THE OVERTHROW OF GODOY

1804–1808

As Napoleon considered that Ferdinand was only fit to be a tool and reign as a vassal of France, he suggested that the Prince should marry the daughter of his brother Lucien, and this proposal was made quite regardless of the aversion with which his niece regarded the proposed bridegroom.

To the keen insight of the warrior who wielded the sceptre of France, Charles IV. and his Ministers and Prince Ferdinand and his advisers all seemed like a tree waiting for the axe. But the Prince of Asturias represented the dawn of a new era to Spaniards. He was the centre of popular enthusiasm, and to be one with his cause was to be one with the majority of the nation.

Bonaparte, naturally, did not at once reveal his designs of gaining supremacy on the Peninsula to the King, and to lull any doubts on his part he gave him a magnificent pair of horses; and although Charles IV. had written to him, after the settlement of the matter of the Escorial, that he approved of his son’s union with the Imperial Family, Napoleon said he could not proceed in the arrangements for such an advantageous marriage without his son’s consent.

As the confiding Charles thought that his son’s demonstrations of affection after being set free were sincere, and being anxious to secure the peace of his household, he made up his mind to the great sacrifice of parting with Godoy, if by so doing he could quench the spirit of intrigue and jealousy in the palace.

With this view the King sent for the Prince of Asturias to explain to him the course which he considered necessary in face of the constant disturbances in the country and the absolute necessity of union within the realm.

To the surprise of his father, Ferdinand opposed the idea of the overthrow of the favourite. The Prince’s smiling countenance filled the King’s heart with joy, and it was with no doubt of his sincerity that he listened to his son’s opinion that Godoy should not be asked to retire from the Court; the Prince of the Peace was himself pleased when the heir-apparent gave him his hand with friendly looks, and bade him sacrifice his own feelings to the welfare of the kingdom and remain where he was appreciated. Neither King nor courtier could foresee that, even whilst inspiring confidence by his open, friendly demeanour, Ferdinand was preparing at Aranjuez the sequel to the plot at the Escorial.

In the meanwhile the French invaded Portugal, the Spanish soldiers materially aided them in the campaign, and Godoy began to see that the way in which the forces of Napoleon took possession of San Sebastian argued more the course of a conqueror than that of an ally. Barcelona, moreover, was also occupied by the French, and Charles IV. and Maria Luisa were filled with alarm at these signs of the supremacy of the French. The Prince of the Peace tried to persuade Their Majesties to repair to Andalusia, and sought to open their eyes to the astuteness of the Corsican and the misfortunes which it augured. Carné declares that Bonaparte only wished to be the regenerator of Spain by introducing, by the aid of royalty, the required reforms which were afterwards insisted on in the name of liberty, but the tumults and scandals of the Court finally led him to fall into the temptation which was the origin of all the misfortunes of the country.

It must be remembered that the Escorial matter had idealized the Prince in the minds of the people. His innocence, his sufferings, and his virtues, were all real in the eyes of the public; whilst Godoy was only regarded as an atheist who sought to reform the friars through his brother-in-law, the Archbishop of Toledo. The French and their leader were therefore regarded as means for the assistance of the Prince of Asturias, and this idea was circulated throughout the provinces by the convents and the confessionals. The colossal power of the Church had indeed imposed itself on the throne. Its influence spread throughout all classes, and in the daring painting showing the world bound round with a San Franciscan cord, the end is held by a brother with these words, “We can do all.”

Murat, the Grand Duke of Berg, with whom Maria Luisa had so much subsequent correspondence about her family affairs, now took up his abode at Burgos as the Emperor’s lieutenant. Thus, poor Charles IV. was not only exposed to the treacherous designs of his son, but they were hatched under the wings of the Imperial Eagle.

The King and his wife were now in the Palace of Aranjuez, on the banks of the Tagus, and thither went the Prince of the Peace to announce the signs of disaster. The orders for the Madrid garrison to proceed to Aranjuez confirmed the suspicions of the people of the terrible crisis which was taking place in the Court, and it was thought that the desire of Their Majesties to go to Seville meant the extension of their journey to Mexico.

Then came the historic 17th of March, when the murmur of the Tagus was drowned by the voices of the people surrounding the mansion.

Between eleven and twelve o’clock a carriage was seen to leave Godoy’s mansion with his “friend” Josefa Tudo closely veiled. A shot was fired by someone who sought to make the lady disclose her identity, and then the Prince of Asturias put in his window the light which was the sign for the commencement of the tumult. The trumpet sounded the call to horse, and all ran to take possession of the different roads to the palace by which it was possible Godoy might escape.

The King and Queen sent for Ferdinand, and the Queen told her son that, as his poor father was suffering acute rheumatic pains, he was unable to go himself to the window, so she begged her son to go and tranquillize the people in his father’s name. This Fernando declined to do, under the pretext that the sight of him would make the firing commence.

The cries of the mob sacking Godoy’s dwelling were now audible, and the furniture and pictures were all hurled from the windows. It was curious that the people seemed to have little thought of appropriating the art treasures of the favourite. Their one desire was to find the poor man, and wreak their vengeance for his reported misdeeds; but no sign of him was to be found. At last they gave up the search, and accompanied the wife and son to the palace. To show that their hatred did not extend to these personages, as the dissensions between Godoy and his wife were public property, they took the horses out of the carriage and drew it themselves.

On the following day Charles IV. signed the decree which removed Godoy from his position as Generalissimo and Admiral, and he sent a letter to Napoleon to acquaint him with the fact, adding that his rheumatic pains prevented him doing more than dictate the letter.

But there was no peace for the poor King. The following morning (March 19) two officials of the Guard came with the utmost secrecy to acquaint His Majesty with the news that a worse tumult was brewing than that which had broken out the preceding evening, and that only the Prince of Asturias could prevent it.

Ferdinand was then sent for, and his mother entreated him to prevent the riot by sending his own people to calm the excitement of the populace, and commanding the instigator of the disturbance to return to Madrid.

But hardly were these requests complied with when fresh tumult was heard. It seemed that Manuel Godoy was preparing to go to rest on the night of March 17, when he heard the noise of the mob at his house. He caught up a cloak, filled his pockets with gold, armed himself with pistols, and strove to save himself by a secret passage which led into the house of the widowed Duchess of Osuna. But the key was evidently not there, so the wretched man lay in his hiding-place like a mouse in a trap for thirty-six hours, suffering all the pains of fatigue and hunger and thirst, and fearing every minute to be assassinated.

At last he returned into his own salon. A sentinel saw him, and he was seized by those in possession of his house. Of course he might have made use of his firearms, but, worn out with the sufferings of body and mind during the last thirty-six hours, he gave himself up to his persecutors.

Like wolves after their prey, the people hounded the wretched man, and they tried to stop the Guard acting in his defence by putting poles under the horses’ bellies to prevent their advance. At last, however, the fugitive was bravely hoisted on to the saddle of the horse of one of the Guard, and he was taken off at a quick trot from the scene of his sufferings.

When the news reached Madrid of the imprisonment of the Prince de la Paz on March 19, the mob flocked to the Plazuela del Almirante, where his house adjoined that of the Dukes of Alba. There the scene of Aranjuez was repeated: the furniture and treasures were cast out of the windows, and were for the most part devoured by the flames of the fire which was lighted close to the door. Then, drunk with vengeance, the populace proceeded with burning torches to the houses of the Prince’s relatives, and sacked that of his mother, his brother Don Diego, the Marquis of Branciforte, his brother-in-law, and those of the ex-Ministers Alvarez y Soler, of Don Manuel Sixto Espinosa, and Amoros.

The riding-school of the fallen favourite was converted into an altar to St. Joseph.

It is from the pen of Maria Luisa that we have the most graphic description of the events, for in a letter to her daughter she writes thus:[2]

A few remarks on this favourite daughter of Queen Maria Luisa may not be amiss. Maria Luisa of Bourbon, Queen of Etruria, was only fifteen years of age when the eldest son of the Duke of Parma came to Madrid and married her. The Prince had come to Spain for the purpose of marrying her sister, Maria Amalia; but, as this Princess was silent and reserved, the bridegroom-elect showed his preference for her sister, and, as Godoy favoured this change of arrangements, Prince Louis wedded Maria Luisa, although the originally destined bride had evidently been favourably inclined to him.

In 1801 Napoleon Bonaparte arranged for Tuscany, under the name of the kingdom of Etruria, to be given to the Spanish Princess and her husband, who was called Louis I. But the people never took to their new rulers, and the French did not evacuate the place.

In 1802 the King and Queen of Etruria went to Spain to be present at the marriage of Ferdinand with Maria Antonia of Naples, and that of her brother, the heir of the Two Sicilies, with the Infanta Maria Isabel; and this sister of Prince Ferdinand became subsequently the mother of his fourth wife, Queen Maria Cristina, mother of Isabella II.

On this journey to Spain the young King of Etruria died of brain disease, and the Queen became, by the will of her late husband, Regent for her little son, who was crowned Louis II. of Etruria. But Napoleon deprived the royal lady of her kingdom in virtue of the Treaty of Fontainebleau in 1807; and when the Queen came to Spain and joined her petitions to those of her mother in the correspondence to Murat and Napoleon, she never returned to her kingdom, which was taken from her with the promise of having Portugal in return.

When Napoleon heard of the revolution of Aranjuez, he said to the Duke of Rovigo: “I never thought of such a thing; matters have taken an unexpected turn. I know that the father is right in accusing the son of conspiring against the throne; this fact will unmask the son, and it will never be approved. When Charles V. abdicated, he was not contented with a written declaration; he confirmed it with the ceremonies customary for such occasions, he renewed it various times, and he did not abandon the reins of the government until he had given solemn assurance of his wish to do so.”[4]

Once on the throne, Ferdinand VII. sent for the persons who had taken part in the Escorial conspiracy. Don Miguel José de Azanza, the ex-Viceroy of Mexico, was made Minister of the Interior instead of Miguel Cartegano Soler, and Pedro Ceballos, who had married Godoy’s cousin, and who had worked for the ruin of the dethroned King, was retained in his position as Minister of Foreign Affairs by a special royal decree.

The celebrated littérateur Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos also returned to Court.

But the man who was most triumphant was Ferdinand’s old tutor, Don Juan Escoiquiz. His wish was fulfilled—he was a power at Court, and he was decorated with the Cross of Carlos III.

Moreover, the Duke of San Carlos, spoken of by Maria Luisa in her correspondence as the falsest of all, was made chief Mayordomo of the palace. In fact, all who had played any part in the Escorial affair were exalted, whereas those who had pleased Godoy by their capacities or virtues were proscribed and persecuted. Among these were the Duke of Almodovar, brother of the Prince de la Paz, Viguri the Intendant, Norrega the Treasurer, Marquina the Corregidor of Madrid, the littérateur Escala, and the Fiscal Viegas, who had demanded penal punishment for criminals in the Escorial matter. The property of all the above-mentioned men was confiscated, and Godoy himself was taken from Aranjuez to the Castle of Villaviciosa.

The government was practically in the hands of the Dukes of Infantado and San Carlos and the Councillor Escoiquiz. The opinions and character of the latter are well known. He was utterly disingenuous, and he was expert in the science of intrigue, which had played such a part in the antechamber of the palace. But for really ruling the affairs of a kingdom he was quite incompetent, and was only conspicuous for his want of knowledge and his mean spirit. Apart from his artifice in conspiracies, the character of this Archdeacon of Alcaraz was seen in the pamphlet he published in defence of the Inquisition. San Carlos shamefully maligned Maria Luisa and the Prince de la Paz, albeit he was proud of being related to the favourite. Infantado was destitute of any consistency in government except when it savoured of persecution and oppression.

The three statesmen were united in one desire, and that was the marriage of Ferdinand with one of the Bonaparte family; and they all shared the people’s joy at the entrance of Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, in Madrid on March 23. The townsfolk were mad with delight, for they regarded the French as supporters of their idol Ferdinand, and sharers of their joy in the state entry of the young King into the capital.

The function was indeed a brilliant sight, and the Sovereign, crowned with the rich diadem of the two worlds, roused so much enthusiasm that it took him six hours to pass from the Gate of Atocha to the palace. The roar of the cannon, the peal of the bells, the clamour of the cheers, were indeed deafening, and the men laid down their cloaks for the King to pass over, and the women waved their pocket-handkerchiefs.

The Grand Duke of Berg unfortunately gave rein to his pride, and wounded the Spaniards in their tenderest sensibility by sending French troops to line part of the route of the royal entry, leaving his house in the Buen Retiro for that of the Prince de la Paz, and taking possession of the Casa de Campo.

Napoleon himself regretted this conduct, and we find him saying in the “Memorial of St. Helena,” published in 1826:

“The plan more worthy of me, and the safest, would have been a sort of mediation, like that of Switzerland. I ought to have given a liberal constitution to the Spanish nation, and seen that Ferdinand put it in practice. If that had been done in good faith, and if Spain had prospered with our new customs, France would have gained a close ally, and a truly formidable increase to its power. If Ferdinand, on the contrary, failed in his new duties, the Spaniards themselves would soon have come to beg for another King.”

Murat, with his misleading pictures of a country which he did not know, tickled the conqueror’s ambition, and this resulted in Napoleon writing to his brother Louis, who was then in Holland:

“Being concerned that I shall have no solid peace with England without giving a great impulsion to the Continent, I have decided to put a French Prince on the throne of Spain.”[5]

Murat’s power was mainly due to the reports which had reached Spain of his great feats of arms, and the priests had admired Napoleon as the restorer of the churches in France; but Murat had not counted on the revulsion of feeling which ensued when the Spaniards found that the soldiers of their ally were impregnated with the doctrines of Voltaire and Rousseau, and as the imprudence of the French fanned the flame of suspicion it gradually worked up to a fire of fanaticism.

But the Emperor was quite firm in the idea of his imperial hand wielding the Spanish sceptre, so he sent for Izquierdo, and asked him if the Spaniards would not be glad to have him as their Sovereign.

“Very,” returned Izquierdo, “if Your Majesty will first renounce the diadem of France.”

Bonaparte did not feel flattered at the Spaniard’s reply, but, anxious to set the affairs straight in the Peninsula, he left Paris for Bordeaux on April 2.

In the meanwhile Maria Luisa and her husband had been highly pleased at the arrival of Murat at the Court. The unhappy Sovereigns had been treated with the greatest disrespect by their son since his accession to the throne. They were told to go to Badajoz, in spite of their protestations of the unsuitability of the climate to their ailments. They were full of fears that the people’s rage would lead any moment to the death of their idolized Godoy. Misfortune seemed imminent at any moment, and poor Charles, with his rheumatic pains, and unable even to count upon his royal income, was in a sad state of depression when the news of Murat’s installation in the palatial abode of the fallen favourite inspired them with hope.

Neither the Grand Duke of Berg nor the Ambassador Beauharnais had recognized the son as King, although all the rest of the diplomatic corps had done so; so, encouraged by this fact, they wrote to Murat through the medium of their daughter, the Queen of Etruria. The perusal of this correspondence gives an idea of the humiliation of Charles IV. and his Queen, for, as the Duke of Rovigo says:

“The letters of the royal parents show their consternation and depression, and the violence must have been very great for them to be in fear of their lives, and to implore a retreat which would suit their health, and where they could spend the rest of their days in safety.”[6]

The picture of her son drawn by the Queen is worthy of the study of the historian; for the remarks scattered through the various letters run thus:

“From Ferdinand we have nothing to expect but misery and persecution. He has formed this conspiracy to dethrone the King his father; he has no character whatever, much less that of sincerity; he is false and cruel; his ambition is limitless, and he does not treat his father and mother like parents. Nothing affects him. He is unfeeling, and not inclined to clemency; he promises, but he never fulfils his promises; he does not care for the Grand Duke or the Emperor; he only cares for despotism; he has a very bad heart; he has never professed affection either for his father or for me; his councillors are bloodthirsty, and love to do harm to everybody, not excepting the father and mother.”

These remarks of the Queen-mother are supported by that of the father, who said in his letter to Napoleon that “he found himself in the necessity of choosing between life and death.”

And it was in this state of affairs that Maria Luisa commenced her correspondence with the Duke of Berg by the following note, sent through her daughter, the Queen of Etruria:

On March 22 the Queen of Etruria also wrote to Murat in intercession for the unhappy prisoner, who, she says, “invoked incessantly the terrible moment of his death.”

Charles IV. added to his daughter’s letter fresh pleas to be allowed to go to a country which would suit him better, with the Prince de la Paz, and his wife added her request to be allowed to finish her days in tranquillity in a climate favourable to the delicate state of their health.

On the 26th Maria Luisa sent her daughter the before-mentioned letter, giving the account of the affair of Aranjuez, and this the Queen of Etruria sent to Murat with this letter:

Murat then sent General Monthion, the head of the royal staff, to Aranjuez to ascertain the truth about the King’s abdication, and it was then that Charles sent his letter and protest to Napoleon.

In handing the letter to the French General, the King said:

“My position is of the saddest. They have taken off the Prince de la Paz, and will, I believe, kill him.”

The Queen’s daughter also wrote to Murat:

To this letter Carlos IV. added a postscript:

The General was also given a letter from the Queen to Murat, which ran thus:

The Queen became quite desperate as the days went by, bringing no definite help from the Grand Duke of Berg, and in one of her letters to her daughter she writes:

“If the Grand Duke does not see that the Emperor gives orders for the stoppage of the intrigues against his friend the Prince de la Paz, against me and my daughter, none of us will be safe. All the malevolent people get round my son, and he believes them like oracles, and on his own part he is not very inclined to magnanimity and clemency. He must expect sad results from all this. I and my husband think that, if my son sees the Emperor before he has given his orders, he and those with him will tell him so many lies that he will doubt the truth. For this reason we would beg the Grand Duke to let the Emperor know that we are absolutely in his hands, hoping he will give tranquillity to the King, my husband, me, and the Prince de la Paz, whom we desire to have with us, and end our days peacefully in a place suited to our health without giving the least trouble to anybody. We urgently beg the Grand Duke to let us have daily news of our mutual friend, the Prince de la Paz, because we know absolutely nothing.”

The King added the following words in his own handwriting:

“I asked the Queen to write this, as my pains prevent my writing much.”

The next letter from the Queen of Spain to her daughter for the Grand Duke of Berg is without a date:

Ferdinand, in his blind belief in Escoiquiz, disregarded the counsel of other men, and, as Escoiquiz only thought of conciliating the Corsican so as to advance his plan of Ferdinand’s union with a member of the House of Bonaparte, the power of the French increased daily.

It was believed that all the intrigues of Beauharnais were only to keep the sceptre in the hand which held it, and the silly credulity on the part of Escoiquiz was the chief cause of the consequent misfortunes.

To a genius like Napoleon the situation of Spain was an easy prey to his ambition, and its state of submission to the French was seen in the fact of Caballero conforming to Murat’s desire to become the possessor of the sword which was surrendered to Charles V. by Francis I. of France after the Battle of Pavia.

The function in which Spain lost this heirloom is described in the Gaceta de Madrid of April 5, 1808. The sword was borne in state to the Grand Duke’s house. It was placed on a silver tray covered with a puce-coloured silk cloth trimmed with a wide bright fringe, and Don Carlos Montarges, the honorary Chief Armourer, and his attendant, Don Manuel Trotier, went in the gala carriage with the trophy. The carriage was drawn by mules in gala attire, and three royal lackeys in full livery walked by the side of each. In the other carriage, also drawn by four mules and accompanied by lackeys, came the Duke del Parque. The sword was borne into Murat’s presence by the two armourers, and, after giving him the King’s letter, they solemnly presented him with the historic weapon, which was received with many expressions of thanks.

Murat now set no bounds to his ambitious aims, especially as he knew that his brother-in-law had decided on the dethronement of the Bourbons in Spain. So, dazzled by the brilliance of his position, he precipitated matters by his intrigues. He suggested the advisability of the Infante Don Carlos going to meet Napoleon as far as Burgos, so this journey of the Spanish Prince was arranged, Pedro Macanáz and Don Pascual Vallejo being in attendance.

As Napoleon did not trust entirely to the perceptions of Murat, he sent the astute Savary to reconnoitre the state of affairs in Madrid. The clever Frenchman was as successful in Spain as he had been in Russia, and it was soon arranged for Ferdinand to take the undignified course of going to meet Bonaparte at Burgos, for Escoiquiz thought that it would gain the favour of the great Frenchman.

Before starting, Ferdinand wrote to his father begging for a letter in which he would assure Napoleon that he (Ferdinand) professed the same sentiments of friendship with the French as his father. The reply to this request came from the Queen, and she said that the pains in the King’s hand prevented his writing himself, but she had written to the Grand Duke of Berg saying that the desired letter had not been sent because they knew that Ferdinand had no love for France.