Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Here there is a wider range of application, but still the endowment is to a Highland student. Nor, after all, when the social state of the Highlanders is considered, can we wonder that their gentry should seek to preserve the wealth which they are constrained to deposit in the hands of the stranger for their own people. Occasionally, at the present day, some wild wiry M‘Lean or M‘Dougal makes his appearance, by command of the chief, at the proper time and place, to claim investment in the clan bursary. Other of these endowments are of restricted application, being exclusively appropriated to students of a special name, such as Smith or Thomson, or born in a special parish, or descended from members of some corporation. In general, however, these endowments—some of them of very ancient date—are open to free universal competition, and are in this shape one of the most interesting and remarkable specimens of the ancient literary republics, in which each man fought with his brains, and held what his brains could achieve for him. Annually, at the competition for bursaries in Aberdeen, there assembles a varied group of intellectual gladiators—long red-haired Highlanders, who feel trousers and shoes an infringement of the liberty of the subject—square-built Lowland farmers—flaxen-haired Orcadians, and pale citizens’ sons, vibrating between scholarship and the tailor’s board or the shoemaker’s last. Grim and silent they sit for a day, rendering into Latin an English essay, and drop away one by one, depositing with the judges the evidence of success or failure as the case may be. The thing is very fairly and impartially managed, and honourable to all the parties concerned.

It is indeed, as we have hinted, a relic of the old competitive spirit which distinguished the universities as literal republics of letters, where each man fought his own battle, and gained and wore his own laurels. Nor was his arena confined to his own college. The free-masonry we have already alluded to opened every honour and emolument to all, and the Scotsman might suddenly enter the lists at Paris, Bologna, or Upsala, or the Spaniard might compete in Glasgow or Aberdeen. The records before us contain many forms in which the ancient spirit has now ceased to breathe. Already has been mentioned the competition for the regentship. The old form of the Impugnment of Theses, so renowned in literary histories, has died away as a portion of the ordinary laureation. The comprehensive challenges and corresponding victories attributed to the Admirable Crichton give this practice a peculiar interest in the eyes of Scotsmen; and it has a great place in the annals of the Reformation, since one of its main stages was the posting the twenty-five theses on the door of the church of Würtemberg by Luther. But in reading these remarkable events people are apt to forget the commonness of the practice; and Crichton has the aspect of a preposterous intellectual bully going out of his proper way to attract notice, instead of doing what was in its time and circumstances as ordinary and common sense an act as running a tilt, joining a crusade, or burning a witch. Goldsmith, in that account of the intellectual vagabond which so evidently describes himself, has noticed some relics of the practice as he found it on the Continent. “In all the universities and convents there are, upon certain days, philosophical theses maintained against every adventitious disputant; for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. In this manner, then, I fought my way towards England.” A collection of German pamphlets, amounting, it is said, to upwards of a hundred thousand, and called the Dietrich Collection, was some years ago purchased by the Faculty of Advocates, and was found to consist chiefly of the academic theses in which the scholars of Germany—illustrious and obscure—had been disputing for centuries. In the same place, by the way, where this vast collection reposes, may be found the most complete living illustration of the old form of impugnment. The anxious litigant or busy agent entering the main door of the Parliament House at 9 o’clock of a morning, may find, by an _affiche_ to the door-post, that there is to be a _disputatio juridica_ under the auspices of the _inclytus Diaconus facultatis_. Since the year 1693 it has been the practice of each intrant to undergo public impugnment, or, as the act of Faculty says, “the publict tryall of candidates, by printing and publishing theses on the subject assigned with corollaries, as it is observed amongst other nations.” A title of the Pandects is assigned on each occasion. Thus the Faculty possesses more than one running commentary upon that celebrated collection; and it has always been deemed remarkable that, considering the number and varied talent of the authors of these theses, they should be so uniform in their Latinity and structure. A great innovation has lately taken place in sparing the cost of printing the theses, and applying the amount so saved to the Faculty’s magnificent library.

Many of the old university theses are very interesting as the youthful efforts of men who have subsequently become eminent. Those connected with Aberdeen are apparently the most numerous. It is very noticeable, indeed, that in the remote rival institutions there established, the spirit and practice of the Continental universities, in almost every department, had their most tenacious existence. As in England, the Church of Rome was succeeded there, not by Presbyterianism but Episcopacy, and there were fewer changes in all old habits and institutions. The celebrated “Aberdeen doctors,” who carried on a controversy with the Covenanters, met their zealous religionists with something like the old pedantic formality of the academic system of disputation. They resolved the Covenant into a thesis, and impugned it. Of this remarkable group of scholars we have the following notice in Professor Innes’s Preface:—

“Their names are now little known, except to the local antiquary;
but no one who has even slightly studied the history of that
disturbed time is unacquainted with the collective designation of
‘the Aberdeen Doctors’ bestowed upon the learned ‘querists’ of the
ultra-Presbyterian Assembly of 1638, and the most formidable
opponents of the Solemn League and Covenant.

“Of these learned divines, Dr Robert Barron had succeeded Bishop
Forbes in his parish of Keith, and from thence was brought on the
first opportunity to be made Minister of Aberdeen, and afterwards
Professor of Divinity in Marischal College. He is best judged by the
estimation of his own time, which placed him foremost in philosophy
and theology. Bishop Sydserf characterises him as ‘vir in omni
scholastica theologia et omni literatura versatissimus:’ ‘A person of
incomparable worth and learning,’ says Middleton, ‘he had a clear
apprehension of things, and a rare facultie of making the hardest
things to be easily understood.’[10] Gordon of Rothiemay says, ‘He was
one of those who maintained the unanswerable dispute (in 1638) against
the Covenante, which drew upon him both ther envye, hate, and
calumneyes; yet so innocently lived and dyed hee, that such as then
hated him doo now reverence his memorye, and admire his works.’
Principal Baillie, of the opposite party, speaks of him as ‘a meek and
learned person,’ and always with great respect: and Bishop Jeremy
Taylor, when writing in 1659 to a fellow of Trinity College, Dublin,
recommending the choice of books for ‘the beginning of a theological
library,’ named two treatises of Barron’s especially, and recommended
generally ‘everything of his.’[11] That a man so honoured for his
learning and his life should receive the indignities inflicted on
Barron after his death, is rather to be held as a mark of the general
coarseness of the time, than attributed to the persecuting spirit of
any one sect.[12]

“Another of the Aberdeen doctors, William Leslie, was successively
Sub-principal and Principal of King’s College. The visitors of 1638
found him worthie of censure, as defective and negligent in his
office, but recorded their knowledge that he was ‘ane man of gude
literature, lyff, and conversatioun.’[13] ‘He was a man,’ says James
Gordon, ‘grave, and austere, and exemplar. The University was happy in
having such a light as he, who was eminent in all the sciences above
the most of his age.’[14]

“Dr James Sibbald, Minister of St Nicholas, and a Regent in the
University, is recorded by the same contemporary: ‘It will not be
affirmed by his very enemyes, but that Dr James Sibbald was ane
eloquent and painefull preacher, a man godly, and grave, and modest,
not tainted with any vice unbeseeming a minister, to whom nothing
could in reason be objected, if you call not his ante-covenanting a
cryme.’[15] Principal Baillie, while condemning his Arminian
doctrines, says—‘The man was, there, of great fame.’

“Dr Alexander Scroggy, minister in the Cathedral Church, first known
to the world as thought worthy to contribute to the ‘Funerals’ of his
patron and friend, Bishop Forbes,[16] is described in 1640 by Gordon
as ‘a man sober, grave, and painefull in his calling;’[17] and by
Baillie as ‘ane old man, not verie corrupt, yet perverse in the
Covenant and Service-book.’ His obstinacy yielded under the weight of
old age and the need of rest, but he is not the more respected for the
questionable recantation of all his early opinions.[18]

“Foremost, by common consent, among that body of divines and scholars,
was John Forbes, the good bishop’s son. He had studied at King’s
College, and, after completing his education in the approved manner by
a round of foreign universities, returned to Scotland to take his
doctor’s degree, and to be the first professor in the chair of
theology, founded and endowed in our University by his father and the
clergy of the diocese. Dr John Forbes’s theological works have been
appreciated by all critics and students, and have gone some way to
remove the reproach of want of learning from the divines of Scotland.
His greatest undertaking, the _Instructiones historico-theologicæ_,
which he left unfinished, Bishop Burnett pronounces to be ‘a work
which, if he had finished it, and had been suffered to enjoy the
privacies of his retirement and study to give us the second volume,
had been the greatest treasure of theological learning that perhaps
the world has yet received.[19]

“These were the men whom the bishop drew into the centre and heart of
the sphere which he had set himself to illuminate; and in a short
space of time, by their united endeavours, there grew up around their
Cathedral and University a society more learned and accomplished than
Scotland had hitherto known, which spread a taste for literature and
art beyond the academic circle, and gave a tone of refinement to the
great commercial city and its neighbourhood.

“It must be confessed cultivation was not without bias. It would seem
that, in proportion as the Presbyterian and Puritan party receded from
the learning of some of their first teachers, literature became here,
as afterwards in England, the peculiar badge of Episcopacy. With
Episcopacy went, hand in hand, the high assertion of royal authority;
and influenced as it had been by Bishop Patrick Forbes and his
followers, Aberdeen became, and continued for a century to be, not
only a centre of northern academic learning, but a little stronghold
of loyalty and Episcopacy—the marked seat of high Cavalier politics
and anti-Puritan sentiments of religion and church government.

“That there was a dash of pedantry in the learning of that Augustan
age of our University, was the misfortune of the age, rather than
peculiar to Aberdeen. The literature of Britain and all Europe, except
Italy, was still for the most part scholastic, and still to a great
degree shrouded in the scholastic dress of a dead language; and we
must not wonder that the northern University exacted from her divines
and philosophers, even from her historians and poets, that they should
use the language of the learned. After all, we owe too much to
classical learning to grudge that it should for a time have
overshadowed and kept down its legitimate offspring of native
literature. ‘We never ought to forget,’ writes one worthy to record
the life and learning of Andrew Melville, ‘that the refinement and the
science, secular and sacred, with which modern Europe is enriched,
must be traced to the revival of ancient literature, and that the hid
treasures could not have been laid open and rendered available but for
that enthusiasm with which the languages of Greece and Rome were
cultivated in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.’[20]

“It is not to be questioned that in the literature of that age, and in
all departments of it, Aberdeen stood pre-eminent. Clarendon
commemorates the ‘many excellent scholars and very learned men under
whom the Scotch universities, and especially Aberdeen,
flourished.’[21] ‘Bishop Patrick Forbes,’ says Burnet, ‘took such care
of the two colleges in his diocese, that they became quickly
distinguished from all the rest of Scotland.... They were an honour to
the Church, both by their lives and by their learning; and with that
excellent temper they seasoned that whole diocese, both clergy and
laity, that it continues to this very day very much distinguished from
all the rest of Scotland, both for learning, loyalty, and
peaceableness.’[22]

“That this was no unfounded boast, as regards one department of
learning, has been already shown, in enumerating the learned divines
who drew upon Aberdeen the general attention soon after the death of
their bishop and master. In secular learning it was no less
distinguished. No one excelled Robert Gordon of Straloch in all the
accomplishments that honour the country gentleman. Without the common
desire of fame or any more sordid motive, he devoted his life and
talents to illustrate the history and literature of his country. He
was the prime assistant to Scotstarvet in his two great undertakings,
the Atlas and the collections of Scotch poetry.[23] The maps of
Scotland in the Great Atlas (many of them drawn by himself, and the
whole ‘revised’ by him at the earnest entreaty of Charles I.), with
the topographical descriptions that accompany them, are among the most
valuable contributions ever made by an individual to the physical
history of his country. His son, James Gordon, parson of Rothiemay,
followed out his father’s great objects with admirable skill, and in
two particulars he merits our gratitude even more. He was one of the
earliest of our countrymen to study drawing, and to apply it to plans
and views of places; and, while he could wield Latin easily, he
condescended to write the history of his time in excellent Scotch.

“While these writers were illustrating the history of their country in
prose, a crowd of scholars were writing poetry, or, at least, pouring
forth innumerable copies of elegant Latin verses. While the two
Johnstons were the most distinguished of those poets of Aberdeen, John
Leech, once Rector of our University,[24] David Wedderburn, rector of
the Grammar School, and many others, wrote and published pleasing
Latin verse, which stands the test of criticism. While it cannot be
said that such compositions produce on the reader the higher effects
of real poetry, they are not without value, if we view them as tests
of the cultivation of the society among which they were produced.
Arthur Johnston not only addresses elegiacs to the bishop and his
doctors, throwing a charming classical air over their abstruser
learning, but puts up a petition to the magistrates of the city, or
celebrates the charms of Mistress Abernethy, or the embroideries of
the Lady Lauderdale—all in choice Latin verse, quite as if the persons
whom he addressed appreciated the language of the poet.[25]

“Intelligent and educated strangers, both foreigners and the gentry of
the north, were attracted to Aberdeen; and its colleges became the
place of education for a higher class of students than had hitherto
been accustomed to draw their philosophy from a native source.[26]

“If it was altogether chance, it was a very fortunate accident, which
placed in the midst of a society so worthy of commemoration a painter
like George Jamiesone, the pupil of Rubens, the first, and, till
Raeburn, the only great painter whom Scotland had produced. Though he
was a native of Aberdeen, it is not likely that anything but the
little court of the bishop could have induced such an artist to
prosecute his art in a provincial town. An academic orator in 1630,
while boasting of the crowd of distinguished men, natives and
strangers, either produced by the University, or brought to Aberdeen
by the bishop, was able to point to their pictures ornamenting the
hall where his audience were assembled. Knowing by whom these
portraits were painted, we cannot but regret that so few are
preserved.”[27]

Keeping, however, to the matter of academic impugnment, we shall now turn to an instance of its incidental occurrence in that University, which, from its late origin, was least imbued with the spirit of the Continental system.

The visit of King James to his ancient kingdom in 1617, afforded the half-formed collegiate institution in Edinburgh an opportunity for a rhetorical display, which ended in substantial advantages. Tired with business at Holyrood, and in the enjoyment of full eating and drinking, and “driving our” at his quieter palace of Stirling, he bethought himself of a rhetorical pastime with the professors of the new University, wherein he could not fail to luxuriate in the scholastic quibbling with which his mind was so well crammed, and he was pretty certain of enjoying an ample banquet of success and applause. Hence, as Thomas Crawford the annalist of the institution informs us, “It pleased his majesty to appoint the maisters of the college to attend him at Sterling the 29th day of July, where, in the royal chapel, his majesty, with the flower of the nobility, and many of the most learned men of both nations, were present, a little before five of the clock, and continued with much chearfulness above three hours.”

The display was calculated to be rather appalling to any man who had much diffidence or reserve in his disposition, and hence Charteris, the principal, “being naturally averse from public show, and professor of divinity,” transferred the duty of leading the discussion to Professor Adamson. The form adopted was the good old method of the impugnment of theses, so many being appointed to defend, and so many to impugn; “but they insisted only upon such purposes as were conceived would be most acceptable to the king’s majesty and the auditory.”

The first thesis was better suited for the legislature than an academic body, and there must have been some peculiar reason for bringing it on. It was, “that sheriffs and other inferior magistrates should not be hereditary,” which was oppugned by Professor Lands “with many pretty arguments.” The king was so pleased with the oppugnation, that he turned to the Marquis of Hamilton, hereditary sheriff of Clydesdale, and said, “James, you see your cause lost—and all that can be said for it clearly satisfied and answered.” _N.—B._ It is just worth noticing that the College and the Marquis were then at feud. There was a question about the possession of the old lodging of the Hamilton family, then constituting a considerable portion of the University edifices. The “gud old nobleman,” his father, had been easily satisfied, but the young man was determined to stand upon his rights, and, though he could not recover possession, get something in the shape of rent or damages; nor would he take the judicious hint that “so honourable a personage would never admit into his thoughts to impoverish the patrimony of the young University, which had been so great an ornament, and so fruitful an instrument of so much good to the whole nation, but rather accept of some honourable acknowledgment of his munificence in bestowing upon the College an honest residence for the muses.” But to return to the impugnment. The next thesis was on local motion, “pressing many things by clear testimonies of Aristotle’s text;” and this passage of literary arms called out one of James’s sallies of pawky persiflage. “These men,” he said, “know Aristotle’s mind as well as himself did while he lived.” The next thesis was on the “Original of Fountains;” and the discussion, much to the purpose, no doubt, was so interesting that it was allowed to go on far beyond the prescribed period, “his majesty himself sometimes speaking for the impugner, and sometimes for the defender, in good Latin, and with much knowledge of the secrets of philosophy.”

Talking is, however, at the best, dry work. His majesty went at last to supper, and no doubt would have what is termed “a wet night.” When up to the proper mark, he sent for the professors, and delivered himself of the following brilliant address:—

“Methinks these gentlemen, by their very names, have been destined for the acts which they have had in hand to-day. Adam was father of all; and, very fitly, Adamson had the first part of this act. The defender is justly called Fairly—his thesis had some fair lies, and he defended them very fairly, and with many fair lies given to the oppugners. And why should not Mr Lands be the first to enter the lands? but now I clearly see that all lands are not barren, for certainly he hath shown a fertile wit. Mr Young is very old in Aristotle. Mr Reed needs not be red with blushing for his acting to-day. Mr King disputed very kingly, and of a kingly purpose, anent the royal supremacy of reason over anger and all passions.” And here his majesty was going to close the encomiums, when some one nudged his elbow, and hinted that he had omitted to notice the modest Charteris; but the royal wit was not abashed, and his concluding impromptu was by no means the least successful of his puns. “Well, his name agreeth very well to his nature; for charters contain much matter, yet say nothing, but put great purposes in men’s mouths.”

Few natures would be churlish enough to resist a genial glow of satisfaction on receiving such pearls of rhetoric scattered among them by a royal hand, and we may believe that the professors were greatly gratified. But, pleased more probably by his own success, the king gave a more substantial mark of his satisfaction, and said, “I am so well satisfied with this day’s exercise, that I will be godfather to the College of Edinburgh, and have it called the College of King James; for after the founding of it had been stopped for sundry years in my minority, so soon as I came to any knowledge, I zealously held hand to it, and caused it to be established; and although I see many look upon it with an evil eye, yet I will have them to know that, having given it this name, I have espoused its quarrel.” And further on in the night, he promised, “that as he had given the College a name, he would also, in time convenient, give it a royal godbairn gift for enlarging the patrimony thereof.”

In the course of the multifarious talk of the evening, a curious and delicate matter was opened up—the difference between the English pronunciation of Latin and the Scottish, which corresponds with that of Europe in general. An English doctor, who must have enjoyed exceptional opinions, or been a master of hypocrisy, praised the readiness and elegancy of his majesty’s Latinity; on which he said, “All the world knows that my maister, Mr George Buchanan, was a great maister in that faculty. I follow his pronunciation both of Latin and Greek, and am sorry that my people of England do not the like, for certainly their pronunciation utterly spoils the grace of these two learned languages; but you see all the university and learned men of Scotland express the true and native pronunciation of both.”[28]

THE INSURRECTION IN SPAIN.

_Madrid, July 1854._

Dear Ebony.—Had I known that you would treacherously publish my private communications, and that Maga comes to Madrid, I certainly would have waited until I had quitted this capital, before imparting to you my impressions of it, its inhabitants, and its institutions. I admit that I have but myself to blame for my ignorance of the fact that Maga, whose fame extends to the uttermost parts of the earth, has her regular readers even in Madrid. But you, who must be aware of that fact, are not the less culpable for risking the valuable life of your old ally and contributor. You might have had a little more consideration for your outpost than to expose him to the thrust of an Albacete dagger or Catalan knife, whether dealt under the fifth rib, or treacherously in the back. You should have reflected that my olive-green uniform, with a golden thistle on the black-facings, would naturally betray my quality of Maga’s vedette. Since the 10th of June, date of the Magazine’s arrival in Madrid, my existence has not been worth an hour’s purchase. I have been obliged to strike my tent, pitched in the Puerta del Sol, as the best place for observation, and to picket my charger in the recesses of the Retiro, whose cool shades, I confess, are not altogether to be despised now that the thermometer ranges from 90 to 100 in the shade, and that the streets of this capital resemble nothing so much as limekilns, thanks to dust from demolitions, and to the rays of a sun compared to which the Phœbus of the British Isles is a very feeble impostor. You are, of course, aware of the pleasant peculiarities of the Madrid climate—Siberia in winter and in the wind; the Sahara in summer and in the sun. We are just now in all the delights of the dogdays; a wet brick is sunburned red in half an hour; eggs, placed for ten minutes on the tiles, open for the exit of lively chickens; and Madrid, to avoid calcination, flies to the woods and waves. As I hope soon to follow its example, and shall consequently not be here when your August number arrives, I will venture to send you another epistle, notwithstanding that I have received sundry mysterious warnings that a repetition of my first offence would lead to prompt blood-letting. This time, however, I shall have less to say of the follies and failings of the natives, and more of what has occurred since last I troubled you with my prose. Then I did but glance at politics _en passant_; now, I propose devoting my whole letter to them. Just one fortnight ago there occurred at Madrid an event so important that I think it best to confine myself to an account of it, and to reserve lighter matters for a future communication. I need hardly say that the event in question is the military insurrection of the 28th of June.

Things had been in rather a queer state here for some time past. As you may possibly, amidst the excitement of the Eastern question, have neglected to follow up the minute intricacies of Spanish politics, I must step back a pace or two, in order to put you _au fait_. Autumn of last year witnessed the arrival at power of the present ministry, which speedily became far more unpopular than, for some time past, any administration had been. Headed by an unprincipled and unscrupulous adventurer, it recoiled from no illegality or tyranny that might conduce to its own advantage. Defeated in the senate by a large majority, on the memorable railway question, it suspended the session, and began to indulge its hatred of those who assisted in its rebuff. In January of the present year, about a month after the closing of the legislative chambers, some of the most formidable of its opponents, on that occasion and on most others, were ordered into exile. It is customary and legal in Spain for the minister to assign a residence to unemployed officers, whither they are bound to proceed. In those dispositions, the convenience of the officers is usually to a certain extent consulted, but sometimes, especially for political reasons, the contrary is the case, and such assignment of quarters becomes little less than a sentence of banishment. A military man may be authorised to reside in Madrid (the Spaniard’s paradise), or transported to the Philippines, which he would consider purgatory. As most military men of high rank in this country are more or less political characters, either having held office, or hoping some day to find a place in one of the ephemeral Spanish governments (whose existence rarely exceeds a year, and is sometimes limited to a day), and constantly manœuvring to obtain it, they hold it a cruel destiny that consigns them to a colonial abode, or to vegetation in a remote town, far from the capital, that centre of every kind of intrigue. It may be imagined, therefore, with what extreme disgust some of the military chiefs of the Moderado opposition suddenly found themselves ordered to places where they would be at full liberty to study strategy, or play the Cincinnatus in their cabbage gardens, but where they would be forgotten by the world, and powerless to annoy the ministers or to forward their own ambitious views. Generals Leopold O’Donnell, Manuel Concha, José Concha, and Infante (a deserter from the Progresista or liberal party), were the men whose influence and intrigues the Sartorius ministry thus attempted to annul. The two former were ordered to the Canary Islands, the two latter to the Balearics. Manuel Concha and Infante obeyed orders and departed for their destinations; José Concha, by far the cleverer of the brothers, went into France; O’Donnell disappeared, and it was not until some time afterwards that it became known where he was concealed. From the time of these banishments (the latter part of January) may be dated the commencement of the conspiracy which has just broken out in the shape of a military insurrection.

On the 20th of February, the regiment of Cordova, quartered at Saragossa, rose in revolt, headed by its colonel, Brigadier Hore, an officer of merit, who had served in the royal guards during the civil war. Nearly the whole of the garrison, and several officers of high rank, were pledged to support the movement; but some of the latter played the traitor, others hesitated at the very moment when promptness and decision were most necessary; José Concha, who was then concealed in Spain, and expected to start up at Saragossa to head the revolt, did not appear, but soon afterwards presented himself to the authorities of Bordeaux. In short, the whole thing failed. The Cordova regiment was broken up; changes were made in one or two garrisons; a number of arrests, especially of military men and newspaper editors, were made in Madrid; promotions and decorations were lavished upon certain officers, amongst whom were some who had betrayed to death the friends and confederates they had promised to support; the last of the insurgents were driven across the frontier; the government emerged from the brief struggle with renewed strength, and became daily more unconstitutional, arbitrary, and tyrannical.

Within a short time after the incidents I have thus briefly sketched, it was generally reported that the place where the Moderado opposition (noway discouraged by the disaster in Arragon) intended to make their next attempt, was Madrid itself. The conduct of the government in the mean time had certainly been such as to irritate its enemies, and rouse public indignation. No one was safe from the despotic system introduced. Illegal arrests were of frequent occurrence, made without a shadow of a pretext, and whose victims, conscious of no crime, were left to languish in prison, transported to the colonies, or escorted out of Spain. The opposition journals were daily seized, not only for the articles they published, but for the mere news they gave, as there were many things which ministers did not choose to have communicated to the nation except in the falsified version given by their own journals. The _Clamor Publico_, ably conducted by a staunch and well-known liberal, Don Fernando Corradi; the _Nacion_, also a Progresista paper, whose editor, Rua Figueroa, still contrived to write in it from the concealment to which an order for his arrest had compelled him; the _Diario Español_ and the _Epoca_, representing the Moderado opposition, were the chief objects of ministerial oppression and vindictiveness, and day after day their columns were headed with the announcement, that their first edition had been seized by order of the censor. In spite of this persecution, they steadily persevered, opposing the government as well as they might, but prevented from exposing, otherwise than by inference and in a most guarded manner, the scandalous corruption and jobbing of the ministers and the court. Discontent was general, and daily increased. It was asked when the Cortes were to assemble, for only in their discussions did there seem a chance of such expression of public opinion as might alarm and check the men in power. These, however, had no intention of calling together the legislative chambers. They continued to make laws by decree, and to sanction, for the benefit of their friends and adherents, railways and other national works, for which the approval of the Cortes was to be asked at some future day. But that day has not yet come, nor will it come, so long as the present ministry is in office and the Queen-mother supports them, for she dreads, as much as they do, the exposure of the countless iniquitous speculations at the country’s expense, in which she and her husband have been concerned, with the connivance and aid of the government, who thus repaid her for the countenance that often stood them in good stead against the intrigues of the camarilla headed by the Queen’s favourite. Then there were frequent rumours of an approaching _coup d’état_, on the plan of that of December 1851 in France, or of that, nearly resembling it, which the bravo-Murillo ministry had actually published, but had been unable to carry out. All this time (ever since the outbreak at Saragossa) the whole country was under martial law; no _coup d’état_ could confer upon the government more arbitrary powers than those it already exercised—it could but legalise illegality. The case was vastly different in France and in Spain. In France, after a period of anarchy, succeeded by a conflict of political factions which rendered all government impossible, a man long depreciated, but now generally admitted to be of commanding talent, and, we are justified in believing, of far more patriotic mind than he ever had credit for, cut the knot of the difficulty, at the cost, certainly, of constitutional forms, but, as many now think, for the real benefit of the nation. In Spain, the situation of affairs was quite otherwise. Where was here the vigorous intellect whose judgment, and firmness and foresight were to guide, without assistance and through many perils, the ship of the state. Was it that of the unfortunate, uneducated Queen, who detests business, and passes her life sunk in sloth and sensuality? Was it to be the upstart unscrupulous minister who, by sheer audacity (the most valuable quality for a Spanish politician who seeks but his own aggrandisement), had first crawled and afterwards pushed his way to the head of the royal council-board? Or would the arch-intriguer, Maria Christina, sketch the course her daughter should adopt when converted into an absolute sovereign? No, for her time was too much taken up in adding, at the expense of Spain, to her already incalculable wealth, and in planning marriages for her numerous daughters. In short, to carry into the higher sphere of politics the general and servile imitation of France now observable in Spain, was an idea repugnant to the Spanish nation, and which increased, if possible, the universal discontent that already prevailed—excited by the closing of the chambers, the violence used towards the independent press (which it was evidently intended to crush), the notorious corruption of the administration; the unsatisfactory state of the finances, tending inevitably to some extraordinary exactions from the already over-taxed people; and last, but not least, by the scandalous concessions daily made to the friends and adherents of the ministry, and to those influential persons, the Rianzares, Señor Arana, Mr Salamanca, and others, whose enmity the Sartorius cabinet dared not encounter, and whose support they were compelled to purchase.

It was understood that a military insurrection was contemplated, with O’Donnell at its head. The government affected to make light of the affair, but in reality they were not without uneasiness, for they could not but feel—although they daily had it proclaimed by the hireling _Heraldo_ that they were the saviours of the nation, and the most popular and prosperous of ministries—that they were execrated, and that all classes would rejoice in their downfall. It is difficult to convey to Englishmen—except to those who may be personally acquainted with this singular country and people—a clear idea of the state of political affairs in Madrid during the second quarter of the present year. I must content myself with supplying a few detached facts and details, from which you may, perhaps, form a notion of the whole. For three months conspiracy may be said to have walked the streets of Madrid openly and in broad daylight. Almost every one knew that something was plotting, and a considerable number of persons could have told the names of the chief conspirators, and given some sort of general outline of their plans. O’Donnell, disobeying the orders of the Queen’s government, remained hidden in Madrid, seeing numerous friends, but undiscoverable by the police. He had frequent meetings with his fellow-conspirators; his wife often saw him; for some time, during which he was seriously ill, he was daily visited by one of the first physicians in Madrid; still the government, although most anxious to apprehend him, failed in every attempt to discover his hiding-place, which was known to many. It is rare that the secrets of a conspiracy, when they have been confided to so large a number of persons, have been kept so well and for so long a time as in the present case; but this caution and discretion are easily explicable by the universal hatred felt for the present government and by the strong desire for its fall. The superior police authorities were bitterly blamed by the minister; large sums were placed at their disposal, numerous agents had assigned to them the sole duty of seeking O’Donnell. All was in vain. The government paid these agents well, but O’Donnell, as it afterwards appeared, paid them better. A portion, at least, of the men employed to detect him, watched over his safety. The government, ashamed of its impotence to capture, spread reports that he they sought had left Madrid; and, afterwards, that they knew where he was, but preferred leaving him there and watching his movements to seizing him and sending him out of the country, to prepare, on a foreign soil, revolutionary movements in the provinces of Spain. These ridiculous pretences imposed upon very few. Could the government have apprehended O’Donnell, they might not have dared to shoot him, and might have hesitated permanently to imprison him; but they would not have scrupled to ship him to the Philippines, where he would have done little mischief. The truth was, that they employed every means to discover his hiding-place, and every means proved ineffectual. O’Donnell, I am informed, was concealed in a house that communicated with the one next to it, which had back and front entrances. His friends and the friendly police kept strict watch. Of a night, when he sometimes went out to walk, his safety was cared for by the very men whom the authorities had commissioned to look for him, and who went away with him when he left Madrid to assume the command of the insurgents. A gentleman who, during a certain period, was in the habit of frequently seeing him, was one morning on his way to his place of concealment, and had entered the street in which it was situated, when a police agent, making him a sign, slipped a scrap of paper into his hand. On it were the words “Beware, you are watched.” Taking the hint, the person warned passed the house to which he was going, and entered another, in the same street, where he had friends. From the window he observed a policeman, who had been loitering about as if in the ordinary discharge of his duty, hastily depart. When he had made sure that the coast was clear, he left the house, entered that in which O’Donnell was, saw him, passed into the next house, and departed by the back door. There was soon a cordon of police agents round the house into which he first had gone, but their vigilance was fruitless. I had this anecdote from one of the most intimate friends of the person who visited O’Donnell, and who was named to me at the same time.

During the period of suspense that preceded the insurrection, attempts were made to bring about a union between the Liberal party and the Moderado opposition. The former, although divided into sections which differ on certain points, is unanimous in its desire to see Spain governed constitutionally. Overtures were made to some of its chiefs. It was proposed that it should co-operate in the overthrow of the set of men who had detached themselves from all parties, and were marching on the high road to absolutism. These men, known as the Polacos or Poles—a word which seems to have had its origin in an electioneering joke—were odious alike to Progresistas and Moderados. But there were great difficulties in the way of a sincere and cordial junction between the two principal parties into which Spaniards are divided. The Moderados would gladly have availed themselves of the aid of the Liberals to upset their common enemy; but they would give them no guarantees that they should be, in any way, gainers by the revolution. The Liberals, on the other hand, mistrusted the Moderados, and would not assist men whose aims they believed to be purely personal. When the Moderados asked what guarantees they required, they were quickly ready with an answer. “Arm the national guard of Madrid,” they said; or, “March your troops, as soon as you have induced them to revolt, at once into Arragon, with one of our most influential and determined chiefs.” The Moderados could not be induced to listen to such terms. They found themselves exactly in the position in which the Progresistas were in 1843. Divided amongst themselves, the probabilities were that the insurrection they proposed would turn to the advantage of the Liberals; and the risk of this was doubled if they accepted even the most favourable of the conditions offered to them. They knew that the feeling of a large majority of the nation was in favour of the Progresistas; that Espartero, although for seven years he had led the life of a country gentleman at Logroño, and had steadily resisted all temptations to mingle again in political affairs, was in reality the most popular man in Spain, and that he was idolised by the people of Madrid. Some amongst them (O’Donnell himself, it has been said), whose views were more patriotic and less selfish than those of the majority, were not unwilling to blend with the Progresistas, to whom a few, including Rios Rosas, a distinguished lawyer and senator, frankly proclaimed their adherence, declaring that the parties which for so many years had divided Spain were virtually defunct, and that there were but two parties in the country,—the national one, which desired the welfare of Spain, and to see it governed according to the constitution, and the retrograde or absolutist, which trampled on the rights of the people. But although a few men were found ready to waive personal considerations and to forget old animosities, the great majority of the Moderados were less disinterested, and the decision finally come to was to do without the aid of the Liberals, and to accomplish an insurrection which, although its success was likely to be of some advantage to the country, at least for a time, had for its object a change of men rather than of measures.

One of the most important persons concerned in the conspiracy was the Director of Cavalry, Major-General Domingo Dulce, reputed one of the best and bravest officers in the Spanish army, and who had won his high rank and many honours, not by political intrigue, as is so frequently the case in this country, but at the point of his good sword. He passed for a Progresista, and most of his friends were of that party; but in fact he had never mixed much in politics, and, as a military man, had served under governments of various principles. It is evident, however, that whilst confining himself to the duties of his profession—which is rarely the case with Spanish general officers—he cherished in his heart the love of liberty, and a strong detestation of the tyranny under which Spain has for some time groaned. An intimate friend of his, a well-known and distinguished Liberal, was the immediate means of his joining the conspiracy. It was an immense acquisition to the cause he agreed to assist. Chief of the whole of the Spanish cavalry, respected and beloved by the men and officers under his command, he could bring a large force to the insurgent banner, and his own presence beneath it was of itself of great value, for he is a daring and decided officer. He it was who, by his obstinate resistance in the palace, at the head of a handful of halberdiers, defeated the designs of the conspirators in the year 1841. Dulce is a slightly-made, active, wiry man, rather below the middle height, of bilious temperament, and taciturn mood, extremely reserved, even with his friends, not calculated to cut a great figure in the council, but a man of action, precious in the field. The other principal conspirators were General Messina, a man of education and talent, who had been under-secretary of the war department, and is an intimate friend of Narvaez; Ros de Olano, a general officer of some repute; and Brigadier Echague, colonel of the Principe regiment, a Basque officer who served with high distinction throughout the whole of the civil War.

Several false starts were made before the insurrection really broke out. On the 13th of June, especially, it had been fixed to take place. The garrison of Madrid had been ordered to parade before daybreak for a military promenade and review outside the town. Such parades had been unusually frequent for a short time past; and it was thought the government ordered them, owing to information it received, not sufficiently definite to compromise the conspirators personally, but which yet enabled it to defeat their designs. On that morning, however, all was ready. The Principe regiment, instead of marching directly to the parade ground, lingered, and finally halted at a place where it could easily join the cavalry. O’Donnell left the town, disguised, and stationed himself in a house whence he could observe all that passed. Persons were placed in the vicinity to watch over his safety. The proclamations that had been prepared were got ready for distribution. Late on the eve of the intended outbreak, about four or five hours before it was to occur, its approach was known to several persons who, without being implicated in the plot, sincerely wished it success. There seemed no doubt of the event. But, at the very moment, a portion of the artillery of the garrison, which had pledged itself to take part in the movement, failed to make its appearance at the place of rendezvous. General Dulce considered their absence so important that he abandoned, for that day, his intention of marching off his cavalry, and declaring against the government. The combat of the 30th of June, in the fields of Vicálvaro, showed that he did not overrate the importance of including all arms in the composition of the insurrectionary force. At the time, however, a storm of censure burst over his head. He was taxed with treachery, with a deficiency in moral courage; his best friends looked mistrustfully and coldly upon him; more than one general officer, presuming on seniority of rank and age, took him severely to task. General O’Donnell was not backward in reproaching him. “Never was a white man” (these were the very words of the ex-governor of Cuba) “sold as you have sold me.” Dulce, although deeply sensitive to all this blame, took it meekly, acknowledged that appearances were against him, but declared that he had acted for the best, and steadily affirmed that his future conduct would prove his fidelity to the cause he had espoused. Not all believed him.

Some days passed over, and there was no word of an insurrection. The conspirators were discouraged. Rumour spoke of dissensions among them. It was thought that nothing would occur. It was known to many that Dulce was of the conspiracy, and that, by his fault or will, a good opportunity had been lost; and they said that if he were not playing a double game, the government would certainly have heard of his complicity with O’Donnell, and would at least have removed him from his command. It was fact that, for some time past, anonymous letters had been received by the ministers, warning them that he was plotting against them. But they disbelieved this information, and some of the letters were even shown to Dulce. The Duke of Rianzares, calling one day on a minister, found Dulce there. “What is this that I hear, general?” said Queen Christina’s husband; “is it true that you intend to shoot us all?” The question was awkward, but easily parried. A few days before the insurrection occurred, Dulce went over to Alcala, five leagues from Madrid, under pretence of inspecting the recruits stationed there. Seven squadrons of cavalry were in that town. Doubtless his object was to see if he could still reckon upon their following him whithersoever he chose to lead. I met him in the street after his return; I think it was on the 26th of June. He looked anxious and careworn. His position was certainly critical, and it is not presuming too much to suppose that a severe struggle was going on within him between a long habit of military discipline and duty, and what we must in justice believe to have been, in his opinion, a paramount duty to his oppressed country. For he was at the top of the tree. His position was splendid; his emoluments were large; he had but to persevere in his adherence to the government of the day to attain to the very highest rank in his profession—although that did not afford a more desirable place than the one he already occupied. Under these circumstances, even his enemies must admit—however guilty they may deem him—that he was not actuated by the selfish desire of personal advantage or aggrandisement.