“Sir! It is not my own humble self, and it is not the man of deep republican convictions, but in truth the alcayde of Saragossa, invested with the sacred universal suffrage, who, through a sense of unavoidable duty, presents himself here before you and submits himself to your commands. You are about to enter the precincts of a city which, sated at length with glory, bears the title of enduring heroism—a city which, when danger threatened the integrity of the nation, became a new Numantia—a city which humbled the armies of Napoleon in their very triumphs. Saragossa was the advance-guard of liberty; to her no government has ever seemed too liberal. Treason has never found shelter in the breast of any of her sons. Enter, then, within the precincts of Saragossa. If you lack courage, you have no need of it, for the sons of their ever-heroic mother are brave in open field and are incapable of treachery. There is at this moment no shield nor any army more ready to defend your person than the loyalty of the descendants of Palafox, for their very enemies find an inviolate asylum beneath their roofs. Think and consider that if you walk steadfastly in the path of justice; if you further the observance of the laws of the strictest morality; if you protect the producer, who hitherto has given so much and received so little; if you maintain the integrity of the ballot; if Saragossa and Spain shall one day owe to you the achievement of the sacred aspiration of the majority of this great people whom you have learned to know,—then perhaps you may be honored by a more glorious title than that of king. You may then be the first citizen of the nation, and the most dearly loved in Saragossa, and the Spanish republic will owe to you her complete felicity.”
To this address, which signified, after all, “We do not recognize you as king, but, however, you may come in, and we will not murder you, because heroes do not murder by treachery; and if you will be brave and will treat us as you ought to do, we will possibly consent to support you as president of the republic,”—to this the king replied with a bitter-sweet smile which seemed to say, “Too great a condescension,” and pressed the hand of the alcayde, to the great surprise of all present. He then mounted his horse and entered Saragossa. The people, from all accounts, received him with delight, and from the windows many ladies threw poems, garlands, and doves down upon him. At some points General Cordova and General Rosell, who accompanied him, were obliged to clear the street with their horses. When he entered the Coso a woman of the people rushed out to present him with some memorial. The king, who had ridden past without noticing her, turned back and took it. Soon after a charcoal-man presented himself and stretched out his sooty hand, which the king grasped. In the square of Santa Engracia he was received by a pompous masquerade of dwarfs and giants, who welcomed him with some traditional dances, amid the discordant cheers of the multitude. So he passed through the entire city. The next day he visited the church of Our Lady of the Pillar, the hospitals, the prisons, and the circus of the bull-fights, and everywhere his presence was hailed almost with the enthusiasm due a monarch, not altogether without the secret chagrin of the alcayde, who accompanied him, and who would have been better pleased had the people of Saragossa contented themselves with the observance of the sixth commandment, “Thou shalt not kill,” without entering further upon his modest promises.
However, the king had a joyous welcome on the way from Saragossa to Logroño.
At Logroño, in the midst of an innumerable crowd of peasants, national guardsmen, women, and boys, he saw for the first time the venerable General Espartero. As soon as they saw each other they ran together; the general sought the hand of the king, the king opened his arms, and the crowd gave a shout of joy. “Your Majesty!” said the illustrious soldier in a husky voice, “the people welcome you with patriotic enthusiasm, because they see in their young monarch the firmest support of the liberty and independence of their country, and are sure that if by any misfortune our enemies were to cause trouble, Your Majesty, at the head of the army and the citizen militia, would overwhelm and rout them. My broken health did not suffer me to go to Madrid to felicitate Your Majesty and your august consort upon your establishment on the throne of Ferdinand. To-day I do so, and I repeat, once again, that I will serve faithfully the person of Your Majesty as king of Spain, chosen by the will of the nation. Your Majesty, I have in the city a modest home, and I offer it to you, and ask of you to honor it with your presence.” In these simple words the new king was greeted by the oldest, the best-beloved, and the most renowned of his subjects. A happy augury, though sadly at variance with the final outcome!
Toward midnight I went to a masquerade in a theatre of moderate size on the Coso, a short distance from the Square of the Constitution. The maskers were few and very shabby, but there was a compensation for this in a dense crowd of people, fully a third of whom were dancing furiously. Except for the language, I should not have known that I was at a masked ball in a theatre in Spain rather than in Italy. I seemed to see precisely the same faces. There was the same familiarity, the same freedom of speech and movement, the usual degeneracy of the ball into noisy and unbridled brawl.
Of the hundred couples of dancers who waltzed past me, only one pair remains impressed upon my memory—a youth of twenty years, tall, lithe, and fair, with great black eyes, and a girl of the same age, brown as an Andalusian—both beautiful and noble in their bearing, dressed in the ancient costumes of Arragon, clasped in each other’s arms, face to face, as though the one wished to breathe the other’s breath, rosy as two flowers, and radiant with joy. They paused in the middle of the crowd, glancing about with an air of disdain, and a thousand eyes followed them with a low murmur of admiration and envy.
On leaving the theatre I stood a moment at the door to see them pass again, and then I turned toward the hotel melancholy and alone. The next morning before dawn I was on my way to the Castiles.