It was the carriage which had conveyed the Spanish princes across the frontier to Valençay, in 1808, and which they had left behind them under peculiar circumstances. The vehicle is of most antique and extraordinary construction. It must, indeed, be coeval with the Spanish monarchy; a huge, uncouth piece of Spanish workmanship, like nothing on earth but our Lord Mayor’s state barge, or the car of Juggernaut. The panels are emblazoned in gold and silver, with the arms of all the royalties of Spain, and all the quarterings thereof besides. When new, and on a sunny day, these panels must have blinded the beholder. The roof is adorned in the quaint old style, with massive cornices and rich carvings. The hangings within and without were of crimson silk damask, and even the very wheels, although rude and ponderous, were curiously wrought and richly gilt.
The circumstances of the huge machine having remained at Valençay are curious and amusing. When the morning arrived which was to send Ferdinand and his brother forth from their place of exile, to resume the crown and royalty in their own land, the huge carriage which had brought them to Valençay was drawn from its remise, and laden with the moveables which had been collected during their long captivity. There are a few persons living now at the château, who well remember the morning of the departure, and they will tell you all the ludicrous circumstances connected therewith, some of which would form valuable acquisitions to collectors of “whims and oddities.”
“The day was fine: not a cloud obscured the horizon; all nature was gay and smiling. The old coach, roused from its long repose, and furbished up with new hangings and velvet cushions, had been dragged round to the perron to be loaded. This task being accomplished, the princes and their suite had squeezed themselves into the interior; the little pages stood upon the steps, and hung by the door, after a fashion which may still be seen in ancient prints; and, as for the valets and footmen, they clustered on behind, pell-mell, clinging to each other as best they could. Some say this ponderous machine contained at that moment no fewer than seventeen persons. In Spain, it had always been set in motion by eight stout mules, but upon this occasion six brisk and capering post-horses were attached to it, with good stout ropes, too, for it was evident that it would require a strong pull to get it under weigh.
“The beautiful princess, the fair hostess, with her whole court, was standing on the perron, in picturesque and wailing grief. There were clouds on many a youthful brow, and the tears fell like rain from many a bright eye, for the princes had been beloved during their long and weary captivity, and in return they had felt a depth of gratitude towards the soft beguilers of their weary hours. Some there are who say that time hung not so heavy on their hands, as it might have done had they remained amid the dull and heavy splendours of the Escurial. It is certain that, upon this occasion, when they should have been joyous, they displayed faces of such weeping melancholy at either window of the vehicle, that you would have thought them going forth into exile still more dreary, instead of being about to resume their glorious birthright. They sobbed forth faint farewells, which were echoed back by the weeping beauties on the perron, until the uncle, old Don Antonio, in this case more impatient than his youthful nephews, urged the postillions to their greatest speed, with promise of princely reward.
“At length the cry of ‘En route!’ burst from the guide; whips were cracked with energy tremendous, and handkerchiefs waved in graceful agitation. A louder sob burst from the ladies on the perron—a cry of absolute despair echoed from the carriage—the horses pulled—the postillions shouted—they even let fly sundry choice oaths which are ever ready at hand—the old coach groaned and creaked—that was all—the spurs were dug into the flinching sides of the poor animals—the old coach swayed to and fro, and swung with a rumbling sound—but it moved not! In vain did both man and beast toil and pull at the cords—they all broke one after another, and not an inch of ground was gained.
“I have heard it said that no scene of the broadest farce could surpass in ludicrous effect that which took place, when it was discovered that it would be impossible, by any human means, to drag the machine even so far as the gate of the courtyard. The royal party were compelled to alight forthwith. All the baggage had to be unpacked, and they left Valençay in a much more humble conveyance,—a good, modern travelling carriage, belonging to the prince. I have often wondered if Don Carlos, when fighting in his Biscayan mountains, ever remembered that moment, and if so, whether with a smile or with a sigh.”
I looked at the carriage with great interest, for there it still remains, just as it was rolled back to its old station under the remise. Through all the changes of the country from which it had rumbled over the frontier, laden with its royal freight, has it stood silently falling to decay—the gay emblazoned panels blistering and fading in the damp, and the splendid hangings all moth-eaten and falling to tatters—a curious memento, and one which even in our own day may find its way to some museum. It certainly would not disgrace any collection of “pièces curieuses,” however rare and valuable.
C. told me that, “not being at Valençay at the period of the arrival of the Spanish princes, he could not bear witness to the effect which the sudden seizure of their persons, the breach of faith of Napoleon, and the strict captivity in which they were held, had produced in the country. He had, however, seen much of them during the time of their stay, and gave me some curious anecdotes concerning them. Ferdinand, and his brother Don Carlos, were both young, almost mere lads, at the time, and, at first, as it may well be supposed, they were overcome by grief and rage at being thus torn from their country by fraud and violence; but, after some little while, they grew reconciled to their fate, and even, with true youthful volatility, preferred it to the awful state and grandeur of the Spanish court, which, in these days, still maintains the same absurd etiquette that had for ages rendered it the terror of foreign ambassadors, and gained for it the nickname of the “grave of the gay.”
“It is an error to suppose that the smiles and fascinations of the Princess de Benevent herself had any share in this sudden change of sentiment, for she was already past the age to captivate the fancy of her youthful guests; but there were some among her fair maids of honour for whom the young princes would gladly have sworn never to return to Spain, not even to rule over it in splendour.
“They were a curious collection assembled at Valençay. First and foremost came the two princes, Don Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, and Don Carlos, his younger brother. Of these, more anon. Then came old Don Antonio, brother to the reigning King of Spain, and uncle of the two boys, guardian likewise of their welfare and their morals. The latter was a true Spaniard of the vieille roche; such a character as may be found in the old Spanish novels; ignorant and haughty as the hidalgo of Columbus’s day, yet bonhomme withal, credulous and unsuspicious as a child.