A BAPTISM OF BLOOD
The last street to be traversed was the Calle Mayor. All the world
remembers how, as the end of the street was almost reached, a huge
bouquet in which was hidden a small iron casket was tossed from a
balcony, striking immediately in front of the royal carriage. With a
tremendous roar, the casket exploded, killing more than thirty persons
and wounding over one hundred, besides killing and maiming a number of
horses. People in front of the royal carriage were killed, and behind
the carriage, and even on the balconies above the street. I have seen
the effect of many bombs--in Russia and the Caucasus--but never have I
seen the results of a bomb as extensive as this one. Great chunks were
literally gouged out of huge granite blocks in nearby buildings, and
people on the balconies at a distance where safety would seem absolute
met instant death. To this day the traces of this bomb are to be seen in
the Calle Mayor, to my thinking one of the most curious and interesting
sights in all Madrid.
The smoke had not cleared when the King, taking the head of his bride
and Queen between both his hands, kissed her tenderly.
“Are you wounded?” he anxiously asked.
“No, no, I am not hurt. I swear it,” she replied.
The King threw open the carriage door and as he stepped out, calmly
saluted a flag which happened to be fluttering near by. Then he assisted
the Queen, whose beautiful wedding gown became smirched with blood.
According to an ancient Spanish custom a so-called “carriage of respect”
was immediately behind the royal coach, a carriage which apparently was
originally designed for any emergency. The King called for this carriage
and after seeing the Queen comfortably seated he turned to his equerries
and in a clear voice said: “Very slowly to the Palace.”
Arrived at the Palace, the King sprang lightly to the ground, and,
having given his hand to the Queen, their Majesties ascended the flight
of steps with ceremonious deportment, as if nothing untoward had
occurred. The King saluted all the Princes in accordance with the
demands of etiquette; and when one of the Royal guests asked him if he
remembered that this was the anniversary of the attempt in the Rue de
Rohan, in Paris, he replied with inimitable spirit, “Yes, I remember,
and I notice that the bomb has grown.”
As soon as the King had arrived in the Palace he asked for exact
information as to the number of victims. He received the reply, “It is
not yet possible to know; we only know that there are many dead and many
wounded.” Then the King passed his hand across his forehead, and, as if
the words came from the bottom of his heart, said slowly, “Now I feel
what it is to be King; and I feel it because if I were not King I might
have had the consolation of tears in the presence of so much blood and
so many victims.” His words were echoed in the heart of his young Queen
who was, indeed, coming into her queenship under stress and trial.
The next morning the King and his bride, evading the court guard, swept
out of the Palace gates in a motor car and slowly traversed the main
streets of the city without escort or guard. Every inch of the way their
Majesties were frantically cheered by the populace who appreciated their
courage and considerateness in thus proving to the world at large that
they had suffered no injury. Queen Victoria as she was henceforth to be
known, acknowledged the salutations by bowing continuously to right and
to left and constantly waving her handkerchief in greeting to the
people.
The members of the Royal Household were beside themselves with fear when
they saw the King and Queen, in an automobile, pass out of the Palace
gates into the city absolutely unarmed and unescorted. But the King was
wise that day. He threw both himself and his Queen-bride on to the
honour of the people. As the car moved through the crowded
thoroughfares, the people were first stunned with amazement and then
bewilderment gave place to a delirium of joyous enthusiasm. Eager hands
grasped the car to pull and push it. Women fought desperately to get
close to the brave couple, and the Queen’s dress was actually torn to
shreds by the multitude who sought to kiss the hem of her garment. When
they returned to the Palace, it was 1 o’clock in the afternoon. Thus
began the Queenship of the little English Princess who heretofore had
led a quiet, sheltered life in her island home and among the Scottish
braes and moors and in the tranquil atmosphere of the Court of St.
James.
Queen Victoria at this time may have recalled the lines of George
Meredith:
“We see in mould the Rose unfold,
The Soul through blood and tears.”
Verily the soul of Princess Ena was tempered by fire and brought to its
fulness through blood and tears on the day when she became at once a
wife and a Queen.