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 politicsen 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 youau 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. TheClamor Publico, ably conducted by a staunch and well-known liberal, Don Fernando Corradi; theNacion, 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; theDiario Españoland theEpoca, 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 approachingcoup 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; nocoup d’étatcould 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 hirelingHeraldothat 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.

Madrid, incredulous of an insurrection, was taken completely by surprise by the news that greeted its uprising on the morning of the 28th June. Some hours previously, it was informed, the director-general of cavalry, after mustering for review, in a field just outside the walls, the eleven squadrons that formed part of the garrison of the capital, had been joined by a battalion of the regiment of Principe, by a few companies from other regiments, and by General O’Donnell himself, and had marched to Alcala to incorporate in his insurrectionary force the troops there stationed. Other generals, it was stated, were with him, but for many hours—indeed for the whole of that day—truth was hard to be got at, and Rumour had it all her own way. The aspect of Madrid was curious. The Queen and Court had left two days previously for the Escurial; all but two of the ministers were absent; those two were paralysed by the sudden event, and seemingly helpless. No measures were taken, no troops brought out; for a time it might have been thought that, as was reported, all but some fifteen hundred of these had left with the insurgent generals; for several hours the town was at the mercy of the people, and had they then risen it would probably have been their own, for many of the troops remaining in Madrid were disaffected and would have joined them. There was great excitement; the general expression was one of joy at the prospect of getting rid of a ministry than which none could be more odious; the Puerta del Sol and the principal streets were full of groups eagerly discussing the events of the hour; friends met each other with joyous countenances, and shook hands as if in congratulation—Liberals and Moderados alike well pleased at the event that threatened to prove fatal to the common enemy. I need not repeat the countless reports current on that day. The most important fact that became known was that the cavalry at Alcala had joined the insurgents, and that two thousand horsemen, some of the best dragoons in the Spanish army, were in hostile attitude close to Madrid, accompanied by a small but most efficient body of infantry. Towards evening the authorities began to awake from their lethargy of alarm. Ignorant of the fact that a line of telegraphic wires had been concluded on the previous day between Madrid and the Escurial, the insurgents had neglected to cut off this means of rapid communication; news of the insurrection had been transmitted to the Queen, and her return to the capital was announced. The streets were quickly filled with troops, illuminations were ordered (there was no hope of their being volunteered), and at about ten o’clock her Majesty made her entrance, passing completely through the town, having previously been to perform her devotions in the church of Atocha, whose presiding virgin is the special patroness of the royal family of Spain—the gracious protectress for whom princes embroider petticoats, and whose shrine queens enrich with jewels, whose cost would found an hospital or comfort many poor. A young Queen, entering her capital in haste and anxiety, a few hours after a revolt against her authority, ought, one might suppose, to command, by her mere presence, some demonstration of loyalty and affection from her subjects. But the present Queen of Spain has so completely weaned from her the affections of her people, has so well earned their contempt, and even their hatred, that neither on that night nor on any other occasion that I have witnessed was a voice uplifted or avivaheard. A body of gendarmes, drawn up opposite to the ministry of the interior, cheered as she passed, and possibly the same may have been the case on the part of civil and military functionaries at other points of the line of her progress, but the attitude of the people and soldiers was one of perfect indifference. The same was the case on the following day, when she reviewed the garrison in the Prado, and conferred decorations and promotion on sergeants and privates who had distinguished themselves by their fidelity in refusing to be led away by the insurgents. Surrounded by a numerous staff of officers, and having the troops formed in such wise that as many as possible of them might hear her, she addressed to them a short speech, was profuse of smiles, and held up to them her infant daughter as if confiding it to their defence. Now was the time, if ever, for the old Castilian loyalty to burst forth in acclamation. But its spirit is dead, crushed by royal misconduct and misrule. Not a cheer was uttered, either by officer or soldier. The ominous silence was remarked by all present. It was equally profound as the Queen returned to her palace through the most populous streets of her capital, crowded on the warm summer night. It is said and believed here that, on reaching the palace, she was so affected and disheartened by the chilling reception she had on all sides met, that she burst into a passion of tears. Pity it is for the poor woman, who is not without some natural good qualities, but whom evil influences and a neglected education have brought to sorrow and contempt.

I cannot pretend to relate all the incidents of the last fortnight, which has been crowded with them to an extent that baffles memory. The most important you will find in this letter—many of the minor ones have doubtless escaped me. I must devote a few more lines to the first day. An unsigned proclamation was circulated, of a tenor by no means unacceptable to the Liberals, whose chiefs consulted as to the propriety of rising in arms, or at least of making some demonstration of hostility to the government. Another proclamation, of greater length, signed by three generals, O’Donnell, Dulce, and Messina, disappointed them, for it contained not a word that guaranteed benefit to the nation, and spoke merely of the knavery of the ministers and of the necessity of getting rid of them. Moreover, a request was sent in by the insurgents that Madrid would remain quiet, and leave them to settle matters militarily. Between deliberation and delays the day passed away, and towards night the altered attitude of the authorities, who had received telegraphic orders from Mr Sartorius to act with the utmost vigour, the large bodies of troops in the streets convincing those who had previously doubted that there was still a sufficient force in the town to repress any popular attempt, caused half-formed plans to fall to the ground, and even the most ardent and bellicose resolved to wait the events of the morrow before shouldering musket and throwing up barricades.

The morrow was the festival of St Peter, a great holiday, kept quiet as a Sunday, with much mass and bull-fights. I presume the churches were attended, but the bull-fights did not take place. Some arrests were made, but not many, for some of the persons sought after had concealed themselves. Madrid was still excited, but quite tranquil. On that and the following day every sort of rumour was current. The insurgents were near the town, and there were frequent reports that they were coming to attack it. Circulation was prohibited in the lower part of the street of Alcala, leading to the gate near to which the enemy were supposed to be. The residence of the Captain-general and the officers of the staff is in the lower part of that street, and the constant passage to and fro of orderlies and aides-de-camp interested the people: so that on the line of demarcation, beyond which there was no passage, there was a throng from morning till night, watching—they knew not exactly for what. From time to time there was a rush and panic—when the mob encroached on the limit, and the military were ordered to make them recede. The Café Suizo, at the summit of the street—which rises and again sinks over a small eminence—was a great point of rendezvous, and was crowded with eager politicians. Towards evening, on the 30th, the garrison (almost the whole) being out of the town, it became known that a fight was imminent, or already begun. This was in the neighbourhood; but as none were allowed to pass, or even to approach the gates, news were scanty, and little to be relied upon. Cannon and musketry were heard, and wounded men were seen straggling in. The fever of expectation was at its height. Public opinion was decidedly in favour of the insurgents. They would beat the government troops, it was said, and enter the town pell-mell with them. All the male population of Madrid was in the streets, a few troops were stationed here and there; there was no disorder, but it was easy to see that a trifle would produce it. I was in the Café Suizo, which was crowded in every part, a short time after nightfall, when one of the alarms I have referred to was given. There was a violent rush in the street outside, cries and shouts; those without crowded into the café, most of those within made for the open doors. The effect was really startling; it was exactly that produced by a charge of troops upon a mob; and I saw more than one cheek blanch amongst the consumers of ices and lemonade (the evening was extremely hot) who filled the café. But it was a groundless alarm, produced, as before, merely by the troops compelling the crowd to recede. Armed police circulated in the throng, dispersing groups, and urging them to go home. Soon the streets were comparatively clear, but the clubs and coffee-houses were filled until past midnight with persons discussing what had occurred, and giving fifty different versions. There had been a fight, it was certain, at about a league from Madrid, but who had won and who had lost was a matter of doubt until the next day.

TheMadrid Gazette, the order of the day, published by General O’Donnell, and conversation with officers present in the short but sharp action, enable me to give you a sketch, which you may rely upon as correct, of its principal incidents. The garrison of Madrid, consisting of about eight battalions of infantry, four batteries of artillery, and some three hundred cavalry, took position on a ridge of ground at about a league from Madrid. The enemy, strong in cavalry, but weak in infantry, sought to draw them farther from the town, and into a more favourable position for horse to act against them. As the result proved, the wisest plan would have been to persevere in these tactics, and, if the garrison refused to advance further, to let the day pass without an action. But General O’Donnell had assurances that a large portion of the troops opposed to him only waited an opportunity to pass over to his banner. A part of the artillery, especially, was pledged to do so. After some preliminary skirmishing, he ordered a charge, which was made in gallant style by two squadrons of the Principe regiment. In spite of a severe fire of shot and shell, reserved, until they were within a very short distance of the battery they attacked, they got amongst the guns, and sabred many of the artillerymen, but were prevented from carrying off the pieces, and compelled to retire, by the heavy fire of the squares of infantry formed in rear of the artillery. Having thus ascertained, beyond a doubt, that there was no chance of the artillery coming over to them, or allowing themselves to be taken, the insurgents would have perhaps acted wisely in making no farther attempts upon the hostile line, or, if they were resolved upon a contrary course, in assailing the flanks, instead of again charging up to the mouths of the cannon. But it appears from O’Donnell’s own bulletin that the troops were not well in hand, and that, enraged at finding themselves fired upon by those from whom they expected a very different reception, they made several charges under the direction of their regimental chiefs, but without the sanction of their generals. I can hardly give a better account of the latter part of the combat than is contained in two short paragraphs of the insurgent general’s order of the day, which has been copied in the government papers, and admitted by these to be a fair and true statement of what occurred. The bulletin is before me, and I translate the passages in question:—

“The retreat of the two squadrons of the Principe cavalry (those which had charged the battery) was opportunely taken advantage of by the hostile squadrons of the Villaviciosa lancers, and of theGuardia Civil, who charged after them. This cavalry, however, was driven back, when in full career, by the 3d and 4th squadrons of the Principe, who routed them, cutting down a great part of them, and receiving into their ranks a large number of the soldiers of Villaviciosa, with their standard, and four officers, who reversed their lances, proclaiming themselves friends. In a second charge made by these same squadrons, the standard-bearer of Villaviciosa, and some soldiers of the same corps, who had joined us only because they considered themselves prisoners, went over again to the enemy.

“The bloody effect of the fire of the artillery, who, well assured that they would not be encountered by the same arm (of which we had none), had deliberately studied their range, and taken the breasts of our soldiers for their mark, caused the action to become hot, and the regiment of Farnesio again charged upon the guns, with great valour and determination. At the very mouth of the cannon its colonel was wounded and taken prisoner, and several officers and soldiers were struck down, our cries ofViva la Reina y la Constitucionbeing drowned in the roar of the enemy’s pieces. Repeated charges of the same regiment, and of those of Bourbon, Santiago, and the School of Cavalry, must have convinced our opponents in the action of Vicálvaro, that the feelings which prompted those cries are to be extinguished in the hearts of our brave soldiers by death alone.”

The upshot of the action was this: The insurgents accepted battle when there was little to be gained by them in so doing, unless, indeed, the contest had been conducted very differently, and a more judicious plan had been adopted than that of charging headlong up to the muzzles of artillery supported by squares of infantry. But this mistake had its origin, as I have already observed, in the expectation that the artillery would not fire. The insurgents were repulsed, not, however, without inflicting considerable loss upon their enemies. The garrison returned into Madrid in some haste and confusion, and near the gate a singular incident occurred. It was dark, and some lancers appeared on their flank—insurgents, according to some accounts—a part of their own cavalry, as it is reported by others. The exact truth will probably never be known. But a panic seized the infantry; some of the battalions were composed in great part of recruits; young soldiers, retiring hastily and in the dark after their first fight, are easily alarmed; the confusion that ensued was as great as that of a rout; the men fired at random killing and wounding their own friends, and a great number, especially of the battalion of engineers, were thus injured. The government papers passed this unlucky mistake almostsub silentio; but the fact is certain, the troops returned into the town in disorder, and it was not until the next day that all the wounded were brought in.

Some prisoners had been taken from the insurgents, including three or four wounded officers, the chief of whom, Colonel Garrigó, was captured amongst the guns, where his horse fell, killed by grape-shot. The gallant manner in which Garrigó had led his men again and again to the charge, encountering each time a storm of bullets, had excited a strong interest in his fate, and measures were taken to move the queen’s clemency on his behalf. Before the result of these were known, and when it was thought probable that at any hour he might be judged, condemned, and shot, I went to the ward of the military hospital where he lay under arrest, to see another officer of cavalry who had been wounded when with the insurgents. This officer had gone out of Madrid to see some friends who were with O’Donnell; he was in plain clothes and without arms, but, venturing too far forward during the action, he got struck from his horse, and received, as he lay on the ground, a lance-thrust in the neck, of which, however, he complained less than of blows received from the lance-poles, when the men struck at him as they rode rapidly past. He had afterwards been taken prisoner by an officer, and brought into Madrid. In the next bed to him was Garrigó, a swarthy, soldierly-looking man of about fifty-five; he had been hit in the leg, but not severely, by a grape-shot, and was sitting up in bed, fanning away the flies which entered in unpleasant numbers through the open windows. He looked gloomy, but firm. There were some other wounded officers in the ward, one of whom subsequently died after undergoing amputation of a leg, and a number of soldiers in an adjoining one. Amongst the insurgents, I heard there were as many killed as wounded; and many horses dead, the artillery having pointed their guns low. Grape and round shot, at fifty paces, the distance to which the cavalry were allowed to come before the gunners got the word, were quite as likely, perhaps, to kill as only to wound. An officer received two grape-shot in his face—one at each angle of the nostrils; another, Captain Letamendi, the English son of a Spanish father, who served during the civil war in the British Legion, was met by a round shot, which carried away the greater part of his head. But you will find nothing attractive in such details.

The combat of Vicálvaro, insignificant in its material results, had little effect upon themoraleof either party. The government troops were assured by the gazette that they had achieved a glorious victory, of which they themselves were not very sure, especially when they saw the numerous carts of wounded that came into the town, and remembered their own disorderly return from the field and final panic. The insurgents, conscious that they had fought gallantly, and lost no ground, although they had failed in their chief object, which was to capture the artillery, were well satisfied with themselves, and in no way disheartened by the event. It was clear that the insurgent generals must not reckon on the support of the garrison of Madrid, and they consequently changed their plans, retiring to Aranjuez, a pleasant spot, eight leagues from Madrid, with abundant shade, water, and forage, where for two or three days they gave their men and horses rest, organised their staff and commissariat, and took other measures necessary for the welfare of the division. There they received several reinforcements, both of infantry and cavalry, and were joined by a number of civilians from Madrid, many of them belonging to the better classes. These received caps, muskets, and belts, and were formed into a battalion called theCazadores di Madrid.

Meanwhile, the capital anxiously awaited news from the provinces, where insurrections were expected to occur. Madrid itself continued perfectly tranquil, although occasional rumours of an intended popular rising alarmed the government. The excitement of the first three days subsided into a strong interest. There was great eagerness for news from the insurgents, and much difficulty in learning anything authentic, especially when once they had left Aranjuez. Save the government and its hangers-on and personal adherents, all Madrid was for the insurrection, and heartily wished it well. The recent compulsory advance of half a year’s taxes, extorted from the people by a notoriously corrupt and grasping government, had greatly incensed the Madrileños, who did not scruple openly to express their good wishes for Generals O’Donnell and Dulce, the most prominent personages of the day and of the movement. Although the insurrection deprived Madrid of two things which it can ill do without, bull-fights and strawberries, not a murmur was heard on this account. Aranjuez is the strawberry garden of Madrid, and from it daily comes an abundant supply of that fruit, particularly grateful in this hot climate. I suppose that the insurgents, who had been for three days roasting in the shadeless desert that surrounds this capital, needed refreshment, and eat up all the strawberries, or else that the want of a railway—that to Aranjuez being partly in the hands of the government, and partly in those of O’Donnell, and cut in the middle—precluded their being sent. As for bull-fights, it was no time for them when man-fights were going on; and moreover, the gates of Madrid were for several days shut—besides which, some of the bull-fighters are said to have joined the insurgents. The dramatic season being at an end, and all the theatres closed, Madrid has now for sole amusement the insurrection, which every day seems taking farther from its walls, but which not impossibly may break out again within them. If a decided advantage were gained by O’Donnell’s division, or if news came that Saragossa or some other large town had pronounced against the government, there would very likely be a rising in this capital. I am assured that attempts are now making to work upon the troops of the garrison, and if only a few companies could be won over and relied upon, the government might speedily be upset. There are in Madrid plenty of ex-national guards, and of men who have served in the army, who would quickly produce their hidden arms and rush out into the streets, with cries of “Down with the ministry.” It is matter of considerable doubt whether these would be coupled withvivasfor the Queen. As for the Queen-mother, I am convinced that her life would be in danger in the event of such an outbreak. She is deeply detested here; the more so as she is known to support the present government with all the influence she possesses over her daughter. A Madrid revolutionary mob is dangerous, vindictive, and bloody-minded. In proof of this many incidents recur to my memory, and doubtless will to yours—amongst others, the fate of Quesada, whose son is now military governor here, and who was almost torn to pieces at the country house in the environs, whither he had fled for shelter. His murderers returned to Madrid, singing the dreadedTragala!and drank in the public cafés bowls of coffee stirred with his severed fingers. The revolutionary spirit is calmer now, but it may again revive upon occasion. No person in Spain, not even Sartorius himself, who certainly is sufficiently hated, is so much under public ban as Maria Christina. She doubtless knows it: her conscience can hardly be easy, and her fears are probably roused; for her approaching departure for France is much spoken of, and likely to take place.

Since O’Donnell’s division left the neighbourhood of Madrid, we have heard comparatively little concerning him. We know his route; also that his strength has somewhat increased, that his troops are well-disciplined and confident of success, and that he is at this date in Andalusia. Where he may be, and what may have occurred by the time you receive this letter, it is of course impossible to foretell; but, although ministerial bulletins daily scatter his men to the winds, representing them as deserting, weary, exterminated, and, if possible, even in worse plight, the truth is that they are in as good order, and as ready for service, as if they held themselves subject to the government of the Queen. Every possible means have been taken by the authorities to throw discredit upon the insurgents and upon their leaders, by representing them as robbers and oppressors, paying for nothing, ill-treating the people, and exacting forced contributions at the bayonet’s point. “To lie like a bulletin,” is an old saying, but it would be at least as apt to say—“like theMadrid Gazetteor theHeraldonewspaper.” I can well imagine how difficult it must be in other countries to get at the truth about Spanish affairs, when I see the systematic efforts made to suppress it here. Letters are seized by wholesale in their passage through the post-office, some newspapers are suppressed, and others are permitted to publish no news but those they copy from the government journals, which are for the most part ingeniously embellished to suit the purpose of the ministers; whilst sometimes they are pure fabrications. One of the great occupations of the official papers, for the first few days after the insurrection broke out, was to blacken the character of its leaders. Dulce, especially—who, in common with the other generals engaged in the outbreak, had been stripped by royal decree of all rank, titles, and honours—was the object of abuse which bordered upon billingsgate.

The virtuousHeraldodaily came out with fierce philippics upon the “rebel and traitor,” who had deserted his Queen because he deemed that she had deserted the country and broken her oath, and who, by so doing, had exchanged large emoluments, high rank, and one of the best positions his profession affords in Spain, for the uncertain fate of an insurgent leader—perhaps, in the end, for a short shrift and a firing party. The men of theHeraldocould not understand this; they felt thattheywere incapable of such conduct; in their heart of hearts they must have thought Dulce more remarkable as a fool than as a rebel, but in their paper they contented themselves with abusing him as the latter. Inexpert with the pen, Dulce nevertheless took it up to reply. On the 1st of July, the day after the drawn fight of Vicálvaro, and in a village close to the scene of action, he wrote a letter, whose faulty style and soldierly abruptness are the best evidence of its being his own unassisted production. As a characteristic production, and in justice to its writer, who will doubtless be blamed by many in foreign countries, where the facts of the case and the extent of the sacrifices he has made are imperfectly known and appreciated, I give you a translation of the letter. It is addressed to the editors of theHeraldo, and runs as follows:—

“Since you have allowed the publication in your periodical of an article referring to me personally, and to my conduct, and as I consider that an insult is not a reason, I trust you will be pleased to publish my protest against the whole of your accusation, by doing which you will fulfil your duty as public writers.

“I do not wish to prejudge the issue of our enterprise; whatever that may be it will not surprise me, or make me repent what I have done. That I may not be disappointed, the worst that I expect is to die in the field of battle or in theCampo de Guardias(the place of military executions at Madrid). Whatever occurs, I shall have acted according to my conscience.

“I seek neither places nor honours, for I have them in abundance. No desire of revenge of any kind has moved me, for I cherish neither dislike nor resentment against the persons composing the present government, and much less against the Queen. The cause of my insurrection is entirely the memory that I have of the oath taken by the King of Castile when he ascends the throne. He swears upon the Holy Scriptures to observe and enforce the law of the State—‘and if I should not do so, I desire not to be obeyed.’

“My conviction is, that the Queen has violated her oath, and, in this case, I prefer being guilty ofleze-majestyto being guilty ofleze-nation.

“I well know that the sentiments I have expressed will not convince you, because they must be felt and not explained. For my justification I appeal to the inexorable tribunal of posterity, and to the secret police of the consciences of yourselves in the first place, of the Queen herself, and of this unhappy country.

“A copy of this document is already on the road, and will be published, as you will see, in foreign countries. I also send it to other Madrid newspapers, although I believe that a miserable fear will prevent their publishing it.

“That you may never be able to deny that I have sent you this letter, I have had formal registry made of it, and it perhaps will one day be published. I trust then that you will be sufficiently generous and gentlemanly[29]to insert it in your periodical, by doing which you will highly oblige me. (Signed)El General Dulce.

“Vallecas, 1st July 1854.

“The original is to be found duly stamped in the register of this corporation, where it has been inserted against the will of the individuals composing it, who are exempt from all blame.”

I need hardly say that theHeraldohas not published this letter, of which numerous copies have been distributed in Madrid by friends of its writer, and by persons who believe that, as he himself says, he has “acted according to his conscience (dado una satisfaccion à mi conciencia), and who admire his disinterestedness—the rarest quality amongst public men in Spain.

It is not easy to foretell the result of this insurrection, which has now lasted for fifteen days without any decisive or even important event. The country, taken by surprise, and ignorant of the objects of the outbreak—which it suspected to have been made merely to bring about a change of men, but not of system—looked on at first with apathy. O’Donnell’s greatest error was the first proclamation he issued, which, in many words, said nothing and held out no prospect of advantage to the people. Another has just appeared, short, pithy, explicit, and calculated to satisfy the liberal party. It promises the Spanish nation the benefits of the representative system, for which it has shed so much of its blood and made so many sacrifices, as yet without result.

“It is time,” it continues, “to say what we propose doing on the day of victory. We desire the preservation of the throne, but without the camarilla that dishonours it; the rigorous enforcement of the fundamental laws, improving them, especially those of elections and of the press; a diminution of taxation, founded on strict economy; respect to seniority and merit in the civil and military services. We desire to relieve the towns from the centralising system that consumes them, giving them the local independence necessary to preserve and increase their own interests; and, as a guarantee of all these things, we desire theNational Militia, and will plant it on a solid basis. Such are our intentions, which we frankly express, but without imposing them upon the nation. The juntas of government that are to be constituted in the free provinces, the general Cortes that are soon to be assembled, the nation itself, in short, shall fix the definitive bases of the liberal regeneration to which we aspire. We devote our swords to the national will, and sheathe them only when it is fulfilled.”

This proclamation is dated from Manzanaris, the 7th July, and is signed by O’Donnell. You will observe that no mention is made in it of the Queen. It is monarchical, because it desires to “preserve the throne;” but it by no means pledges those who publish it to retain Isabella II. The promise to arm the national guard is the most important that it contains, since that is the only guarantee the Liberals can have for the fulfilment of the other pledges. It may possibly induce the Progresistas, who hitherto have scarcely stirred in the business, to take active measures. Meanwhile we hear of risings and armed bands in various parts of the country, and persons familiar with Spanish revolutions, and who have witnessed many of them, notice signs of fermentation, which prove the insurrectionary spirit to be spreading—a bubble here and there on water, indicating that it will presently boil. When O’Donnell’s proclamation gets spread abroad, and its purport known, it is quite possible that large towns or districts may declare for the insurgents. In Spain, however, it is most difficult to speculate on coming events, for it is the land of the unforeseen—le pays de l’imprévu—and I shall not attempt to play the prophet, for, if I did, perhaps, before my letter reached you, the electric telegraph would have proved me a false one. Moreover, I have no time to add much more, for I well know that you, Ebony, will grumble, if this letter does not reach you somewhere about the twentieth of the month. Moreover, the horses of Maga’s foreign-service messenger neigh with impatience, and the escort which is to accompany him on the first stage of his journey is already formed up. For the roads are far from safe just now, thanks to the concentration of the gendarmes, (who usually keep excellent order upon them), to do duty in the capital, or pursue the insurgents. We hear of various bands appearing—north, south, and east—some calling themselves Carlists, others Republicans, but in either case probably not pleasant to meet on the road; and besides those there are smaller parties who do not aspire to a political character, and are abroad simply for their own behoof and advantage, and, I need not say, for the disadvantage of the travellers they may chance to encounter. As for sending letters of the nature and importance of this one by the ordinary channel of Her Catholic Majesty’s mails, one would do better to abstain from writing them, as the chances would be fifty to one against their ever reaching their destination. One might almost as well throw them into the fire as into the marble lion’s mouth that yawns at thecasa de correos,—as if to warn people of the dangers their correspondence runs. Were I to consign this epistle to leo’s jaws, I should not expect it ever to go farther than to the Graham-department of the Madrid post-office.

Although you will have gathered from the newspapers the principal events, and some of the minor particulars of the insurrection of 1854—as far as it has as yet gone—this sketch of it, however imperfect, from an eyewitness, will, I trust, interest you. Spanish revolutions and insurrections rarely resemble each other; every successive outbreak has a character of its own, distinct from that of its predecessors. And that of the 28th of last month has peculiar features, which I have endeavoured to portray. If my letter has no other merit, it will, I think, bring its readers, concisely, without much detail, but with perfect truth, up to the present point of Spanish politics. Should aught worth relating occur whilst I am within the boundaries of Queen Isabel’s dominions, rely upon my keeping you duly informed. Meanwhile, may Providence preserve you, in your happy Land of Cakes, alike from military revolts, and from popularpronunciamientos. So prays, from his exilein partibus, your faithful

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