THE COURT OF SPAIN UNDER ITALIAN SWAY

In February, 1869, Serrano was chosen head of the Executive Government, and in June of the same year Serrano, Duke de la Torre, was appointed Regent until a King should be elected.

To General Prim, whose ideal had always been that of Liberty, it was not surprising that, in seeking a Sovereign who, it was hoped, would steer the country through the shoals of self-interest and stagnation, set up by an autocrat monarchy, his eyes should turn to Prince Amadeus of Savoy, whose father had led such a splendid struggle for the freedom of the country from the despotism of clericalism. A deputation, formed by deputies who subsequently became Ministers of Alfonso XII., presided over by Ruiz Zorilla, who was later a pronounced republican, were thus sent to Italy to submit the offer of the throne of Spain to the Prince of Savoy. Their mission to the Prince over, they proceeded to the bedroom of his young wife, who had recently been confined, and there conveyed to her in due form the invitation to become Queen of Spain.

The claim of the Italian Prince to the throne rested on the royal decree of Philip V. of Spain, which formed the integral part of the Treaty of Utrecht, November 5, 1712. This decree set forth the claim to the throne of Spain through failure of legitimate line by the Duke of Savoy, and through failure of the male line by Prince Amadeus of Carignano and his sons, as descendants of the Infanta Catharine, daughter of Philip II. When the question of the claims to the throne of Spain was put to the vote, it was found that Amadeus registered 199, Espartero 8, Alfonso 2, and for a Republic 63.

Castelar used all his eloquence against the Italian candidate. “Who are these wretched Dukes of Savoy,” he said, “that run like hungry dogs in the wake of the coach of our Kings?”

Courage was a great characteristic of young Prince Amadeus. When only twenty-one, in 1866, he saved a wounded soldier’s life by carrying him out of danger on his own mule, in one of the skirmishes during the struggle for Italy’s liberty.

The young man’s calmness in the hour of danger was shown in 1867, when the boiler burst on the ship on which he was returning to Italy, after attending the function of the opening of the Suez Canal. The Count of Castiglione was killed, and the panic on board threatened more disaster. But Amadeus was cool and collected. He calmed the people and insisted on the sailors’ return to their several duties, and the ship was successfully brought back.

Fortunately, the young Prince was allowed to marry the lady of his choice, who proved a devoted friend and companion in all the vicissitudes of their lives.

When Signor Francisco Cassini, the President of the Chamber of Deputies, told King Victor Emmanuel whom his son wished to marry, the royal father said: “Do the young people love each other?”

“They idolize each other,” returned the statesman.

“Then very well; they shall be married,” was the reply. “It is not for me to stand in opposition to the sentiment of my son.”

So the royal couple were married, and thus fate led to Princess Maria del Pozzo becoming Queen of Spain.

Naturally, Amadeus was not attracted by all he heard of the country over which he was called to reign. However, when his father said, “Of course, it is very hot in Spain at this time, and by going there you would also run the risk of a disagreeable adventure, and perhaps even get a bit of lead in your ribs,” the natural courage of the Prince was stimulated, and he declared he would accept the invitation to the throne, come what may.

As the new King of Spain’s wife had not recovered sufficiently from her recent confinement to travel, her husband went alone to Spain. Before starting for his new country, Amadeus said to his friends:

“I go to fulfil an impossible mission. Spain, now divided into various parties, will unite against a foreign King, and I shall soon be obliged to return the crown they offered me.”

However, the Italian Prince knew he had a valiant supporter in General Prim, who used all his oratory and influence to get the sympathy of his countrymen on the side of the new-comer. But, as we know, it was not the fate of the pioneer of Liberty to see the realization of the scheme which he had hoped would be for the welfare of the country, and on December 30, 1870, the day on which Amadeus landed on Spanish soil, Prim was foully murdered by Spaniards.

Long inquiry and investigation never revealed convincingly the hand that shot the General in the street. It was supposed by some to have been a partisan of an unsuccessful candidate to the throne; others think it was a gipsy, who did it as a deed of outlawry. Be that as it may, strong suspicion fell upon Señor Paul y Angulo, who expressed his indignation strongly in the prologue to his paper on “Revolutionary Truths”:

“The sacrifices that I have made for my country have been no light matters, and all I have in return is to find myself obliged to leave my poor country, to be the victim of vile calumniators, and to have to fly from persecution as if I were some horrible criminal.”

Prim’s death was accompanied with much suffering, for some of his fingers were so seriously injured by the shot, it was thought that their amputation would save his life. But the operation was in vain, and the General died in two days, just as Amadeus landed at Carthagena.

When the sad news reached the new King, that his ardent supporter had fallen a martyr to his cause, he said:

“Gentlemen, my duty is clear: I must go on to Madrid.”

Arrived at the Spanish capital on January 2, 1871, where a fall of snow added gloom to the occasion, Amadeus at once repaired to the Church of Atocha, to pay his respects to the remains of the man to whom he mainly owed the throne of Spain.

As the young King gazed at the corpse of the great leader, who had inspired trust and confidence in all with whom he came in contact, he prayed for strength to be able to fulfil the hopes which the Spaniard had directed to himself. With Prim, the pioneer of Liberty in Spain, young Amadeus, who had fought for the same cause in his own country, had always felt in sympathy.

Those who had suffered for their religious opinions had looked to the great soldier as the herald of a new era. Juan Cabrera, the leader of the Protestant movement, who had fled to Gibraltar for fear of imprisonment, and there led a life of exile and hardship, hastened to meet Prim after the coup which put Spain practically in his hands.

“May I return to my country?” asked Cabrera, when he saw him at Gibraltar.

“Yes, yes, my man,” replied the General, whilst fixing his keen eyes on the Protestant’s face, worn with study and anxiety, “you can go back to Spain now with your Bible under your arm.”

And this the preacher of the reformed faith found to be true, for Spain had no longer to fear the active persecution of those who resisted the introduction of the Bible into their land.

As Amadeus gazed at the features of the General, set in death, he sighed deeply in sorrow at his loss, and when he arrived at the royal palace, the magnificent setting of so many scenes of struggle for supremacy in the country, he sat down wearily, and said:

“I feel sure that my loyalty will not be able to save Spain from the fury of contending factions.”

When the new King took up his abode in the fine domain, with Prim dead, he felt as if he were starting for a voyage on a ship of which the rudder was lost, for he knew not whom to trust or to whom to turn for counsel.

But Amadeus was not a man to let himself be enervated by fears and doubts for the future, although the first few weeks of his residence in the palace were additionally anxious from the fact of his wife being ill at Alassio. For the new young Queen of Spain had not been able to accompany her husband to Spain, as she was not sufficiently recovered from her confinement; and when, in her desire to join Amadeus in the new sphere of influence, the journey was made too soon for her health, she was for some time ill at Alassio.

At last the new Queen was able to undertake the ten days’ journey by sea to Alicante, where she was received with great delight by the young King.

The bright spring day which saw the arrival at Alicante of Queen Maria Victoria seemed to augur well for the success of the young couple. A thrill of pride passed through the young wife when she saw her husband come out to meet her in a white-and-gold launch, his face bright with hope, and looking every inch a King. As the bright barque cut through the sunlit waters, with Amadeus accompanied by his Ministers, who had come to welcome her in state, she stepped to the prow with pretty words of greeting on her lips, and when she was finally taken off from the Italian ship to set foot on Spanish soil, a storm of cheers burst from the throats of the Italian sailors, to be echoed by those from the Spanish crews and sight-seers anxious to welcome the new Sovereign. The bright and intelligent young wife did indeed seem to bring sunshine to Spain, and in the opening of the Senate there was a sincerity in the royal speech which found an echo in the hearts of those who really wished for the welfare of the country.

“When my feet touched Spanish soil,” said Amadeus, in a voice which penetrated to every part of the house, “I determined to merge my ideas, my sentiments, and my interests, in those of the nation who elected me as its head, and whose independent character would never submit to foreign and illegitimate intrigues. My sons will have the good fortune to receive their first impressions of life here; their first language will be Spanish; their education will be in accordance with the customs of the nation; they will learn to think and feel as you think and feel; and we shall unite with imperishable bonds our own fate with your fate.”

But no patriotic sentiments could entirely extinguish the sparks of smouldering resentment that a foreigner should be set over Spain.

The pride of the Castilians was wounded, and no salve of sympathy could prevent the canker caused by such a hurt. Everything the Italian King and Queen did was purposely misinterpreted. He was dubbed “King Macaroni,” and this mocking appellation expressed the resentment of the Court and country.

The very democratic simplicity of the young couple was an offence to a land which revels in old-world ceremony and stately Court etiquette, and the clerical party never let the people forget that it was Victor Emmanuel, the father of their new King, who had ousted the Pope from his position of political supremacy.

Of course Isabella was very indignant when she heard who had been elected as ruler at the Court of Spain, and she expressed her feelings in a torrent of speech.

“The revolution continues,” she said, whilst her eyes blazed with indignation, “and it has just disavowed the rights of my son, who is to-day your legitimate King according to all the Spanish constitutions, by calling to the throne of St. Ferdinand a foreigner, whose merits, however great, cannot entitle him to be your Sovereign, in the face of the rights of a whole dynasty, which is the only one that has in its favour the legitimacy which has been consecrated by the lapse of ages and by constitutions which it has been a signal folly to disavow.”

Of course the Bourbon party echoed these sentiments of its ex-Queen, and Amadeus felt the want of unity which has ever been the main defect of the country.

People who came into contact with Amadeus at the Court of Spain admired the sense of his opinions, although the form of their utterance was not in accordance with that adopted by former rulers at the palace; for the King had many habits of a nervous man. One of these was to take hold of a chair when he was talking, and twist first one of his long legs, and then the other, in and out of the woodwork as he turned it about before him.

As simplicity was a very marked trait in the young royal couple’s tastes, they rejected the idea of establishing themselves in the magnificent apartments used by the ex-Sovereigns, and chose a simple suite of somewhat small rooms commanding a beautiful view of the Casa de Campo, and there the King passed the happiest hours of the day with his wife and children. The young Queen’s fine intelligence rendered her an able confidante for her consort’s State difficulties, and she was generally present at the discussions with the Ministers.

Sunday generally saw an intellectual gathering round the royal dinner-table, but the admiration of the select few who began to appreciate the gifts and aims of the young couple did not, unfortunately, represent the feeling of the country, and it required all the charity and philosophy of King Amadeus and Queen Maria Victoria to ignore the half-concealed sneers of those at Court who mocked at the foreigners and their simple, superior tastes.

Indeed, the Alfonsists never lost an opportunity of testifying their allegiance to the Bourbon dynasty, and, as they studiously avoided the royal palace from whence it had been expelled, the Court society of Madrid presented a strange medley of people who were so little conversant with the customs of such centres that Amadeus began to doubt if Madrid had any really good society.

A certain Señor B., who was subsequently a Minister during the Regency, was invited to a function at the palace. So he went to a first-rate shirt-maker and ordered a shirt for the occasion. The shirt came with the fine embroidered cambric frill set out over blue tissue-paper. So, thinking the blue paper was meant to be worn with the shirt, Señor B. strutted into the royal presence quite proud of his attire—paper and all.

So naturally Don Amadeus was constantly saying: “But there is no society in Madrid.” This remark was repeated in one of the salons of the aristocracy on the eve of the funeral of Blanca Osma, the Marchioness of Povar, mother of the present Duke of Arion, who had been renowned for her beauty and elegance, and, stung at this slight to their circles, somebody said: “Well, to-morrow Amadeus shall see whether there be any good society in Madrid, for we will all parade in front of the windows of the palace after the funeral.” And so they did, and thus the demonstration of sympathy for the family of Osma and Malpica became one of political importance.

February 10, 1872, was celebrated at the palace of the Dukes of Bailen by a magnificent ball. The minuet was danced by ladies in most beautiful Pompadour dresses, trimmed with handsome lace, and their hair powdered in the style of the last régime, and the gentlemen showed their high degree in dress and dignity. This minuet was repeated in the Palace of the Plaza del Angel by request of the mother of the Empress Eugénie, and society kept alive the feeling for the ex-régime by the same sort of fêtes until the day dawned for the restoration, which doubtless these gatherings aided, for the little rooms adjoining the salons were the scene of many councils in the cause of the Bourbons.

One day this feeling of antagonism was expressed in a more patent and painful form.

It was a hot evening, which the King and Queen had spent listening to the music in the gardens of the Buen Retiro. The royal couple was returning to the palace by the Arenal, when suddenly a vehicle opposed the passage of the carriage by crossing just in front of it. The coachman checked the horses and cleverly prevented a collision, and just then a shot was directed towards the royal party.

Upon this the King sprang boldly to his feet, exclaiming:

“Here is the King! Fire at him, not at the others!”

But no further attempts were made at assassination, and the retinue reached the palace in safety, where the young Queen sought to still her tremors of anxiety by the sight of her brave young husband standing sound and well before her.

To the King the late hours of the Court were particularly disagreeable. At work from six o’clock in the morning, he rang at eight o’clock for breakfast; astonishment was on the lackey’s face when answering the summons; he heard that it had never been customary for their ex-Majesties to be served before eleven o’clock. So Amadeus, wishing to avoid any friction by insisting on earlier hours, adopted the habit of going to a café for his early meal after long application to State matters had made him conscious of the necessity of breaking his fast.

Thus the maids, who sally forth in Madrid with baskets on their arms to be filled with necessaries for the household, would often return and regale the ears of their mistresses with how they had brushed against His Majesty as they did their business in the market-place. In one of these peregrinations Amadeus noticed that Castelar, the leader of the Republican party, raised his hat to him. Surprised at this sign of respect from the enemy, the young man stopped, and said he wondered that anybody of Castelar’s opinions should salute royalty, to which the great orator replied, with all the grace and charm of an accomplished Castilian:

“My salute was not to royalty, sire, but to the bravest man in Christendom.”

And it was this bravery which aroused the admiration of Spain. However, no quality could overcome the country’s rooted prejudice against “the foreigner,” and when Amadeus had taken his seat on the throne in the magnificent crimson-and-gold setting of the state salon of the palace, it was not to take real possession of his subjects’ hearts. There was no antagonism against the Italian King, but utter indifference for him, which was much more difficult to deal with. He was unknown to the Spaniards, a mere guest, and the necessity of forming a Court for his wife was attended with the difficulty of the ladies of high degree being Alfonsists or Carlists, and thus many of them considered themselves superior to the lady on the throne.

The ladies of the last régime openly showed the Italian royal couple that their loyalty was still directed to the Spanish ex-Sovereigns, by constantly presenting themselves in the Buen Retiro, and other resorts where they drove or walked, in the white lace mantillas and other characteristics of costume especially Spanish.

As a counterfoil to these signs of disrespect to those in power, the ladies who were followers of King Amadeus and his wife arranged a cortège formed of women of the town, who were all dressed like the Spanish doñas of high degree, and they were accompanied by a noisy, bullying sort of fellow who obviously represented the King’s Chamberlain, the Duke of Sexto.

Thus the feeling of the Court of Spain at this epoch was manifested in a series of spiteful acts unworthy of people of high position.

The Court ladies showed little sympathy with the philanthropic aims of Queen Maria Victoria. The existing Home for the Children of Laundresses is still a standing proof that the sight of the thousands of women on their knees by the side of the River Manzanares, washing linen, had evoked a feeling of pity in the heart of the young royal mother.

The King found it impossible to take any action for good in his adopted country. The want of sympathy, and suspicion, which met every suggestion of the young King, allied with the confusion reigning in every department of the Government, made progress unattainable, and the King, having nothing to do with his time in a serious way, was soon found to be an easy prey to the seductions of designing Spanish women, and it was not known till some time afterwards that the Government had to interfere in ridding the Court of an adventuress who managed to get into the Court circle.

As Queen Maria Victoria wrote to a valued friend in Italy, she seemed wanting in the essential to make her a good Queen of Spain, and that was the desire to remain in the country.

Sensitive as the young Sovereign was, she was ever conscious of the half-concealed looks of scorn of those about her, who wondered that she preferred the simple customs of a happy domestic life to the pomp and etiquette of an old Court régime. The Countess della Alinma and the Marquis of Ulugares sympathized with Their Majesties’ tastes, but these two friends could not stop the whispers of discontent and disapprobation reaching them from the large circles of the great palace.

Much of the rigidity of Court etiquette was abandoned during the short reign of Amadeus and Maria Victoria. The custom of courtiers prostrating themselves on their knees before Their Majesties was abandoned, and, thanks to the good sense of Alfonso XII., it was never more resumed.

Queen Maria Victoria created an Order which was called by her name, but it lapsed after her departure from the palace.

We read in “Cosas del Año 1873” (Things of the Year 1873), by Carlos Frontaura, that many open insults had been levelled at the Italian Sovereigns during the last few weeks of their reign. At the Court reception which is always customary on New Year’s Day in Spain, the Conservative deputies were conspicuous by their absence, and Generals Serrano, Concha, Infante, Rivero, Allende, Zabala and Hoyos, Topete, Malcampo, Martinez Espinosa, and the ex-Ministers Rios, Rosas, etc., all excused themselves from attending the banquet which took place in the evening.

The Countess of Heredia-Spinola gave a magnificent ball in her house in Calle Fernando el Santo, and all the guests wore the fleur-de-lis as a sign of their devotion to the Bourbon family.

Society at the Court of Spain was very different in the year 1872 from what it had been during the late dynasty.

As Napoleon I. said, “You may confer titles and dignities, but you cannot give that particular cachet which goes with real Court society.”

The Countess of Campo Alange always said, “Did So-and-so learn the minuet when he was young?” For if the answer to this question were in the negative, it showed that the courtier only belonged to the new dynasty.

The Marquis of San Rafael was then Prime Minister, but when the Marchioness wished to enter the Queen’s presence she was not allowed to pass, whereas an arrogant lady of the old aristocracy quickly forced her way in. The Prime Minister was advised to report this slight to Amadeus himself. When the King heard of the matter, he only shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Let them fight it out.”

The King and Queen felt that their days in Spain were numbered, and it only wanted some incident to put the match to the train of discontent.

The ostensible cause of the break of the King with the Government was the appointment to the command of the artillery of Hidalgo, who five years before had been in command of the company which had made the insurrection in the barracks of San Gil in 1866. The King himself did not favour this appointment, but when Ruiz Zorilla showed him a vote of confidence in the course carried by the Congress, Amadeus thought it time to resign the crown which meant nothing but mortification to himself and his wife. So on that evening (February 11, 1873) the republic was proclaimed, and six o’clock the following morning saw the sad exit from Spanish Court life of the Italians who had been so fruitlessly summoned to its circle.

Queen Maria Victoria had also been wounded in her susceptibilities as a mother. When her second child was born to her about a fortnight before the proclamation of the republic, the young Sovereigns naturally expected that the Ministry, Diplomatic Corps, military dignitaries, and clerical leaders, would be ready to greet the baby Prince according to the Court etiquette of the country. But the representatives of the country did not feel sufficient interest in the birth of “the little foreigner” to hasten to pay him their respects; and although the red and yellow flags waved triumphantly above the royal palace, it was several hours before there gathered in the audience chamber an assembly sufficiently large and august to receive the presentation of the son of Amadeus and Maria Victoria.

It was hardly a fortnight later when the die was cast, and the Italians decided to abandon the throne of Spain.

The personal attendants of the Queen wept as they saw her carried to the entrance of the palace still weak and ill from her recent confinement. The dethroned young King took the frail form of his wife in his arms when she was taken from the litter at the foot of the grand staircase, and, after placing her in the carriage waiting in the archway, proudly saluted the Guard and stepped in by her side.

In a departure arranged so hurriedly, all the necessary comforts were forgotten, and the royal invalid was faint for want of nourishment, which was only attainable after hours of travelling. Amadeus was grateful indeed for the soup he was at last able to procure at a little railway-station on the line, and he boldly met the remarks and curious looks of the people who crowded to see the royal fugitive as he bore the cup from the restaurant to his wife.

Once in Portugal, Amadeus had nothing more to fear for the personal safety of the family, and it was from thence they soon sailed quietly for Italy.