THE SPANISH REVOLUTION.
Madrid, 14th August 1854.
Dear Ebony,—My last letter was dated immediately after the first circulation in Madrid of a document, which had a most important effect on the fate of the military insurrection, that soon grew into a popular revolution. You will remember that after the action of Vicálvaro, on the 30th June, the insurgent generals drew their forces southwards, still lingering, however, within a few leagues of Madrid, as if in hopes that the capital would make a demonstration in their favour. But Madrid remained tranquil—almost indifferent; and every post brought accounts of similar apathy in large provincial towns, on whose rising in arms O’Donnell and his friends had doubtless reckoned. A few small bodies of troops and some armed civilians repaired to the insurgent banner; there were trifling disturbances in the Huerta of Valencia; a daring partisan, one Buceta, surprised the slenderly garrisoned but strongly situated town of Cuenca. But these incidents were unimportant; without co-operation on a far larger scale, it was evident the insurrection was a failure, and that O’Donnell and his little army, isolated in the midst of a population which seemed to have lost all spirit (even that of revolt), must soon either make for the frontier, or risk an action with the greatly superior forces concentrating to oppose them. But O’Donnell had a card in reserve, which he was perhaps unwilling to play, but yet was resolved to risk before abandoning the game as lost. In a proclamation, dated from Manzanares, a town nearly half-way on the road from Madrid to Granada, and whither a division under General Blaser was proceeding, although slowly, to operate against him, he issued a declaration in favour of the National Guard, of provincial juntas, and of the assemblage of the Cortes, in which the nation, through its representatives, should fix the basis of its future government. The effect of this profession of faith was soon seen. So long as the generals had limited themselves to invectives against Sartorius and his colleagues, and against the system of corruption and immorality they had fostered into a monstrous development, the nation had remained inactive, because it saw no assurance of gain in a mere change of men, and because no prospect was held out to it of a complete change of system. But when O’Donnell spoke out, and threw himself frankly into the arms of the popular cause, he had not long to wait for backers. On the 15th, 16th, and 17th July, Valencia, Valladolid, Barcelona, Zamora, and, most important of all, Saragossa, declared against the government, and the fall of the ministry was inevitable. On the morning of the 17th, Madrid received the double intelligence of some of these pronunciamientos, and that the Sartorius cabinet was out. It was understood that General Cordova, a statesman without talent, and a general without resolution, was to head the new ministry, to which end he had long been intriguing, currying favour with the King-consort, and with a less legitimate influence at court. There was to be a bullfight on the afternoon of Monday the 17th July—the first fight that had been permitted since O’Donnell’s insurrection; and it became known in the morning that Cordova and his friends intended getting up a small emeute or demonstration, when, between seven and eight o’clock, the streets should be thronged with the ten or twelve thousand spectators issuing forth from the bull-ring. The intention of this was doubtless twofold—to let off a little of the popular steam, and to give an air of popularity to the incoming ministry. But Cordova and his advisers had not sufficiently felt the pulse of the people, or duly estimated the possible results of so imprudent a manifestation. It was like exploding fireworks in a powder-magazine; and the moment selected made the trick still more hazardous. On the sultry evening of a burning July day, when several thousand men of the middle and lower classes should just have quitted the spectacle which excites them to the utmost, and habituates them to bloodshed, to raise, in the streets of Madrid, even the simulacre of a riotous banner, and that at a time when the people were galled by a long period of oppression and misrule, and when an insurrectionary army was in the field, was surely an act of as self-destructive madness as ever a doomed and blinded man was afflicted with. Early in the day, one or two leaders of the liberal party in Madrid had spoken to me of the proposed demonstration, and had intimated their intention of being on the watch to improve it, should circumstances turn favourably for their views. Evening came, and the bullfight took place; after it, as usual, the streets were crowded, especially the Puerta del Sol and adjacent thoroughfares. It was about eight o’clock when the first symptoms of disturbance were apparent. Numerous groups were formed in the streets, and parties of men marched through them at a rapid pace, shouting vivas for liberty, and down with the ministry. The resignation of the ministry, I must observe, had not yet been officially published, but it was well known to have been accepted, and that, as far as the cabinet went, Spain was in an interregnum. This was the moment chosen by General Cordova for the farce which was to prove a tragedy. I was reminded, as I watched the proceedings of the night, of the Italian robber story, in which a party of practical jokers, and very mauvais plaisants, having gone out with corked faces and leadless pistols to frighten some friends abroad on a pic-nic, suddenly find amongst them the chocolate visages, fierce whiskers, and blunderbusses charged to the muzzle of the genuine brigand and his band, and heartily deplore the sorry plight in which their folly has put them. So it was in Madrid on the 17th July.
The armed police, up to that evening so numerous that nowhere could you walk ten yards without encountering them, were withdrawn from the streets; the soldiers were all in their quarters—the very sentries had disappeared: the main guard, which mounts at a large solid building on the Puerta del Sol, used by the ministry of the interior, but best known as the Principal (chief guard-house), had closed the strong gates of the edifice, and gazed listlessly through the windows at the movements of the mob. Every precaution was taken to avoid collisions between the authorities and the harmless rioters who were to carry out Cordova’s plan. But its execution had scarcely begun when the mockery was turned into earnest—so much so, that I am still at a loss to explain, except by the confusion consequent on a change, and the real absence for some hours of all government in Madrid, the want of any opposition to the insurgents. At first, however, the disturbance was a mere riot, although it soon grew into a political revolt. The bands of men that roamed the streets, with shouts, sticks, and a few with arms, presently began to seek modes of actively employing themselves. Long before the hour (between ten and eleven o’clock) at which, as I afterwards ascertained, the Progresista chiefs in Madrid had decided on an outbreak, the people were busily at work. Before nine o’clock they repaired to two public offices where they knew there were arms—the house of the political governor and the town-hall—and, without opposition from the municipal guards they found there, got possession of between seven hundred and eight hundred muskets. These were regularly served out to the people by the leaders of the movement; and soon, on the Puerta del Sol, an immense crowd, in great part armed, besieged the doors of the Principal. The soldiers within had their orders not to oppose the people, but they did not think proper to admit them into their guard-house. Hard by was an enclosure of planks, placed round some of the demolitions going on in the Puerta del Sol (a flagrant job of Señor Sartorius), and there were also beams from the falling houses. Planks and beams were seized by the mob, piled against the doors of the Principal, and set on fire. The dry wood, parched by the summer sun of Madrid, burned like straw. There was danger of the whole building being consumed. The military evacuated it, and the mob took possession. It would have saved a great deal of fighting, and not a few lives, if they had kept it when they once held it; but, as I have already shown, there was a want of organisation at this early period of the night, and no definite intention, on the part of the masses, of accomplishing a revolution. Even up to eleven or twelve o’clock that night, many persons not inexperienced in such movements thought that the disturbance was a mere popular effervescence—the expression of the joy and relief felt by the people at being rid of their tyrants—and by no means anticipated the serious events that were to grow out of it. The Principal was abandoned by the people, and again occupied by troops. Meanwhile, at other points, the mob was actively mischievous, or, I should perhaps rather say, it actively employed itself in revenging its wrongs on the authors of much of its misery. Below a window, in one of the most frequented and central thoroughfares of Madrid, which I occupied at intervals during the great part of that evening, the passage of strong bodies of the people continued. A great many weapons were now to be seen amongst them—muskets, fowling-pieces, blunderbusses, antiquated firearms of all kinds. At the same time the great majority were unarmed; but their blood was up, their will was strong, and their hands were ready for anything. That night was so full of events that few thought of looking at watches, and I cannot therefore give you the hour at which incidents occurred, or set them down in the exact order of their occurrence, especially as I often changed my place between the hours of eight and two, making excursions into different parts of the town, but frequently returning to the window before mentioned, which, as headquarters and central post of observation, was an excellent position. One of the first acts of violence committed was an attack on the house of Don Luis Sartorius, Conde de San Luis, a man whose name will ever be pre-eminently infamous in the annals of political crime. On their way to his house the people got a ladder, set it against the front of the Principe theatre, which had been endowed when he was in office, and broke to pieces a stone over the entrance on which his name was carved. On reaching his residence they turned his furniture, pictures, and valuable library into the street, and made a bonfire of them. I know of literary amateurs who, on hearing of this, hurried to the spot, hoping to rescue some of the rare and curious books he was known to possess: but their efforts were in vain; the people would allow nothing to be taken away, everything was for the flames. At first the second floor of the house was respected, but presently it was known that it had lately become the residence of Esteban Collantes, the minister of public works, who had sent in, it is said, only a few days before, twelve thousand dollars’ worth of furniture. After Sartorius, Collantes, Domenech minister of finance, and Quinto the civil governor, were the three men in Madrid most detested by the people. Collantes was the gamin, the mischievous scapegrace, of the San Luis cabinet, devoid alike of dignity, morality, and common decency. The discovery that he abode above his chief colleague was a godsend to the enraged mob, and his chattels quickly shared the fate of those of Sartorius. Similar destruction proceeded at the houses of the renegade liberal Domenech, of the Marquis de Molins, minister of marine of Count Vista-hermosa, who had commanded under General Blaser at the action of Vicálvaro, and who was then following up with a division O’Donnell’s retiring forces; and at those of the well-known capitalist, Salamanca, and of Count Quinto, the alcalde-corregidor, and governor of Madrid. At these two last houses, especially, great destruction of property took place. Rich furniture, pictures of high value, plate, costly ornaments, jewels (especially at Salamanca’s), to the amount of many thousands of pounds, valuable papers, government securities, and even, it is said, bank notes and coin, were destroyed by fire. There is reason to believe, however, that some of the more portable of these things, particularly the jewels, were stolen—not, as I believe, by the people, who, throughout the whole revolution, set an example of honesty and disinterestedness—but by the professional thieves, who are always on the look-out upon such occasions, and by servants in some of the houses attacked, who, knowing where their masters kept their most precious effects, had great facilities for purloining them. A friend of Salamanca’s went to his house to rescue some valuable papers, and also, if possible, some jewels of great price, which were in an iron chest under a bed. Amongst these jewels was a diamond of remarkable beauty, whose history is rather curious. It had been given, set in a ring, by Count Montemolin, to an attached and faithful follower of his and his father’s fortunes. This gentleman afterwards desired to dispose of the stone, retaining the ring as a memorial, and addressed himself, with this object, to a well-known London jeweller. The jeweller advised him to retain the gem, for that, being of a most unusual size, he should have difficulty, if he bought it, in selling it again—should, perhaps, have to cut it down, &c. &c., and ending by naming a sum, which he acknowledged to be less than its value, as the most he could afford to give for it. The offer was accepted. Señor Salamanca afterwards paid £3000 for it. This ring, with other valuable jewellery and a number of unset stones—worth altogether many thousand pounds—were in the iron chest. Salamanca’s friend reached the house, secured the papers, and went to the chest. It was open and empty.
Meanwhile the people continued in motion in almost every part of the town. It was by no means the rabble that were abroad and stirring; many persons of the better classes were active in promoting the tumult. In the streets the leaders could be heard consulting together, and planning whither they should proceed. One party went to the Saladero prison to release the political captives detained there; another strong band, including general officers and persons of note and rank, repaired to the town-hall, appointed a committee, and drew up a representation to the Queen, which was delivered to her by a deputation. She promised to give it favourable consideration. Before this time there had been movements of troops in the town, but no hostilities. Towards two in the morning, however, a decided change took place in the aspect of affairs, and firing commenced at two points. After the deputation had returned from the palace, and reported the result of its mission (amongst other things, the Queen had expressed her earnest desire that there should be no effusion of blood), the committee, which was soon to be a junta, exhorted the crowd assembled in the square of the town-hall to return home and await the result of what had been done. They were disposed to do this, when in the Calle Mayor several companies of infantry opened fire upon them. This roused their indignation and anger, and thenceforward a struggle was inevitable. About the same time as those volleys were fired there was an affray around the princely mansion, or as it is usually called the palace, of Queen Christina. There, too, the people had assembled (throughout the night, “Death to Christina!” had been one of the most frequently repeated cries), had stoned and smashed the windows, forced their way into the house, thrown out furniture and valuables, and lit an immense bonfire with them—finally setting fire to the house itself. The scene presented by the triangular plaza in front of the dowager-queen’s residence was striking enough. The wild figures and furious activity of the insurgents—amongst whom were not a few women inciting the men to mischief—contrasted with the passive attitude of a small body of infantry, which tranquilly looked on at the proceedings of the mob. At last, when a considerable portion of the furniture of the right wing was blazing in the plaza, making it as light as day, and illuminating the half-curious, half-frightened physiognomies that peered from the windows of the neighbouring houses, the handful of troops were reinforced by two companies, which at once fired on the people. Two or three volleys cleared the plaza; a tolerable number of persons were killed and wounded. There was firing at about the same time in other parts of the town—in the Calle Mayor, as already mentioned—and skirmishing between the troops and people, the latter of whom had begun to assume the offensive; and from that moment it was pretty evident that a sharp conflict was at hand. But it was not yet fairly engaged in, owing to the absence of orders for the military, and of leaders and organisation for the mob. A new and most unsatisfactory ministry, with General Cordova and the Duke of Rivas at its head, had been appointed, but could not be said to have as yet assumed command. And there was also mistrust as to the extent to which the troops might be depended upon to act against the people. On the other hand, the movement had commenced so suddenly, and so many incidents had filled the few hours that had since elapsed, that nothing like method had as yet been introduced into the proceedings of the insurgents. On the 18th there was a good deal of desultory fighting, and in several places severe conflicts took place; but few barricades were thrown up, and the skirmishing was chiefly from street corners, and from the doors of houses. It was easy to see that the inhabitants of Madrid sympathised with the revolution, and wished well to the insurgents. In many places, when these were hard pressed, and compelled to run, doors were seen suddenly to open to receive them, and again were quickly closed. The insurgents were as yet but imperfectly armed. You might see groups of half a dozen standing at the corner of a cross street, with perhaps two muskets or fowling-pieces amongst them, the others having sticks and swords—the latter often strange old-fashioned weapons, that looked as if they had belonged to the middle ages, and picked out of a curiosity-shop. These gentry would protrude their heads into the main thoroughfare, and watch the favourable moment for a shot at some military post or passing picket. If the shot drew pursuit upon them, they were off into the doors of neighbouring houses, like rabbits into their burrows, or else away through a labyrinth of lanes to harass some other point. A glance at a map of Madrid, if you chance to have one at hand, will show you how well adapted this most irregularly built capital is to the operations of a body of insurgents perfectly acquainted with its intricacies. The uneven surface—the town being built on a collection of small hills—the narrow crooked streets, jumbled together without any sort of order or system—the numerous small squares or open places, in passing over which troops are liable to find themselves under a cross fire from half a dozen different corners—the whole configuration of Madrid, in short, greatly favours its inhabitants when they choose to rise in arms against the garrison. Amongst the most remarkable events of the 18th was the desperate fight maintained by the people against a body of gendarmes, who, all old soldiers, defended themselves with signal valour, but were finally overcome, some of them killed, and the rest disarmed. These gendarmes, or civil guards, as they are here called, were in some sort the Swiss guards of the Madrid July revolution—equally firm in duty and discipline, and almost equally odious to the people, whom they punished pretty severely, and who did not always give them quarter, when vast superiority of numbers at last gave them the advantage which they certainly would not have had in more equal conditions of force. One of the most dashing things done by the insurgents on the 18th was clearing the Plaza del Progreso (one of the larger squares in the heart of the town) with the bayonet, after firing had for some time gone on. The soldiers were fairly driven out by the civilians, and the square and adjoining streets were quickly converted into a fortress, into which there was little probability of the military again penetrating. On the afternoon of the same day a number of lives were uselessly sacrificed, owing to the recklessness and vindictive spirit of a retired officer, a friend of Cordova’s. This person, although no longer in the army, obtained command of a couple of guns, some infantry, and a few dragoons, and, proceeding to the Calle Atocha, one of the principal streets of Madrid, opened a heavy fire of artillery and musketry, firing round shot into the houses, and grape down the street. He did a great deal of damage—some of it to private houses in which no insurgents were or had ever been—killed a few persons, most of them persons who had nothing in the world to do with the insurrection, but who were sitting, inoffensive and terrified, in their houses—lost thirty or forty of his own men, and finally cleared a few hundred yards of street. But this was small gain to the cause he defended, for the insurgents he drove away merely changed their place, and when he departed they returned to contemplate the ravages he had committed in the dwellings of peaceable citizens, and to go forth upon the morrow more embittered than ever to the fight.
It was the 19th, however, that was by far the most important and interesting day of the revolution. The aspect of the night that preceded it was very singular. The day had been hot and bright, as usual in Madrid at this season, and from early in the morning until half-past eight at night the firing had been incessant and frequently very sharp in one or other part of the town. When night fell, the noise and glare were suddenly succeeded by profound silence and darkness. There was no moon; except in a very few streets not a lamp was lit, and the inhabitants received hints to show no lights in their windows. The streets, which during the latter part of the afternoon had been little frequented, owing to the numerous shots that were flying (the soldiers, in some places, firing on every civilian they got sight of), were now almost deserted. There was something very strange and alarming in the complete stillness and gloom prevailing in this densely peopled capital, which in ordinary times is all bustle and blaze until midnight or later. Looking from a first-floor window, nothing was to be seen, except now and then a dark figure gliding stealthily along or darting across the street; but, on venturing out, you soon saw that the people were neither idle nor off their guard. They were in groups behind their barricades—which began to be numerous, although few of them were as yet of a formidable aspect. Meanwhile the revolutionary junta was sitting at the house of Sevillano the banker, a wealthy man, of liberal politics, who had been an object of suspicion and persecution to the Sartorius government. A depot of arms was ordered to be formed there, a well-organised system of defence was decided upon, the barricades were ordered to be strengthened and new ones to be made. Within two or three hours after daybreak on the 19th, there were hundreds of barricades in Madrid, many of them of great height and strength. The town presented a most singular spectacle. The whole of its central portion, with the exception of the Principal, which was garrisoned and stoutly defended by a few companies of grenadiers, was soon in the hands of the insurgents. These displayed astonishing activity and readiness of resource. Everything was converted into means of offence or defence. Those of the inhabitants who took no part in the fray, yet did all they could to assist those who did. The enthusiasm was general. In the street in which I that morning found myself, there were several barricades. Most of these were commenced after five o’clock. As soon as the neighbours saw two or three men at work, raising the pavement with picks and crowbars, they hastened to supply them with materials, running out of their houses with empty boxes, dilapidated furniture, and old matting. When mattresses were asked they were freely given, and many hundreds of them were used in the barricades. A patriotic carpenter, nearly opposite to where I was stationed, who usually occupies his time in making coffins for the dead and trunks for the living, brought out of his yard some heavy boards, of great length, which extended completely across the street, and formed an excellent skeleton for a barricade. Before eight in the morning, the firing had begun on all points, and the bullets were singing through the streets in every direction. Besides defending their positions and attacking those of the military and civil guards—who had taken possession of houses here and there in the districts occupied by the people, and held them with great tenacity—the insurgents busied themselves in various other ways, completing and strengthening the barricades, collecting arms, making cartridges, preparing the houses for defence in case the soldiers forced their foremost defences. Quantities of paving-stones were taken up to the roofs and higher floors of the houses, to throw down upon the enemy. Women and children assisted in this labour. It was curious to observe the women. Notwithstanding danger from bullets, they were all at their doors and windows. Some of them—these were the younger ones—seemed to think it great fun; some of the older ones looked ghastly and terrified enough; whilst others, chiefly of quite the lower orders, were fierce partisans—as much so as their husbands and brothers, who in perfect silence, but with deadly resolution, were loading and firing from barricade, window, and house-top. I heard one sturdy dame, crimson with exertion and excitement, who bore in her brawny arms a basket of supplies to a barricade then under fire, express her determination, should the troops get into the street, to shower upon their devoted heads the whole of her kettles and crockery. When a thrifty housewife comes to such extremes as this, it is evident her blood is up. But the forced loan imposed by Sartorius had come home to the pockets of the lower classes of tax-payers, and had greatly exasperated the women.
I profess to send you mere sketches of the revolution—not its history, which the newspapers have already in great measure supplied—and therefore I do not consider myself bound to trace all its events, but limit myself chiefly to what I saw. An artist who should have perambulated Madrid during the 19th and 20th July would have found abundant and striking subjects for his pencil. Feverish activity was the characteristic of the first day, armed and vigilant repose of the second. Repose from fighting, but not from toil, for, although there was a cessation of hostilities—the Principal having surrendered (not, however, until the afternoon of the 20th, when its garrison was literally starved out), the whole town, with the exception of a few barracks and buildings at its extremities, being in the possession of the insurgents, and the Queen having sent for Espartero, which was all that Madrid asked—the insurgents were still mistrustful, and in no way relaxed their watchfulness. The medley of arms amongst them—particularly on the 19th, for on the 20th they were better supplied with muskets—was curious to observe. Many had scabbardless swords, which they used as walking-sticks, thereby greatly improving the point; others had pistols, some of tremendous length and most antiquated construction. There were not a few trabucos to be seen. These are tremendous blunderbusses, wide at the mouth, which scatter a handful of postas (large slugs), or carry a ball full four times the size of a musket-ball. Here is a man with a curved scimitar, which must have been handed down to him from some Moorish ancestor, bound to his waist by a bit of old sash; yonder, on a door-step, out of the exact range of fire, but the bullets striking from time to time the balcony above her head, sits a woman playing with a dagger, which she looks quite capable of using. I write only what I myself observed. On the morning of the 20th I walked round many of the barricades when their defenders were breakfasting. One group had got a guitar for a table. It rested on the knees of a circle, and supported their bread and sausage. There was great sobriety; during the whole of the revolution I saw no case of drunkenness.
I leave you to imagine the alarm and confusion at the palace during all this time. The poor, feeble, helpless Queen was distracted by many counsellors. Her evil genius, the Duchess of Rianzares, was at her elbow, urging her to resist to the utmost; for Maria Christina well knew that, if her daughter yielded to the revolution, she herself would have to quit Spain or do penance. She neglected to do the first until it was too late, and must now submit to the second. Then, however, aided by such bad advisers as Roncali, Cordova, Gandara, she excited the Queen to resist and fight, or, if necessary, to fly from Madrid and plant the royal standard elsewhere. There were about 3000 soldiers in and near the palace, in the Retiro gardens, and in two or three barracks—every day the palace cooks provided dinner for 3500 mouths;—these troops, which included a powerful artillery, were to form the nucleus of a force speedily to be assembled, and which was to crush the revolution. A civil war might in this way have been brought about, but the universal spirit of opposition to the Queen, and of indifference—if not dislike—to the dynasty, that the Spaniards have since shown, sufficiently proves that it would not have been of long duration; and its end would inevitably have been the ejection of Isabella II. from her dominions. It was written, however, that the misguided Sovereign should have another chance of retaining the crown to which she has done so little honour. If there were some persons at court who desired to see her leave Madrid for a fortified place—or for any place where she would not be exposed to the pressure of that revolution which they dreaded—there were others who dissuaded her from departure, and even resolutely opposed and forbade it. The ladies of honour, the officers of the halberdiers—that corps which in 1841, under the command of General (then Colonel) Dulce, so stoutly and successfully resisted an attack upon the palace—protested that the Queen should not leave; and one of the former went so far as to seek an interview with a well-known liberal and promoter of the revolution, and to inform him of what was planning. The Marquis of Turgot, the French ambassador, being consulted, advised the Queen by all means to remain where she was. Even the Queen’s husband, poor, feeble, ill-treated Don Francisco de Assis, showed spirit in the cause of prudence, and vehemently protested against her removal from Madrid. Then came—from Saragossa, the eastern stronghold of Spanish liberalism—not Espartero, as was expected, but a messenger, bearing the conditions on which the man of the day, whom all demanded and desired, would come to Madrid. The exact contents of these conditions have not transpired, but, from what has since passed, we may presume that they were tantamount to giving Espartero almost unlimited power, and that, by accepting them, the Queen bound herself to be guided in every respect by him and the cabinet he should form. Few hours were passed in deliberating whether or no they should be accepted, but those were hours of storm and strife within the palace. The wicked, finding their projects ruined and their power gone, fell out amongst themselves. There are strange stories of what then occurred, especially between the Queen, her husband, and her mother; of high words and bitter recrimination, and even of blows struck and swords drawn. The exact truth is difficult to ascertain, for scandal, very rife in Madrid, has distorted it into various forms; but I believe there is no doubt that Christina, furious at seeing her daughter about to accept conditions most unpalatable to herself, suffered her Italian blood to move her to unbecoming violence. On the other hand the King, reflecting how much of the unpopularity and difficulty that now overwhelmed his wife was due to the boundless cupidity and unscrupulous manœuvres of the Duchess of Rianzares and her husband, is said to have vented his indignation on the latter, and even to have drawn a sword upon him.
The ten days that elapsed between the summons sent to Espartero and his arrival at Madrid, were days of much anxiety, and even of serious apprehension. The junta governed, but its authority was not strong, and there was danger of excesses by the democratic and turbulent population of the low quarters of Madrid. The greatest danger was of an attack on Queen Christina’s house. For two or three days this was seriously talked of. The people were bent upon burning it. To do this would have been to entail the destruction of a street that runs at the back of the dowager’s palace, and one side of which forms part of the same block; probably, also, the destruction of the British Embassy, which is separated from it but by an interval of a few feet. Fortunately, things occurred to distract the attention of the people, and no attempt was made to carry out the imprudent design. The only acts of violence that had to be deplored were the shooting of three or four obnoxious persons belonging to the secret police. One of these was the infamous Francisco Chico, the chief of that institution, who certainly richly deserved the fate he met, for he had committed many and heinous crimes. A strict watch was kept for the ex-ministers, and had they been caught, in those first moments of excitement and fury, when the people were still hot from the fight, they assuredly would have been killed.
To keep the people employed, the temporary authorities rather encouraged the building and strengthening of barricades. The Spanish nation has been so often cheated out of the results of its insurrections, and has so repeatedly beheld a half-effected revolution converted into a reaction, that it was determined this time to guard against such delusions and disappointments. Such, at least, was the case in Madrid. Under a broiling sun, they toiled as if life and death depended on their exertions. Most of the barricades, at first constructed of very heterogeneous materials, and without much regard to symmetry, were taken down, and rebuilt of paving-stones and earth. The operation was a great nuisance. The town was continually in a cloud of dust; passage through the streets, obstructed by these temporary fortifications, was extremely slow; at night one risked breaking his legs by tumbling into holes, or his shins by stumbling over huge blocks of stone and other building materials. The result of all this labour and inconvenience was, that, by the 25th of July, Madrid contained upwards of two hundred and eighty barricades of the first magnitude, each one of which was the centre of (on an average) eight or ten smaller redoubts and defences. Besides stones, of which the principal parapets were chiefly composed, the materials used were bricks, tiles, bags of sand, beams, mortar, diligences, private carriages, carts, and furniture. On the first days of the revolution, it was curious to observe how, in the haste and enthusiasm of the moment, good and even handsome furniture was taken out into the street by its owners to be knocked to pieces in the barricades. Flags and streamers adorned them all, and at nearly every one, raised upon altars covered with coloured cloths, were portraits of Espartero—horrible caricatures, many of them, but nevertheless the objects almost of adoration on the part of the people. After nightfall there were lights placed round these portraits, which in some instances were accompanied by others of O’Donnell, Dulce, and latterly (but only in a few cases) of the Queen, and music of every kind, from excellent bands down to a single cracked guitar, played behind the barricades, in front of which the people assembled in crowds. The revolution, serious enough at first, had now become a sort of festival. The people were too unsettled to return to their customary occupations; business of all kinds was suspended; the streets were continually crowded with men of the lower orders, armed, idle, but very well-conducted; whilst the better classes, to whom, now that the preliminary object of the revolution (the placing of Espartero at the head of affairs) was gained, the whole thing was an intolerable nuisance, longed for the arrival of the man whose presence alone would content the multitude, and restore Madrid to its normal condition.