_Seville, July 30, 1808._
Whether Murat began to suspect that his cruel method of intimidating
the capital would rouse the provinces into open resistance, or
whether (with the unsteadiness of purpose which often attends a
narrow mind, acting more from impulse than judgment,) he wished to
efface the impressions which his insolent cruelty had left upon
the Spaniards; he soon turned his attention to the restoration
of confidence. The folly, however, of such an endeavour, while
(independent of the alarm and indignation which spread like wildfire
over the country,) every gate of Madrid was kept by a strong guard
of French infantry, must have been evident to any one but the
thoughtless man who directed it. The people, it is true, ventured
again freely out of the houses: but the public walks were deserted,
and the theatres left almost entirely to the invaders.
Yet it was visible that the French had a party, which, though feeble
in numbers, contained some of the ablest, and not a few of the most
respectable men at Madrid. Nay, I firmly believe, that had not the
Spaniards of the middle and higher classes been from time immemorial
brought up in the strictest habits of reserve on public measures, and
without a sufficient boldness to form and express their opinions; the
new French Dynasty would have obtained a considerable majority among
our gentry. In the first place, two-thirds of the above description
hold situations under Government, which they would have hoped to
preserve by adherence to the new rulers. Next, we should consider
the impression which the last twenty years had left on the thinking
part of the community. Under the most profligate and despicable Court
in Europe, a sense of political degradation had been produced among
such of the Spaniards as were not blinded by a nationality of mere
instinct. The true source of the enthusiasm which appeared on the
accession of Ferdinand, was joy at the removal of his father; for
hopes of a better government, under a young Prince of the common
stamp, seated on an arbitrary throne, must have been wild and
visionary indeed. As for the state of dependance on France, which
would follow the acknowledgement of Joseph Bonaparte, it could not
be more abject or helpless than under Ferdinand, had his wishes of a
family alliance been granted by Napoleon. It cannot be denied that
indignation at the treatment we have experienced strongly urged the
nation to revenge; but passion is a blind guide, which thinking men
will seldom trust on political measures. To declare war against an
army of veterans already in the heart of Spain, might be, indeed,
an act of sublime patriotism; but was it not, too, a provocation
more likely to bring ruin and permanent slavery on the country, than
the admission of a new King, who, though a foreigner, had not been
educated a despot, and who, for want of any constitutional claims,
would be anxious to ground his rights on the acknowledgment of the
nation?
Answers innumerable might be given to these arguments--and that I was
far from allowing them great weight on my mind I can clearly prove,
by my presence in the capital of Andalusia. But I cannot endure that
blind, headlong, unhesitating patriotism which I find uniformly
displayed in this town and province--a loud popular cry which every
individual is afraid not to swell with his whole might, and which,
though it may express the feeling of a great majority, does not
deserve the name of public _opinion_, any more than the unanimous
acclamations at an _Auto da Fé_. Dissent is the great characteristic
of liberty. I am, indeed, as willing as any man to give my feeble
aid to the Spanish cause against France; but I feel indignant at the
compulsion which deprives my views of all individuality--which, from
the national habits of implicit submission to whatever happens to be
established, forces every man into the crowd, so that nothing can
save him but running for his life with the foremost.
I repeat, that I need not an apology for my political conduct
on this momentous occasion. Feelings which will, indeed, bear
examination, but on which I ground no merit, have brought me to
the more honourable side of the question. Yet I must plead for
candour and humanity in favour of such as, from the influence of the
views I have touched upon, and in some cases, with a more upright
intention than many an outrageous patriot, have opposed the beginning
of hostilities. The name of traitor, with which they have been
indiscriminately branded, must cut them off irrevocably from our
party; and even the fear of being too late to avoid suspicion among
us, may oblige those whom chance or the watchfulness of the Madrid
Government, has hitherto prevented from joining us, to make at last,
common interest with the French.
To escape from Madrid, after the news of the insurrection of
Andalusia had reached that capital, was, in fact, an undertaking of
considerable difficulty, and, as I have found by experience, attended
with no small danger. Dupont’s army had occupied the usual road
through La Mancha, and no carriages were allowed by the French to
set off for the refractory provinces. My decision, however, to join
my countrymen, had been formed as soon as they took up arms against
the French; and though my friend shuddered at the idea of casting
his lot with the defenders of the Pope and the Inquisition, he soon
forgot all personal interest, in a question between a foreign army
and his own natural friends.
There were no means of reaching Andalusia but through the province
of Estremadura, and no other conveyance, at that time, than two
Aragonese waggons, which having stopped at a small inn, or _venta_,
three miles from Madrid, were not under the immediate control of the
French police. The attention of the new Government was, besides,
too much divided by the increasing difficulties of their situation,
to extend itself beyond the gates of the town. We had only to make
our way through the French guard, and walk to the _venta_ on the
day appointed by the waggoners. But if a single person met with no
impediment at the gates, luggage of any description was sure to
be intercepted; and we had to take our choice between staying, or
travelling a fortnight, without more than a shirt in our pocket.
Thus lightly accoutred, however, we left Madrid at three in the
afternoon of the 15th of June, and walked under a burning sun to
meet our waggons. Summer is, of all seasons, in Spain, the most
inconvenient for travellers; and nothing but necessity will induce
the natives to cross the burning plains, which abound in the country.
To avoid the fierceness of the sun, the coaches start between three
and four in the morning, stop from nine till four in the afternoon,
and complete the day’s journey between nine and ten in the evening.
We, alas! could not expect that indulgence. Each of us confined
with our respective waggoner, within the small space which the load
had left near the awning, had to endure the intolerable closeness
of the waggon, under the dead stillness of a burning atmosphere,
so impregnated with floating dust, as often to produce a feeling
of suffocation. Our stages required not only early rising, but
travelling till noon. After a disgusting dinner at the most miserable
inns of the unfrequented road we were following, our task began
again, till night, when we could rarely expect the enjoyment even of
such a bed as the Spanish _ventas_ afford. Our stock of linen allowed
us but one change, and we could not stop to have it washed. The
consequences might be easily foreseen. The heat, and the company of
our waggoners, who often passed the night by our side, soon completed
our wretchedness, by giving us a sample of one, perhaps the worst, of
the Egyptian plagues; which, as we had not yet got through one-half
of our journey, held out a sad prospect of increase till our arrival
at Seville.
There was something so cheering in the consciousness of the sacrifice
both of ease and private views we were making, in the idea of
relieving our friends from the anxiety in which the fear of our
joining the French party must have kept them--in the hopes of being
received with open arms by those with whom we had made common
interest at a time when every chance seemed to be against them--that
our state of utter discomfort could not at first make any impression
on our spirits. The slip of New Castille, which lies between Madrid
and the frontiers of Estremadura, presented nothing that could in
the least disturb these agreeable impressions; and the reception we
met with from the inhabitants was in every respect as friendly as we
had expected. An instance of simple unaffected kindness shewn to us
by a poor woman near Móstoles, would hardly deserve being mentioned,
but for the painful contrast by which the rest of our journey has
endeared it to my memory.--Oppressed by the heat and closeness of our
situation, and preferring a direct exposure to the rays of the sun
in the open air, we had left our heavy vehicles at some distance,
when the desire of enjoying a more refreshing draught than could be
obtained from the heated jars which hung by the side of our waggons,
induced us to approach a cottage, at a short distance from the road.
A poor woman sat alone near the door, and though there was nothing in
our dress that could give us even the appearance of gentlemen, she
answered our request for a glass of water, by eagerly pressing us to
sit and rest ourselves. “Water,” she said, “in the state I see you
in, is sure, Gentlemen, to do you harm. I fortunately have some milk
in the cottage, and must beg you to accept it.--You, dear Sirs,” she
added, “are, I know, making your escape from the French at Madrid.
God bless you, and prosper your journey!” Her sympathy was so truly
affecting, that it actually brought tears into our eyes. To decline
the offer of the milk, as well as to speak of payment, would have
been an affront to the kind-hearted female; and giving her back the
blessing she had so cordially bestowed upon us, was all we could do
to shew our gratitude.
Cheered up by this humble, yet hearty welcome among our countrymen,
we proceeded for two or three days; our feelings of security
increasing all the while with the distance from Madrid. It was,
however, just in that proportion that we were approaching danger. We
had, about nine in the morning, reached the Calzada de Oropesa, on
the borders of Estremadura, when we observed, with painful surprise,
a crowd of country people, who, collecting hastily round us, began
to inquire who we were, accompanying their questions with the fierce
and rude tone which forebodes mischief, among the testy inhabitants
of our southern provinces. The _Alcalde_ soon presented himself, and,
having heard the account we gave of ourselves and our journey, wisely
declared to the people that, our language being genuine Spanish, we
might be allowed to proceed. He added, however, a word of advice,
desiring us to be prepared to meet with people more inquisitive and
suspicious than those of Oropesa, who would make us pay dear for any
flaw they might discover in our narrative. As if to try our veracity
by means of intimidation, he acquainted us with the insurrections
which had taken place in every town and village, and the victims
which had scarcely failed in any instance, to fall under the knives
of the peasantry.
The truth and accuracy of this warning became more and more evident
as we advanced through Estremadura. The notice we attracted at the
approach of every village, the threats of the labourers whom we
met near the road, and the accounts we heard at every inn, fully
convinced us that we could not reach our journey’s end without
considerable danger. The unfortunate propensity to shed blood, which
tarnishes many a noble quality in the southern Spaniards, had been
indulged in most towns of any note, under the cloak of patriotism.
Frenchmen, of course, though long established in Spain, were pointed
objects of the popular fury; but most of the murders which we heard
of, were committed on Spaniards who, probably, owed their fate to
private pique and revenge, and not to political opinions. We found
the _Alcaldes_ and _Corregidores_, to whom we applied for protection,
perfectly intimidated, and fearing the consequences of any attempt
to check the blind fury of the people under them. But no description
of mine can give so clear a view of the state of the country, as the
simple narrative of the popular rising at Almaraz, the little town
which gives its name to a well-known bridge on the Tagus, as it was
delivered to us by the _Alcalde_, a rich farmer of that place. The
people of his district, upon hearing the accounts from Madrid, and
the insurrections of the chief towns of their province, flocked,
on a certain day, before the Alcalde’s house, armed with whatever
weapons they had been able to collect, including sickles, pick-axes,
and similar implements of husbandry. Most happily for the worthy
magistrate, the insurgents had no complaint against him: and on the
approach of the rustic mob, he confidently came out to meet them.
Having with no small difficulty obtained a hearing, the Alcalde
desired to be informed of their designs and wishes. The answer
appears to me unparalleled in the history of mobs. “We wish, Sir, to
kill somebody,” said the spokesman of the insurgents. “Some one has
been killed at Truxillo; one or two others at Badajoz, another at
Merida, and we will not be behind our neighbours. Sir, we will kill
a traitor.” As this commodity could not be procured in the village,
it was fortunate for us that we did not make our appearance at a time
when the good people of Almaraz might have made us a substitute, on
whom to display their loyalty. The fact, however, of their having no
animosities to indulge under the mask of patriotism, is a creditable
circumstance in their character. A meeting which we had, soon
after leaving the village, with an armed party of these patriots,
confirmed our opinion that they were among the least savage of their
province.
The bridge of Almaraz stands at the distance of between three and
four miles from the village. It was built in the time of Charles the
fifth, by the town of Plasencia; but it would not have disgraced an
ancient Roman architect. The Tagus, carrying, even at this season,
a prodigious quantity of water, passes under the greater of the
two arches, which support the bridge. Though the height and span
of these arches give to the whole an air of boldness which borders
upon grandeur, the want of symmetry in their size and shape, and the
narrow, though very deep, channel to which the rocky banks confine
the river, abate considerably the effect it might have been made to
produce. Yet there is something impressive in a bold work of art
standing single in a wild tract of country, where neither great
towns, nor a numerous and well distributed population, with all the
attending marks of industry, luxury, and refinement, have prepared
the imagination to expect it. As soon, therefore, as the bridge was
seen at a distance, we left the waggons, and allowing them to proceed
before us, lingered to enjoy the view.
Just as we stood admiring the solidity and magnitude of the
structure, casting by chance our eyes towards the mountain which
rises on the opposite side, and confines the road to a narrow space
on the precipitous bank of the river, we saw a band of from fifteen
to twenty men, armed with guns, leaving the wood where they had been
concealed, and coming down towards the waggons. The character of the
place, combined with the dresses, arms, and movements of the men,
convinced us at once that we had fallen into the hands of banditti.
But as they could take very little from us, we thought we should meet
with milder treatment if we approached them without any signs of
fear. On our coming up to the place, we observed some of the party
searching the waggons; but seeing the rest talking quietly with the
carriers, our suspicions of robbery were at an end. The whole band,
we found, consisted of peasants, who, upon an absurd report that
the French intended to send arms and ammunition to the frontiers of
Portugal, had been stationed on that spot to examine every cart and
waggon, and stop all suspicious persons. Had these people been less
good-natured and civil, we could not have escaped being sent, in that
dangerous character, to some of the Juntas which had been established
in Spain. But being told by my friend that he was a clergyman, and
hearing us curse the French in a true patriotic style; they wished us
a happy journey, and allowed us to proceed unmolested.
We expected to arrive at Merida on a Saturday evening, and to have
left it early on Sunday after the first mass, which, for the benefit
of travellers and labourers, is performed before dawn. But the
axletree of one of our waggons breaking down, we were obliged to
sleep that night at a _Venta_, and to spend the next day in the
above-mentioned city. The remarkable ruins which still shew the
ancient splendour of the Roman _Emerita Augusta_ would, in more
tranquil times, have afforded us a pleasant walk round the town, and
more than repaid us for the delay. Fatigue, however, induced us to
confine ourselves to the inn, where we expected, by the repose of
one day, to recruit our strength for the rest of our journey. Having
taken a luncheon, we retired to our beds for a long _siesta_, when
the noise of a mob rushing down the street and gathering in front of
the inn, drew us, nearly undressed, to the window. As far as the eye
could reach, nothing was to be seen but a compact crowd of peasants,
most of them with clasp knives in their hands. At the sight of us,
such as were near began to brandish their weapons, threatening they
would make mince-meat of every Frenchman in the inn. Unable to
comprehend the cause of this tumult, and fearing the consequences
of the blind fury which prevailed in the country, we hurried on our
clothes, and ran down to the front hall of the inn. There we found
twelve dragoons standing in two lines on the inside of the gate,
holding their carbines ready to fire, as the officer who commanded
them warned the people that were blockading the gate they should do
upon the first who ventured into the house. The innkeeper walked up
and down the empty hall, bewailing the fate of his house, which he
assured us would soon be set on fire by the mob. We now gathered
from him the cause of this turmoil and confusion. A young Frenchman
had been taken on the road to Portugal, with letters to Junot, and
on this ground was forwarded under an escort of soldiers to the
Captain-general of the Province at Badajoz. The crowd in the street
consisted of about two thousand peasants, who having volunteered
their services, were under training at the expense of the city. The
poor prisoner had been imprudently brought into the town when the
recruits were in the principal square indulging in the idleness
of a Sunday. On hearing that he was a Frenchman, they drew their
knives and would have cut him to pieces, but for the haste which the
soldiers made with him towards the inn.
The crowd, by this time, was so fierce and vociferous, that we could
not doubt they would break in without delay. My companion, being
fully aware of our dangerous position, urged me to follow him to the
gate, in order to obtain a hearing, while the people still hesitated
to make their way between the two lines of soldiers. We approached
the impenetrable mass; but before coming within the reach of the
knives, my friend called loudly to the foremost to abstain from doing
us any injury; for though without any marks of his profession about
him, he was a priest, who, with a brother, (pointing to me,) had
made his escape from Madrid to join his countrymen. I verily believe,
that as fear is said sometimes to lend wings, it did on this occasion
prompt my dear friend with words; for a more fluent and animated
speech than his has seldom been delivered in Spanish. The effects of
this unusual eloquence were soon visible among those of the rioters
that stood nearest; and one of the ringleaders assured the orator,
that no harm was meant against us. On our requesting to leave the
house, we were allowed to proceed into the great square.
My friend there inquired the name of the Bishop’s substitute, or
_Vicar General_; and, with an agreeable surprise, we learnt that
it was Señor Valenzuela. We instantly recognised one of our fellow
students at the University of Seville. He had been elected a Member
of the Revolutionary Junta of Merida, and though not more confident
of his influence over the populace than the rest of his colleagues,
whom the present mob had reduced to a state of visible consternation,
he instantly offered us his house as an asylum for the night, and
engaged to obtain for us a passport for the remainder of the journey.
In the mean time, the military commander of the place, attended by
some of the magistrates, had promised the crowd to throw the young
Frenchman into a dungeon, as he had done a few nights before with his
own adjutant, against whom these very same recruits had risen on the
parade, with so murderous a spirit, that though protected by a few
regulars, they wounded him severely, and would have taken his life
but for the interference of the Vicar, who, bearing the consecrated
host in his hands, placed the officer under the protection of that
powerful charm. The Frenchman was, accordingly, conducted to prison;
but neither the soldiers nor the magistrates, who surrounded him,
could fully protect him from the savage fierceness of the peasants,
who crowding upon him, as half dead with terror, he was slowly
dragged to the town gaol, stuck the points of their knives into
several parts of his body. Whether he finally was sacrificed to the
popular fury, or, by some happy chance, escaped with life, I have not
been able to learn.
Though not far from our journey’s end, we were by no means relieved
from our fears and misgivings. Often were we surrounded by bands
of reapers, who, armed with their sickles, made us go through the
ordeal of a minute interrogatory. But what cast the thickest gloom on
our minds was, the detailed account we received from an Alcalde, of
the events which had taken place at Seville. A revolution, however
laudable its object, is seldom without some features which nothing
but distance of time or place, can soften into tolerable regularity.
We were too well acquainted with the inefficiency of most of the
men who had suddenly been raised into power, not to feel a strong
reluctance to place ourselves under their government and protection.
The only man of talents in the Junta of Seville was Saavedra, the
ex-minister.[54] Dull ignorance, mixed with a small portion of
inactive honesty, was the general character of that body. But a man
of blood had found a place in it, and we could not but fear the
repetition of the horrid scene with which he opened the revolution
that was to give him a share in the supreme government of the
province.
[54] See Letter X.
The Count Tilly, a titled Andalusian gentleman, of some talents,
unbounded ambition, and no principle, had, on the first appearance
of a general disposition to resist the French, employed himself in
the organization of the intended revolt. His principal agents were
men of low rank, highly endowed with the characteristic shrewdness,
quickness, and loquacity of that class of Andalusians, and thereby
admirably fitted to appear at the head of the populace. Tilly,
however, either from the maxim that a successful revolution must be
cemented with blood--a notion which the French Jacobins have too
widely spread among us--or, what is more probable, from private
motives of revenge, had made the death of the Count del Aguila an
essential part of his plan.
That unfortunate man was a member of the town corporation of Seville,
and as such he joined the established authorities in their endeavours
to stop the popular ferment. But no sooner had the insurrection
burst out, than both he and his colleagues made the most absolute
surrender of themselves and their power into the hands of the people.
This, however, was not enough to save the victim whom Tilly had
doomed to fall. One of the inferior leaders of the populace, one
Luque, an usher at a grammar-school, had engaged to procure the
death of the Count del Aguila. Assisted by his armed associates, he
dragged the unhappy man to the prison-room for noblemen, or Hidalgos,
which stands over one of the gates of the town; and, deaf to his
intreaties, the vile assassin had him shot on the spot. The corpse,
bound to the arm chair, in which the Count expired, was exposed for
that and the next day to the public. The ruffian who performed the
atrocious deed, was instantly raised to the rank of lieutenant in the
army. Tilly himself is one of the Junta; and so selfish and narrow
are the views which prevail in that body, that, if the concentration
of the now disjointed power of the provinces should happen, the
members, it is said, will rid themselves of his presence, by sending
a man they fear and detest, to take a share in the supreme authority
of the kingdom.[55]
[55] This was actually the case at the creation of the Central
Junta.
The effects of the revolutionary success on a people at large, like
those of slight intoxication on the individual, call forth every
good and bad quality in a state of exaggeration. To an acute but
indifferent observer, Seville, as we found it on our return, would
have been a most interesting study. He could not but admire the
patriotic energy of the inhabitants, their unbounded devotion to the
cause of their country, and the wonderful effort by which, in spite
of their passive habits of submission, they had ventured to dare both
the authority of their rulers, and the approaching bayonets of the
French. He must, however, have looked with pity on the multiplied
instances of ignorance and superstition which the extraordinary
circumstances of the country had produced.
To my friend and companion, whose anti-catholic prejudices are the
main source of his mental sufferings, the religious character which
the revolution has assumed, is like a dense mist concealing or
disfiguring every object which otherwise would gratify his mind. He
can see no prospect of liberty behind the cloud of priests who every
where stand foremost to take the lead of our patriots. It is in vain
to remind him that many among those priests, whose professional creed
he detests, are far from being sincere; that if, by the powerful
assistance of England, we succeed in driving the French out of the
country, the moral and political state of the nation must benefit by
the exertion. The absence of the King, also, is a fair opening for
the restoration of our ancient liberties; and the actual existence
of popular Juntas, must eventually lead to the re-establishment of
the Cortes. To this he answers that he cannot look for any direct
advantage from the feeling which prompts the present resistance to
the ambition of Napoleon, as it chiefly arises from an inveterate
attachment to the religious system whence our present degradation
takes source. That if the course of events should enable those
who have secretly cast off the yoke of superstition, to attempt a
political reform, it will be by grafting the feeble shoots of Liberty
upon the stock of Catholicism; an experiment which has hitherto,
and must ever prove abortive. That from the partial and imperfect
knowledge of politics and government which the state of the nation
permits, no less than from the feelings produced by the monstrous
abuse of power under which Spain has groaned for ages, too much
will be attempted against the crown; which, thus weakened in a
nation whose habits, forms, and manners, are moulded and shaped to
despotism, will leave it for a time a prey either to an active or an
indolent anarchy, and finally resume its ancient influence.
Partial as I must own myself to every thing that falls from my
friend, I will not deny that these views are too general, and that,
though the principles on which he grounds them are sound, the
inferences are drawn much too independently of future events and
circumstances. Yet the dim coloured medium through which he sees
the state of a country, whence he derives a constant feeling of
unhappiness, will make him, I fear, but little fit to assist with
his talents the work of Spanish reform, so long, at least, as he
shall feel the iron yoke which Spain has laid on his neck. I have,
therefore, formed a plan for his removal to England, whenever the
progress of the French arms, which our present advantages cannot
permanently check, shall enable him to take his departure, so as to
shew that if his own country oppresses him, he will not seek relief
among her enemies.