“A daughter of kings: if I were a man I would go to my capital!” indignantly declared Isabella, when the appalling news reached her that the royal army was defeated. But instead, she sought safety in flight, leaving to the successful revolutionists the difficult task of providing a government in place of the one they had overthrown. Distrust and suspicion were rampant, and those who had declared the pronunciamiento were at their wits’ ends what to choose: a democratic monarchy, a constitutional monarchy, or a republic; but during the interregnum the patriot Serrano stepped into the breach. A thankless task was his, as president of the provisional government, though he was assisted by such able men as Prim, Minister of War; Topete, Minister of Marine; Zorilla, Minister of Commerce; Figuerola, of Finance; Ortiz, of Justice; Lopez de Ayala, of the Colonies; and Sagasta, Minister of the Interior.
They were glad to resign, the following year, and subscribe to a constitution which provided for the restoration of a constitutional monarchy.
The constitutional monarchy was very beautiful, as an idea; but while Serrano ruled as “regent for the interregnum,” the throne of Spain “went begging about Europe,” seeking a royal occupant. General Prim was insistent upon the candidacy of Prince Leopold, of Hohenzollern, a relative of King William of Prussia, at which Napoleon III took alarm; and though the prince promptly resigned his candidature, the French emperor demanded further that Prussia should give a guarantee that she would at no future time sanction his claims. King William refused to give this assurance, and Napoleon made this a pretext for declaring that war against Prussia which ended so disastrously for his empire and for France.
Isabella’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Montpensier, as well as Fernando of Portugal, were considered, but rejected for political reasons; and even sturdy old Espartero refused the crown, showing the possession of greater wisdom than the one upon whom it was finally bestowed—Don Amadeo, Duke of Aosta, the second son of Victor Emanuel of Italy.
The reception he received was presaged by the assassination of Prim, in December, 1870; but Amadeo was crowned a few days later, on January 2, 1871, and entered heartily into the duties of his unsought kingship. Two years later, after having been several times the object of assassination and of insults innumerable, he became convinced that modern Spain was different from that Spain which had besought a foreign prince to rule over it in the eighteenth century, and sorrowfully abdicated.
Monarchical rule having failed them, the Spaniards now turned to a republic, as the ideal toward which they had striven through these hopeless, turbulent, and chaotic years. But they did not take into account their inborn reverence for a king, their superstitious faith in the sanctity of the royal office; and so the “republic” had a thorny road to travel, first under Señor Pi y Margall, the first “president of the executive power,” lastly under the great jurist, orator, and patriot, Emilio Castelar.
Away back in the time of the regent Christina, that queen was troubled by the dissensions of the so-called liberals, who, split into two parties, the moderados and the progresistas, impeded whatever advance might have been possible had the occupant of the throne been inclined toward the people.
So now, the actual arrival of the republic found dissensions among the very “patriots” who should have served it disinterestedly and with fervour. The misnamed “republic” served but as a bridge for another king to pass over from exile to the throne.
When Prim was dying, mortally wounded by unknown assassins, he whispered to a friend, “I die, but your king is coming!” The king came, and went; the “republic” came, and went out in the coup-d’état of January, 1874, with militarism triumphant, and the administration of the government in the hands of military officers. Their action in putting down anarchy and ending the civil war—for “Don Carlos” had again taken the field, with his Basque retainers, in support of his inalienable “male succession”—would seem to prove that Spain, like Mexico, needed the mailed hand of the military dictator to force it into paths of prosperity and development.
Serrano might have been that dictator; but if he had designs, they did not succeed, for he soon resigned in favour of one who proclaimed himself “the first republican in Europe”—no less a personage than the seventeen-year-old son of Isabella the exile, who was ferreted out by the king-makers and offered the crown, that a Bourbon might again occupy the throne of his ancestors.