Once on the throne, Ferdinand VII. sent for the persons who had taken part in the Escorial conspiracy. Don Miguel José de Azanza, the ex-Viceroy of Mexico, was made Minister of the Interior instead of Miguel Cartegano Soler, and Pedro Ceballos, who had married Godoy’s cousin, and who had worked for the ruin of the dethroned King, was retained in his position as Minister of Foreign Affairs by a special royal decree.
The celebrated littérateur Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos also returned to Court.
But the man who was most triumphant was Ferdinand’s old tutor, Don Juan Escoiquiz. His wish was fulfilled—he was a power at Court, and he was decorated with the Cross of Carlos III.
Moreover, the Duke of San Carlos, spoken of by Maria Luisa in her correspondence as the falsest of all, was made chief Mayordomo of the palace. In fact, all who had played any part in the Escorial affair were exalted, whereas those who had pleased Godoy by their capacities or virtues were proscribed and persecuted. Among these were the Duke of Almodovar, brother of the Prince de la Paz, Viguri the Intendant, Norrega the Treasurer, Marquina the Corregidor of Madrid, the littérateur Escala, and the Fiscal Viegas, who had demanded penal punishment for criminals in the Escorial matter. The property of all the above-mentioned men was confiscated, and Godoy himself was taken from Aranjuez to the Castle of Villaviciosa.
The government was practically in the hands of the Dukes of Infantado and San Carlos and the Councillor Escoiquiz. The opinions and character of the latter are well known. He was utterly disingenuous, and he was expert in the science of intrigue, which had played such a part in the antechamber of the palace. But for really ruling the affairs of a kingdom he was quite incompetent, and was only conspicuous for his want of knowledge and his mean spirit. Apart from his artifice in conspiracies, the character of this Archdeacon of Alcaraz was seen in the pamphlet he published in defence of the Inquisition. San Carlos shamefully maligned Maria Luisa and the Prince de la Paz, albeit he was proud of being related to the favourite. Infantado was destitute of any consistency in government except when it savoured of persecution and oppression.
The three statesmen were united in one desire, and that was the marriage of Ferdinand with one of the Bonaparte family; and they all shared the people’s joy at the entrance of Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, in Madrid on March 23. The townsfolk were mad with delight, for they regarded the French as supporters of their idol Ferdinand, and sharers of their joy in the state entry of the young King into the capital.
The function was indeed a brilliant sight, and the Sovereign, crowned with the rich diadem of the two worlds, roused so much enthusiasm that it took him six hours to pass from the Gate of Atocha to the palace. The roar of the cannon, the peal of the bells, the clamour of the cheers, were indeed deafening, and the men laid down their cloaks for the King to pass over, and the women waved their pocket-handkerchiefs.
The Grand Duke of Berg unfortunately gave rein to his pride, and wounded the Spaniards in their tenderest sensibility by sending French troops to line part of the route of the royal entry, leaving his house in the Buen Retiro for that of the Prince de la Paz, and taking possession of the Casa de Campo.
Napoleon himself regretted this conduct, and we find him saying in the “Memorial of St. Helena,” published in 1826:
“The plan more worthy of me, and the safest, would have been a sort of mediation, like that of Switzerland. I ought to have given a liberal constitution to the Spanish nation, and seen that Ferdinand put it in practice. If that had been done in good faith, and if Spain had prospered with our new customs, France would have gained a close ally, and a truly formidable increase to its power. If Ferdinand, on the contrary, failed in his new duties, the Spaniards themselves would soon have come to beg for another King.”