Letters from Spain

by Joseph Blanco White

Having made you acquainted with the only circumstances in the last most important event, which the public accounts are not likely to mention, I shall have done with news—a subject to which I feel an unconquerable aversion—and begin my account of the limited field of observation in which my own movements, since the first approach of the present troubles, have placed me.

The first visible symptom of impending convulsions was the arrest of Ferdinand, then Prince of Asturias, by order of his father. My inseparable companion, Leandro, had been for some time acquainted with a favourite of the Prince of the Peace, who, being like my friend, addicted to music, had often asked us to his amateur parties. On the second of last November we were surprised by a letter from that gentleman, requesting my friend to proceed to the Escurial without delay, on business of great importance. As we walked to the Puerta del Sol, to procure a one-horse chaise, called Caleza, the news of the Prince’s arrest was whispered to us, by an acquaintance, whom we met at that winter resort of all the Madrid loungers. We consulted for a few minutes on the expediency of venturing near the Lion’s den, when his Majesty was so perfectly out of all temper; but curiosity and a certain love of adventure prevailed, and we set off at a round trot for the Escurial.

The village adjacent to the building bearing that name, is one of the meanest in that part of Castille. Houses for the accommodation of the King’s suite have been erected at a short distance from the monastic palace, which the royal family divide with the numerous community of Hieronymites, to whom Philip II. assigned one wing of that magnificent structure. But such as, following the Court on business, are obliged to take lodgings in the neighbourhood, must be contented with the most wretched hovels. In one of these we found our friend, Colonel A., who, though military tutor to the youngest of the King’s sons, might well have exchanged his room and furniture for such as are found in England at the most miserable pot-house. My intimacy with Leandro was accepted as an excuse for my intrusion, and we were each accommodated with a truckle-bed, quickly set up in the two opposite corners of the Colonel’s sitting-room. The object of the summons which had occasioned our journey, was not long kept a secret. The clergyman who superintended the classical studies of the Infante Don Francisco de Paula, was suspected of having assisted the Prince of Asturias in the secret application to Buonaparte, which had produced the present breach in the royal family. Should the proofs of his innocence, which the tutor had presented to the King and Queen, fail to re-establish him in their good opinion, my friend would be proposed as a successor, and enter without delay upon the duties of the office. The whole business was to be decided in the course of the next day. The present being the commemoration of the Departed, or All-Souls’ Day, we wished to visit the church during the evening service. On taking leave of the Colonel, he cautioned us not to approach that part of the building where the Prince was confined under a guard, to his own apartments.

Though this was our first visit to the Escurial, the disclosure which had just been made to my friend, was of too important a nature to leave us in a fit mood to enjoy the solemn grandeur of the structure to which we were directing our steps, and the rude magnificence of the surrounding scene. To be placed near one of the members of the royal family, when that family had split into two irreconcileable parties, and to be reckoned among the enemies of the heir apparent, was, at once, to plunge headlong into the most dangerous vortex of Court intrigue which had yet threatened to overwhelm the country. To decline the offer, when the candidate’s name had in all probability received the sanction of the Prince of the Peace, was to incur suspicion from those who had arbitrary power in their hands. In this awkward dilemma, our most flattering prospect was the acquittal of the tutor, an event by no means improbable, considering the well-known dulness of that grave personage, and the hints of the approaching release of the Prince, which we had gathered from the Colonel. We therefore proposed to divert our thoughts from the subject of our fears by contemplating the objects before us.

The Escurial incloses within the circuit of its massive and lofty walls, the King’s palace, the monastery, with a magnificent church, and the Pantheon, or subterranean vault of beautiful marble, surrounded with splendid sarcophagi, for the remains of the Spanish Kings and their families. It stands near the top of a rugged mountain, in the chain which separates Old from New Castille, and by the side of an enormous mass of rock, which supplied the architect with materials. It was the facility of quarrying the stone where it was to be employed, that made the gloomy tyrant, Philip II., mark out this wild spot in preference to others, equally sequestered and less exposed to the fury of the winds, which blow here with incredible violence. To have an adequate shelter from the blast, an ample passage, well aired and lighted, was contrived by the architect from the palace to the village.

The sullen aspect of the building; the bleak and rude mountain top, near which it stands more in rivalry than contrast; the wild and extensive glen opening below, covered with woods of rugged, shapeless, stunted ilex, surrounded by brushwood; the solitude and silence which the evening twilight bestowed on the whole scenery, increased to the fancy by the shy and retiring manners of a scanty population, trained under the alternate awe of the Court, and their own immediate lords, the monks,—all this, heightened by the breathless expectation which the imprisonment of the heir apparent had created, and the cautious looks of the few attendants who had followed the royal family on this occasion; impressed us with a vague feeling of insecurity, which it would be difficult to express or analyze. No one except ourselves and the monks, perambulating the aisles with lighted tapers in their hands, in order to chant dirges to the memory of the founder and benefactors, was to be seen within the precincts of the temple. The vaults re-echoed our very steps when the chorus of deep voices had yielded to the trembling accents of the old priest who presided at the ceremony. To skulk in the dark, might have excited suspicion, and to come within the glare of the monks’ tapers, was the sure means of raising their unbounded curiosity. We soon therefore glided into the cloisters next to the church. But, not being well acquainted with the locality of the immense and intricate labyrinth which the monastery presents to a stranger, the fear of getting upon forbidden ground, or of being locked up for the night, induced us to retire to our lodgings.

With the approbation of our host, we ventured the next morning to apply to the monk, who acts, by appointment, as the Cicerone of the monastery, for a view of the chief curiosities it contains. He allowed us a walk in the magnificent and valuable library, which is said to be one of the richest European treasures of ancient manuscripts—a treasure, indeed, which, amidst those mountains, and under the control of an illiberal government and a set of ignorant, lazy monks, may be said to be hid in the earth. The collection of first-rate pictures at the Escurial is immense; and the walls may be said to be covered with them. One has only to lounge about the numerous cloisters of the Monastery, to satiate the most craving appetite for the beauties of art. Our guide, however, who took no pleasure in going over the same ground for the ten-thousandth time, hurried us to the collection of relics, in which he seemed to take a never failing delight. I will not give you the list of these spiritual treasures. It fills up a large board from three to four feet in length, and of a proportionate breadth, at the entrance of the choir. Yet I cannot omit that we were shewn the body of one of the innocents massacred by Herod, and some coagulated milk of the Virgin Mary. The monk cast upon us his dark, penetrating eyes, as he exhibited these two most curious objects;—but the air of the Escurial has a peculiar power to lengthen and fix the muscles of the face. There is, in the same room which contains the relics, a curious box of a black shining wood, probably ebony, the whole lid of which is covered, on the inside, with the wards of a most complicated lock. It is said to have contained the secret correspondence of the unfortunate Don Carlos, which his unnatural father, Philip II., made the pretext for his imprisonment, and probably for the violent death which is supposed to have ended his misery.

On returning from the inspection of the Monastery, our suspense was relieved by the welcome intelligence that the Infante’s tutor had been fully acquitted. The Prince of Asturias, we were told also, had mentioned to the King the names of his advisers, and was now released from confinement. My friend was too conscious of the danger which, in the shape of promotion, had hung over his head for some hours, not to rejoice in what many would call his disappointment. He had probably dallied some moments with ambition; but, if so, he was fortunate enough to perceive that she had drawn him to the brink of a precipice.

The Prince of the Peace had, against his custom, remained at Madrid during the Escurial season, that he might escape the imputation of promoting the unhappy divisions of the royal family. Something was rumoured at Madrid of a dismemberment of Portugal intended by Bonaparte, in consequence of which Godoy was to obtain an independent sovereignty. This report, originally whispered about by the friends of the latter, was completely hushed up in a few days; while, instead of the buoyancy of spirits which the prospect of a crown was likely to produce in the favourite, care and anxiety were observed to lurk in all his words and motions. He continued, however, holding his weekly levees; and as the French troops were pouring into the Spanish territory, endeavoured to conceal his alarm by an air of directing their movements. When, however, the French had taken almost violent possession of some of our fortresses, and were seen advancing to Madrid with Murat at their head, there was no farther room for dissimulation. Though I had no object at Godoy’s levees but the amusement of seeing a splendid assembly, open to every male or female who appeared in a decent dress; that idle curiosity happened to take me to the last he held at Madrid. He appeared, as usual, at the farthest end of a long saloon or gallery, surrounded by a numerous suite of officers, and advanced slowly between the company, who had made a way for him in the middle. Such as wished to speak to him took care to stand in front, while those who, like myself, were content to pay for their admission with a bow, kept purposely behind. Godoy stood now before the group, of which I formed one of the least visible figures, and bowing affably, as was his manner, said, in a loud voice, “Gentlemen, the French advance fast upon us; we must be upon our guard, for there is abundance of bad faith on their side.” It was now evident that Napoleon had cast off the mask under which he was hitherto acting; and such as heard this speech had no doubt that the arrival of Izquierdo, Godoy’s confidential agent at Paris, had at once undeceived him; filling him with shame and vexation at the gross artifice to which he had been a dupe.

This happened about the beginning of March. The Court had proceeded to their spring residence of Aranjuez, and the Prince of the Peace joined the royal family soon after. A visible gloom had, by this time, overcast Madrid, arising chiefly from a rumour, that it was intended by the King and Queen to follow the example of the Portuguese family, and make their escape to Mexico. Few among the better classes were disposed, from love or loyalty, to oppose such a determination. But Madrid and the royal Sitios would sink into insignificance, were the Court to be removed to a distance. The dissolution of the most wretched Government always fills its dependents with consternation; and the pampered guards with which the pride of Spanish royalty had surrounded the throne, could not endure to be levelled, by the absence of the sovereign, with the rest of the army. The plan, therefore, of a flight out of Spain, with the ocean at the distance of four hundred miles, was perfectly absurd and impracticable.