Certainly Ferdinand’s letter to the Emperor was frank, if it was not self-respecting. “I wish,” he said, “to confide in you as I would in a tender father. I am full of respect and filial love for my father,” he continued, “for his heart is good and generous, and, as Your Majesty knows, these very qualities are but instruments in the hands of astute and malignant people to keep him from the truth. I implore Your Majesty,” added the Spanish Prince, “not only to give me a Princess of your family as a wife, but to do away with all the difficulties which will accompany the matter.”
The French Ambassador, Beauharnais, husband of the future Empress of the French, checkmated the Prince’s desires, for he informed Godoy of the letter addressed to his master, and the favourite prevented the matter from going any farther. However, although he knew that his hopes had been defeated, Ferdinand, schooled in the science of duplicity, caressed his mother and kissed the hand of his father, and all in such a cheerful and pleasant way that it was thought that he had overcome his naturally gloomy nature. But “still waters run deep,” and Ferdinand’s hatred of his mother’s favourite was now a consuming fire, and at the same time that it was said that Maria Luisa was hatching a scheme for a change in the dynasty, Ferdinand was engaged in a dreadful plot against his parents. It was at this time that the Prince presented his mother with a copy of his translation from the French of Vertot’s “Revoluciones Romanas,” and the title was naturally very obnoxious to the Sovereigns. The very word “Revolucion” struck terror in the palace in those days, as it summoned up pictures of the execution of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, so Carlos IV. remonstrated with the Prince on the direction taken by his literary tastes, and stopped the sale of the work; so the book remained at the printer’s until its translator ascended the throne of Spain.
As the King was glad to see his son occupied, he told him that, if he really wished to cultivate his literary taste, he would advise him to translate Cordillac’s “Étude de l’Histoire,” and when Ferdinand asked his father what motto he would suggest for the book, Carlos promptly returned: “Les hommes ne sont pas grands par leurs passions, mais par leur raison.”
Thus, by the time the Court returned to the Escorial for the autumn months, the royal parents congratulated themselves that Ferdinand’s literary occupations had banished his misanthropic humours; and when the Queen was told one day by the Marquesa de Perijaa, who was out walking with her, that her son passed the nights in writing, she explained to the lady that the Prince was engaged in the translation recommended by his father, and the information of his absorption in writing suggested no ulterior design.
However, one day Carlos IV. found a letter placed in a room in the palace ready to meet his eye. “Urgent” was written on the cover, and the letter had no signature. Indited evidently with a trembling hand, it ran thus:
“Prince Ferdinand is plotting something in the palace, the Crown is in danger, and Queen Maria Luisa is in imminent peril of dying from poison. The prevention of the deed is implored without an instant’s delay. The faithful vassal who gives this information is not in a position to fulfil his duty in any other way.”
All efforts to discover the writer of this epistle failed, and proof of its authorship was never found; but the writer’s object was gained, and the King determined to investigate his son’s labours. So he appeared one night in the Prince’s study with the excuse of asking him to compose something to celebrate the recent successes in America; and this he did in a tone of friendliness, as he did not really give any credit to the anonymous accusation which had reached him. However, Ferdinand’s confusion at his father’s visit was suspicious, and, following the Prince’s eyes, the King saw they were turned with anxiety to some papers on the table, and his request to see them was met with insolence. So the Sovereign promptly had the Prince put under arrest, with the understanding that he was not to leave his room or speak to anybody.
As Godoy was ill in Madrid at the time, Carlos sent for Caballero, the Minister of Grace and Justice, in post-haste, and to him was read one of the documents he had found on Ferdinand’s table, which the Prince had written at the dictation of Escoiquiz to present to his father. In this paper the character of Godoy was painted in the darkest colours, and the favourite was even accused of aspiring to the throne by plotting the death of the King and the rest of the Royal Family. The monarch was advised in the letter to ascertain these facts by lying in wait and listening to the tools of Godoy during a day’s shoot in the Pardo or in the Casa de Campo.
The King was also counselled to hold no communication with his wife during the time of the inquiry, so as to avoid her tears and plaints, and he was told to associate his heir with him in the Government and to give him the command of the troops; and, finally, His Majesty was implored by his son to keep the letter a profound secret from his mother, as he did not wish to be exposed to her resentment and the revenge of his enemies.
In another document written to the Prince of Asturias, Escoiquiz advised quite a different course of action, for he suggested that the fall of Godoy should be accomplished by an appeal to the Queen herself. Ferdinand was counselled to implore his mother on his knees to give up the favourite, whilst supporting his appeal by an account of the amours of the Prince of the Peace with other ladies; and the letter concluded with the advice to avoid all thought of a marriage with Godoy’s sister-in-law. The King had also found in his son’s room the cipher and key of the correspondence used between the Prince and the Archdeacon of Toledo, and these were the same which had been used by his late daughter-in-law with the ex-Queen of Naples.