Amadeus. And I say “unfortunately,” because to read those papers was to fall into the temptation to turn my back on Madrid and start for home. From the first column to the last there was a passionate outburst of insults, imprecations, and threats directed against Italy, scandals about our king, burlesques of our ministers, the wrath of God implored to descend upon our army,—the whole founded upon the report, then current, of a coming war in which the allied powers of Italy and Germany would suddenly attack France and Spain for the purpose of destroying Catholicism, the eternal enemy of them both, of establishing the duke of Genoa upon the throne of St. Louis, and of securing the throne of Philip II. for the duke of Aosta. There were threats in the leading articles, threats in the clippings, threats in the notices, threats in prose and in verse, displayed with sketches, capital letters, and long rows of exclamation points; dialogues between father and son, the one at Rome, the other in Madrid, one of whom would ask, “What shall I do?” Whereupon the other would reply, “Shoot!” or, again, “Let them come; we are ready: we are ever the Spain of 1808. The conquerors of the armies of Napoleon have no fear of the ugly mugs of King William’s Uhlans or of the yells of Victor Emanuel’s sharpshooters.” And then King Amadeus would be called “poor child;” the Italian army described as a crowd of ballet-dancers and opera-singers; the Italians in Spain requested to take their departure by the gentle hint, “Italians to the train.” In short, ask what you would, and there was something to meet your wish. I must confess that for a short time I was a little disturbed. I imagined that, at Madrid, Italians could hardly fail to be hooted in the streets; I remembered the letter which I had received at Genoa, repeated to myself, “Italians to the train” as advice worthy of serious consideration; I glanced with suspicion at the travellers who entered the carriage, and at the railroad-employees, and expected that on first spying me they would say, “Look at that Italian emissary! Let us send him to keep company with General Prim.”
On nearing Miranda the railroad enters a mountainous region, varied and picturesque, where on every side, wherever one looks, one sees only dark gray rocks which suggest to the imagination a sea turned into stone at the time of a storm, stretching away as far as the eye can reach. It is a country full of savage beauty, lonely as a desert, silent as a glacier, which represents to the fancy, as it were, a vision of an uninhabited planet, and impresses one with a mingled feeling of sadness and fear. The train passed between two walls of rock, sharp-pointed, hollowed, and crested, serrated in every manner and form, so that it seemed as though a crowd of stonecutters had spent their entire lives in cutting furiously on every side, working blindly to see who could make the most erratic marks. The railroad then comes out into a vast plain thickly wooded with poplar, among which rises Miranda.
The station is a long way from the city, and I was obliged to wait in the café until nightfall for the train to Madrid. For three hours I had no other company than that of the two custom-officers, called in Spain carabineros, dressed in a severe uniform, with a dagger and pistols and a carbine slung across their shoulders.
There were two or three of them at every station. The first few times I saw the barrels of their carbines opposite the window I thought they had come there to arrest some one, and perhaps...; and without thinking I put my hand on my passport.
They are handsome young fellows, brave and courteous, and the traveller who is obliged to wait can be pleasantly entertained by talking with them about Carlists and contrabands, as I did, with great advantage to my Spanish vocabulary. Toward evening a Mirandese came in: he was a man of about fifty, a politician, bright and talkative, and so I left the carabineros to join him. He was the first Spaniard who fully explained the political situation to me. I asked him to unravel a little this precious tangle of parties, of which I had not succeeded in finding the thread, and he was well pleased to do so, and went into the subject very thoroughly.
“It is described in two words,” he began. “See how matters stand! There are five principal parties—the Absolutist, the Moderate, the Conservative, the Radical, and the Republican. The Absolutist is divided into two other parties, the out-and-out Carlists and the dissenting Carlists. The Moderate party has separated into two, one of which favors Isabella, the other Alphonso. The Conservative party is made up of four—get them clearly fixed in your mind: the Canovists, led by Canovas del Castillo; the ex-Montpensierists, led by Rios y Rosas; the Fronterizos, led by General Serrano; and the Historical Progressionists, led by Sagasta. The Radical party is divided into four—the Democratic Progressionists, headed by Zorilla; the Cimbrios, headed by Martos; the Democrats, by Ribero; and the Economists, headed by Rodriguez. The Republican party is composed of three elements—the Unionists, led by Garcia Ruiz; the Federalists, headed by Figueras; and the Socialists, by Garrido. The Socialists are again divided into two parties—the International Socialists, and the Socialists without international sympathies. In all there are sixteen parties, and these sixteen are still further subdivided. Martos is trying to constitute a party of his own, Candan to form a second party, and Moret a third. Rios y Rosas, Pi y Margal, and Castelar are each forming their own party. There are accordingly twenty-two parties already formed or in process of formation. Add to these the partisans of the republic, with Amadeus for president; the partisans of the queen, who would gladly trip up the heels of Amadeus; the partisans of the Montpensier monarchy; those who are republicans on the condition that Cuba be retained; those who are republicans on the condition that Cuba be given up; those who have not yet renounced the prince of Hohenzollern; those who long for a union with Portugal; and you will have thirty parties.
“If one wished to be still more accurate, one might subdivide still further, but it is better to get a clear idea of matters as they stand. Sagasta inclines toward the Unionists, Zorilla toward the Republicans; Serrano is disposed to support the Moderates; the Moderates, if they had an opportunity, would join hands with the Absolutists, who, in their turn, would join with the Republicans, who would unite with a part of the Radicals to blow the minister Sagasta skyhigh, as he is too conservative for the Democratic Progressionists and too liberal for the Unionists, who are afraid of the Federalists, while they, the Federalists, on their part, do not place much confidence in the Radicals, who are always vacillating between the Democrats and the followers of Sagasta.
“Have I given you a clear idea of the situation?”
“As clear as amber,” I answered with a shudder.