Chapter III

SEIZURE AND CONFINEMENT OF THE SPANISH PRINCES AT VALENÇAY.

While my friend had been thus discoursing of kings and revolutions, we had, after crossing a part of the park, turned in the court-yard, where stood the stables. I knew that the prince cared but little for his stud; I was surprised, therefore, when C. pulled the cord of the huge bell which hung at the entrance. At the sound, the groom, who was standing in the court, evidently knowing for what purpose he was summoned, flung back the wide doors of an outhouse near the gate.

“It is fit,” said C., laughing, “that, as our discourse is all of chance and change, of fallen kings and falling governments, we should now behold the very type of these: although, fallen and faded as it is, it may be regarded as the great lion of Valençay.”

Saying this, he stepped into the building, and I followed, and beheld, not, as I had imagined, some fine high-mettled racer, the gift of this or that sovereign, presented in gratitude for the services of the diplomate, but a sight far more interesting—a sight which carried me back to the days of Philip V. and Cardinal Olivarez.

It was the carriage which had conveyed the Spanish princes across the frontier to Valençay, in 1808, and which they had left behind them under peculiar circumstances. The vehicle is of most antique and extraordinary construction. It must, indeed, be coeval with the Spanish monarchy; a huge, uncouth piece of Spanish workmanship, like nothing on earth but our Lord Mayor’s state barge, or the car of Juggernaut. The panels are emblazoned in gold and silver, with the arms of all the royalties of Spain, and all the quarterings thereof besides. When new, and on a sunny day, these panels must have blinded the beholder. The roof is adorned in the quaint old style, with massive cornices and rich carvings. The hangings within and without were of crimson silk damask, and even the very wheels, although rude and ponderous, were curiously wrought and richly gilt.

The circumstances of the huge machine having remained at Valençay are curious and amusing. When the morning arrived which was to send Ferdinand and his brother forth from their place of exile, to resume the crown and royalty in their own land, the huge carriage which had brought them to Valençay was drawn from its _remise_, and laden with the moveables which had been collected during their long captivity. There are a few persons living now at the château, who well remember the morning of the departure, and they will tell you all the ludicrous circumstances connected therewith, some of which would form valuable acquisitions to collectors of “whims and oddities.”

“The day was fine: not a cloud obscured the horizon; all nature was gay and smiling. The old coach, roused from its long repose, and furbished up with new hangings and velvet cushions, had been dragged round to the _perron_ to be loaded. This task being accomplished, the princes and their suite had squeezed themselves into the interior; the little pages stood upon the steps, and hung by the door, after a fashion which may still be seen in ancient prints; and, as for the valets and footmen, they clustered on behind, pell-mell, clinging to each other as best they could. Some say this ponderous machine contained at that moment no fewer than seventeen persons. In Spain, it had always been set in motion by eight stout mules, but upon this occasion six brisk and capering post-horses were attached to it, with good stout ropes, too, for it was evident that it would require a strong pull to get it under weigh.

“The beautiful princess, the fair hostess, with her whole court, was standing on the _perron_, in picturesque and wailing grief. There were clouds on many a youthful brow, and the tears fell like rain from many a bright eye, for the princes had been beloved during their long and weary captivity, and in return they had felt a depth of gratitude towards the soft beguilers of their weary hours. Some there are who say that time hung not so heavy on their hands, as it might have done had they remained amid the dull and heavy splendours of the Escurial. It is certain that, upon this occasion, when they should have been joyous, they displayed faces of such weeping melancholy at either window of the vehicle, that you would have thought them going forth into exile still more dreary, instead of being about to resume their glorious birthright. They sobbed forth faint farewells, which were echoed back by the weeping beauties on the _perron_, until the uncle, old Don Antonio, in this case more impatient than his youthful nephews, urged the postillions to their greatest speed, with promise of princely reward.

“At length the cry of ‘_En route!_’ burst from the guide; whips were cracked with energy tremendous, and handkerchiefs waved in graceful agitation. A louder sob burst from the ladies on the _perron_—a cry of absolute despair echoed from the carriage—the horses pulled—the postillions shouted—they even let fly sundry choice oaths which are ever ready at hand—the old coach groaned and creaked—that was all—the spurs were dug into the flinching sides of the poor animals—the old coach swayed to and fro, and swung with a rumbling sound—but it moved not! In vain did both man and beast toil and pull at the cords—they all broke one after another, and not an inch of ground was gained.

“I have heard it said that no scene of the broadest farce could surpass in ludicrous effect that which took place, when it was discovered that it would be impossible, by any human means, to drag the machine even so far as the gate of the courtyard. The royal party were compelled to alight forthwith. All the baggage had to be unpacked, and they left Valençay in a much more humble conveyance,—a good, modern travelling carriage, belonging to the prince. I have often wondered if Don Carlos, when fighting in his Biscayan mountains, ever remembered that moment, and if so, whether with a smile or with a sigh.”

I looked at the carriage with great interest, for there it still remains, just as it was rolled back to its old station under the _remise_. Through all the changes of the country from which it had rumbled over the frontier, laden with its royal freight, has it stood silently falling to decay—the gay emblazoned panels blistering and fading in the damp, and the splendid hangings all moth-eaten and falling to tatters—a curious memento, and one which even in our own day may find its way to some museum. It certainly would not disgrace any collection of “_pièces curieuses_,” however rare and valuable.

C. told me that, “not being at Valençay at the period of the arrival of the Spanish princes, he could not bear witness to the effect which the sudden seizure of their persons, the breach of faith of Napoleon, and the strict captivity in which they were held, had produced in the country. He had, however, seen much of them during the time of their stay, and gave me some curious anecdotes concerning them. Ferdinand, and his brother Don Carlos, were both young, almost mere lads, at the time, and, at first, as it may well be supposed, they were overcome by grief and rage at being thus torn from their country by fraud and violence; but, after some little while, they grew reconciled to their fate, and even, with true youthful volatility, preferred it to the awful state and grandeur of the Spanish court, which, in these days, still maintains the same absurd etiquette that had for ages rendered it the terror of foreign ambassadors, and gained for it the nickname of the “grave of the gay.”

“It is an error to suppose that the smiles and fascinations of the Princess de Benevent herself had any share in this sudden change of sentiment, for she was already past the age to captivate the fancy of her youthful guests; but there were some among her fair maids of honour for whom the young princes would gladly have sworn never to return to Spain, not even to rule over it in splendour.

“They were a curious collection assembled at Valençay. First and foremost came the two princes, Don Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, and Don Carlos, his younger brother. Of these, more anon. Then came old Don Antonio, brother to the reigning King of Spain, and uncle of the two boys, guardian likewise of their welfare and their morals. The latter was a true Spaniard of the _vieille roche_; such a character as may be found in the old Spanish novels; ignorant and haughty as the hidalgo of Columbus’s day, yet _bonhomme_ withal, credulous and unsuspicious as a child.

“At the same time with the Spanish princes and their suite, arrived at the château the commandant Henri, delegate and spy of the police, commissioned to keep close watch over the youthful heroes, and not to suffer them to leave his sight either night or day. I really think that the presence of this man was the only source of uneasiness or annoyance that the royal personages experienced during their stay. He was a hard and vulgar individual, whose life had been passed amid scenes of strife and treason, and he fulfilled the duties allotted to him with a pertinacity and minuteness which embittered the lives of those entrusted to his charge. Of course, from his position about the persons of the princes, he became at once the object of their hatred and contempt, and if in wantonness of power he often inflicted useless vexation, they in the wantonness of youth managed to revenge themselves with great ingenuity. Some of the scenes to which this state of things gave rise were most amusing. One of the greatest delights enjoyed by Don Ferdinand was, at the hour of prayer, night and morning, to compel the attendance of the commander, to whom, from his republican and anti-religious principles, the idea of bending to a Supreme Being was odious, and who would growl forth his republican oaths in cadence with the chant of the officiating priest. He had been wounded, too, in his youth, and in his age was stiff-jointed besides, so that to kneel was absolute agony.

“Don Ferdinand would provide amusement for the whole company, by assisting him with mock condescension to drop upon his knees, and would convulse them with laughter at the sly shoves and friendly pinches which this operation would give him the opportunity of bestowing. In vain the commander would seek to excuse himself from attending at this precise hour. No excuse would be taken; his royal charges would rather wait any length of time than dispense with his company. The annoyance grew so great for the poor commander, that all his days were embittered by the torture of that single hour, and the poor tormented princes were amply revenged by this gentle and gentlemanlike chastisement.

“Don Antonio, the dear good old soul, was at first much admired and venerated by every one around him, for the assiduity with which he visited the library of the château. Many and long, indeed, were the hours he spent there, much to the edification of those who, beholding the utter ignorance in which the princes had been brought up, began to hope that so much study and meditation on the part of the tutor would in good time turn to profit and improvement for his pupils. But alas! soon were the fond believers undeceived. The good old man suddenly ceased his visits to the library, and, on being questioned by the Princess de Benevent as to this sudden alteration in his mode of passing his time, he replied, with composure, “Thank God, my work is over, and I can smoke my cigaretto in the shade beneath the piazza, without the fear that the morals of my pupils may be corrupted by those naughty books.”

“‘Nay,’ replied the princess, ‘if your Excellency had but pointed out which were those you thought objectionable, I would have had them removed; my servants should have done it long ago, and saved you all this trouble.’

“‘Oh, do not mention trouble,’ replied the Don, with calm politeness; ‘besides, removing the books would have spoilt your library. It was only the vile Latin authors whom I dreaded; but fortunately, neither Don Ferdinand nor his brother can read them, and the engravings were soon removed by my care and trouble. I promise you, madame, not one remains, in all those books the Prince de Benevent pointed out to me as being those most studied by the youth of this country.’

“Judge of the dismay of the princess on hearing these words. Instant search was made among the volumes of which he spoke, some of the most rare and valuable editions in the whole collection. It was too true. The pious Don, in terror for the morals of his pupils, had taken the pains to tear out the beautiful engravings, which in many cases formed the chief value of the books. Every one the least objectionable was gone. The beautiful Ovid, the magnificent Strasburg Bible, and many others of equal value, were stripped, and may be seen to this day, as positive proofs of the _ignorance crasse_ in which the royal family of Spain were at that time reared.

“The ignorance of Don Ferdinand would have been remarkable even in a convent of Spanish friars. He _could_ read, indeed, but made it his boast that he never did so, having a ‘valet in his service who understood all the mysteries of science.’ This was _verbatim_ his own expression. He was of quiet and taciturn habits, however, and loved to spend his time in cutting out with scissors divers little devices, with which he enclosed the _bon-bons_ he loved to present to the ladies of the princess’s court. He was fond, too, of searching in books; but it was soon discovered that Don Antonio’s alarm was but too well founded; the royal youth loved books for the sake of the ‘pretty pictures’ they contained, and nothing more.

“The younger brother, Don Carlos, was far less gentle in his manner, and less favoured in person. His great passion was the chase, in which the commander loved to indulge him, as he himself partook of the same taste.

“But if,” said my friend, “you would like to know more of their deeds and doings, I will give you a sketch of all the circumstances which took place, from the time of their _enlèvement_ at Bayonne, to their return to Madrid. It was given me by a gentleman of their suite. It may amuse you, and you may read it at your leisure.”

Just at the moment my friend uttered this promise, the breakfast-bell sounded a joyous peal across the park, and we hastened to obey its summons. C. being engaged during the morning, gave me the paper he had promised, to amuse my _ennui_, and, in the hope that its contents may afford to others the same delight they occasioned me, I shall give them to the reader.

* * * * *

The little manuscript which my friend placed in my hand, had been found in the château after the departure of the young princes of Spain from Valençay. It was written in a fair hand, and bore the following title:

“_The Secret History of the Intrigues, which ended in the Seizure
and Imprisonment of Ferdinand VII. and his Brothers at Valençay._”

The _cahier_ was found in the library, and as there was but ONE person of the whole suite who ever went thither, it is well known by whom it was written, a gentleman of truth and honour, at the very moment I am now writing this, holding a high situation about the person of the Queen of Spain, Isabella. The manuscript began as follows:

“In the month of March, 1807, the Prince of Asturias, who was
in active and secret correspondence with Don Juan d’Escoïquiz,
Archdeacon and Canon of Toledo, his former preceptor, sent to him
at Toledo, where he then resided, a person in his confidence,
named Jose Marrique. The prince forwarded by this person a letter
to be delivered into M. d’Escoïquiz’s own hand, wherein he spoke
of his suspicions concerning the ambitious views of the Prince of
the Peace, who, in consequence of obtaining daily, either from the
king or queen, some new dignity or favour, became, more and more
powerful, particularly in possessing, as he did, the command of
the army, the navy, and the militia. Already the rumour had arisen
that Charles IV., whose health was declining fast, had appointed
him Regent of the Kingdom. Once regent, the death of the king would
open a new career to his ambition. The character of the Prince of
the Peace, and his proximity to the throne, tended to excite alarm
in the friends of the royal family.

“M. d’Escoïquiz, in dismay at the contents of the prince’s letter,
flattered himself that it would be easy to undeceive the king
and queen with regard to the real character of the Prince of the
Peace. He immediately penned a letter, which was to be delivered
by the Prince of Asturias into the hands of the queen, in which
he displayed, with great eloquence, all the danger in which the
royal family stood, by the blind confidence the king reposed in
the Prince of the Peace. This letter, full of reason and of truth,
so much alarmed the Prince of Asturias, that he could never find
courage to present it to his mother, and he merely copied it in his
own hand. Somewhat ashamed of his own want of resolution, he wrote
to M. d’Escoïquiz, that he judged it impossible ever to enlighten
the queen, and that he thought it would be easier to persuade the
king to reason, if he could get an opportunity of speaking with him
_tête-à-tête_.

“The worthy Canon of Toledo immediately set about inditing another
letter, which he endeavoured to adapt to the weak understanding
of the king, and sent it to the prince, who waited in vain for an
opportunity of giving it in private to his father. This document
was copied, like the former one, by the prince himself, and
likewise locked up in his desk, where they were both found on the
seizure of his papers some time afterwards.

“The Prince of the Peace, who suspected that the reserve and
taciturn habits of the Prince of Asturias served to conceal hostile
intentions towards himself, sought every means of undermining the
fidelity of the young prince’s household, and made a proposition
through the queen to many him to Donna Maria Theresa, his
sister-in-law, second daughter of the Infant Don Luiz. This
princess was remarkable for her great beauty and ambition, and had
already exhibited an inclination for gallantry. The prince, who
knew but little of her beyond her personal attractions, had already
given his consent to this union, when suddenly, the ambition of the
Prince of the Peace had become more insatiable than ever, and the
marriage was broken off.

“M. d’Escoïquiz, on perceiving that every means of gaining access
to the king and queen had failed, and that the marriage with
Donna Maria had failed also, began to imagine that the only hope
of support for the Prince of Asturias would lie in his marriage
with a princess of the family of Bonaparte. M. d’Escoïquiz grew,
in fact, quite enraptured with the scheme, which he himself had
planned, and, wishing to preside over its execution, he left his
quiet retreat at Toledo, and came to reside at Madrid. There he
became acquainted with Count Orquez, a gentleman much attached
to the Prince of Asturias, and communicated to him his alarms
and his future plans. In one of their secret conversations, M.
de Orquez informed him that Don Diego Godoï, the father of the
Prince of the Peace, was distributing money among the garrison of
Madrid, and had thus corrupted a great number of the officers. A
colonel of dragoons, Don Joaquin Jauregui, gave them intelligence
of all that transpired, and informed them that to every officer
of distinction, Godoï had said, ‘You see the miserable state into
which the kingdom has fallen—the Bourbon dynasty is degenerated—the
king cannot live much longer—the prince is a weak, capricious fool.
Some change is necessary—we reckon on your aid.’ Throughout the
whole of Madrid, the secret agents of Godoï were at work night and
day. The Abbé Stata, librarian of St. Isidore, had been imprudent
enough to spread inflammatory writings, the object of which was to
prove to the Spanish nation, that in the existing crisis, the only
hope of salvation lay in an entire confidence in the judgment and
experience of the Prince of the Peace.

“In this state of affairs, M. d’Escoïquiz was aware that not a
moment was to be lost, and that all true friends of the throne
must at once league together for its defence. His first step was
to obtain from the Prince of Asturias a kind of letter of credit,
which authorized him to speak confidentially with the Duke del’
Infantado, a young man of exalted birth, of great integrity, and
chivalrous courage, holding a high place in public esteem. Armed
with this letter, written in the prince’s own hand, he appointed
a meeting with the duke, and together they swore fidelity to the
throne, vowing respect even to the absurd blindness of the king,
and merely concerting the measures to be taken in the house, when
the king, whose health was declining daily, should breathe his
last, at which moment it would be the easiest thing in the world
for the Prince of the Peace to conceal the death of the sovereign
as long as it should please him so to do. The hatred and suspicion
which he had so craftily engendered in the bosom of the queen
against her son, had compelled her to fill the palace with troops,
all devoted to herself and to Godoï. It was his design when, by
the rules of etiquette established at the Spanish court, the exact
moment arrived for the heir to the throne to appear at the bedside
of the dying king, to have the young prince arrested, and to make
him sign by force the necessary decree, which would place the whole
power in the hands of the favourite. The Duke del’ Infantado and
M. d’Escoïquiz judged then, that the only means to guard against
this outrage, would be to provide themselves with a decree, signed
and sealed by the new king, by which the whole power, civil and
military, would be placed in the hands of the Duke del’ Infantado,
placing also beneath his command the Prince of the Peace himself.

“Empowered by this decree, the Duke del’ Infantado, on the first
signification of the approaching death of the king, was to declare
his power, take possession of all the military forces, and to
appear in the city and in the royal palaces, habited in the costume
of Generalissimo of the Kingdom, with full intentions to arrest
immediately the Prince of the Peace, if the conduct of the latter
gave any cause for umbrage. M. d’Escoïquiz drew up this decree, and
had it conveyed to the prince, with the necessary instructions,
begging him to copy it with his own hand, and to fix his own
seal upon the paper. The prince complied with the whole of those
directions, and the letter was placed at once in the hands of the
Duke del’ Infantado, who was to preserve it carefully until the
moment arrived when it would be required. The act was complete,
signed according to Spanish usage, ‘_Yo el Re_,’ and a vacant space
left for the date, which was to be filled up by the Duke del’
Infantado at the moment of the King’s death.

“About the middle of the month of June, M. d’Escoïquiz received
another letter from the Prince of Asturias; in it was announced
that, through the medium of Don Juan Emanuel de Villena, his first
equerry, he had received an important billet, signed by Don Pedro
Giraldo, tutor to the Infant Don Francisco, and that this billet
was written by an individual belonging to the French Legation.
It contained the announcement of a most important and secret
communication, which it was the wish of the French ambassador,
M. de Beauharnais, to make to the prince. M. d’Escoïquiz, whom
the latter had consulted with regard to the line of conduct which
he ought to adopt, was of opinion that the prince’s reply should
be peremptory—that ‘he meddled not with public affairs, nor held
interviews with public men.’ Meanwhile, he undertook to discover if
the message really came from the French ambassador, or was merely
a trap laid by Godoï to condemn the young prince. This tried and
valued friend, never at a loss, had soon invented a pretext to
call upon the ambassador, to whom he was unknown. He requested
permission to present to M. l’Ambassadeur the first volume of an
epic poem, to be entitled ‘The Conquest of Mexico.’

“The ambassador, without appearing surprised at the sudden literary
reputation usurped by M. d’Escoïquiz, answered with courtesy that
he would receive with pleasure the book and its author. After a
few observations relating to ‘the Conquest of Mexico,’ some few
remarks on the state of affairs bringing each of them nearer to the
object they both had in view, M. d’Escoïquiz frankly questioned the
ambassador on the subject of the billet which had been delivered to
the Prince of Asturias, and begged him, as a point of honour, to
tell him the truth concerning it.

“The ambassador feigned a certain embarrassment, denied being
the author of the billet, yet wished it to be understood that in
reality he was; said that a message from an ambassador to the
heir-apparent would scarcely have been admissible, but declared
he felt much esteem for his royal highness, and that he would
be greatly pleased by the permission to pay his court, _en
particulier_, to the young prince. By all this specious reasoning
M. d’Escoïquiz judged of the truth, and at once told him, without
further disguise, that the prince firmly believed that the message
came from him.

“‘Then why have you not brought me a _written_ message in return?’
said M. de Beauharnais, involuntarily betraying himself; whereupon
M. d’Escoïquiz, laughing, replied, ‘That _written messages could
be denied_, therefore a preconcerted signal would, in his opinion,
be more efficacious;’ and, before the conclusion of the interview,
it was agreed that, as the court was in a few days to return to
Madrid, the ambassador would present himself, as usual, at the
head of the _corps diplomatique_ at the reception of his royal
highness, and that the prince would ask him ‘_if he had ever been
at Naples?_’ and that, on turning as he would leave him, to pass to
another ambassador, he would take his handkerchief from his pocket
and wave it as he passed.

“On the 1st of July, the ambassadors were received by his royal
highness, who supported M. d’Escoïquiz by giving the preconcerted
signal. Two days after this, M. d’Escoïquiz had another interview
with M. de Beauharnais, who bade him rely on the sentiments of
affection which Napoleon had ever felt towards the Prince of
Asturias, and his readiness to maintain his cause against the
Prince of the Peace. It was then that M. d’Escoïquiz thought it
proper to bring forward the question concerning the marriage, and
even went so far as to leave to Napoleon the choice of the princess
of his own family whom he would prefer to place upon the throne
of Spain. The utmost secrecy was sworn to on both sides, M. de
Beauharnais promising to write immediately to Paris, in order that
proper measures might be taken with regard to the king, so as to
prevent any imputation of intrigue being laid to the charge of his
son.

“In consequence of the surveillance which was exercised by Godoï
over every movement of the French ambassador, it was agreed that
M. de Beauharnais and M. d’Escoïquiz were to meet for the first
interview in a secluded spot of the gardens of the Retiro. It
was about twenty days afterwards that M. d’Escoïquiz received an
intimation that he would be expected during the hour of siesta,
when they would have little fear of surprise, at the place which
had been appointed. Here M. d’Escoïquiz learnt, with the greatest
astonishment, that the answer which the ambassador had received
from Napoleon was perfectly puerile and insignificant, never even
alluding to the marriage; and M. de Beauharnais, attributing this
silence to the absence of any _written_ communication on the part
of the young prince, advised M. d’Escoïquiz to persuade him to
write directly to Napoleon. (Was this a snare?) It is certain that
M. de Beauharnais _must_ have received some positive instructions,
which he did not choose to reveal until the prince had further
committed himself, and he suffered M. d’Escoïquiz to return to
Toledo in disgust.

“It was on the 30th September, 1807, that M. d’Escoïquiz received
a letter from the ambassador, in which were quoted, as an extract
from a private communication of Napoleon’s, the following words,
each underlined: ‘_I beg not, neither do I sell—I act not without
security. Have you received any official communication touching
this affair?_’ The forms of political quackery employed in this
letter induced M. d’Escoïquiz once more to return to Madrid;
again did he meet the ambassador at the Retiro; again did M. de
Beauharnais endeavour to persuade M. d’Escoïquiz to prevail upon
the prince to write directly to Napoleon; and the good canon,
having the welfare of the prince at heart, yielded at last, and
promised that such a letter should be written.

“Now, the Prince of the Peace was all this time perfectly aware of
everything that was passing in the house of the ambassador, through
the medium of the spies with whom the latter was surrounded, and
he caused the king immediately to write, himself, to Napoleon,
which epistle was instantly despatched to the Spanish ambassador
in Paris, the Prince de Masserano, with orders to convey it, the
very moment of its arrival, to the emperor, in whatever place
he might chance to be. It was natural enough that, with the
dilatory character of the Prince of Asturias, his father’s letter
should arrive long before his own. It reached the emperor at
Fontainebleau, and excited much astonishment and indignation. It
was full of bitter reproach against Napoleon for having encouraged
a secret correspondence with the young heir to the Spanish throne,
telling him beforehand of the despatch he was about to receive from
the prince, _and of all that the letter would contain_.

“That letter was full of protestations of devotion to Napoleon, and
of admiration of his brilliant qualities, of the before-mentioned
proposal of marriage, and of supplications to the emperor to aid in
rescuing the country from the hands of the Prince of the Peace. It
was upon the strength of this letter that the Prince of the Peace,
gained over by Napoleon, persuaded the old king to allow of the
entry of French troops, ostensibly to compel Portugal to separate
her cause from that of England—it being understood that it was
merely as a passage to that country that these troops were allowed
to cross the line.

“On the 27th of October, at ten o’clock at night, the Prince of
Asturias was arrested in the Palace of the Escurial, under the
accusation of having conspired to rob his father of the throne, and
of having sought to assassinate him. The act of arrest went on to
say, that these particulars had come to the knowledge of the king
_through an unknown channel_, and that he would be tried for the
crime of high treason. M. d’Escoïquiz and the Duke del’ Infantado
were arraigned as accomplices. They were confined in the dungeons
of the Escurial, deprived of all communication with each other, or
with the world without, and two sentinels were stationed at the
door of each cell.

“During the process of the prince, the number of French troops
had increased to more than double. It was observed that they had
taken up positions entirely contrary to the direction they had
professed to follow, and that they were each day drawing nearer to
Madrid, and the people, in every country more clear-sighted than
its rulers, began to feel alarm at the intrusion. It was necessary
to give some diplomatic explanations concerning these singular
marches, but these were so ill received, that the Prince of the
Peace was compelled to order back the Spanish regiments already on
their road to Portugal. The ambassador feigned total ignorance,
and, after the lapse of a few days, received instructions to say
that, by commanding the retrograde movement, the Prince of the
Peace must be prepared to allow of an increase of French forces.
In the fear of a counter-order, these latter troops, by forced
marches, soon took possession of the whole frontier of Catalonia,
Navarre, and Guipuscoa. The court wishing to appear free from
anxiety, negotiations went on as usual between the two governments.
Meanwhile, the country was invaded, and the Prince of the Peace
began to lose somewhat of his overweening confidence in the
disinterested friendship of Napoleon, but, like all weak-minded
persons, thought that everything would be saved by gaining time. He
accordingly proposed a journey into Andalusia on the 13th of March,
and that very same night he gave orders for departure; but it was
impossible to keep the preparations so secret as to escape the
observation of some of the hangers-on who always throng about royal
palaces. The orders all along the road for relays of horses, the
departure of the luggage, the sudden disappearance of Madame Yudo,
with her children, all these circumstances united, had produced an
uneasiness among the people, and roused the feeling of hatred and
indignation towards the Prince of the Peace, which had slumbered,
but had never been extinguished, and it was declared that he was
counselling the king to desert Madrid.

“In these popular movements, it needs but a spark to light the
brand, and in less time than could be conceived possible, a crowd
had assembled before Godoï’s residence, with loud and furious cries
demanding justice on the oppressor of the people. Godoï escaped,
thanks to his foresight in preparing for a day of reckoning. He
had planned and accomplished a secret retreat beneath the roof of
his palace, where he remained concealed while the work of pillage
and devastation was going on around him. It was not till the 19th,
that he was discovered by a sentinel, who could not be bribed to
facilitate his flight. He was secured, and conveyed through the
streets in a piteous plight.

“The king, justly deeming that the Prince of Asturias would have
greater influence with the crowd than himself, was reduced to
implore his son to intercede in favour of the unfortunate minister.
This the prince, with true Christian feeling, in spite of all cause
of grievance which he himself had to complain of, immediately
consented to do; and, suddenly appearing on the balcony of the
palace, he promised the assembled multitude that, if they would
disperse, the Prince of the Peace should be tried and judged
according to the law. This address had the desired effect; the
crowd retired, and Godoï was taken prisoner to the barracks of the
_gardes du corps_, where, by one of those strange coincidences by
which it would appear as if Providence sought to remind ambitious
men of a day of retribution, he was locked up in the very chamber
which he had occupied when a simple private soldier in that
identical corps.

“It was after this event that the Prince of Asturias was received
into favour, and with him, the friends who had been so devoted to
his cause. M. d’Escoïquiz was appointed to superintend all the
negotiations with the French ambassador, as it was thought in
council that M. de Beauharnais, after what had taken place, would
find himself more at ease with M. d’Escoïquiz than with any other
of its members.”

It was immediately after these events that Charles IV., by his own
spontaneous act, abdicated the throne in favour of his son, who
took his father’s place as Ferdinand VII. All the circumstances
which followed are fully detailed in the work of M. de Pradt, and
need not be repeated here. The details of the manuscript tally
in every respect with those given by that author, and I shall
therefore content myself with giving to the reader the gossiping
portion of the narrative; the hitherto _unpublished_ history of
one of the most striking and audacious _coups-de-main_ of modern
history.

“From this hour was that _coup-de-main_ evidently planned and
meditated, and one scarcely knows which to admire most—the fond
and simple security of the Spaniards, or the boldness and contempt
of all social respect which characterized the proceedings of
the French. The ambassador announced at length the arrival of
the Emperor Napoleon at Bordeaux, and was pleased to renew the
protestations of friendship on the part of his master, with which
he had already beguiled the faith and credulity of the poor young
Prince of Asturias. It was not, however, until the 8th of April
that King Ferdinand decided on despatching his young brother, Don
Carlos, to meet the emperor, with instructions to proceed even to
Paris, should he fail to meet him on the road. Don Carlos was the
bearer of a letter from Ferdinand to Napoleon, in which, after
speaking of the strict alliance which it was the interest of
both countries to maintain, and having again urged the subject of
his marriage with one of the emperor’s nieces, he announced his
intention of going forward to meet his imperial majesty, as soon as
he should have approached the frontiers of Spain.

“Don Carlos took his departure on the 9th of April. The news of
the departure of the emperor from Paris, reached Madrid on the
11th. Ferdinand, meanwhile, worn out with the persecutions of the
Grand-duke of Berg and General Savary, quitted Madrid, for Burgos,
on the 14th. His council advised him to this measure; perceiving
that he had not the means either of attack or defence, it was
thought to be the wisest plan to throw himself into the arms of
Napoleon.

“It was now observed that not a single negotiation had taken place
with the new king, and that he had not been formally acknowledged
by Napoleon, who had never taken the trouble to answer any of his
letters, and now, too late, it was beginning to be feared that
the frequent conferences which had taken place between Charles
IV., the queen, and the Grand-duke of Berg, through the medium of
the Queen of Etruria, had for their only aim the replacing of
Charles upon the throne, by causing him to protest against the
act of abdication. This secret intrigue, of which M. de Monthion,
adjutant-general, had been the messenger, and the Queen of Etruria
the instrument, produced the act of the 21st of April, in which
Charles IV. speaks thus:

“‘I protest and declare that my decree of the 19th of March, by
which I abdicated the throne in favour of my son, was extorted from
me by force, and the desire of preventing great disorder in my
kingdom, and the effusion of the blood of my well-beloved people,
and ought therefore to be regarded as an act null and void.

“‘YO EL REY.’

“The natural consequence of this protest was of course the application to Napoleon for help against his son, thus pronounced a rebel and usurper. Ferdinand had authorized a junta, under the presidency of his uncle Don Antonio, to take charge of the government during his absence. He had with him a single squadron of the _gardes du corps_; and two companies of foot had orders to await him at Burgos. He was three days upon the road, and found every post occupied by French troops, among which he could not discern a single Spanish soldier. At Burgos, he found Marshal Bessières, in command of 10,000 men. The marshal courteously offered the use of the relays which had been provided for Napoleon, for the conveyance of Ferdinand to Vittoria, which offer was accepted. Here the unfortunate prince found a corps composed of two hundred dragoons, and a _compagnie d’élite_ of fifty gendarmes, commanded by Colonel Fleury.

“The prince remained three days at Vittoria, and lodged at the Hotel de Ville. Savary grew impatient at this long delay; his orders were to bring the prince on to Bayonne, _nolens volens_. Every measure had been taken to carry him off on the 19th, if he had not listened to the last endeavour at persuasion on the 18th. But the king removed every difficulty, by announcing his intention of once more setting forward on his journey. At nine o’clock on the morning of the 19th, at the moment of his getting into the carriage, a popular instinct had drawn together a vast concourse of people at the door of the Hôtel de Ville; a universal cry of execration arose from the multitude as the young prince mounted the vehicle; the traces were cut, and the mules unharnessed. Ferdinand was compelled to harangue the populace, and succeeded in quieting them by assurances of his perfect safety; the furious cries which had been heard gave place to tears, and, soon afterwards, he was allowed to depart; but in consequence of the delay, did not arrive at Irun until eleven o’clock at night.

“Here the king and his brother were lodged at the house of M. d’Alozabal, outside the town, and they were guarded by a Spanish regiment. General Savary did not arrive at Irun until the 20th, at seven in the morning, owing to an accident which occurred to his carriage. Thus the king and his council were left for eight hours alone, without their French escort, guarded by Spanish troops, in the house of a Spaniard, situated on the sea-shore, where a number of boats were lying attached to stakes planted at the bottom of the garden. General Savary, immediately on his arrival, rushed like a terrified culprit to the house where the king had alighted. Oh, joy!—he found him still sleeping quietly in his bed.

“At eight o’clock, the _cortège_ set out for Bayonne, and in that place was accomplished one of the most extraordinary events which, perhaps, has ever taken place in the history of nations. At the moment when the king passed over the frontier, the carriage was surrounded by detachments of the imperial guard. Their numbers appeared rather extraordinary for a mere guard of honour. This reflection, vague enough on its first adoption, changed to a sinister foreboding, when, on passing beneath the triumphal arch which had been thrown across the road, they beheld the following words inscribed amidst the boughs of laurel with which it was decorated:—‘He who can make and destroy Kings at pleasure is himself more than a King.’

“Now were the princes of Spain beyond the jurisdiction of their own country, and in the power of Napoleon. Between Vivau and Bayonne, Ferdinand found the Infant Don Paulo, who, with three Spanish noblemen, had come to greet his unhappy brother. The king requested them to join him in his carriage, and then he learned, with the greatest surprise, that Napoleon himself had declared to them on the day before, at _ten in the morning_, that they might never expect to return to Madrid, and that one of his own brothers was about to occupy the throne of Spain. I have marked the hour at which this declaration had taken place, because it must have taken eighteen hours to get the news conveyed to Irun, and at Irun, as we have seen, there had been ample time and opportunity for the escape of the princes.

“Nothing was left but resignation to their fate; the carriage was drawing near to Bayonne; at half-past twelve o’clock, the princes arrived in the good old city, and, a few moments afterwards, the king received a visit from Napoleon in person. In this interview, doubtless by design, the conversation was insignificant, excepting that it was observed that, in the style of Napoleon’s address to the king, there existed an affectation of addressing him in the third person, using the pronoun _elle_, which might be applicable in the French language either to majesty or royalty.

“Ferdinand hastened to pay his respects to Napoleon, in grateful homage for this first visit, and the emperor invited him to dine at the Château de Maroc. The Dukes de San Carlos, de Medina Cœli, and del’ Infantado, were also invited. The Prince de Neufchâtel was the only Frenchman present at this dinner.

“On the next day, Napoleon granted a private audience to M. d’Escoïquiz, and bade him comprehend that he was determined to alter the dynasty which had sat upon the throne of Spain; forgetting that he had a thousand times declared that his own existence was incompatible with the fact of any sovereign of the house of Bourbon being allowed to remain on any of the thrones of Europe. He alleged in excuse of his proceedings the proclamation of the Spanish government at the period of the battle of Jena, which proclamation, he said, had been regarded in France as a measure of war. He then added, in a loud, fierce voice, that it would be useless to seek to alter his determination, for that nothing on earth could make him change. He paused after the utterance of these terrible words, and then spoke, in a softened voice, of the misfortunes into which the young princes had fallen, and regretted for their sakes that he was compelled to take such harsh measures, wishing them to be assured that nothing but the necessity of perfecting his system could have induced him to behave thus hardly towards them. He even went so far as to offer to the young king, upon condition that he would renounce all pretensions to the Crown of Spain, the kingdom of Etruria, with one year’s revenue, to be spent in forming a household, one of his nieces in marriage, and, in case he himself died without heirs, a right to share his property with his younger brothers.

“M. d’Escoïquiz, who was a brave and clever man, answered to all this disloyal cant as became a Spaniard and a gentleman, without acrimony and without passion, stating that it was not in the power of the emperor to compensate the king for the loss of the crown of which he was depriving him, and appealing at great length to every feeling of honour and humanity in the emperor’s bosom. Napoleon listened to all without betraying the slightest mark of impatience, but merely replied that he had been for a long time engaged in examining the question on every side; that his present determination was dictated by the _system_ which he had in view, and which, although against the feelings of his heart, he must continue to persevere in. The canon then retired. The result of his visit was submitted to the other friends of Ferdinand. M. de Cevallos was _alone_ of opinion that every proposition of Napoleon should be refused, and that all communication between the two sovereigns should be suspended; and he exacted, seeing the great responsibility which the council was incurring with the Spanish nation, that each member should certify his opinion in writing.

“Is it not strange that the courage of these men should have been roused just at the moment when they had need of nought but resignation? But so it was: their Spanish pride had taken umbrage at last, and the Duke del’ Infantado was commissioned to announce to Napoleon the prince’s intention of naming a plenipotentiary to negotiate in writing every subject which it might be the emperor’s pleasure to have discussed. The proceeding of Napoleon on this occasion was highly characteristic of the man. He sent for M. d’Escoïquiz, and told him, in blunt and coarse language, that, if before eleven o’clock that night the councillors did not bring the formal renunciation of Ferdinand to the throne of Spain, and the formal demand of that of Etruria, he would treat with Charles IV., who was to arrive on the morrow. M. de Cevallos implored the young king not to accede to any proposition of Napoleon; but, the day after, M. d’Escoïquiz ventured to speak again concerning Tuscany, when Napoleon answered abruptly, ‘Par Dieu, mon cher, il n’est plus temps!’

“On the 30th, at four in the afternoon, Charles IV. and the queen, arrived at Bayonne. Napoleon had despatched one of his chamberlains to compliment them at Irun. In the same carriage with the king was the Princess d’Alcudia, daughter of the Prince of the Peace. The entry of the king and queen was most brilliant. The princes were allowed to go forward to meet them, and returned to Bayonne in their suite.

“The arrival of Charles completely altered the face of things. He consented to all that was required of him. Napoleon sent a message, through M. d’Escoïquiz, to Ferdinand, to the effect that, as King Charles IV. had refused to adhere to his abdication, it was the duty of the Prince of Asturias to give in his renunciation at the instant. The young prince, through weakness, consented to this mark of respect to his father, although aware that in this proposition some sinister design of Napoleon must be concealed. The first act of authority on the part of Charles was to name the Grand-duke of Berg lieutenant-general of the kingdom, thus excluding Don Antonio, who had been called to Bayonne by an order of Charles himself. Don Antonio had yielded without a murmur; and an aide-de-camp of the Grand-duke of Berg escorted him to Bayonne, where he arrived on the 25th. He had incurred some danger on the road, for the people had unharnessed the mules of his carriage at Tolosa, and thrown down cart-loads of rubbish on the bridge. Don Antonio had owed his safety entirely to the courage of the captain of cuirassiers who commanded his escort.

“Soon after the arrival of Don Antonio, the Queen of Etruria joined the royal party, bringing with her the Infant Don Francisco. It was at this moment that the princes were greeted with the astounding information that they were immediately to depart as prisoners for Valençay, and here they arrived on the 18th of May.

“Their entrance into the château will never be forgotten, for it left upon the mind of every beholder the most singular impression. The princes (all excepting Don Antonio) were young, and blooming with health and innocence, while everything about them, the habiliments which they wore, the carriages which conveyed them, the liveries of their attendants, brought back the memory of past centuries. The very coach from which they alighted might have belonged to Philip V. This air of antiquity reminded the bystanders of their grandeur, and rendered their position still more interesting. They were the first Bourbons who had touched the soil of France after so many years of troubles and disasters, and it was with tears that they were received. The Princess de Talleyrand and the ladies of her suite crowded round to greet them on their arrival, and by their attentions succeeded in diverting the grief which they expressed at this cruel and unjustifiable exile. It was the object of every inhabitant of the château to render this exile as easy to be borne as possible.

“On the very morrow of their arrival, the young princes were assured by all they saw, that Napoleon reigned not either in the château or in the park of Valençay. No one was permitted to appear before them without an order from themselves, and it was agreed that no one should approach them save in court costume. Such marks of honour and respect were pleasing to young men who had been brought up amid the ceremony and etiquette of the Escurial. Every hour of the day was allotted to some pursuit. In the morning, mass at the chapel—then the _siesta_—then driving or riding in the park, and then again to prayer. In a few days, the young princes found themselves more at home than they had ever done in their father’s palace at Madrid. They had never been accustomed even to go out to take an airing without a ceremonious permission from the king; they had never been allowed even to walk together, it not being etiquette for more than one royal prince to be absent from the palace at a time. It is a singular fact, that the amusements of the chase, riding on horseback, and dancing, had been strictly prohibited at the court of Spain. It was at Valençay that Ferdinand fired his first shot.

“The young princes were all delighted at the change in their habits, and at the kindness with which they were surrounded. The _garde de chasse_ who accompanied them through the park, had served the Prince de Condé; the riding-master who was employed to teach them to ride, had been for years in the _grande ecurie_, and had given instructions to Madame Elizabeth; so that they were constantly reminded of individuals of their own family. Boucher, the cook, was continually employed in concocting detestable Spanish ollas. The terrace before the château was converted for their amusement into a _salle de bal_, where they would sometimes join in those dances of their country, which require no art to follow the movements or the step. Guitars were left in every corner of the garden, and the kind-hearted Dussek himself would devote his time and talent to the execution of simple Spanish airs, which they would love to hear, as being the only music they could understand.

“But all these amusements were only minor points of interest in the history of their lives. It was at the hour of prayer, when the bell of the chapel rang at sunset, that all the etiquette of Spanish form was most strictly adhered to. Every soul in the château, whether visitor, attendant, gaoler, or guard, was compelled to attend at the chapel; and it was really a touching sight to behold prisoners and gaolers, oppressors and oppressed, kneeling together before the same God, laying aside their bitterness and enmities before Him who was one day to judge them all.”

During this period of uncertainty, while his European allies were still dubious as to the manner in which his brother Joseph would be received as king of Spain, Napoleon was in a state of constant terror and alarm with regard to the prisoners of Valençay; he could not hear of the place, nor of the persons who inhabited it, without giving way to transports of rage, and to the utterance of injurious epithets concerning those whom he had already wronged and oppressed. One day, the young prince received a billet, couched in the following terms: ‘Prince Ferdinand, in writing to me, addresses me as his cousin. Let him understand that such address is ridiculous, and let him henceforth simply call me “SIRE.”’

“From this time forward, the existence of the princes seemed to have been forgotten; and all that can be said of them during the five years that they spent at Valençay is, that they existed. The treaty which fixed their departure to Spain was negotiated at Valençay, and they left the place full of unspeakable gratitude for the kindness and princely generosity of its owner.”

Just as I had finished the reading of this tale of wonder, C. entered the room. “What think you of this strange statement?” said he. “The history of your own country, all wild and furious as it is, cannot offer an example of such audacity as this.” I was fain humbly to confess our inferiority in these matters. “But know you,” said I, “the opinion of Prince Talleyrand with regard to this affair?”

“He has been calumniated even in this,” was C.’s reply, “and accused of having advised the measure; whereas his indignation on learning from Napoleon himself the step which had been taken, dictated the boldest and most eloquent speech which, perhaps, ever fell from his lips: ‘Sire,’ said he, warmly, ‘a young man of family (_un enfant de famille_) may gamble away his last farthing—the heritage of his ancestors—the dower of his mother—the portion of his sisters—and yet be courted and admired for his wit—be sought for his talents or distinction—but let him once be detected in _cheating_ at the game, and he is lost—society is for ever shut against him.’ With these words he turned upon his heel, leaving the emperor pale and quivering with rage, and vowing vengeance against the bold speaker of the unwholesome truth. Such was the real opinion of the Prince de Talleyrand concerning this unprincipled transaction—the expression of the man who has been accused, not only of having been the instigator of the whole proceeding, but of having aided in its execution. ‘Et voilà comme on écrit l’histoire!’”