The above letter was dated May 2, 1808, and it was on that day that the historic blow was struck in Madrid for Spain’s emancipation from the French. It was the sight of the young Infante Francisco’s tears at leaving the Palace of Madrid at the call of Napoleon which acted like a match to gunpowder. The valiant Velarde, Daoiz, and Ruiz were martyrs on this occasion, and the dramatic way in which the Spaniards always keep this anniversary shows that those who struck that blow are not forgotten in the land.
When Charles IV. heard the news of the riot, he at once thought that it had been instigated by his sons.
“Manuel, send for Charles and Ferdinand,” he said, in a firm tone.
Napoleon remained in the room restless and gloomy; Charles and Maria Luisa looked worried and anxious. They were all seated when Ferdinand appeared and silently stood alone before them, for his brother was ill in bed.
The King then asked his son if he had heard the news from the capital. When Ferdinand replied in the negative, Charles returned vehemently, “Very well, I will tell you,” and rapidly related what had happened. “Judge, then,” he added, “if it be possible to persuade me that you had no part in this? And did you hasten your miserable associates to dethrone me in order to massacre my subjects? Who advised you to this carnage? Do you only aspire to the glory of a tyrant?”
The Duke of Rovigo, who gives us this scene in his “Mémoires,” says that he and the other people who were listening in the adjoining salon could not catch Ferdinand’s reply, but they heard the Queen exclaim: “Didn’t I always presage your perdition? See into what abysses you throw yourself and us! Ah, you would have killed us if we had not left Spain! What! you have made up your mind not to answer? You do not forget your old ways. You never know anything when you do something bad.”
During this dialogue Charles IV. angrily moved about the cane which he used when walking, and he so far forgot his dignity as to raise it in a threatening way to his son, in his anger at his impenetrable countenance. When Maria Luisa finished her diatribe, she lifted her hand as if to strike the Prince, but she checked herself in time.
The final touch to Ferdinand’s humiliating position was given when the Emperor said in cold, clear, chilling tones:
“Prince, I had formed my resolution from the events which brought you to France, and now the blood spilt in Madrid confirms my decision. This carnage can only be the work of the band which calls you chief, and I will never recognize as King of Spain one who breaks the old alliance of two nations and orders the assassination of the French soldiers, whilst asking me to sanction the impious act of dethroning your father. Such is the result of bad counsels. You are brought to the precipice. It is to your father alone that I am in any way bound, and if he wish it I will restore him to his throne and accompany him to his capital.”
But Charles IV. exclaimed vehemently: “But I don’t wish it. What could I do in a country where they have worked up such passions against me? And I, who have always rejoiced at seeing my country peaceful in the midst of the upset of Europe—I should dishonour my old age if I made war in the provinces and condemned my subjects to prison. No, no; I don’t wish it. My son will undertake it with more pleasure than I.” Then, looking at Ferdinand with majesty mingled with pity, he said: “Do you think it costs nothing to reign? You have followed these perfidious counsels. I neither aspire to command nor can I do anything. Now you must avoid the precipice as best you can.”