THE PALACE AND POLITICS DURING THE REGENCY OF QUEEN MARIA CRISTINA

1894–1902

The country was certainly in a very unsettled condition at the commencement of the Regency, and the difficulties of administration were increased by the insurrections in Cuba and the Philippines, which were unquestionably due to the corruption of the Government of the mother-country.

The recently published “History of the Regency,” by Señor Juan Ortega Rubio, which I had the privilege of studying in the library of the royal palace at Madrid, throws much light on the state of affairs at this period; for the author ably sets forth in the prologue the political condition of the country during the Regency.

“There were certainly plenty of vehement politicians and eloquent orators,” says the writer, “but we can scarcely cite one true statesman. Favouritism was never more dominant and prevalent than it was at this time. And favourites whose advancement was due to adulation and daring, if not to insolence, gave no support to industrious men, and much less so to those who were firm and energetic.

“The army, professorate, Church, and, indeed, all the professions, were regarded as schools of politics, and were in the greatest state of decadence.

“No respect could be accorded to flattering courtiers or to an ignorant people. If the beautiful sun of religious tolerance shone upon the whole of Europe, Spain would be the one country condemned to dwell in the shades of fanaticism.

“It is necessary to raise the moral sense of the Spanish people. If this be necessary in all moments of history, it is more than ever indispensable now that despair is taking possession of all hearts, doubt of all spirits, egoism of all consciences, and positivism of all men.

“From the sixteenth century Spain has been gradually going down. We do not lose hope, but we think, like the Roman Plato, that the sun of education will gradually pierce the clouds of ignorance, slavery, doubt, and sophistry, and the dawn of justice, order, and faith, will break over our land.”

Thirty prelates came to condole with the Queen on the death of the King, and the Church always made a great claim on the attention of the Queen-Regent in consideration of her former position in the religious house in Austria.

It was said that, if the Pope left his magnificent home at the Vatican, he would come and take up his abode in Spain; but, as the Figaro said:

“The Government of the Queen-Regent will thus put itself completely under the power of Leo XIII., who will be treated like a Sovereign; and he will, they say, be given the Palace of Aranjuez for his residence.”

When the Queen-Regent asked Canovas whom she ought to appoint President of the Ministry, he promptly said, “Sagasta”; but the Congress was a fictitious Congress, for, as Martin Hume says when referring to the Parliament in the earlier part of the century:

“There was not then, and never has been since, any sincerity or reality in the pretended antagonism of the political parties.”

The lack of sincerity in the political opinions, even of those devoted to the monarchy, is shown by Rubio in the speech of Martinez Campos to Silvela; for he said:

“I am neither a Liberal nor a Conservative. I made myself a Liberal because I thought the King wanted the Liberals to come in, and now I am a Conservative because the Queen wanted to give the power to the Conservatives.”

The politicians in the camarillas at the palace always brought forward the phantom of Carlism to scare the Sovereigns from fulfilling their desire of promoting true Parliamentary elections, and true patriots sought to show King Alfonso XII., Queen Maria Cristina, and, later, Alfonso XIII., that those who tried to prevent the country from enjoying this constitutional privilege of going to the polls were only anxious to preserve their own patronage in the nomination of the deputies, and that the monarchy would be adored by the nation if it favoured the reform which had been promised in the days of Ferdinand VII.

The Queen-Regent Maria Cristina was told that the public offices were in the hands of patrons, and it was well known that a recorder in the law courts of Barcelona was blind, but he owed his place to being the brother of the cacique (or influential person) who supported Canovas in Catalonia; and there was also a magistrate in Madrid who could not see, but he, too, had his patron.

The Queen lent a willing ear to the plea of the Chamberlain for reform in these matters, and an inquiry was instituted about the blind recorder at Barcelona. But so powerful is patronage that, although the recorder had been seen to have his hand guided to sign the necessary documents, it was declared that he was not blind; and the informer of the abuse nearly lost his life at the hand of a relative of the man in power who had allowed such a state of things, for he was struck by a sabre at the back of the head, and prostrated senseless to the ground.

Naturally, the wounded man wished to call out his assailant for such an insult, but the Queen-Regent, who sent daily for news of the injured man, begged him, as a favour to herself, to abstain from further steps.

To this request the officer was obliged to accede, on the condition, which was confirmed, that the assailant should formulate a full apology for his deed, and this was done.

It is difficult for foreigners to realize the power of the cacique in Spain. He is always the most influential person in the district, and the appointment of Judges, Alcalde (Mayor), Governor, and deputy, are all in his hands. The man he suggests as representative of the district in the Congress is sure to be elected, and when the Ministers wish a certain person to have a place in Parliament, the name has only to be sent to the cacique who supports that Minister.

Caciquism cripples Spain, and the collection of magnificent speeches and articles published in a large work under the title of “Oligarchy and Caciquism” shows that every man of importance in Spain can give his testimony against the evil which crushes the country; but, eloquent as they are on the matter, the Ministers do not take a step to do away with a system which advances their own ends.

So, as Martin Hume says, “No attempt is made, or, indeed, can be made under present circumstances, to trample out the evil that is sapping Spain’s vigour—empleomania; no bold politician dares to look facts in the face and speak the whole truth. And so the evil circle is complete; dishonest Governments are faced in sham battle by dishonest oppositions, and Parliamentary institutions, instead of being a public check upon abuses, are simply a mask behind which a large number of politicians may carry on their nefarious trade with impunity.”

And when it is remembered that, according to the law of Spain, it is the King alone who has the right of appointing a Ministry, it is he who has to bear the onus of what goes wrong.

An amusing story is told of a Señor Comas, who was a cacique of Sagasta’s. The gentleman had been bidden to an audience of Her Majesty at half-past six. He arrived at the palace punctually, as he had promised to return to dinner with his grandchildren. Some hours elapsed in the antechamber; diplomats came and went, and many others who, according to the strict Court etiquette, were to take precedence of the politician.

At last he became impatient, and the thought of his grandchildren waiting so long for his return overcame all politeness; he took up his coat, put it on, and, to the astonishment of the Court officials, he prepared to depart.

“You are going, sir?” said the lackey at the door.

“Certainly,” was the reply; “it is dinner-time, and my grandchildren are waiting for me.”

“But what shall we say to the grandee?” said the servant, raising his hands to heaven, and referring to the grandee in attendance on the King.

“Tell ‘the great one’ (el grande),” returned Comas, “that ‘the little one’ has gone off.”

And so he did.

The remark was repeated at Court, and the following day the Queen-Regent received the cacique with demonstrations of respect.

Queen Maria Cristina always encouraged those who really wished to counsel her for the welfare of Spain. When, therefore, somebody was loyal and disinterested enough to present a programme to Her Majesty which would do away with the abuses of the Government by introducing a true Parliamentary representation, she pressed the paper to her bosom, crying: “Yes, yes, it is true, it is true, and I will do it!”

But politicians would not support a course which limited their exclusivism, and so things went on in the same fatal way.

To the surprise of the Court, Castelar, the great republican leader, made at this time a great speech in which he showed that the advanced opinions of his partisans were not incompatible with monarchy, for he said:

“When our fanaticism made us think that monarchy was incompatible with public liberty, we did not understand the monarchical principles of England, Sweden, or Norway. But now I can tell you that a monarchy should be a Liberal monarchy.”

And the orator went on to say that a Liberal monarchy is a democratic monarchy in so far as the universal suffrage became an accomplished fact, for a democratic monarchy is the formula of this generation.

Of course this speech, which certainly showed that the leader of republicanism had considerably modified his views, called forth much remark, and gossip in the press even went so far as to associate the name of a “charming royal widow” with that of the great orator.

But Sagasta set the matter right by saying, in one of his speeches, that “those who spread such reports were strangely ignorant of the temple of the soul of the august lady, and that no credence was to be given to the stories.”

More sincere than the monarchists, Castelar made a strong protest against the mode of Parliamentary elections, for he said: “The census is a lie, votes do not exist, and scrutineers destroy what there are.”

This statement of facts could not be refuted, and the Central Union gave voice to the opinion that “municipal elections, like all others, should be the result of universal opinion, and that the indirect intervention of the Ministers was deserving of censure.”

Such expressions of opinion show that there was a deeply rooted feeling of the falsity of the Spanish Parliamentary system, but it required politicians to be patriots to reform them.

The corruptions in the Spanish colonies were, indeed, a standing proof of the evil wrought by the Parliamentary system of patronage, as it introduced people to places of importance in the colonies who were utterly unfit for them. The Marquis of Salamanca made a vehement protest against these abuses in the colonies, which were estranging them from the mother-country; and Maura, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, made one of his first marks as an orator by setting forth before the Congress the evils of the dishonest actions of those whose advance had been due to their patrons instead of their patriotism.

Canovas declared in the Congress that “he was very anxious that the Great Antilles should elect its own representatives, so that its voice could be heard in the national Congress”; but, unfortunately, the statesman did nothing to promote such an advisable course, and the leaders of the political groups held to the power which they gained from the patronage of the colonial posts.

Canovas, who now called himself the “Liberal-Conservative,” in his fear that his Liberal rival should gain more partisans than himself, went on to say that “the Government recognizes the necessity of introducing great reforms in the administrative and financial affairs of the island of Cuba, for the political posts ought to be filled by the sons of the colony”; and he ended by saying: “When the triumph of our arms is an accomplished fact, and when the rebellion is suppressed, these reforms will be realized in a wide and generous spirit.”

But unfortunately the triumph of the Spanish arms could not be accomplished, for they were led against insuperable difficulties, and it was an injustice of the mother-country to expect that her forces could prove victorious against the forces of a continent like that of America.

It required a strong hand to save the Spanish Court from the overbearing of one whose father had adopted revolutionary ideas.

It was the Duke of Seville, the eldest son of the late Don Enrique, who, when in command of the Guard at the palace, entered the antechamber of Maria Cristina’s apartments one day, and demanded an interview. The Gentleman-in-Waiting said that Her Majesty had just returned tired from a walk, and had given orders that she could not receive anybody. But the Duke insisted, uttering disrespectful remarks as to what he could do if he were driven to desperation. These words were repeated to the Captain-General, who commanded the division to which the Duke of Seville belonged, and he was summoned before a court-martial.

The Minister of War made a speech, in which he said: “When the whole nation vies in showing respect and sympathy to a lady who claims protection in her dignity and her misfortunes as a widow, it is deplorable when a person of the family of the Bourbons shows such disrespect, which has such a bad effect on all, and which can only be explained as a momentary aberration of reason.”

The trial led to the Duke of Seville being condemned to eight years of imprisonment.

The Queen-Regent was always far more concerned about matters of the State than about those of her own comfort, and the Court was certainly wanting in good service at this time, and Her Majesty caught a severe chill one cold day, because the fur cloak she had asked for was not forthcoming, when she had to go out in an open carriage to attend an important function.

And it can be said with truth that the luxuries of a Court did not include the necessary one of having fresh eggs for breakfast. A Chamberlain having noted the sweet patience with which the Queen bore the daily vexation of finding the eggs musty, finally ventured to present her with a little egg-boiler and some fresh eggs. The gifts were accepted with the Queen’s usual grace, and with the assurance that she would now be able to enjoy an egg in her own apartment, like one of her subjects.

In the evening Maria Cristina played dominoes, listened to music, or conversed with the greatest affability with those present, whilst trying to forget for a time the cares of the State.

It was now that Catalonia began to show signs of insisting on a true suffrage, and Ferretti saw that it would be much better for the monarchy to satisfy this natural desire for a voice at the polls than for it to be enforced, as it subsequently was, to the misrepresentation of the Region in Madrid. So the Colonel wrote to press the matter on the consideration of Señor Canovas de Castillo. But the Prime Minister’s insight was not willing to read the signs of the times, for he wrote the following letter, which I translate from the original:

Thus the statesman wilfully shut his eyes to the importance of the movement, which they vainly hoped was a mere passing feeling.

But, sure in his presage of the signs of the times, Ferretti strove to show the Queen-Regent that the politicians turned a deaf ear to the will of the Catalonians, because they wished to keep the patronage of the seats of the deputies in their own hands; for if deputies were elected at the polls there would be an end of patronage, and people fitted for the representation of the respective centres would be elected by the constituents themselves.

Moreover, the dreadful abuses in the colonies from this same source of patronage made the Cubans raise their voices high on the matter. Martinez Campos had seen things as they were in Cuba in 1878, and he found that Spain could only put an end to the Cuban War by promising the Cubans the autonomy for which they craved. But when the General returned to Spain he was unable to keep the promise made in the name of his Government, as the Parliament did not wish to abandon the fruitful field of patronage.

It was some time before Martinez Campos received any reward for his loyalty in proclaiming the restoration of Alfonso XII. in 1874. Politicians told how Alfonso XII. refused any title as a sign of gratitude, and as time went on disappointment was expressed at the seeming neglect of the officer. It was then that a Chamberlain at Court ventured to say to the Queen-Regent: “Your Majesty will have been told that Martinez Campos has refused a title for himself; but may it be suggested that a title be offered to his sons?” And thus Maria Cristina, who was always ready to render justice, conferred the title of the Duke of Leo d’Urgel on the eldest son, and that of the Marquis of Bastan on the second one. Moreover, after the death of the great soldier, the Queen-Regent made his widow a grandee of Spain.

The enthusiasm shown in the spring of 1907, when a statue was unveiled to the memory of the ardent Monarchist, showed that neither the Royal Family nor the country had forgotten his services to the throne.

The failure of the country to keep the promises of Martinez Campos to the colonies in 1878 was felt in 1897; but politicians in the palace still represented matters, and the Queen-Regent was under the impression that autonomy would mean Separatism. It was then that a Chamberlain showed Her Majesty a letter from a cousin in Cuba, the mother of more than one leader of the insurrection, for in this letter the mother said that she would willingly sacrifice her sons for the autonomy which would save the island from ruin, through the abuses and corruptions of the Government at home. And with the grant of the autonomy America would have no further excuse to interfere in the matter.

With a true Parliamentary representation in Spain, such an important State matter could not have been left in the hands of a man like Sagasta, who, like other politicians, used the intrigues of the palace for a perversion of the truth. The deputies, if they had been real patriots instead of being merely the tools of those in power, would have risen as one man against the refusal of the autonomy; the good sense of the Queen-Regent would have been satisfied, and the prestige of Spain and her colonies would have been saved. And to those who think this statement exaggerated, I must say that as Maura, the present Prime Minister, permitted me to address him some questions on the policy of Spain, I asked the great statesman if it were true that the abuses in the Governmental departments caused the loss of Cuba, and he replied emphatically in the affirmative. This confirmed the report in the country, for it is well known that, as Minister of Foreign Affairs at the time, Maura lifted up his voice in the Congress for the reform of the evils which threatened and finally caused the loss of the colonies.

Moreover, Maura boldly took up his stand for the much-required suffrage for Spain, when he said in the Congress:

“A country cannot maintain its loyalty to the Crown in the integrity of its national being, if it cannot count on the will and the hearts of the inhabitants.”

When the country was filled with anxiety at the sudden serious illness of the little King, the stocks fell, the Carlists began to make themselves conspicuous again, and evil threatened the land with the shadow overhanging the Court, and the anxious royal mother was constantly heard to cry:

“Oh, child of my heart! My God, do not take him from me!”

But it was not in idle tears that the royal mother spent her time by the baby boy’s bedside. Everything that the knowledge of hygiene and her love as a parent could suggest was brought into use, and finally Maria Cristina had the triumph both as a Queen and a mother to report the child out of danger.

Castelar wrote to Sagasta at this time, saying:

“I am very anxious for you to convey my respects to Her Majesty, and tell her that I have inquired after her august son, the King, twice every day; and please do not forget to add how sincerely I congratulate her on his restoration to health.”

It was, indeed, quite due to the rare intelligence of the Queen-Regent and her knowledge of the laws of hygiene that little Alfonso XIII. was saved for Spain.

It was by such proofs of her intelligence that Maria Cristina gradually asserted her just sway at Court. It had been a great struggle in the first years of her widowhood to gain this sway, for she was liable to be set aside as a stranger in a foreign country, of which the language was unknown to her, and she could not help knowing that derogatory remarks were made about her even by her royal relations. Her very name was against her, as Spaniards associated it with that of the mother of Isabel II., who was said to have exploited the land to her own ends. The Duke of Seville, Prince Henry of Bourbon, was heard to say, in the presence of the Royal Guard, in 1886: “Of course, the Regency cannot be entrusted to a foreign Princess.” But he found afterwards he was wrong in the estimate he had formed of the Austrian lady.

Whilst Alfonso XII. had been alive, Maria Cristina did not feel she was merely a stranger in a foreign land, and she was often compared to a ray of sunshine, so bright and joyous was she at Court. For, always active, merry, and happy, her six years of married life had passed without heed of the cares of the State, so it was a surprise to the Spaniards to find that she was possessed of such diplomatic power.

Moreover, the Queen-Regent’s intelligent care of her child during his illness was a practical lesson to those around her; for, fond mothers as Spanish women are, the laws of hygiene play little part in their education.

The little Prince, Alfonso XIII., was indeed a charming child, and soon gave proofs of his affection for those about him, whilst being the despair of his governess, Señora Tacon, by the way he set the strict laws of Spanish Court etiquette at defiance.

“Ah, Juanito! bon petit Juan!” he would call out to the distinguished General Juan de Cordova, Marquis of Sotomayor; and the Duke of Bivona he dubbed “Xiquena.” Señora Tacon strove to prevent this familiar style of address by saying:

“But, Sire, Your Majesty must recollect that the gentleman to whom you are speaking is the Duke of Bivona.”

“The Duke of Bivona!” returned the little King mockingly. “That’s all very well, but I know it is Xiquena. Are you not Xiquena?” he continued, addressing the grandee. Then, seeing a smile on the solemn countenance of the Duke, he continued: “You see, this lady is always giving different names to people. She says that my Juanito is General Juan de Cordova, Marquis of Sotomayor. Don’t be silly!” he added, turning to Señora Tacon. “That is my Xiquena, and the other is my Juanito—so there!”

The King’s childish way of settling things developed as he grew into a lad into the power of forming logical conclusions which would have done credit to any statesman.

A Chamberlain one day ventured to suggest to the Queen-Regent that it would be good for the kingdom if a royal visit could be paid to Barcelona; for if the King did not go to Barcelona, it was not a question of Catalonia separating itself from the rest of Spain, but of the Court separating itself from Catalonia. The courtier’s idea was repeated to the young King by his mother as he came into the room.

“Yes, yes,” returned Alfonso, with his prompt acceptance of a good suggestion. “If we do not go to Catalonia, it is just as if a prelate did not visit one part of his diocese, which would mean separation from that district.”

It was in 1898 that the terrible débâcle of Cuba realized the worst fears of patriots. The Queen, who had been so badly advised in the Council by Sagasta, was overwhelmed with grief. The army and navy, and even the throne of Spain, were loudly attacked, instead of the Government which had brought them the disaster.

It was then that Figuerola Ferretti had the clever idea of having a great illustration placarded about the streets of Madrid, headed by a representation of Mercier’s picture of an angel carrying a wounded man, with the device “Gloria Victis.” For glory was due to the men who had suffered nobly and hopelessly in the struggle to which politicians had provoked the colonies by their maladministration; and leaflets, setting forth the same idea, were distributed broadcast by thousands in the streets of Madrid.

This daring protest for the prestige of the Spanish army and navy doubtless stemmed the tide of public opinion, and the Queen-Regent congratulated the chamberlain on his loyal course.

Castelar, in an article he published in La Nouvelle Revue, put all the blame of Spain’s misfortunes on Maria Cristina, even going so far as to compare her with Marie Antoinette, who was so fatal to France. But one must recollect that, as Rubio says, Castelar said in the Congress: “‘I am an historical republican, an invincible republican, a republican all my life by conviction and by conscience, and he who doubts my republicanism offends and calumniates me, and for this reason I do not wish to be anybody in any monarchy.’”

But General Blanco declares, with greater justice, that the blame of the Cuban disaster should rest on the shoulders of Sagasta; and El Liberal of that date says:

“Señor Sagasta is the one, and the only one, responsible for the terrible misfortunes which assail our country.

“It was he who advised the Queen-Regent to persist in the course which led Cuba to seek the intervention of America; and when the royal lady seemed ready to listen to the wisdom of patriots who pleaded for the autonomy of the colony, he would present himself at Court, and there once more persuade the Sovereign to his false view of the matter.”

As Rubio says in his able “History of the Regency”:

“When Sagasta, Romero Robledo, Silvela, and Gamazo spoke in the House on this burning question, their speeches seemed more like essays in polemics in an athenæum than discussions in an assembly of legislators on a matter entailing the salvation or the ruin of the country.”

To those who preferred to be true patriots to flattering courtiers the state of affairs was desperate, for they felt indignant at the Queen-Regent being persuaded to a course for which, as Sovereign, she would have to bear the chief share of the blame; and Ferretti, who years before had served under General Blanco at Saint Domingo, and had keenly felt the loss of prestige to the Spanish army when he had to obey orders and lead the last company from the island, fought hard to prevent a similar disaster in Cuba in 1898.

In August, 1897, a shudder ran through Spain when Canovas fell by the hand of an Italian anarchist, and the fact was still more shocking as the republican Nakens had been told by the perpetrator that the deed would take place, and he did nothing to warn the statesman.

For ten years Canovas had been the foremost figure in the Congress and the Court of Spain. The prominent part he had taken in the restoration had placed what we should call the “strawberry-leaves” on the brow of his wife; and when, after the tragedy of Santa Aguedas, the widow followed her husband’s corpse into their palace in the Castellane, it was to retire definitely from the banquets, reunions, and great functions in which she had always shone so successfully and conspicuously as the wife of the Prime Minister of Spain.

After the death of Canovas, Silvela came forward as the leader of the Conservatives, for the camarillas and intrigues of the followers of Canovas had hitherto barred his way to high preferment in the Parliament.

It was known that the Queen-Regent was inclined to patronize General Polavieja, and there were also Villaverde, Romero Robledo, and numerous other politicians who all had their partisans, and sought by camarillas in the palace to gain power for their partisans.

The Queen-Regent often used her charm as a woman to captivate those opposed to the monarchy, and this power, exercised with all the rigidity of a lady of strict morality, had its due effect on General Cazola. It was well known that this officer enjoyed great prestige in the army, and as he was republican in his opinions, he could have become a sort of Oliver Cromwell in Spain. He was the only man Canovas stood in fear of, and Sagasta did not breathe freely till death removed him from his path.

Maria Cristina was quite aware that he admired her, and when she heard that the General had given voice to one of his speeches, which might prove fatal to the loyalty of the army, she sent for the officer, and with all the charm of her manner she let him see that she was conscious of the power he could exercise against the dynasty if he wished. Touched with the evident anxiety of the Queen, all the chivalry of the gallant General was called into play, and, putting his hand on his heart, he soothed the fear of the Sovereign by saying: “Do not be afraid. Your Majesty is sacred in my eyes.”

Such conquests were a satisfaction to Maria Cristina, both as Queen and woman; and when one noted the great personal influence of the widowed lady, one could only wish she had given herself more scope for its exercise, and had not submitted herself so freely to priestly guidance.

Some dissatisfaction was caused among the Liberals by the Queen’s appointment of a Bishop especially for the palace, where the Prelate of Madrid had officiated formally. As he had no diocese, the Pope gave him the title of Bishop of Alcalá and Sion, and this appointment meant the institution of forty Canons at the Court. The duties of these Canons was specified as that of drawing the curtains in the royal boxes of the chapel, but now there are no curtains to draw.

It was whispered by the partisans of Silvela that Polavieja was favoured by the clergy, and with him in power the Queen-Regent and the country would be given over to the clerical party. Canovas had allowed the lady in power to be called the “priestess,” and Sagasta had repeated to the Queen-Regent reports which were circulated as to Señora Canovas boasting of having more power than the Queen herself.

Finally, after the death of Canovas, and a short term of power of General Azcarraga, Silvela was put at the helm of affairs. But the camarillas at Court again led to the fall of the Ministry, for Silvela’s choice of Loño as Minister of War was opposed by the choice of Polavieja by the Sovereign.

Thus, when Figuerola Ferretti saw that the impending death of Sagasta would lead to the Liberal party being cut up into as many groups as that of the Conservatives, so that the country would on both sides be a prey to the intrigues at Court of the partisans of the respective groups, he ventured, in view of the very superior intelligence manifested by the young King, after he had attained his majority, to represent to His Majesty that true Parliamentary elections were the only means of solving the problem of government, and for this he could exercise his royal prerogative of forming a Provisional Government. The King seemed to listen to this proposal with approval, and, indeed, if this election of the deputies by public vote had been promoted in the capital, it could never have been used by republicans as a cloak for Separatism.

The petition for this step was drawn up in the names of the widows and orphans of those who had fallen in the Cuban War. It was sent in proof to the secretaries of the King and the Queen-Regent. But the patriot had not counted on the antagonism of those in power; and albeit Loygorry, the follower of Lopez Dominguez, spoke eloquently in favour of the idea in the Senate, Moret, the Minister of the Interior, stopped its course by forbidding the Prefecture of the Police to affix the necessary seal to the document; and it was doubtless through such political influence in the palace that the Chamberlain found that further influence with the King was prevented by his removal from Court.

The cordial reception of the Colonel by Alfonso XIII., when he saw him in London in 1905, was cheering to the patriot, and it seems more than probable that the King is unaware of the Court intrigue by which his valued adviser was removed from his side.

It was in 1905—only a fortnight before his death—that I had the privilege of seeing Don Francisco Silvela, who had spent so much time and effort in the service of his country.

“I am utterly weary of politics,” said the statesman, lifting his tired eyes to my face. “It is a fruitless task, and no one is safe from the intrigues at Court. No, no; I am going to give up my spare time to literature now, which will be far more profitable. And, indeed, it seems like pouring water into a tank with a hole in it to expend efforts on the country which is unsupported by a true suffrage.”

It is thus that Alfonso, in 1906, had to appoint seven different Governments in the space of fourteen months, and it would sometimes require more than supernatural power to detect the real cause of the fall of a Cabinet in Spain.