Lisbon was occupied by Junot’s ragged regiments without much trouble. A strong resistance could scarcely have been expected, seeing what a poor example had been given to the people by those who ruled them. For a time it appeared as if everything connected with the French occupation would be settled satisfactorily. The proclamation issued by Junot, now Duke of Abrantès and Governor of Portugal, on the 1st February 1808, made no secret of Napoleon’s intentions.
“The House of Braganza,” it runs, “has ceased to reign in Portugal; and the Emperor Napoleon, having taken under his protection the beautiful kingdom of Portugal, wishes that it should be administered and governed over its whole extent in the name of his Majesty, and by the General-in-Chief of his army.”
This must have been bitter reading to Godoy. In a secret treaty signed at Fontainebleau on the 27th October 1807, he had been promised the southern Portuguese provinces of Alemtejo and Algarve as a Principality for his connivance and assistance in the downfall of Portugal. Napoleon was paying him back in his own coin. During the Prussian campaign Godoy had cherished hostile designs against France, hoping for the co-operation of either England or Russia. In a proclamation dated the 5th October 1806, he had summoned the Portuguese nation to arms and but thinly disguised the name of the prospective enemy. The brilliant field of Jena, however, so radically changed the political aspect that it was necessary to make other plans, and Godoy put forth every effort possible to placate Napoleon. The Emperor had not forgotten, however; he never did, and he returned evil for evil. Having had the assistance of Spanish troops and the use of Spanish territory for the passage of his own soldiers, the Emperor found it inconvenient to complete his part of the bargain, and so the Prince of the Peace, to give Godoy his official title, went empty away.
Things were far from well with the Royal house of Spain. Charles IV. and his son Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, had quarrelled, the King going so far as to have his heir arrested on the charge of plotting against the throne. The main cause of disagreement was the Prince’s detestation of Godoy, who at every turn came between him and his father, and might conceivably rob him of his succession to the throne. Napoleon, ever eager and willing to make an advantage out of another’s disadvantage, surmised that the quarrel would enable him to settle the affairs of the eastern portion of the Peninsula to his liking. Hence another army of 25,000 men was concentrated at Bayonne which, without warning, crossed into Spanish territory towards the end of November 1807. Further corps followed until more than 100,000 French soldiers had traversed the Pyrenees. Citadels and fortresses were seized, often by bribery or cunning, that of Pampeluna by over-eagerness on the part of the garrison to secure the French soldiers as contestants in a snowball-fight. The opportunity was not allowed to slip, and while the Spaniards were off their guard the new arrivals took possession of the fort, and remained there till 1813.
The nation correctly associated Godoy with the indignities it was suffering. His palace at Aranjuez was sacked, and the Favourite was fortunate in not being lynched by the mob. Finally the King abdicated in favour of his son, an act which caused more rejoicing than had been accorded any other event during his reign.
Murat and his troops entered Madrid the day previous to the state entry of the young monarch. Little interest was shown in the arrival of the French soldiers, but Ferdinand received an astounding ovation, women in their enthusiasm scattering flowers before him as he rode. Forty-eight hours after the event Napoleon offered the Crown of Spain to his brother Louis, King of Holland.
On one pretext and another Ferdinand, whom Napoleon called “the enemy of France,” was persuaded to meet the Emperor at Bayonne. During the interview he was informed that he could have the choice of two evils. If he would resign his throne the Emperor would give him Etruria as some kind of compensation, if not he would be deposed. To complicate the difficulty, Charles IV., at Napoleon’s instigation, withdrew his abdication, which he declared had been wrung from him by fear, and did everything in his power to induce his son to accept Napoleon’s offer. At last the Emperor lost patience, and Ferdinand was given a few hours to make up his mind whether he would submit or be tried for high treason. Accordingly, on the 6th May 1808, the King, who had reigned less than two months, surrendered his throne, as he believed, to its former occupant, totally unaware that Napoleon had exacted the resignation of Charles IV. on the previous day. Few more despicable acts are recorded in history, certainly no better example could be found of Napoleon’s lack of a sense of honour in political matters.
Spain was now at the Emperor’s disposal. Louis had refused the kingdom, and so it was handed over to Joseph, Naples being given to Murat, his brother-in-law. The Emperor lived to repent the day, as did Joseph, who had endeared himself to the Neapolitans but could never persuade his Spanish subjects that he was anything but a vulgar upstart trading on the reputation of his brilliant brother.
Baptiste Capefigue, the eminent French historian, has tersely summed up the cause of Napoleon’s ultimate failure, and the passages quoted here have special reference to the events we are now studying. “Napoleon,” he says, “did not fail through the governments opposed to him, but through the people; it was when he attacked national feelings that he met with a stubborn resistance; he had strangely abused his dictatorial power over Europe; he crushed down nations by his treaties, and he gave up the populations to kings of his own creation; he broke territories into fractions, separating that which was before united, and joining together those parts which were separated; he transformed a republic into a kingdom; of a free town he made a district of one of his prefectships; he united the high lands to the plain; simple, primitive populations to old and corrupt ones, without regard to diversities of language, or manners, or to religious antipathies. In Germany, above all, his policy appears most tyrannical; he takes away a province from one monarchy and gives it to another; he plays with the masses as if they were chessmen; he creates a kingdom of Westphalia out of more than twenty States or fragments of States; he detaches Tyrol from Austria, heedless of traditional customs, institutions, and manners; Holland, a mercantile republic, he changes into a kingdom; to Naples, at the extremity of Italy, he sends one of his brothers. His is an unparalleled despotism, without reason or excuse. The people are for him like a mute herd of cattle; he pens them up, or drives them before him with his terrible sword. Add to this the French spirit, the French character, which, in his pride of a founder of a great empire, he wished to force upon all Europe, together with his own code of laws. God has imparted to each of the various nations a character which is its own; for good or for evil, it is unwise to run counter to it. Germany has its own morals and manners; Spain has its inveterate habits—perhaps they dispose to indolence—but what is that to strangers? Uniformity may be a plausible idea in mathematics; but in the moral organization of the human kind, harmony is the result of diversities.”
What is probably a typical summing up of the case from the distinctly British point of view is afforded us in a letter written by Francis Horner on the 13th June 1808, in which he says: “I cannot but rejoice that a people who bear such a name as the Spaniards should make a struggle at least for their independence; the example cannot be otherwise than beneficial, even if they should entirely fail, to their posterity at some future day, and to all the rest of mankind. It is the most detestable of all the enormities into which Bonaparte’s love of dominion has plunged him, and more completely devoid than any other of all the pretence of provocation or security. If I were a Spaniard, I should consider resistance, however desperate in its chances of success, and however bloody in its immediate operation, as an indispensable duty of discretion and expediency; to put the proposition in its most frigid form of expression.... What a moment for a Spaniard of political and military genius!”