Letters from Spain

by Joseph Blanco White

The departure of the royal family had, with all possible secrecy, been fixed for the 19th of March. Measures, however, were taken by Ferdinand’s friends, on the first appearance of preparations for the journey, to defeat the intentions of the King, the Queen, and the favourite. Numbers of the peasantry were sent to Aranjuez from villages at a considerable distance; and the Spanish foot-guards, the Walloons, and the horse-guards engaged to support the people. Soon after midnight, before the 19th, a furious attack was made by the populace on the house of the Prince of the Peace, who, leaping out of his bed, had scarcely time to escape the knives which were struck, in frenzied disappointment, where the warmth of the sheets clearly shewed how recently he had left them. As the doors were carefully guarded, no doubt remained of his being still in the house; and after the slight search which could be made by artificial light, it was determined to guard all the outlets till the approaching day.

The alarm soon spread to the royal palace, where the Prince’s friends, among whom policy had ranged at this critical moment, the ministers who owed most to Godoy; hailed, in the King’s terror, and the Queen’s anxiety to save the life of her lover, the fairest opening for placing Ferdinand on the throne. Day-light had enabled the ringleaders to begin the most active search after the Prince of the Peace; and the certainty of his presence on the spot rendered his destruction inevitable. It does honour, indeed, to the affectionate and humane character of Charles, whatever we may think of his other qualities, that he resigned the crown from eagerness to rescue his faithless friend. The King’s abdication was published to the multitude, with whom the guards had taken an open and decided part, and Ferdinand appeared on horseback to fulfil the engagement he had made to his parents of protecting the favourite from the assassins. The unfortunate man, after a confinement of more than twelve hours, in a recess over the attics of his house, where he had lurked, with scarcely any clothing, and in absolute want of food and drink, was, if I may credit report, compelled by thirst to beg the assistance of a servant who betrayed him to his pursuers. What saved him from falling on the spot, a victim to the fierceness of his enemies—whether the desire of the leaders to inflict upon him a public and ignominious death, or some better feelings, of such as, at this fearful moment, surrounded his person—I am not able to tell. Nor would I deprive the new King of whatever claim to genuine humanity his conduct on this occasion may have given him. I can only state the fact that, under his escort Godoy was carried a prisoner to the Horse-guard Barracks, not, however, without receiving some severe wounds on the way, inflicted by such as would not miss the honour of fleshing their knives on the man whom but a few hours before, they would not have ventured to look boldly in the face.

The news of the revolution at Aranjuez had spread through the capital by the evening of the 19th; and it was but too evident that a storm was gathering against the nearest relations of Godoy. Night had scarcely come on, when a furious mob invaded the house of Don Diego, the favourite’s younger brother. The ample space which the magnificent Calle de Alcalá leaves at its opening into the Prado, of which that house forms a corner, afforded room not only for the operations of the rioters, but for a multitude of spectators, of whom I was one myself. The house having been broken into, and found deserted, the whole of the rich furniture it contained was thrown out at the windows. Next came down the very doors, and fixtures of all kinds, which, made into an enormous pile with tables, bedsteads, chests of drawers, and pianos, were soon in a blaze, that, but for the stillness of the evening, might have spread to the unoffending neighbourhood. Having enjoyed this splendid and costly bonfire, the mob ranged themselves in a kind of procession, bearing lint-torches, taken from the numerous chandlers-shops which are found at Madrid; and directed their steps to the house of the Prince Franciforte, Godoy’s brother-in-law.

The magistrates, however, had by this time fixed a board on the doors both of that and Godoy’s own house, giving notice that the property both of the favourite and his near relations had been confiscated by the new King. This was sufficient to turn away the mob from the remaining objects of their fury; and without any farther mischief, they were contented with spending the whole night in the streets, bearing about lighted torches, and drinking at the expense of the wine-retailers, whose shops, like your pot-houses, are the common resort of the vulgar. The riot did not cease with the morning. Crowds of men and women paraded the streets the whole day, with cries of “Long live King Ferdinand!—Death to Godoy!” The whole garrison of Madrid were allured out of their barracks by bands of women bearing pitchers of wine in their hands; and a procession was seen about the streets in the afternoon, where the soldiers, mixed with the people, bore in their firelocks the palm-branches which, as a protection against lightning, are commonly hung at the windows. Yet, amidst this fearful disorder, no insult was offered to the many individuals of the higher classes, who ventured among the mob. Nothing, however, appears to me so creditable to the populace of Madrid, as their abstaining from pillage at the house of Diego Godoy—every article, however valuable, was faithfully committed to the flames.

Murat, with his army, was, during these events, at a short distance from Madrid. The plan of putting the royal family to flight had been frustrated by the popular commotion at Aranjuez, and the unexpected accession of Ferdinand. But the new King, no less than his parents, hastening by professions of friendship to court the support of French power, Murat proceeded to the Spanish capital, there to pursue the course which might be most conducive to the views of his sovereign. I saw the entrance of the division which was to make the town their head-quarters. The rest occupied the environs, some in a camp within half a mile, and some in the neighbouring villages. The French entered as friends, and they cannot say that the inhabitants shewed, upon that occasion, the least symptoms of hostility. The prominent feeling which might be observed in the capital, was a most anxious expectation; but I know several instances of French soldiers relieved by the common people; and had Murat acknowledged Ferdinand VII., he with his troops would have been hailed and treated as brothers.

The French troops had been but a few days at Madrid, when Ferdinand left Aranjuez for his capital, where Murat inhabited the magnificent house of the Prince of the Peace, within a very short distance of the royal palace. From thence he encouraged the young King’s hopes of a speedy recognition by the Emperor, excusing himself, at the same time, for taking no notice of Ferdinand’s approach and presence, either by himself or his troops. Without any other display but that of the most enthusiastic applause from the multitude, Ferdinand, on horseback, and attended by a few guards, appeared at the gate of Atocha. I had placed myself near the entrance, and had a full view of him, as, surrounded by the people on foot, he moved on slowly, up the beautiful walk called El Prado. Never did monarch meet with a more loyal and affectionate welcome from his subjects; yet, never did subjects behold a more vacant and unmeaning countenance, even among the long faces of the Spanish Bourbons. To features not at all prepossessing, either shyness or awkwardness had added a stiffness, which, but for the motion of the body, might induce a suspicion that we were wasting our greetings on a wax figure.

As if for the sake of contrast, Murat, whose handsome figure on horseback was shewn to the greatest advantage by a dress almost theatrical, appeared every Sunday morning in the Prado, surrounded by generals and aid-de-camps, no less splendidly accoutred, there to review the picked troops of his army. Numbers of people were drawn at first by the striking magnificence of this martial spectacle; but jealousy and distrust were fast succeeding to the suspense and doubt which the artful evasions of the French Prince had been able to keep up for a time.

The first burst of indignation against the French was caused by their interference in favour of the Prince of the Peace. The people of Madrid were so eager for the public execution of Godoy, that when it was known that the man on whose hanging carcase they daily expected to feast their eyes, was proceeding out of the kingdom under a French escort; loud and fierce murmurs from all quarters of the town announced the bitter resentment of disappointed revenge. It was, nevertheless, still in the power of Napoleon to have kept the whole nation at his devotion, by making the long-expected recognition of Ferdinand. Even when, through the unworthy artifices which are already known to the world, Ferdinand had been decoyed to Bayonne, and the greatest anxiety prevailed at Madrid as to the result of the journey, I witnessed the joy of an immense multitude collected at the Puerta del Sol, late in the evening, when, probably with a view to disperse them, the report was spread that the courier we had seen arrive, brought the intelligence of Napoleon’s acknowledgement of the young King, and his determination to adopt him by marriage into his own family. The truth, however, could not be concealed any longer; and the plan of usurpation, which was disclosed the next morning, produced the clearest indications of an inevitable catastrophe.

The wildest schemes for the destruction of the French division at Madrid were canvassed almost in public, and with very little reserve. Nothing indeed so completely betrays our present ignorance as to the power and efficiency of regular troops, as the projects which were circulated in the capital for an attack on the French corps, which still paraded every Sunday morning in the Prado. Short pikes, headed with a sharp-cutting crescent, were expected to be distributed to the spectators, who used to range themselves behind the cavalry. At one signal the horses were to be houghed with these instruments, and the infantry attacked with poniards. To remonstrate against such absurd and visionary plans, or to caution their advocates against an unreserved display of hostile views, which, of itself, would be enough to defeat the ablest conspiracy; was not only useless, but dangerous. The public ferment grew rapidly, and Murat, who was fully apprised of its progress, began to shew his intention of anticipating resistance.

One Sunday afternoon, towards the end of April, as I was walking with a friend in the extensive gardens of the old royal palace El Retiro, (which, as they adjoin the Prado, are the usual resort of such as wish to avoid a crowded walk,) the sound of drums beating to arms from several quarters of the town, drew us, not without trepidation, to the inner gate of the large square, through which lay our way out of the palace. The confused voices of men, and the more distinct cries of the women, together with the view of two French regiments drawn up in the square, and in the act of loading their muskets, would have placed us in the awkward dilemma whether to venture out, or to stay, we knew not how long, in the solitary gardens; had not a French officer, whom I addressed, assured us that we might pass in front of the troops without molestation. The Prado, which we had left thronged with people, was now perfectly empty, except where some horse-patroles of the French were scudding away in different directions. As we proceeded towards the centre of the town, we were told that the alarm had been simultaneous and general. Parties of French cavalry had been scouring the streets; and, in the wantonness of military insolence, some soldiers had made a cut now and then at such as did not fly fast enough before them. The street-doors were, contrary to the usual practice, all shut as in the dead of night, and but a few groups of men were seen talking about the recent and now subsiding alarm. Among these we saw one shewing his hat cut through by the sabre of a French dragoon. No one could either learn or guess the cause of this affray; but I am fully convinced that it was intended just to strike fear into the people, and to discourage large meetings at the public walks. It was a prelude to the second of May—that day which has heaped the curses of every Spaniard on the head which could plan its horrors, and the heart that could carry them through to the last, without shrinking.