THE COURT OF SPAIN UNDER ITALIAN SWAY
In February, 1869, Serrano was chosen head of the Executive Government,
and in June of the same year Serrano, Duke de la Torre, was appointed
Regent until a King should be elected.
To General Prim, whose ideal had always been that of Liberty, it was
not surprising that, in seeking a Sovereign who, it was hoped, would
steer the country through the shoals of self-interest and stagnation,
set up by an autocrat monarchy, his eyes should turn to Prince Amadeus
of Savoy, whose father had led such a splendid struggle for the freedom
of the country from the despotism of clericalism. A deputation, formed
by deputies who subsequently became Ministers of Alfonso XII., presided
over by Ruiz Zorilla, who was later a pronounced republican, were thus
sent to Italy to submit the offer of the throne of Spain to the Prince
of Savoy. Their mission to the Prince over, they proceeded to the
bedroom of his young wife, who had recently been confined, and there
conveyed to her in due form the invitation to become Queen of Spain.
The claim of the Italian Prince to the throne rested on the royal
decree of Philip V. of Spain, which formed the integral part of
the Treaty of Utrecht, November 5, 1712. This decree set forth the
claim to the throne of Spain through failure of legitimate line by the
Duke of Savoy, and through failure of the male line by Prince Amadeus
of Carignano and his sons, as descendants of the Infanta Catharine,
daughter of Philip II. When the question of the claims to the throne of
Spain was put to the vote, it was found that Amadeus registered 199,
Espartero 8, Alfonso 2, and for a Republic 63.
Castelar used all his eloquence against the Italian candidate. “Who are
these wretched Dukes of Savoy,” he said, “that run like hungry dogs in
the wake of the coach of our Kings?”
[Illustration: EMILIO CASTELAR]
Courage was a great characteristic of young Prince Amadeus. When only
twenty-one, in 1866, he saved a wounded soldier’s life by carrying him
out of danger on his own mule, in one of the skirmishes during the
struggle for Italy’s liberty.
The young man’s calmness in the hour of danger was shown in 1867, when
the boiler burst on the ship on which he was returning to Italy, after
attending the function of the opening of the Suez Canal. The Count
of Castiglione was killed, and the panic on board threatened more
disaster. But Amadeus was cool and collected. He calmed the people and
insisted on the sailors’ return to their several duties, and the ship
was successfully brought back.
Fortunately, the young Prince was allowed to marry the lady of
his choice, who proved a devoted friend and companion in all the
vicissitudes of their lives.
When Signor Francisco Cassini, the President of the Chamber of
Deputies, told King Victor Emmanuel whom his son wished to marry, the
royal father said: “Do the young people love each other?”
“They idolize each other,” returned the statesman.
“Then very well; they shall be married,” was the reply. “It is not for
me to stand in opposition to the sentiment of my son.”
So the royal couple were married, and thus fate led to Princess Maria
del Pozzo becoming Queen of Spain.
Naturally, Amadeus was not attracted by all he heard of the country
over which he was called to reign. However, when his father said, “Of
course, it is very hot in Spain at this time, and by going there you
would also run the risk of a disagreeable adventure, and perhaps even
get a bit of lead in your ribs,” the natural courage of the Prince
was stimulated, and he declared he would accept the invitation to the
throne, come what may.
As the new King of Spain’s wife had not recovered sufficiently from her
recent confinement to travel, her husband went alone to Spain. Before
starting for his new country, Amadeus said to his friends:
“I go to fulfil an impossible mission. Spain, now divided into various
parties, will unite against a foreign King, and I shall soon be obliged
to return the crown they offered me.”
[Illustration: AMADEUS OF SAVOY, DUKE OF AOSTA, AFTERWARDS KING OF
SPAIN]
However, the Italian Prince knew he had a valiant supporter in General
Prim, who used all his oratory and influence to get the sympathy of
his countrymen on the side of the new-comer. But, as we know, it was
not the fate of the pioneer of Liberty to see the realization of the
scheme which he had hoped would be for the welfare of the country, and
on December 30, 1870, the day on which Amadeus landed on Spanish soil,
Prim was foully murdered by Spaniards.
Long inquiry and investigation never revealed convincingly the hand
that shot the General in the street. It was supposed by some to have
been a partisan of an unsuccessful candidate to the throne; others
think it was a gipsy, who did it as a deed of outlawry. Be that as it
may, strong suspicion fell upon Señor Paul y Angulo, who expressed his
indignation strongly in the prologue to his paper on “Revolutionary
Truths”:
“The sacrifices that I have made for my country have been no light
matters, and all I have in return is to find myself obliged to leave my
poor country, to be the victim of vile calumniators, and to have to fly
from persecution as if I were some horrible criminal.”
Prim’s death was accompanied with much suffering, for some of his
fingers were so seriously injured by the shot, it was thought that
their amputation would save his life. But the operation was in vain,
and the General died in two days, just as Amadeus landed at Carthagena.
When the sad news reached the new King, that his ardent supporter had
fallen a martyr to his cause, he said:
“Gentlemen, my duty is clear: I must go on to Madrid.”
Arrived at the Spanish capital on January 2, 1871, where a fall of snow
added gloom to the occasion, Amadeus at once repaired to the Church of
Atocha, to pay his respects to the remains of the man to whom he mainly
owed the throne of Spain.
As the young King gazed at the corpse of the great leader, who had
inspired trust and confidence in all with whom he came in contact, he
prayed for strength to be able to fulfil the hopes which the Spaniard
had directed to himself. With Prim, the pioneer of Liberty in Spain,
young Amadeus, who had fought for the same cause in his own country,
had always felt in sympathy.
Those who had suffered for their religious opinions had looked to the
great soldier as the herald of a new era. Juan Cabrera, the leader
of the Protestant movement, who had fled to Gibraltar for fear of
imprisonment, and there led a life of exile and hardship, hastened to
meet Prim after the _coup_ which put Spain practically in his hands.
“May I return to my country?” asked Cabrera, when he saw him at
Gibraltar.
“Yes, yes, my man,” replied the General, whilst fixing his keen eyes on
the Protestant’s face, worn with study and anxiety, “you can go back to
Spain now with your Bible under your arm.”
And this the preacher of the reformed faith found to be true, for
Spain had no longer to fear the active persecution of those who
resisted the introduction of the Bible into their land.
As Amadeus gazed at the features of the General, set in death, he
sighed deeply in sorrow at his loss, and when he arrived at the royal
palace, the magnificent setting of so many scenes of struggle for
supremacy in the country, he sat down wearily, and said:
“I feel sure that my loyalty will not be able to save Spain from the
fury of contending factions.”
When the new King took up his abode in the fine domain, with Prim dead,
he felt as if he were starting for a voyage on a ship of which the
rudder was lost, for he knew not whom to trust or to whom to turn for
counsel.
But Amadeus was not a man to let himself be enervated by fears and
doubts for the future, although the first few weeks of his residence in
the palace were additionally anxious from the fact of his wife being
ill at Alassio. For the new young Queen of Spain had not been able to
accompany her husband to Spain, as she was not sufficiently recovered
from her confinement; and when, in her desire to join Amadeus in the
new sphere of influence, the journey was made too soon for her health,
she was for some time ill at Alassio.
At last the new Queen was able to undertake the ten days’ journey by
sea to Alicante, where she was received with great delight by the young
King.
The bright spring day which saw the arrival at Alicante of Queen Maria
Victoria seemed to augur well for the success of the young couple. A
thrill of pride passed through the young wife when she saw her husband
come out to meet her in a white-and-gold launch, his face bright with
hope, and looking every inch a King. As the bright barque cut through
the sunlit waters, with Amadeus accompanied by his Ministers, who had
come to welcome her in state, she stepped to the prow with pretty words
of greeting on her lips, and when she was finally taken off from the
Italian ship to set foot on Spanish soil, a storm of cheers burst from
the throats of the Italian sailors, to be echoed by those from the
Spanish crews and sight-seers anxious to welcome the new Sovereign. The
bright and intelligent young wife did indeed seem to bring sunshine
to Spain, and in the opening of the Senate there was a sincerity in
the royal speech which found an echo in the hearts of those who really
wished for the welfare of the country.
“When my feet touched Spanish soil,” said Amadeus, in a voice which
penetrated to every part of the house, “I determined to merge my ideas,
my sentiments, and my interests, in those of the nation who elected
me as its head, and whose independent character would never submit to
foreign and illegitimate intrigues. My sons will have the good fortune
to receive their first impressions of life here; their first language
will be Spanish; their education will be in accordance with the customs
of the nation; they will learn to think and feel as you think and feel;
and we shall unite with imperishable bonds our own fate with your
fate.”
But no patriotic sentiments could entirely extinguish the sparks of
smouldering resentment that a foreigner should be set over Spain.
The pride of the Castilians was wounded, and no salve of sympathy
could prevent the canker caused by such a hurt. Everything the Italian
King and Queen did was purposely misinterpreted. He was dubbed “King
Macaroni,” and this mocking appellation expressed the resentment of the
Court and country.
The very democratic simplicity of the young couple was an offence to a
land which revels in old-world ceremony and stately Court etiquette,
and the clerical party never let the people forget that it was Victor
Emmanuel, the father of their new King, who had ousted the Pope from
his position of political supremacy.
Of course Isabella was very indignant when she heard who had been
elected as ruler at the Court of Spain, and she expressed her feelings
in a torrent of speech.
“The revolution continues,” she said, whilst her eyes blazed with
indignation, “and it has just disavowed the rights of my son, who is
to-day your legitimate King according to all the Spanish constitutions,
by calling to the throne of St. Ferdinand a foreigner, whose merits,
however great, cannot entitle him to be your Sovereign, in the face of
the rights of a whole dynasty, which is the only one that has in its
favour the legitimacy which has been consecrated by the lapse of ages
and by constitutions which it has been a signal folly to disavow.”
Of course the Bourbon party echoed these sentiments of its ex-Queen,
and Amadeus felt the want of unity which has ever been the main defect
of the country.
People who came into contact with Amadeus at the Court of Spain admired
the sense of his opinions, although the form of their utterance was not
in accordance with that adopted by former rulers at the palace; for the
King had many habits of a nervous man. One of these was to take hold of
a chair when he was talking, and twist first one of his long legs, and
then the other, in and out of the woodwork as he turned it about before
him.
As simplicity was a very marked trait in the young royal couple’s
tastes, they rejected the idea of establishing themselves in the
magnificent apartments used by the ex-Sovereigns, and chose a simple
suite of somewhat small rooms commanding a beautiful view of the Casa
de Campo, and there the King passed the happiest hours of the day with
his wife and children. The young Queen’s fine intelligence rendered her
an able confidante for her consort’s State difficulties, and she was
generally present at the discussions with the Ministers.
Sunday generally saw an intellectual gathering round the royal
dinner-table, but the admiration of the select few who began
to appreciate the gifts and aims of the young couple did not,
unfortunately, represent the feeling of the country, and it required
all the charity and philosophy of King Amadeus and Queen Maria
Victoria to ignore the half-concealed sneers of those at Court who
mocked at the foreigners and their simple, superior tastes.
Indeed, the Alfonsists never lost an opportunity of testifying their
allegiance to the Bourbon dynasty, and, as they studiously avoided
the royal palace from whence it had been expelled, the Court society
of Madrid presented a strange medley of people who were so little
conversant with the customs of such centres that Amadeus began to doubt
if Madrid had any really good society.
A certain Señor B., who was subsequently a Minister during the Regency,
was invited to a function at the palace. So he went to a first-rate
shirt-maker and ordered a shirt for the occasion. The shirt came with
the fine embroidered cambric frill set out over blue tissue-paper. So,
thinking the blue paper was meant to be worn with the shirt, Señor B.
strutted into the royal presence quite proud of his attire--paper and
all.
So naturally Don Amadeus was constantly saying: “But there is no
society in Madrid.” This remark was repeated in one of the salons
of the aristocracy on the eve of the funeral of Blanca Osma, the
Marchioness of Povar, mother of the present Duke of Arion, who had
been renowned for her beauty and elegance, and, stung at this slight
to their circles, somebody said: “Well, to-morrow Amadeus shall see
whether there be any good society in Madrid, for we will all parade in
front of the windows of the palace after the funeral.” And so they
did, and thus the demonstration of sympathy for the family of Osma and
Malpica became one of political importance.
February 10, 1872, was celebrated at the palace of the Dukes of
Bailen by a magnificent ball. The minuet was danced by ladies in most
beautiful Pompadour dresses, trimmed with handsome lace, and their hair
powdered in the style of the last régime, and the gentlemen showed
their high degree in dress and dignity. This minuet was repeated in the
Palace of the Plaza del Angel by request of the mother of the Empress
Eugénie, and society kept alive the feeling for the ex-régime by the
same sort of fêtes until the day dawned for the restoration, which
doubtless these gatherings aided, for the little rooms adjoining the
salons were the scene of many councils in the cause of the Bourbons.
One day this feeling of antagonism was expressed in a more patent and
painful form.
It was a hot evening, which the King and Queen had spent listening
to the music in the gardens of the Buen Retiro. The royal couple was
returning to the palace by the Arenal, when suddenly a vehicle opposed
the passage of the carriage by crossing just in front of it. The
coachman checked the horses and cleverly prevented a collision, and
just then a shot was directed towards the royal party.
Upon this the King sprang boldly to his feet, exclaiming:
“Here is the King! Fire at him, not at the others!”
But no further attempts were made at assassination, and the retinue
reached the palace in safety, where the young Queen sought to still her
tremors of anxiety by the sight of her brave young husband standing
sound and well before her.
To the King the late hours of the Court were particularly disagreeable.
At work from six o’clock in the morning, he rang at eight o’clock
for breakfast; astonishment was on the lackey’s face when answering
the summons; he heard that it had never been customary for their
ex-Majesties to be served before eleven o’clock. So Amadeus, wishing
to avoid any friction by insisting on earlier hours, adopted the habit
of going to a café for his early meal after long application to State
matters had made him conscious of the necessity of breaking his fast.
Thus the maids, who sally forth in Madrid with baskets on their arms to
be filled with necessaries for the household, would often return and
regale the ears of their mistresses with how they had brushed against
His Majesty as they did their business in the market-place. In one of
these peregrinations Amadeus noticed that Castelar, the leader of the
Republican party, raised his hat to him. Surprised at this sign of
respect from the enemy, the young man stopped, and said he wondered
that anybody of Castelar’s opinions should salute royalty, to which the
great orator replied, with all the grace and charm of an accomplished
Castilian:
“My salute was not to royalty, sire, but to the bravest man in
Christendom.”
And it was this bravery which aroused the admiration of Spain.
However, no quality could overcome the country’s rooted prejudice
against “the foreigner,” and when Amadeus had taken his seat on the
throne in the magnificent crimson-and-gold setting of the state salon
of the palace, it was not to take real possession of his subjects’
hearts. There was no antagonism against the Italian King, but utter
indifference for him, which was much more difficult to deal with.
He was unknown to the Spaniards, a mere guest, and the necessity of
forming a Court for his wife was attended with the difficulty of the
ladies of high degree being Alfonsists or Carlists, and thus many of
them considered themselves superior to the lady on the throne.
The ladies of the last régime openly showed the Italian royal couple
that their loyalty was still directed to the Spanish ex-Sovereigns, by
constantly presenting themselves in the Buen Retiro, and other resorts
where they drove or walked, in the white lace mantillas and other
characteristics of costume especially Spanish.
As a counterfoil to these signs of disrespect to those in power,
the ladies who were followers of King Amadeus and his wife arranged
a cortège formed of women of the town, who were all dressed like
the Spanish doñas of high degree, and they were accompanied by a
noisy, bullying sort of fellow who obviously represented the King’s
Chamberlain, the Duke of Sexto.
Thus the feeling of the Court of Spain at this epoch was manifested in
a series of spiteful acts unworthy of people of high position.
The Court ladies showed little sympathy with the philanthropic aims of
Queen Maria Victoria. The existing Home for the Children of Laundresses
is still a standing proof that the sight of the thousands of women on
their knees by the side of the River Manzanares, washing linen, had
evoked a feeling of pity in the heart of the young royal mother.
The King found it impossible to take any action for good in his
adopted country. The want of sympathy, and suspicion, which met every
suggestion of the young King, allied with the confusion reigning in
every department of the Government, made progress unattainable, and the
King, having nothing to do with his time in a serious way, was soon
found to be an easy prey to the seductions of designing Spanish women,
and it was not known till some time afterwards that the Government had
to interfere in ridding the Court of an adventuress who managed to get
into the Court circle.
As Queen Maria Victoria wrote to a valued friend in Italy, she seemed
wanting in the essential to make her a good Queen of Spain, and that
was the desire to remain in the country.
Sensitive as the young Sovereign was, she was ever conscious of the
half-concealed looks of scorn of those about her, who wondered that
she preferred the simple customs of a happy domestic life to the pomp
and etiquette of an old Court régime. The Countess della Alinma and
the Marquis of Ulugares sympathized with Their Majesties’ tastes,
but these two friends could not stop the whispers of discontent and
disapprobation reaching them from the large circles of the great palace.
Much of the rigidity of Court etiquette was abandoned during the
short reign of Amadeus and Maria Victoria. The custom of courtiers
prostrating themselves on their knees before Their Majesties was
abandoned, and, thanks to the good sense of Alfonso XII., it was never
more resumed.
Queen Maria Victoria created an Order which was called by her name, but
it lapsed after her departure from the palace.
We read in “Cosas del Año 1873” (Things of the Year 1873), by Carlos
Frontaura, that many open insults had been levelled at the Italian
Sovereigns during the last few weeks of their reign. At the Court
reception which is always customary on New Year’s Day in Spain, the
Conservative deputies were conspicuous by their absence, and Generals
Serrano, Concha, Infante, Rivero, Allende, Zabala and Hoyos, Topete,
Malcampo, Martinez Espinosa, and the ex-Ministers Rios, Rosas, etc.,
all excused themselves from attending the banquet which took place in
the evening.
The Countess of Heredia-Spinola gave a magnificent ball in her house in
Calle Fernando el Santo, and all the guests wore the fleur-de-lis as a
sign of their devotion to the Bourbon family.
Society at the Court of Spain was very different in the year 1872 from
what it had been during the late dynasty.
As Napoleon I. said, “You may confer titles and dignities, but you
cannot give that particular _cachet_ which goes with real Court
society.”
The Countess of Campo Alange always said, “Did So-and-so learn the
minuet when he was young?” For if the answer to this question were in
the negative, it showed that the courtier only belonged to the new
dynasty.
The Marquis of San Rafael was then Prime Minister, but when the
Marchioness wished to enter the Queen’s presence she was not allowed to
pass, whereas an arrogant lady of the old aristocracy quickly forced
her way in. The Prime Minister was advised to report this slight to
Amadeus himself. When the King heard of the matter, he only shrugged
his shoulders, and said, “Let them fight it out.”
The King and Queen felt that their days in Spain were numbered, and it
only wanted some incident to put the match to the train of discontent.
The ostensible cause of the break of the King with the Government was
the appointment to the command of the artillery of Hidalgo, who five
years before had been in command of the company which had made the
insurrection in the barracks of San Gil in 1866. The King himself did
not favour this appointment, but when Ruiz Zorilla showed him a vote
of confidence in the course carried by the Congress, Amadeus thought
it time to resign the crown which meant nothing but mortification
to himself and his wife. So on that evening (February 11, 1873) the
republic was proclaimed, and six o’clock the following morning saw
the sad exit from Spanish Court life of the Italians who had been so
fruitlessly summoned to its circle.
Queen Maria Victoria had also been wounded in her susceptibilities
as a mother. When her second child was born to her about a fortnight
before the proclamation of the republic, the young Sovereigns naturally
expected that the Ministry, Diplomatic Corps, military dignitaries, and
clerical leaders, would be ready to greet the baby Prince according
to the Court etiquette of the country. But the representatives of the
country did not feel sufficient interest in the birth of “the little
foreigner” to hasten to pay him their respects; and although the red
and yellow flags waved triumphantly above the royal palace, it was
several hours before there gathered in the audience chamber an assembly
sufficiently large and august to receive the presentation of the son of
Amadeus and Maria Victoria.
It was hardly a fortnight later when the die was cast, and the Italians
decided to abandon the throne of Spain.
The personal attendants of the Queen wept as they saw her carried
to the entrance of the palace still weak and ill from her recent
confinement. The dethroned young King took the frail form of his wife
in his arms when she was taken from the litter at the foot of the
grand staircase, and, after placing her in the carriage waiting in the
archway, proudly saluted the Guard and stepped in by her side.
In a departure arranged so hurriedly, all the necessary comforts were
forgotten, and the royal invalid was faint for want of nourishment,
which was only attainable after hours of travelling. Amadeus was
grateful indeed for the soup he was at last able to procure at a little
railway-station on the line, and he boldly met the remarks and curious
looks of the people who crowded to see the royal fugitive as he bore
the cup from the restaurant to his wife.
Once in Portugal, Amadeus had nothing more to fear for the personal
safety of the family, and it was from thence they soon sailed quietly
for Italy.