CHAPTER I

INTRIGUES OF FERDINAND, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS, AGAINST HIS PARENTS AND GODOY

1800–1804

The history of Spain during the nineteenth century is synonymous with that of favourites at the Court of Madrid, for as the country, in spite of all its struggles, had practically no voice in the election of the Parliaments, the main events of the land had their rise in the royal palace, where self-interested persons blinded the eyes of the rulers for their own purposes.

Thus the fall of Spain into the hands of the French evidently resulted from the dissensions of those environing the Royal Family, and the hopes entertained by the optimistic Spaniards at the return of Ferdinand VII. were destroyed by the flattering courtiers encouraging the Sovereign in his despotic ideas.

The evils of the reign of Isabel II., and the revolution and republic which followed, can all be traced to the same intriguing spirit of the Court, and from the death of Charles III., who is still spoken of as the “great Charles,” the government of the country was, in reality, in the invisible hands of those who ruled the Sovereign; and hence the disastrous influence exercised in the land by Queen Maria Luisa, whose feeble, good-natured consort, Carlos IV., let her pursue her self-willed course, whilst falling himself an easy prey to the overweening ambition of Godoy, her favourite. This daughter of Philip, Duke of Parma, had shown from her childhood signs of great intelligence, and her education had given full scope for her talents. Without being absolutely beautiful, her features had a charm of their own from their expression, and her fine eyes, elegant figure, and pleasant manners, soon exercised a sway at the Court of Spain when she made her appearance as the bride of the Prince of Asturias.

Albeit generous and warm-hearted, Maria Luisa was of a somewhat arrogant disposition. This was seen when she was only twelve years old, in the tone of superiority she adopted in her home after the contract of her marriage to the heir of the Spanish throne had been signed. Her brother Ferdinand resented this assumption of superiority, and remonstrated with his sister on the subject. Upon this the Princess promptly lost her temper, and said: “I will teach you to pay me the attention which you owe me, because I shall finally be Queen of Spain, whilst you will never be more than a little Duke of Parma!” “Well, the Duke of Parma will have the honour of slapping the Queen of Spain,” was the reply, and Ferdinand promptly gave his sister a slap in the face.

The Duke was then arrested by order of his father, and he was only released at the plea of his sister, who was sorry when the quarrel assumed such a serious aspect.

When crowned Queen of Spain, in 1789, as the wife of Charles IV., twenty-four years after her marriage, Maria Luisa soon showed that her impulsive nature, which knew no check from her husband, would bring her country to grief.

Captivated by the young Godoy, she surprised and alarmed the nation by the swift way she exalted him to the highest position in the realm. As the favourite had known how to dominate the will of the King, as well as to subjugate the heart of the Queen, there was no limit to his power, and when he was given the title of “The Prince of the Peace,” for the alliance he made with the French, the animosity of the nation was so much excited that public interest was soon centred in Prince Ferdinand as one who might free the Court from the favourite, and thus save the country from the disastrous effect of an undue submission to France.

As Alcalá Galiano says in his “Memorias,” “The title of ‘Prince’ conferred on Godoy seemed to detract from the dignity of the Royal Family.” The Prince of Asturias was at this time eleven years of age.

It must be remembered that the Queen had never gained any real hold on her son’s love. She was naturally disinclined to any efforts dictated by maternal love, and she had taken no pains to overcome the constitutional defects of her son, which were repellent to her lively imagination and quick temperament.

In a letter to the Grand Duke of Berg, the Prince is described by the royal mother as peculiarly deficient in sensibility, and she remarks that his torpid nerves indeed required strong stimulants for their exercise. He spoke little, rarely smiled, and found a sardonic satisfaction in all kinds of petty acts of cruelty. He liked to crush a little bird if it fell into his hands, and, indeed, pity was a quality to which he was a stranger.

As the education of the young Prince was entrusted to Don Juan Escoiquiz, it was soon seen that he exercised a great power over the royal pupil, and he sought to use him as an instrument for thwarting the schemes of the Queen’s favourite—which boded ill for the land.

Escoiquiz was certainly clever. He had translated Young’s poems and Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and when he was summoned to the royal palace in his capacity of tutor to the young Prince, he exclaimed: “I shall be happy if my instruction of my royal pupil leads to his being the most humane of Princes.”

However, time did not show that he guided the Prince in this direction, for the intrigue of the Queen with Godoy so aroused his malicious envy that his one idea was to instigate his pupil to courses tending to the overthrow of the favourite. Classics and mathematics were foregone by the cleric, who devoted the time to teaching the Prince that the one great secret of a ruler was to trust nobody entirely, but to oppose one man to another man and one party against the other.

This lesson of distrust the royal boy learnt to perfection, and as his cold eyes watched his mother’s deceitful conduct, and he saw how easily his father fell a prey to the artifice and design of the lovers, his heart was a fruitful soil for the poisonous words of his preceptor.

Escoiquiz soon determined to use the lad more effectually as an instrument against Godoy, and so he inspired him with the desire to have a seat in the Cabinet Ministry, and he wrote discourses and treatises which he gave the Prince to publish as his own, so that the lad might pose as a statesman of a wisdom and foresight beyond his years.

But although Carlos IV. was an easy tool for an unprincipled wife, he was not inclined to fall a prey to the machinations of his son, and to give his son a place that had been denied to himself at a like age; so the artifice of the tutor was discovered, and he was dismissed from Court with the appointment of Archdeacon of Alcaraz, in the Chapter of Toledo.

But albeit banished from his post as tutor, the cleric still retained his influence over the Prince, and he seized every opportunity of going to the royal palace to foster the ideas which he had instilled in the mind of his former pupil.

The picture given by Manuel Godoy in his “Mémoires” of the daily life of the young royal people at this time shows that parental affection played little part in the lives of the young Princes and Princesses. After the morning Mass was over, the young people were allowed to receive visits till half-past eleven, when they went to their parents’ room, and there remained till lunch-time, and each Infante and Infanta had his or her meal in a separate apartment. The afternoon drive was generally taken in the same direction every day, and the carriage was accompanied by a royal guard. In the evening the Infantes and Infantas spent half an hour with their parents, and then returned to their own quarters, where they were sometimes allowed to have their friends.

Whenever the Infantes and Infantas went from one part of the palace to another, they were accompanied by a gentil hombre, and they were treated very much like State prisoners.

This monotonous life of the Royal Family was suddenly disturbed by the Mission from the Court of France in which the proposal was made by Napoleon to unite his brother Lucien in marriage with Isabel, daughter of Carlos IV. The King was alarmed at the idea of such a close connection with the warrior who treated Europe like a chess-board, but, not wishing openly to refuse the powerful ruler, he promptly arranged for the marriage of the Princess with his nephew, who was heir to the throne of Naples, and he also made arrangements for the marriage of Ferdinand with Princess Maria Antonia of Naples.

Godoy was strongly opposed to the Prince’s marriage, declaring that eighteen was too tender an age for this step, and that it would be better for the young man to improve his mind by travelling, and fit himself for his future task of governing the nation before he married. However, the King listened to the Marquis of Caballero, who was in favour of the alliance, and the wedding of Ferdinand took place in Barcelona in October, 1802, at the same time as that of his sister.

When Ferdinand subsequently heard how Godoy had tried to prevent his marriage, he thought it was with a desire to prevent the succession being established in his favour, and his hatred of the favourite increased accordingly.

Godoy writes very emphatically in his “Mémoires” of the evil influence exercised by Escoiquiz on the mind of Prince Ferdinand:

“The master seized upon the moral faculties of his pupil like an unclean insect which sticks to the bud of a rose and stops the growth by the web it weaves. Ferdinand, doomed at an early age to feel no affection for anyone, was a prey to fear and dissimulation. His youth, his manhood—in short, his whole life—was passed in a state of uninterrupted suspicion. He did not believe in virtue, not even in that of Escoiquiz, and at last the tutor received the due reward of the instructions he had imparted to his pupil.

“He died, loaded with contempt, ejected and banished from his pupil.”

Godoy declared that his enemies paralyzed his endeavours to free Spain from the dominion of the French. He writes in the same “Mémoires”:

“Determined to impose upon the young Prince that I wished to deprive him of the natural affection of his august parents, my enemies so far succeeded in alarming him that the Prince was brought to look upon me as a dangerous rival who aspired to seat himself on the throne. To such perfidious insinuations they added other indirect practices.

“They made Charles IV. tremble at the bare idea of a war with France, when I had in September, 1806, firmly resolved upon proclaiming it.”

The account of Manuel Godoy’s last visit to the ex-Queen Maria Luisa is characteristic of the devotion of the courtier:

“It was in May, 1808, that my old King, his august lady, and the young infant Francisco, the unhappy victims of the iniquitous faction that called Napoleon to interfere in the matters of Spain, were transported from that country to France, and they remained in the dull, lonely dwelling of Fontainebleau.

“The Queen, a stranger in the royal palace of her ancestors, was in a grand bed. Her eyes were full of sadness but of majesty; her grave and venerable face was stamped with virtue. As she was able to speak openly without the presence of any importunate witnesses, she evidently wished to give expression to her feelings when her eyes fell on those who were with her, and she noted the tears which they vainly strove to stop. At last she broke the silence, and said:

“‘And you (tu), Manuel, my loyal friend, from whom I have had so many proofs that you would always remain so till the end—you will have your customary patience and listen to what I have to say!’”

And then the Queen once more poured into her friend’s ears her doubts and fears as to her future and that of Charles IV.

From the time Maria Antonia of Naples married the eighteen-year-old Prince of Asturias in 1802, she proved herself an active partisan of her husband and his tutor Escoiquiz, and if she had lived longer her clear-sightedness might have prevented the surrender of Spain to Bonaparte.

In obedience to her mother, Queen Caroline of Naples, the Princess of Asturias was unremitting in her efforts to contravert the plans of her irreconcilable enemy Napoleon, which were subsequently furthered by the short-sighted policy of Godoy and Maria Luisa. Secret and almost daily were the letters which passed between Princess Maria Antonia and Queen Caroline, and, as the correspondence was conducted in cipher, it entered the Court of Naples without attracting any attention, and thus many diplomatic secrets from Madrid travelled thence to England. In the bitter warfare of personal hatred and political intrigue no accusations were too bad to be levelled by one part of the Spanish Royal Family against the other.

The partisans of the Prince and Princess of Asturias declared that Godoy and Maria Luisa filled the King’s mind with suspicions against Ferdinand, even to the point of attributing parricidal thoughts to him, so that the King might disinherit him and put Godoy in his place. And the followers of Godoy declared that the Princess of Asturias not only had designs against the Prince of the Peace, but against the Sovereigns themselves.

The secret correspondence between Queen Caroline and her daughter was found years afterwards in the house of the Duke of Infantado, and it showed the hatred of the Prince and his wife towards the Queen’s favourite, whilst speaking of the King as if he already had one foot in the grave. One of these letters to Naples was intercepted by Napoleon, and it fully convinced him of the part played by Prince Ferdinand and his wife with regard to France.

The people’s discontent with Godoy was fostered by Ferdinand’s followers, and, indeed, the government of the turbulent country required a more expert hand than that of the favourite.

The clergy were also enraged when they heard that the Minister had received a Bull from Rome for the reform of the monastic institutions, and they exalted Ferdinand to the sky as a patron and protector of the altars, whilst they circulated exaggerated stories with regard to those in power, and his mother was the chief object of these attacks.

When Queen Maria Luisa found the love which the people had formerly professed for her and her husband was now turned into hatred, she said that “Madrid was a place for good Princes and bad Kings.”

Napoleon soon intercepted another letter from Ferdinand’s wife, Maria Antonia, to the Queen of Naples, and he sent it to Carlos IV. to show what dreadful reports she gave of her father and mother-in-law, and how she not only spoke against France with the bitterness of hatred, but she offered to work with all her might to break the alliance of the Spanish Cabinet with the Emperor of the French.

The King, seeing the false position in which he was placed by the imprudence of his daughter-in-law, begged his wife to take the letter to the Princess of Asturias, and to conjure her to be more careful in the future.

The Queen seems to have been as conciliatory as possible in the interview, but Maria Antonia would not listen to her mother-in-law, and behaved in such an arrogant fashion that Ferdinand himself had to call her to reason.

The dissensions continued at Court, and Ferdinand one day asked Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, what might be the destination of the combined fleets. Fearing that the Prince’s Italian wife would betray such an important State secret, Godoy purposely gave an equivocal reply, saying that the squadron at Toulon would go towards Egypt, and that the others would wait for an opportunity of falling upon Ireland.

Maria Antonia lost no time in reporting the news to her mother, and, consequently, Nelson was manœuvring in those seas whilst the Spanish and French ships set sail for America. So the Englishman lost many days waiting off Malta in his belief of the news he had received from Naples. It was thus that Godoy checkmated the plan of the Princess of Asturias to aid the English against France, which was as much the foe of Naples as it was the ally of Spain.

The fact of Ferdinand’s wife manœuvring against Napoleon made her very unpopular at Court, and, although she was a model of industry and virtue, Godoy was naturally opposed to one who supported Ferdinand in his hatred of himself, whilst Escoiquiz regarded her as an invaluable tool for his designs against the French, and thus the palace was at this time a perfect hotbed of intrigue.

It was said that the two miscarriages of the Princess of Asturias were due to treatment to which she was subjected by the arrangement of the Queen or the Prince of the Peace, or by the concert of both.

The premature death of his wife was indeed an unfortunate thing for the Prince of Asturias, for, as she said a short time before her departure, she regretted she was about to leave him, as she believed that, had she lived, she would have influenced him very wisely. Report also attributed this death to the machinations of the Queen and her favourite, albeit it was known that she died from an attack of phthisis.

Some time after the Princess’s death, the Prince of Asturias, who had subsequently learnt that Godoy had deceived him in his report as to the destination of the French forces on an important occasion, said to the favourite:

“But to be frank, Manuel, you were either deceived yourself or you deceived me. You told me that the French fleet at Toulon was going to Egypt.”

“It is true, señor, but there was a change in affairs, and so the plan was changed.”

“No,” returned Ferdinand, “because the fleet went off at the first start to the ocean——”

“You will recollect,” said la Paz, “it started twice, because the first time Nelson got news beforehand of it, and so it had to return to the port and take a very decided direction the second time.”

“No,” returned Ferdinand in a rage, “neither the expedition to Egypt nor the attack on Ireland were truly arranged. You take a pleasure in telling me a tissue of lies. It is quite evident that you regard me as a mere cipher in the palace, and you treat me worse than a porter. The heir-apparent is the representative of the Sovereign, and deserves equal respect. Would you have dared to deceive my father like that?”

“When you are King,” returned Godoy, restraining his wrath with difficulty, “you will yourself justify similar conduct in your Ministers. But I have long wished to resign my office, and if Your Highness will add your request to mine in the matter it will not be difficult to succeed.”

“Yes,” returned Ferdinand, with a malicious smile, “you want to compromise me like that. Is it not so?” And he turned his back on the Minister and left him.

Such was the open state of enmity between Godoy and Ferdinand in the royal palace, and the Prince’s hatred of the favourite was, if possible, equalled by that of the people.

The King, who was nothing but a tool in his wife’s hands, joined his consort in overwhelming the man with honours, until he was finally given the post of High Admiral of Spain and the Indias, coupled with the title of Highness.

The event was celebrated by all the united bands of Madrid, and, as Ferdinand had perforce to assist at the festivities with his parents, he whispered to his brother Carlos that he considered such honours as a personal insult to himself; “for,” he added, “this vassal of mine is usurping the love and enthusiasm of the people. I am nothing in the State, and he is omnipotent. My position is insufferable.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” returned the Infante. “The more they give, the sooner they will take it away.”

The eyes of both father and son were now turned to Napoleon as the arbiter in their dissensions, and so Spain slipped gradually into the power of the great French commander.

Certainly Ferdinand’s letter to the Emperor was frank, if it was not self-respecting. “I wish,” he said, “to confide in you as I would in a tender father. I am full of respect and filial love for my father,” he continued, “for his heart is good and generous, and, as Your Majesty knows, these very qualities are but instruments in the hands of astute and malignant people to keep him from the truth. I implore Your Majesty,” added the Spanish Prince, “not only to give me a Princess of your family as a wife, but to do away with all the difficulties which will accompany the matter.”

The French Ambassador, Beauharnais, husband of the future Empress of the French, checkmated the Prince’s desires, for he informed Godoy of the letter addressed to his master, and the favourite prevented the matter from going any farther. However, although he knew that his hopes had been defeated, Ferdinand, schooled in the science of duplicity, caressed his mother and kissed the hand of his father, and all in such a cheerful and pleasant way that it was thought that he had overcome his naturally gloomy nature. But “still waters run deep,” and Ferdinand’s hatred of his mother’s favourite was now a consuming fire, and at the same time that it was said that Maria Luisa was hatching a scheme for a change in the dynasty, Ferdinand was engaged in a dreadful plot against his parents. It was at this time that the Prince presented his mother with a copy of his translation from the French of Vertot’s “Revoluciones Romanas,” and the title was naturally very obnoxious to the Sovereigns. The very word “Revolucion” struck terror in the palace in those days, as it summoned up pictures of the execution of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, so Carlos IV. remonstrated with the Prince on the direction taken by his literary tastes, and stopped the sale of the work; so the book remained at the printer’s until its translator ascended the throne of Spain.

As the King was glad to see his son occupied, he told him that, if he really wished to cultivate his literary taste, he would advise him to translate Cordillac’s “Étude de l’Histoire,” and when Ferdinand asked his father what motto he would suggest for the book, Carlos promptly returned: “Les hommes ne sont pas grands par leurs passions, mais par leur raison.”

Thus, by the time the Court returned to the Escorial for the autumn months, the royal parents congratulated themselves that Ferdinand’s literary occupations had banished his misanthropic humours; and when the Queen was told one day by the Marquesa de Perijaa, who was out walking with her, that her son passed the nights in writing, she explained to the lady that the Prince was engaged in the translation recommended by his father, and the information of his absorption in writing suggested no ulterior design.

However, one day Carlos IV. found a letter placed in a room in the palace ready to meet his eye. “Urgent” was written on the cover, and the letter had no signature. Indited evidently with a trembling hand, it ran thus:

All efforts to discover the writer of this epistle failed, and proof of its authorship was never found; but the writer’s object was gained, and the King determined to investigate his son’s labours. So he appeared one night in the Prince’s study with the excuse of asking him to compose something to celebrate the recent successes in America; and this he did in a tone of friendliness, as he did not really give any credit to the anonymous accusation which had reached him. However, Ferdinand’s confusion at his father’s visit was suspicious, and, following the Prince’s eyes, the King saw they were turned with anxiety to some papers on the table, and his request to see them was met with insolence. So the Sovereign promptly had the Prince put under arrest, with the understanding that he was not to leave his room or speak to anybody.

As Godoy was ill in Madrid at the time, Carlos sent for Caballero, the Minister of Grace and Justice, in post-haste, and to him was read one of the documents he had found on Ferdinand’s table, which the Prince had written at the dictation of Escoiquiz to present to his father. In this paper the character of Godoy was painted in the darkest colours, and the favourite was even accused of aspiring to the throne by plotting the death of the King and the rest of the Royal Family. The monarch was advised in the letter to ascertain these facts by lying in wait and listening to the tools of Godoy during a day’s shoot in the Pardo or in the Casa de Campo.

The King was also counselled to hold no communication with his wife during the time of the inquiry, so as to avoid her tears and plaints, and he was told to associate his heir with him in the Government and to give him the command of the troops; and, finally, His Majesty was implored by his son to keep the letter a profound secret from his mother, as he did not wish to be exposed to her resentment and the revenge of his enemies.

In another document written to the Prince of Asturias, Escoiquiz advised quite a different course of action, for he suggested that the fall of Godoy should be accomplished by an appeal to the Queen herself. Ferdinand was counselled to implore his mother on his knees to give up the favourite, whilst supporting his appeal by an account of the amours of the Prince of the Peace with other ladies; and the letter concluded with the advice to avoid all thought of a marriage with Godoy’s sister-in-law. The King had also found in his son’s room the cipher and key of the correspondence used between the Prince and the Archdeacon of Toledo, and these were the same which had been used by his late daughter-in-law with the ex-Queen of Naples.

And, lastly, among the papers there was a letter in Ferdinand’s own handwriting, which was closed but not directed, and evidently meant for his adviser. In this note the Prince said he would look for a priest to put the document in his father’s hands. He said, moreover, that he had taken St. Hermenegildo for his patron saint in the matter; but although he had put himself under this sacred protection, it was with no desire to accept the vocation of a martyr, and he would therefore be very careful to ascertain what success could crown the plot for Godoy’s overthrow before starting on it. But if the plot succeeded, he wished the storm to fall only on the head of Sisberto (Don Manuel Godoy) and Govinda (Queen Maria Luisa, his mother), and Leovigildo (Carlos IV.) was to be brought over to his side with cheers and applause.

The perusal of the papers completed, the King turned to Caballero, saying:

“What punishment does the law impose for a son who acts like that?”

“Señor,” was the reply, “royal clemency is out of court in this matter; the criminal deserves death!”

“What!” cried the Queen, “have you forgotten he is my son? By my right as his mother I will destroy these papers which would condemn him, for he has been deceived, he has been ruined!” And so saying, the unhappy mother flung herself into a chair, weeping bitterly and clutching at the incriminating letters. It was thus that they never appeared in the inquiry.

Caballero advised a frank statement of the facts to the nation, so a royal manifesto was addressed by the King to the country, explaining “that, albeit his son was familiar with all the principles of Christianity indoctrinated by his paternal affection, he had favoured a plot to dethrone him.”

The King, moreover, wrote the following letter to Napoleon:

That day, when Ferdinand thought his father had gone hunting, he begged his mother to come to his room or to let him go to hers. The Queen declined to comply with these requests, but she sent Caballero to the Prince, and, with the cowardly duplicity in which he was an expert, Ferdinand told the Minister that the serious steps with regard to the Queen had been suggested by his mother-in-law, the ex-Queen Caroline, and that they had filled both him and his late wife with horror. He added that, if the persistence of his evil counsellor had led him to be a little weak, it must be remembered he had resisted the seductions for four years, and that he had sought to introduce reforms into the kingdom.

When Godoy had recovered sufficiently from his indisposition to go to the Escorial, he appeared in the room of the disgraced Prince.

Ferdinand threw himself into the arms of the favourite against whom he had plotted so darkly, exclaiming through his tears:

“Oh, my Manuel, I have wanted so much to see you. I have been deceived and ruined by those rogues. You alone can get me out of this trouble.”

“I have come for that purpose,” returned Godoy. “You are the son of my King and Queen. Many a time I have held you in my arms, and I would give you a thousand lives if I had them. And I wept,” said Godoy, who tells this story in his “Mémoires,” “even more than the Prince, although his tears came from his heart.”

“Yes, I am certain,” continued the Prince, “that you would not come to see me like this if you did not intend to help me. You have spoken with my parents? I cannot hope that they will pardon me. I have given the names of my evil advisers. What more can I do to show my repentance? If there is anything more I can do, only tell me, tell me, for I will do anything in which to please my dear parents, and you too. I beg of you to help me, for pity’s sake.”

“Señor, señor,” returned Godoy, “there is an immense distance between this humility to a mere slave of your family and changing your opinion of me. This I do beg of you to do; and as for the rest, I have only come for your good.”

“May God reward you!” replied the Prince. “You are the only one who can speak for me without any fear of compromising himself. Will you not dictate me a letter to my parents?”

“The best words you can write,” said Godoy, “are those from your own heart, and those I will take myself to your parents.”

The result of this advice was two letters. The first was addressed to the King:[1]

The other missive ran thus:

The Prince’s plea was granted, and the King pardoned his son, whilst ordering the inquiry to be completed against those who had instigated the plot.

Ferdinand sought to prove his horror of the counsels of his late tutor by showing his parents the books he had sent him, with the passages marked which the tutor had considered most appropriate to his situation. The works were “The Life of St. Hermenegildo,” the poem by Morales in honour of the same saint, that of Alfonso the Wise and those of the Prince of Viana, Louis XIII., King of France, and his mother, Marie de Medicis.

Maria Luisa’s maternal affection, and Napoleon’s refusal to allow the publication of any information bearing upon himself or his Ambassador Beauharnais, took all the significance from the inquiry, and, as the matter was thus gradually dropped, the country exonerated the Prince of Asturias from all blame.

Ferdinand’s opposition to Godoy and his mother certainly seemed to have been founded more upon personal aversion than political policy, for when the favourite cooled towards the French on finding that his designs on Portugal were not to be realized, Ferdinand himself began to show favour to the foreigners, and this is proved by his correspondence with Napoleon, which was published in Le Moniteur in 1808.