhappy marriage. At the plea of a persistent wooer, who knew that the
Queen had the right of dissolving a Ministry, a Government would fall;
and as the station of her favourites became lower and lower, as time
went on the ill-regulated Sovereign had a Government as undependable as
her friends.
Treachery was the keynote of the Court of Spain, and some of the
leaders of the revolution were those who had used the Sovereign’s
ignorance and foolhardiness to their own ends. In such an atmosphere
of untruth and treachery such men as Espartero, Prim, etc., could
play no enduring part. Hardly had Espartero swept the Court clean of
the Regency of Queen Maria Cristina than his fall was encompassed by
O’Donnell, his rival. The flagrant falsification of the Parliamentary
election returns--which is still the cankerworm of the country--was
the check to all progress. Count San Luis made a primitive effort
for the reform of the elections; he suggested that the names of the
candidates as deputies should be put in a bag, and drawn out by a child
blindfolded, for the law of chance seemed to him better than the custom
of deception.
Isabella’s acts of generosity are still quoted with admiration at the
royal palace of Madrid by those who served her as Queen.
Four hundred girls owed their marriage _dots_ to Isabella, and it
was the fathers of these four hundred royally endowed brides who
treacherously worked for her expulsion.
One day, hearing the story of the penury of a clever man of letters,
Isabella commanded 20,000 francs to be sent to him. The administrator
of her finances, thinking the Queen could hardly know how much money
this sum represented, had twenty notes of 1,000 francs each changed
into small money, and put out on a table by which she had to pass.
“What is all this money for?” asked Isabella, when she saw it spread
out to view.
“It is the money for the man of letters, and this shows Your Majesty
how large is the sum of 20,000 francs.”
“So much the better,” was the prompt reply; and the courtier saw it was
not by proving the amount of the boon that he could check his Sovereign
in her generous actions.
A Court official at Madrid, who has been sixty years in office at the
palace, told me he often saw Isabella take off her bracelets, and give
them to the beggars who pressed upon her as she crossed the courtyard
of the royal domain.
“And who could help loving her?” said the old courtier, with tears in
his eyes; “I know I could not.”
Caught in the darkness of ignorance and intrigue, Isabella was
naturally enraged at the revolution. When her son Alfonso was nearly
made captive by the Carlists at Lucar, she said: “I would rather
my Alfonso be a prisoner of the Carlists than a captive of the
revolutionists.”
Isabella had a faithful friend in the Marquis of Grizalba, and he said
to Croze:[18]
“It is the loss of faith which causes our woes; the charm of death has
been destroyed with the hope of a hereafter. But Spain will die like a
gentleman.”
[18] The author of “La Vie intime d’Alfonse XIII.”
From September 19, 1868, to 1870 there is no history of the Court
of Spain, as there was no King, and it was not known if there ever
would be one again. Isabella lived, as we know, in Paris, and her son
pursued his education in Vienna, in the Theresan College, and later at
Sandhurst. The young ex-Prince was devoted to society and to gaiety,
and, seeing how his mother was fêted in Paris, he was often heard to
say:
“I should rather like to be a dethroned King and live in Paris with
plenty of money.”
In Spain, meanwhile, Serrano, Duke de la Torre, was enjoying his
long-sought-for ambition of being supreme in the country, whilst
General Prim was President of the Council of Ministers. The Duchess
of la Torre made an ineffectual attempt to gather a Court around her
at La Granja; but a palace made after the essentially royal abode of
Versailles, with its countless well-kept alleys and its many panoramas
of fountains adorned with allegorical scenes and figures, did not lend
itself to anything but the stately entourage of a royal Court.
Whilst the Republican party grew in power in the Parliament, the
Generals who had made the revolution sighed after a monarchy.
The Duke of Montpensier, the brother-in-law of the ex-Queen, might have
had a good chance as candidate to the throne, and he was supported
by Topete and the three Liberal Generals; but Spain could not forget
his treachery and ingratitude to Isabella by joining with her enemies
against her, and he found he could gain no real support from the
country. And this coldness became more marked after the tragedy in
which he was the chief actor made a dreadful stain on Court history.
It will be remembered that Prince Henry of Bourbon, the brother of the
ex-King, whom Isabella had personally preferred to the husband she was
finally obliged to accept, and who married, in 1849, Helena, daughter
of the Count of Castellvi, had been removed from his position of a
General of the army, to which he had been appointed by his cousin, and
expatriated for a writing which was very insulting to the Queen.
Having thus associated himself with republicanism, Prince Henry
became the source of many disloyal publications against the Queen and
her Ministers, and when the blow was struck for the dethronement of
Isabella, he openly welcomed the revolution.
The final opinions which caused the tragic ending to his life were
expressed in an article entitled “The Montpensiers,” and this so
enraged the candidate to the throne that he called out the author of
the pamphlet in a duel, and a wave of horror swept over the Court of
Spain when the ex-King’s brother thus met his death at the hand of the
Duke of Montpensier.
The funeral of the Prince was solemnized with all the insignia of his
rank as Lieutenant-Colonel and the owner of the Collar of Charles III.,
and with the rites due to a Freemason of high office. He was buried in
the Escorial, and it is said that his remains will be finally removed
from the simple niche where they now lie to the imposing tomb of “the
Infants.”
Another tragedy befell the family of the ex-Queen of Spain in December,
1871. On May 13, 1868, the Infanta Isabella, the eldest daughter of
Queen Isabella II., married Count Frederick Girgenti, who created a
most favourable impression in the country by the valiant way he fought
in the Battle of Alcolea under the Marquis of Novaliches.
But the brave young Prince was subject to epileptic fits, and one
day in December, 1871, to the horror of his wife, he shot himself in
Lucerne. The poor man lived for some hours, tended by his sorrowing
wife. But neither love nor science could avail in such a case, and
the Infanta Isabella found herself a widow at the age of twenty.
However, the Infanta never allowed sorrow to kill her sympathy for her
compatriots, and to go to Spain is to find that no philanthropic scheme
or project is considered complete without the patronage of the Infanta
Isabella.