THE REVIVAL OF COURT LIFE IN SPAIN UNDER ALFONSO XII.
1874-1884
The foregoing brief sketch of the political and social life in Spain
during the republic will have given some idea of the joy which filled
Spanish hearts at seeing the Bourbons once more on the throne of Spain
in the person of Alfonso XII. Madrid indeed was wild with joy when the
little Prince whom we saw at eleven years of age, in his blue velvet
suit and lace collar, leaving his country as an exile, with his mother
and family, re-entered the royal palace as a young man eighteen years
old in January, 1875, having wisely passed through Catalonia, which
Martinez Campos had gained over to the cause, and pleased the people by
saying: “I wish to be King of all Spaniards.”
As Isabella had abdicated in favour of her son on June 26, 1870, there
was no impediment to his taking the oath of coronation soon after he
was summoned to the Spanish capital. Of a good figure, gentlemanly,
and well cultured, Alfonso added the art of good dressing to his other
attractions, and the excellent taste and cut of his clothes led to
his being called “the Beau Brummell of Spain.”
[Illustration: KING ALFONSO XII. VISITING CHOLERA PATIENTS AT ARANJUEZ
From a Painting by J. Bermudo y Mateos]
The Countess of Campo Alange, who had assisted at the ceremony,
in Paris, of Isabella’s abdication in favour of her son, was one
of the first to pay her respects to Alfonso XII. on his return as
King to the Court of Spain. She went in a beautiful costume of
crushed-strawberry-coloured satin, and she carried in her hand a
snuff-box decorated with a picture of the entry of Charles IV. into
Badajoz, and it was with a graceful speech that the Countess drew the
King’s attention to the miniature.
“What a memory you have, Marchioness!”
“Oh, facts and people remain in my mind when they are forgotten by
others,” returned the lady; and the affectionate look she cast at the
King reminded him of her fidelity to his family.
In his youthful exuberance of spirits, the young King was always ready
to join in any frolic, although he was not lacking in serious and
intelligent application to matters of State.
It was the Monday preceding Shrove Tuesday, and Alfonso had remarked
somewhat regretfully that the rollicking spirit of the season seemed
somewhat subdued. This the Duke of Tamanes determined to remedy, so,
when the Cabinet was assembling for a royal audience, he swiftly
emptied a bag of flour over the head of the Minister of War, who
gravely sat down to business in his transformed condition, much to the
amusement of Alfonso.
The young King was always genial and affable, and anxious to avoid too
much ceremonial etiquette when it might cause discomfort to those who
followed it.
One day he came unexpectedly into the Archæological Museum of Madrid
with an Austrian Prince. There he found two men studying with their
hats on; for all those who use public institutions in Madrid know
that the cold is intense during the winter in these buildings. At the
entrance of Alfonso the students promptly bared their heads.
“Don’t do that,” said the young King kindly; “put your hats on again,
or I shall have to take off mine.”
Alfonso was a bright and attractive figure in Spanish Court society.
His gift of making verses, either gay or sentimental, as the occasion
warranted, was always attractive, and he slackened the stiff rules of
Court life as much as possible.
The _Ilustracion Española y Americana_ publishes an excellent account
of the historic ball given by the restored monarch:
“The festivities which celebrated the restoration of King Alfonso XII.
in the feudal mansions of Spain finally saw their culmination in the
magnificent ball given at the royal palace by the young monarch and
his widowed sister, the Infanta Isabella, the heir to the throne, on
January 15, 1877.
“The state apartments were illuminated by millions of candles in the
crystal chandeliers; the double-winged splendid staircase--guarded at
the foot by the historic white marble lions, and lined with the Royal
Guard of the Halberdiers in their high black-cloth leggings, slashed
scarlet cutaway coats, tricorn white-banded hats, and their glittering
Toledan steel halberds, at attention--was crowded with thousands of
guests in gorgeous uniforms and lovely toilettes, who were radiant at
this opportunity of once more greeting royalty at a great fête.
“The King, with his sister, looked smiling and happy, and their genial
words of welcome warmed the hearts of the guests.
“The fine ballroom was soon filled with the stream of people in
gorgeous array; the large mirrors on the wall reflected the dancing of
the stately _rigodons_, so that they could be seen from the entrance
of the room even by those who could not obtain a place within its
precincts.
“A magnificent supper was served, and so perfect was the arrangement
that 3,000 people were able to partake of it without confusion.
“To the royalties who gave this ball it offered little real enjoyment,
for the strict Court etiquette only allowed them to dance a few
_rigodons_ according to the protocol, and to pass through some of the
illuminated salons, where they greeted those privileged to approach
them.”
In his anxiety to make acquaintance with his kingdom, Alfonso went this
year to Barcelona, Granada, Malaga, Seville, Asturias, Galicia, etc.,
and he took his place as the head of the grandees of Spain when, with
all due pomp and ceremony, he was made Grand Master of the Orders of
Santiago, Alcantara, Calatrava, and Montesa.
It was on December 8 in this year that the Duke of Sexto went to
Seville to formally ask for the hand of Doña Maria Mercedes, the
seventeen-year-old daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Montpensier, in
marriage for her cousin Alfonso XII.
The royal suitor had long been attracted to this charming girl, and
during the years of his exile many were the happy days he spent with
his cousin in his vacations from Sandhurst at Vichy. When walking out
together in the watering-place, the thoughts of the young people would
sometimes wander to the possible future, and the young cadet, whose
purse was occasionally very attenuated, would regretfully turn away
from some pretty present he would gladly have bought for his cousin,
saying: “It is rather dear; but never mind, I will buy it when I am
King.”
The account of the delicate mission of the Duke of Sexto, the Marquis
de la Frontera, the Chamberlain, and Don Fernando Mendoza, Secretary
of the Etiquette and Mayordomo of the Royal Palace, is given in the
publication mentioned below.[20] The Duke and Duchess of Montpensier
were in the white salon of their palace when they received the request
for the hand of their daughter in marriage to the reigning King of
Spain; and they were well pleased with the suggested alliance, as they
trusted that the hope of Louis Philippe, that his descendant should sit
upon the throne of Spain, would soon now be fulfilled.
[20] “The Wooing and Marriage of Alfonso XII.”
When Alfonso followed the favourable reception of his request by a
visit to Seville, all went merrily enough in the royal circle.
A magnificent Court ball was given at the Palace of San Telmo on
December 26, to celebrate the royal engagement. The first _rigodon_
was led off by the King with his fiancée, looking fascinating, gowned
in white and glistening with jewels; the Infanta Doña Luisa Fernanda
danced with the Duke of Sexto, and Alfonso excited much admiration by
the able way he conducted the cotillon.
However, the Princess of Mercedes had not been the only girl friend
young Alfonso had had during his exile. For when he could not go to the
Montpensiers at Vichy, the ex-King liked to visit the Austrian Archduke
and Duchess at Biarritz, as he found their daughter Maria Cristina
_très bonne camarade_, and well able to hold her own with him in a game
of tennis or billiards. Maria Cristina seems to have been attracted
by Alfonso, for when his marriage was announced with Mercedes of
Montpensier, she joined the rich and noble Chapter of Prague, of which
she accepted the responsible office of Lady Abbess, with an annual
income of 20,000 marks.
The marriage of Mercedes and Alfonso took place on January 23 with
all befitting ceremony. The Patriarch of the Indias blessed the union
in the Church of Atocha. The ex-King Francisco was best man, and the
Infanta Isabella represented her grandmother, Queen Maria Cristina, as
the chief lady at the ceremony.
The retinue of the palace, the grandees, the fine caparisoned horses
with their bright-liveried lackeys, the gorgeous coaches with their
magnificent trappings, all made a striking show as they swept through
the Spanish capital from the church to the Court.
But a note of horror was struck when a sudden awful sound was heard,
and a woman fell dead struck by a bomb; but no other fatality occurred,
and cheers filled the air as the troops of the capital filed before the
palace, where the Royal Family witnessed the review from the windows.
The genial character of the young King was seen in a letter to an
Archduke, a college friend, shortly before the death of his beloved
Mercedes. This friend, with all due respect to Alfonso as King,
mentioned the fact of his marriage with a young Princess of Spain.
To this communication the King replied that he never forgot college
friends, whom he preferred in many cases to later ones.
“I forbid you to address me as ‘Majesty’; treat me as you treated me in
the Teresiano. When you marry, come to Madrid with your wife, whom I
shall at once regard as a friend. Mercedes is very kind; we will hunt,
and we will chat about old times, and so your honeymoon will be spent
as happily as mine was....”
But a telegram soon followed this bright and happy letter. It ran thus:
“MY DEAR FREDERICK,
“Queen Mercedes is dead. May God give you in your marriage the
happiness which He has denied me! In your approaching days of joy
remember the woe of your friend.
“ALFONSO.”
It may be mentioned that Queen Isabella wrote to Madrid to signify her
displeasure at her son’s marriage, for the fact that the daughter of
Montpensier, who had intrigued to succeed her on the throne, became
Queen of Spain was rather a bitter pill to swallow.
However, all animosity on that score ceased at the death of the
beautiful and lovable Queen, who had had undisputed sway in the heart
of her young husband, and whose intelligence and good feeling at the
age of eighteen had promised so much good for the country. There were
not lacking those who attributed the dreadful event to the enemies of
the Montpensiers, but others said it was due to a chill. During the
sufferings of the last few hours the young husband sat in sorrow by the
bedside, and the much-loved wife strove between her attacks of pain to
comfort him with the hope of meeting in a future world.
At last all was over, and the poor young Queen was laid out in state
on a low couch in the stately Hall of Columns. This Hall of Columns
was often used for state banquets, but, after being the scene of the
last sad functions in honour of his beloved wife, Alfonso had a new
banqueting-hall built, and the salon of such sad memories has never
since been used for any but solemn ceremonies, such as the washing
the feet and feeding the beggars by royalty on Maunday Thursday, the
Chapter of one of the grand military Orders, etc.
The corpse of the young Queen was dressed in the white garb and black
cape of a nun of the Convent of Don Juan de Alarcon; the lower part
of her face was covered with a white gauze handkerchief; her beautiful
white hands, which looked like wax, were crossed on her bosom; and
her face, which had been so admired a few short weeks before--when,
according to the custom of Spain, she passed through the streets on
foot on Holy Thursday, to make her visits to the churches in company
with her husband and the Court--looked drawn with pain and fever as it
lay in the light of countless candles.
The public defiled sadly through the mortuary chapel, and many were the
Masses celebrated by the Church dignitaries on the altar erected at the
end of the hall.
On the day of the funeral the royal cortège solemnly passed down
the soldier-lined streets to the station. The sound of the horses’
hoofs was deadened by the tan with which the roads were strewn, and
the silence was only broken by the piercing note of an occasional
clarion or the dull tattoo of the muffled drums. Grandees,
Gentlemen-in-Waiting, mace-bearers, and officers, all with crape
badges, preceded the catafalque, before which was borne the standard
of the Sisterhood of the Royal House, followed by the cross and the
clerics in their vestments. Finally came the band of the halberdiers,
whose soblike strains of a funeral march was in tune with the occasion.
At last, for the first time in history, the remains of a Queen were
placed on a railway-train for the Escorial, and so the coffin of
Mercedes left the station amid the booming of the cannon and the
strains of the Royal March played for the last time in her honour.
A short time after the death of the Queen, Alfonso was the object of a
regicidal attempt as he was passing No. 93 of the Calle Mayor, on his
way from the station to the royal palace after a visit to Asturias. The
criminal was a young fellow, twenty years of age, from Tarragona, named
Juan Oliva Montcousi, and he was caught with the pistol in his hand
before he had time to discharge it. The young King was enthusiastically
acclaimed when he calmly pursued his way home as if nothing had
happened.
Alfonso’s three younger sisters, Doña Pilar, Doña Paz, and Doña
Eulalia, were often seen at this time in a quiet carriage making
excursions together, so when the news of the death of Doña Pilar spread
through the capital it gave quite a shock to Spain.
It was said that the death of the Infanta Doña Pilar was indirectly
due to a shock received during the review held in honour of the Prince
of Austria. This Prince was known to have made a favourable impression
on the Infanta, and if she had lived it would probably have resulted
in a marriage. But, unfortunately, as the artillery carriages in the
military function were passing down the Alcalá, one blew up and killed
several soldiers on the spot. Perhaps for a moment the Infanta feared
that the honoured guest was among the killed and wounded. Be that as
it may, she and other members of the Royal Family were upset in the
carriage, and she died six weeks later.
Talk of the second marriage of the King followed very soon after
the death of Queen Mercedes, as a direct heir to the throne was so
essential to the country, and all eyes turned to Maria Cristina
Enriqueta Reniera, daughter of Charles Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria,
as the future Queen of Spain. The Duke of Bailen went to Vienna to
ask the Emperor Joseph of Austria for the hand of his daughter, the
Archduchess Maria Cristina, for his Sovereign, King Alfonso of Spain.
On August 22 Alfonso arrived at Arcachon, incognito, under the title
of the Marquis of Covadonga, to claim in person the hand of the
Archduchess.
Alfonso had reason to expect he would be favoured by Maria Cristina,
as she had always seemed to enjoy his society when he came to visit
her family, as a young cadet from Sandhurst. The royal wooer gave
expression to his poetic feeling when he found himself on such a
delicate mission at the beautiful spot which had been so frequented
by our poet Shelley. People in the place seemed at once to recognize
the royal visitor, especially as he wore his arm in a sling, from the
effect of a carriage accident which had been noised abroad.
Anxious for the interview which was to decide his fate, Alfonso took a
basket pony-carriage from Monaco to Arcachon, and, in company with the
Duke of Tetuan and the Spanish Ambassador from France, he soon found
himself at the Villa Bellegarde, the abode of the Archdukes of Austria.
When the young King passed into the salon, where he was soon welcomed
by Maria Cristina, his eyes fell upon the portrait of Mercedes, whom
he had lost a few short months before, and he soon found that his
bride-elect was in sympathy with his sorrow for his loss, for, in a
voice trembling with emotion, she said:
“My dearest desire is to resemble Mercedes in all things, and even if I
am to succeed her I can never dare hope to supplant her.”
Such a sympathetic speech could but unseal the heart of the widowed
King, and, having succeeded in his wooing, Alfonso could hardly tear
himself from the side of the young Archduchess, with whom he could talk
so freely of the wife he had lost.
On August 29 the young King finally left Arcachon; the Archduchess
accompanied him as far as Bordeaux, and the royal marriage was fixed
for November 29.
When the Archduke and Duchess and their daughter arrived at the Casa
de Campo on November 23, they were met by the King, his three sisters,
and the royal retinue, who accompanied them to the Palace of the Pardo,
where the marriage settlement was signed on the 28th.
The bride-elect won all hearts by her delicate and sympathetic
behaviour on the occasion, for, turning to the Patriarch of the Indias,
she said, in a voice broken with feeling: “Pray that I may make the
King happy, for it is a difficult task to succeed a Queen who was a
saint, and who will always live in the affections of the King and the
people of Spain;” and here she drew a miniature of Mercedes from her
bosom, and gazed at it with respectful admiration.
This ceremony took place in the banqueting-hall of Ferdinand VII., and,
to the delight of the Spanish people, it was graced by the presence of
the ex-Queen, Isabella II.
“The great Isabella is coming!” was the cry that rang through the
capital, and the dethroned Queen was moved at the enthusiasm of her
quondam subjects as she passed through the city, for she saw that there
was more fidelity in her people of low degree than there had been
gratitude in the hearts of the great whom she had overwhelmed with
favours.
The wedding ceremony took place in the Church of Atocha, and hardly
was the service concluded when the King’s bride went and knelt at the
feet of Isabella and kissed her hand. It was a tribute of gratitude to
her royal mother-in-law, for it was a fact that the influence of his
mother had led the young King to take his new bride from the House of
Austria. Isabella had signified her disapproval of the union with the
Montpensiers by not being present at that wedding, but this marriage
she favoured from the beginning.
A few days after the royal marriage an attempt was made on the lives
of the young couple, by a man named Francisco Otero Gonzalez, as they
arrived at the chief entrance to the royal palace; but, fortunately,
although the bullet almost grazed the forehead and neck of the King and
Queen, they escaped unwounded.
Queen Maria Cristina is a very accomplished woman, and she soon set
herself to learn the language of her adopted country. In her eagerness
to master the tongue, she often turned to King Alfonso to supply her
with the word she required, and, in fun, he would often supply her
with some expression which she saw, by the looks of her entourage, was
hardly fitting for a lady. Maria Cristina proved she had made great
progress in Spanish when she was able, with all the gracious courtesy
for which she was noted, to ask of a certain academician, who was
complaining of the hatred of Sagasta, would he not do better to use the
word _inquina_ than _inquinia_?
The affection with which the Queen inspired the young King was seen in
his daily letters to the Court when journeys on State business obliged
him to absent himself from Madrid.
“I have just put your carnation in water,” he would write; and the many
other allusions to their little domestic joys showed that the heart of
the King was with the Queen in his absence.
The Queen had to contend with national jealousy at Court when she
intimated her wish that her Austrian physician, Dr. Riedel, should
attend her in her forthcoming accouchement. Court etiquette was not,
however, to be set aside even by the chief lady in the land, so the
matter was finally settled by the doctors of both countries presiding
jointly over the event. Thus the little Princess of Asturias made her
entry into the world, on September 11, 1880, with her right hand held
by the Austrian physician, Dr. Riedel, and her left in the grasp of
the Court doctor of Spain.
The young King proudly presented his little daughter to the Prime
Minister and his Cabinet, the Court officials, and the military
diplomats and clerical dignitaries, assembled in the antechamber, as
she lay in a nest of costly lace on the historic silver tray.
On September 14 the baptism of the infant Princess of Asturias was
celebrated with all the pomp usual to the occasion. The galleries were
hung with the historic tapestries, representing Bible scenes. The Royal
Guard, in their classic dress and with their shining halberds, formed
a line on either side of the gallery between the people and the royal
procession.
First came the Gentlemen-in-Waiting, _de casa y boca_ (of the house
and the mouth), their gold or silver keys signifying the respective
offices of attendance; then came four mace-bearers, grandees of Spain,
the men-at-arms with the royal arms, all the Infantes and Infantas in
full Court dress, with their ladies and gentlemen in attendance; the
seven gentlemen of the Chamber--the Marquis of Salamanca, the Dukes
of Almenara and Valencia, Count Villanueva de Perales, the Marquis
of Sotomayor, the Marquis of Benamejis de Sistallo, and the Count of
Superunda--all passed in gorgeous dress and with stately step, bearing
respectively the salt, cut lemon, cruse of oil, piece of cotton-wool,
the cake, the white cape, and the water of Jordan, which all had their
part to play in the baptismal service.
The royal infant itself was carried between Isabel II., who was
godmother, and the Pope’s Nuncio, who represented His Holiness as
godfather. Then followed the proud young father, accompanied by
his military suite, and the procession ended with the band of the
halberdiers, playing a cheerful march from an opera. By the wish of the
Queen, the infant Princess was named, after her predecessor, Mercedes.
[Illustration: DON CARLOS, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, AND HIS LATE WIFE, THE
INFANTA MERCEDES]
It was in 1882 the King and Queen paid a visit to the Duke and Duchess
of Montpensier at their beautiful Palace of Sanlucar de Barrameda,
and the Queen won the hearts of her host and hostess by her charming
manners and the admiration with which she always spoke of their
daughter, the late wife of Alfonso.
On November 12, 1882, the Infanta Maria Teresa was born, and two days
later she was baptized with the customary ceremony.
On April 2, 1883, the King’s sister, Doña de la Paz, was married
very quietly to Prince Lewis Ferdinand of Bavaria. The Prince is a
very able surgeon, and when he comes to Madrid he delights in going
to the military hospital and exhibiting his scientific skill on some
soldier-patient.
The newly wedded pair laid the foundation-stone of the Cathedral of the
Almudena, and, according to the custom, the Princess de la Paz placed
in the casket a poem from her own pen to the Virgin of the Almudena.
The departure of the Infanta de la Paz left the Infanta Eulalia with
no companion in her musical and artistic tastes, for the sisters had
worked, played, painted, and poetized, together.
In September, 1883, Alfonso XII. went to France and Germany. True
to his old friends, the King went to see the Warden of the Teresian
College at his private house. As he was not at home, Alfonso asked for
a pencil and paper to write him a note, which he handed to the servant.
When she saw that the letter ran,
“I came to pay a debt of gratitude by coming to see you. I shall be
going to the Teresian College in two hours.
ALFONSO, King of Spain”
she fell on her knees and entreated forgiveness for her stupidity in
having asked the royal visitor into the kitchen.
But Alfonso, with his usual kindness, expressed interest in this, the
first kitchen he had ever seen. He asked many questions about the
utensils, and showed great curiosity about the use of a ceramic vessel,
which, according to the description he subsequently gave and the sketch
he made of it to show the Court officials, proved to be an egg-poacher.
The enthusiastic reception accorded to Alfonso at Homburg excited the
ire of the French, and so antagonistic was the exhibition of public
feeling as the young King was crossing Paris alone that he informed the
President of the Republic that he would recall his Ambassador at once.
This prompt act brought the necessary apology, and the King of Spain
subsequently attended the banquet given in his honour at the Elysée,
at which the Minister of War was absent, as the President of France had
asked him to send in his resignation.
The news of this contretemps reached Spain, and when the Queen
returned from La Granja to Madrid she was at first quite alarmed at
the enthusiasm shown by the people at the station. She clasped her
children to her breast, and seemed to think she was on the brink of
a revolution. But her fears were soon stilled when somebody shouted:
“Señora, the Spanish people are only protesting against the recent
events in Paris.”
The return of the King from France saw an ovation of equal enthusiasm,
and, in defiance of all Court etiquette, the people pressed up the
staircases and into the galleries of the palace, crying: “Viva el Rey y
la Reina!”
It was on Maunday Thursday, 1884, that the Court went for the last time
in state to make the customary visits on foot to the chief churches of
the capital. There was the usual service in the morning in the chapel
of the palace, the washing of the beggars’ feet and feeding them,[21]
and the solemn, imposing public procession at three o’clock in the
afternoon. The streets were strewed with tan to soften the cobbled
stones to the feet of the ladies, whose high-heeled velvet shoes rather
impeded their walk. The streets were lined with troops, and the Plazas
de Oriente, Mayor, and La Encarnacion, were respectively filled with
the regiment of the Princess of Pavia and the artillery.
[21] This ceremony is described on pp. 332-4.
First came a mounted company of the Civil Guard; then a long line of
kettle-drummers, the grooms and all the officials of the Court, all in
full dress; then the six men-at-arms with their embroidered vestments,
the Chamberlains, _gentiles hombres_, the grandees of Spain, the King’s
military retinue, etc.
Their Majesties walked between the lines of halberdiers, followed by
the Patriarch of the Indias, the Ministers of the Crown, the chiefs of
the palace, the Ladies-in-Waiting, and the Aides-de-Camp of the King
and Queen.
A Captain of the Guard and about thirty lackeys carried the historic
sedan-chairs, and notable among them were those of the Dukes of
Granada, Osuna, and Villahermosa, ornamented with beautiful paintings.
The procession ended with a company of halberdiers and a squadron of
the royal escort.
Don Alfonso walked with martial step, his head in the air, and
smiling pleasantly to all the friends he saw. He was in the uniform
of Captain-General, with the Order of the Golden Fleece and other
decorations.
In this final public visit to “the Virgins,” the Queen wore a white
velvet robe embroidered with gold and ornamented with sapphire buttons,
and her necklace and bracelets were of the same precious stones. She
wore the Orders of Maria Luisa and the starred Cross of Austria. The
dress of the Infanta Isabella was of pale blue velvet embroidered with
flowers, and all the dresses and mantles of the royal ladies were of
equal magnificence, with tiaras of jewels and feathers and mantillas on
their heads, and, as all the ladies of the Court also had their places
in the procession in splendid attire, one can imagine it was a superb
show; but it was not one to be seen again in the public streets.
The health of the King was now beginning to give anxiety at Court, and
loyal subjects regretted that people in high places did not use their
influence to stimulate the King in his good desires for the welfare
of the land, instead of pandering to his fancies with adulation and
flattery.
Charming ladies literally forced their way into the palace, and one day
Queen Maria Cristina gave a well-deserved[22] box on the ears to the
Duke of Sexto, when she came upon him introducing a dancer of light
character to His Majesty. It is noteworthy that one of the first acts
of the Queen as a widow was to ask this Duke to resign his post at the
palace.
[22] “La Vie intime d’Alfonse XII.,” par Croze.
It was to such flattering courtiers that Maria Cristina owed the
shadows which crossed the happiness of her married life, for under good
influence Alfonso would always have been true to Maria Cristina, as
the King loved and venerated her above all women; but when politicians
encouraged the escapades of an attractive young Sovereign the wife’s
influence was weakened. Queen Maria Cristina was deeply offended when
she found that her husband’s connection with this Elena Sanz was a
well-known fact, two sons being born to the singer.
It was then that it was seen that the Queen was no mere weak woman who
would submit calmly to what might be termed _los costumbres_ (custom)
of the Court; and when she found that the King had a rendezvous with
a señorita in the Casa de Campo, the magnificent wide-stretching park
beyond the palace, she declared she would leave Spain and go back to
Austria.
Nothing but the strong pleas and arguments of those about her,
including Alfonso XII., persuaded her to stay at the Spanish Court, and
it was certainly due to this illustrious lady that a higher morality
there became customary. For, as nobody ever was able to breathe a
word against her honour, she subsequently exercised her right, as
Queen-Regent, of sweeping the Court clean of those who smirched its
purity.
Moreover, those who had expected Alfonso XII. to save Spain by the
introduction of a pure and unmystified suffrage, such as he had seen in
England when studying at Sandhurst, were disappointed in their hopes;
for Canovas, the leader of the Conservatives, openly said at Court: “I
have come to continue the history of Spain”--which meant the history
when the voice of the people is not heard; and Sagasta, the head of the
Liberals, acted in the same spirit, although he did not express himself
so openly.
Canovas, the leader of the Conservatives, and Sagasta, the chief of the
Liberals, used all their eloquence at the Court of Spain to persuade
Alfonso XII. that sincere elections in Spain would lead to the Carlists
attaining a majority in the Congress. So the King, not seeing that
the leaders of both parties wished to prevent the realization of a
true Parliamentary representation, because it would lose them their
patronage of deputies’ seats, ended by signing the Pacto del Pardo.
This document, endorsed by the King at the country palace, was simply
an arrangement between Canovas and Sagasta, by which each was insured
an equal period as Prime Minister, so that their respective partisans
could feel that their patrons had the same amount of influence.
[Illustration: PRAXEDES MATEO SAGASTA, LIBERAL PRIME MINISTER]
And yet Alfonso XII., who was overborne by what he considered the
experience of the two leaders, had the welfare of his country at
heart, for he said to Ernest Daudet: “I am Sovereign, and as long as
I am King of Spain I will never allow a Ministry to be overthrown by
an intrigue in the palace, as it has frequently happened hitherto. If
the country wants a Liberal Government, it shall have it; but, before
talking of liberty, Spain herself must have both liberty and stability.
As to those who say I am not accessible to truth, it is because they
have not tried to show it to me. The country is difficult to manage;
it is impatient, and cannot see, as I do, that its condition requires
prudence and management. We have remade the army; we have not had a
manifesto for three years. We have a standing army of 80,000 men, and
we have been able to send 20,000 to Cuba. The insurrection of Cuba is
a great wound, and it must be healed before we can cure the other
evils.” But the King was never allowed to take the sure means of
healing these wounds; he was never permitted to say: “I wish to respect
the people and their votes, and by the Law of the Universal Suffrage
they can go to the polls.”
With the loss of the love of his life, the young Queen Mercedes,
Alfonso seemed to become enervated, and self-interested courtiers found
that they could use the King’s pocket for the protection of needy
ladies of all ranks.
Canovas and Sagasta were both aware of this abuse, and, indeed, both
these Ministers were themselves under the influence of certain ladies,
who used their power over these Ministers to their own pecuniary
advantage; for they themselves were liberally rewarded for the titles
which they persuaded these politicians to ask the King to grant.
The Queen’s ignorance of Spanish when she first came to Madrid made
it more difficult to contravene the influence of the _camarillas_,
which wove their nets round the young husband, whose real wish for the
welfare of the country would have made him a willing disciple of good
advice.
Moreover, flattering courtiers carefully concealed from the King
the sad results which would inevitably follow his course of
self-indulgence, and the palace became a constant scene of _camarillas_
and intrigues which could but be disastrous to the land.
Even Nakens (whose protection of the anarchist Morral, after the
bomb tragedy of the royal marriage morn of May 30, 1906, led to his
being imprisoned for nearly two years) pays tribute to the wish of the
young King to act for the welfare of the kingdom, for, in a collection
of his articles published when he was in gaol,[23] we read an appeal to
Alfonso to consider his own good with regard to his health, and not to
listen to self-interested advisers.
[23] “Muestras de mi Estilo,” Nakens.
“Nobody,” says the writer in this appeal, “has the courage to warn you
of the impending evil. When the doctors order you change of climate,
the Government opposes the course for reasons of State. ‘Reasons of
State’ imperil the life of a man! And a man to whom we owe so much!
“Therefore, even as a republican, I beg you, as the occupier of the
throne, to look to your health, if it be only to overthrow some
iniquitous plan, or some unworthy object which is contingent on your
illness; and if scientists think it well for you to pass the winter
in some other place in Spain, or abroad, follow their counsel, and
not that of interested politicians, in sacrificing your life to their
ambitions.”
It was certainly true that the King was overborne by the intrigues of
the politicians in the palace. Even in such a little social matter as
that of wishing to go in costume to a fancy ball, the King could not
have his own way, for Canovas showed such aversion to Alfonso donning
fancy attire for the occasion that he had to abandon the idea and wear
his ordinary dress.
If such influence had been used to the prevention of the King favouring
a danseuse like Elena Sanz, which brought so much sorrow and so many
complications in the Royal Family, his life might certainly have been
prolonged. It was true that the doctors advised the King’s wintering
in Andalusia, but “State reasons” led to the failing Sovereign being
exposed to the colder climate and sharp winds of the Palace of the
Pardo, where politicians could use their influence with the invalid,
and remind him continually that he alone was the arbiter of parties.
Alfonso was only twenty-seven years of age when he felt he was doomed
to an early death; but his natural energy led him to take horse
exercise, despatch business with his Ministers every day, and, in spite
of daily increasing weakness, to do as much as possible.
If his longing for the sea-breezes of San Sebastian had been gratified,
his life might have been prolonged; but politicians gave little heed to
the plea, and their authority was paramount.
On November 24, 1894, the royal invalid was seized with faintness when
he came in from a walk. Queen Maria Cristina, Queen Isabella, and the
Duchess of Montpensier, were called to his side. Seeing his wife by
him when he recovered consciousness, the King embraced her, and the
alarming symptoms vanished for a time; but the following day he was
seized with another fainting fit, which proved fatal.
We read in _La Ilustracion Española_ of this date, that when Queen
Maria Cristina was told by Dr. Riedel that all was over, she fell
weeping at the head of the bed of her unhappy husband, whilst covering
his hand with kisses.
[Illustration: DEATH OF ALFONSO XII.
After the Painting by J. A. Benlliure y Gil]
Cardinal Benavides performed the sacred office of the occasion. The
doctor could not suppress his emotion, and hid his face, covered with
tears, in his hands; and Count Morphy, the King’s faithful secretary,
went sorrowfully to announce the sad news to the Queen-mother and the
rest of the Royal Family.
At nine o’clock the next morning the little daughters came to embrace
their father for the last time. The Queen, with only the assistance
of Dr. Camison, prepared the body of her husband for burial, and she
assisted at the obsequies in the Escorial with her little daughter,
the Queen of Spain. Arrived at the historic monastery, the Augustine
Brothers came to meet the sad cortège, in their black vestments and
holding lighted torches, and, headed by the Prior and the Principal,
the procession passed to the burial-place of the Kings.
The iron seemed to enter the soul of Maria Cristina when the Chief of
the Palace cried before the catafalque: “Señor, señor, señor!”
Solemn silence reigned. “Then our Sovereign really is no more,” said
the Chamberlain. He broke his wand of office, whilst the drums of
the halberdiers, the bells of the cathedral, and the booming of the
cannon, added to the solemnity of the occasion. The Bishop of Madrid
officiated at the final office, after the coffin was finally carried
with countless candles down into the Pantheon, which he had entered
ten years before in all the exuberance and with all the illusions of
youth.
Then the unhappy widowed Queen returned to Madrid, there to pass the
sad months till the child should be born who might prove the future
King of Spain.
It was an impressive sight to see the Queen, with her orphaned little
girls, take the solemn oath of Regency. Putting her hand on the
Gospels, which the President held open, she said:
“I swear by God to be faithful to the heir of the Crown during the
minority, and to guarantee the Constitution and the laws. May God help
me and be my Defence; and if I fail, may He require it of me!”
Then the Queen sat down with her little girls, and the Prime Minister
made the following formula:
“The Parliament has heard the solemn oath just made by Her Majesty the
Queen-Regent, to be faithful to the legitimate successor of Don Alfonso
XII., and to guard the Constitution and its laws.”
The marriage of the Infanta Eulalia with Don Antonio, son of the Duke
and Duchess of Montpensier, in 1886, was the next interesting function
at the Court of Spain.
The Montpensiers seized this fresh opportunity of becoming connected
with the Spanish Royal Family, and Doña Eulalia augmented their riches
by a large sum of money; but it seemed as if fate wished to warn the
Infanta that the marriage would not be happy, for it was postponed
through the illness and death of her brother, and she was weeping as
she came out of the royal chapel on her wedding-day. And, indeed, it
was not long before the Infanta found her husband was utterly unworthy
of her, and she now lives apart from him.
The Infanta Eulalia was a great loss to the Court of Spain, where
her bright intelligence and charming ways had made her presence like
sunshine. She was twenty-two years of age when she married, very pretty
and high-spirited, an expert in riding and driving, and a lover of all
kinds of activity.
Her father, Don Francisco, and the Duke of Montpensier--who, we know,
killed Don Enrique, her uncle, in a duel--supported her at the altar;
and Queen Isabella, the Comtesse de Paris, the Queen-Regent and her
little daughters, were also at the ceremony.
This Infanta is often seen at the Court of Spain, with her son Alfonso.
It was she who warned Alfonso XIII., when he presented his new-born son
to the assembled Ministers, that the infant might catch cold if exposed
too long; and at the royal baptism on June 2, 1907, she looked striking
in her long train of scarlet velvet, with the satin front sewn with
jewels, and with scarlet plumes surmounting her tiara of diamonds.
Even those who had not been in favour of Alfonso were rapidly gained
over to the Bourbons when they saw the difficult position of the
Queen-Regent. All the chivalry of the Spaniards was aroused to support
the young widowed mother in her trying task.
When a lady of the Court condoled one day with the royal widow, and
expressed wonder that she could so valiantly seek to steer the ship of
State whilst suffering the pain of loss, and not knowing how fate would
settle the question of the future Sovereign of Spain, Maria Cristina
looked up at the speaker, and said with a smile in which courage seemed
to conquer sorrow:
“But, Duchess, everything is easy when one has hope.”
The character of Alfonso XII. is sympathetically drawn by Don José
Fernandez Bremon. He says:
“He was affable and extremely simple in his manner, and opposed to
strict etiquette and Court ceremonies; much given to riding, hunting,
shooting, and all physical exercises. His favourite study was that
of the relation of science with war. He was an adept of poetry, and
he much liked public applause. His facility in speaking and his flow
of language inspired confidence in his auditors and in those whom he
received in audience. His affability gave people more the idea that
they were speaking with the emigrant from Vienna than the King of
Spain. He was short, but well-proportioned and slender. His eyes were
expressive, and he was what the Spaniards call very _simpatico_. He
liked starting discussions on daring theories. He was very prudent in
the Council Chamber. He was clever, and he sometimes spoke as if he
felt himself taken captive in the gilded cave of government.”