from the intolerable abuses and grievous burthens which they imputed solely to his influence. The idol of the nation, and the centre of a party which, from various causes, comprehended the most distinguished names in the country, Ferdinand soon displayed all those qualities of character which the vicissitudes of his subsequent life have more perfectly developed. Free from personal vices, of kind and benevolent disposition, and thoroughly well intentioned, he wanted but the influence of good counsellors to pursue the path of honour and virtue; but devoid of judgment and ability, easily persuaded, more easily intimidated, unsteady and vacillating in purpose, he was utterly unfit for arduous circumstances, and invariably the dupe and the victim of every one who approached him.

As the reliance of the Spanish people for emancipation from the odious and disgraceful ascendancy of Godoy was upon Ferdinand, so, in a despotic state, where the popular voice availed nothing, the hope of that prince for assistance in displacing the favourite was upon foreign intervention. He therefore secretly addressed a letter to Buonaparte, of which the first solicitation was for the honour of a matrimonial alliance with his family, and the next for support in the projected removal of Godoy: but at the moment when Napoleon received the prince's epistle, he was engaged in negociating with this very man the iniquitous treaty of Fontainebleau ; and reserving the letter for the hour when some favourable use might be made of it, he did not even deign to reply to its contents. More extraordinary events were rapidly advaucing; and a few weeks only intervened before the occurrence of the mysterious 'affair of the Escurial.' Of this transaction the particulars have not been, and probably never will be, clearly elucidated. In one proclamation, Charles IV. accused his son of a horrible plot to dethrone him; and in a second instrument of the same nature, two letters from Ferdinand, who had been arrested, were published, one to his father, confessing his guilt, asserting that he had denounced his accomplices, expressing his deep penitence, and imploring forgiveness; the other addressed to his adulterous and unnatural mother, asking her pardon also, and entreating her mediation in his favour. In consequence of these letters the king declared that he forgave him, 'for the voice of nature unnerved the hand of vengeance.' Ferdinand afterwards endeavoured to exculpate himself from the charge of attempting his father's deposition, and asserted that he had signed his self-condemnation because his parents required it: but so monstrous an act of obedience is inconceivable, and his subsequent occupation of the throne renders it difficult to acquit him of a similar intention at this period. It does not appear whether either Godoy or Buonaparte were implicated in the transaction, though the baseness of

both

both has naturally thrown suspicion on them; but, at all events, the latter found his advantage in it on every account. Godoy, already engaged by his hopes of the Portugueze principality, was now held in closer subjection by his fears of Ferdinand; while both that prince and the king, who had, like his son, appealed by letter to Buonaparte, awaited in trembling anxiety the course which the arch-tyrant should take. It suited his ulterior purpose, however, to appear to keep aloof from all parties, and to hold them equally in suspense, while he steadily pursued their general destruction; he therefore contented himself with instructing his ambassador to recommend the king to put a stop to proceedings which could only bring disgrace upon the whole royal family. The motive of advice so reasonable was, evidently, lest the continuance of this irritation should lead to some revolution in the government which should awaken the nation to its interest, and thus postpone, if it did not finally defeat, all pretence for his interference.

Thus secure in the mutual and balanced fears of his victims, that no opposition would be made to the most undisguised violence, Buonaparte, in the opening of the year 1808, marched his second army into Spain. That the army of 40,000 men, ostensibly destined for the support of Junot, should enter the Peninsula, had been provided by the convention of Fontainebleau; and Napoleon foresaw that the Spanish court were not in a state to insist upon the condition that the two contracting parties should come to a special agreement on that point. When therefore his troops crossed the frontier, the wretched court, fearing they knew not what, and about to suffer the punishment of their unprincipled participation in the subjection of Portugal, had neither sense nor courage to take measures for their own security. On the contrary, they issued orders that the French should everywhere be received and treated like the Spanish troops. The gates of Pamplona, St. Sebastian, Figuieras, and Barcelona, were thus thrown open to them; and by Buonaparte's favourite system of combining treachery and violence, where violence was found requisite, these important fortresses, the great keys of the northern frontier of the Peninsula, were seized and occupied by the invaders.

Of the arts by which these measures of perfidy were effected we shall extract one curious example.

Pamplona was the first place where the attempt was made. General D'Armagnac having taken up his quarters in the city, received orders from Marshal Moncey, whose head-quarters were at Burgos, to make himself master of the citadel in any manner, and at whatever cost. Moncey had commanded the French army in Biscay in the year 1794, and at that time, when the republican soldiers were accustomed to boast of acts of sacrilegious rapacity, left, even among the people whom he had invaded, the reputation of a just and generous and ho

nourable

nourable man. It was his ill fortune now to be in the service of Buonaparte, and to be employed in acts like this! D'Armagnac first tried a stratagem; he requested permission from the Marquis de Vallesantoro, captain-general of Navarre, to secure two Swiss battalions in the citadel, under pretence that he was not satisfied with their conduct: the marquis however perceived that such a permission would put one of the strongest bulwarks of Spain in the power of the French, and made answer that he could not consent without an express order from the court. Where there was prudence enough to prompt this answer, a certain degree of precaution might have been looked for, which nevertheless was wanting. The French soldiers were permitted every day to enter the citadel and receive their rations there, and this with such perfect confidence on the part of the garrison, that even the forms of discipline were not observed at such times. One night, during the darkness, D'Armagnac secretly introduced three hundred grenadiers into the house he occupied, which was opposite the principal gate of the citadel. Some of the ablest and most resolute men were selected to go as usual for the rations, but with arms under their cloaks. The ground happened to be covered with snow, and some of the French, the better to divert the attention of the Spaniards, pelted each other with snow-balls; and some running, and others pursuing, as if in sport, a sufficient number got upon the drawbridge to hinder it from being raised; the signal was then given, some of the party who had entered seized the arms of the Spaniards, which were not, as they ought to have been, in the hands of the guard; others produced their own concealed weapons to support their comrades; the grenadiers from the general's house hastened and took possession of the gate, the rest of the division was ready to follow them, and the first news which the inhabitants of Pamplona heard that morning was, that the French, whom they had received and entertained as friends and allies, had seized the citadel. When all was done, D'Armagnac addressed a letter to the magistrates, informing them, that, as he understood he was to remain some time in Pamplona, he felt himself obliged to insure its safety in a military manner; and he had therefore ordered a battalion to the citadel, in order to garrison it, and do duty with the Spanish troops: "I beseech you," he added, "to consider this as only a trifling change, incapable of disturbing the harmony which ought to subsist between two faithful allies.' pp. 155–157.

These acts of usurpation, which had been completed before the end of March, filled all Spain with indignation and astonishment. Never before had the public mind been so violently agitated; but the nation knew the weakness of their king and the incapacity of his counsellors: they had none to look to who should direct their willing hands; and though no people could be better disposed to stand forth in defence of their country, they remained in a state of helpless and hopeless amazement. The eyes of the imbecile king and his unworthy favourite were now opened to a full sense of the real designs of Buonaparte. The first thought of Charles was

to

to resign to his son the throne which he could not defend; the only resource of Godoy, to induce him rather to imitate the example of the royal House of Portugal, and emigrate to his South American dominions. He was successful in this last exercise of his influence; the vacillating monarch resolved to fly from his kingdom. Here again we are left in doubt whether Godoy acted on the suggestion of Buonaparte, or on his own timid calculations. Mr. Southey evidently is of the latter opinion; we incline to the former, because we think that the abdication and flight of the royal family to their American empire would have relieved Buonaparte from his most urgent difficulties, and from the most unpopular of his violences, the kidnapping of the king and the heir apparent. Be this as it may, preparations were secretly made for his journey to the coast, and troops drawn to the royal residence at Aranjuez to protect his departure. But no precautions could effectually conceal the determination from the people, and their exasperation against the favourite reached its climax. The circumstances which immediately followed are so perplexed with various and contradictory relations, that Mr. Southey finds it impossible to reconcile them. It is evident, however, that the partizans of Ferdinand, who were really at this moment the patriots of Spain, availed themselves of the popular ferment to accelerate the downfall of Godoy; the prince himself opposed the meditated expatriation, and the king found it necessary to endeavour to tranquillize the people, by disclaiming any intention of quitting the kingdom. But the popular suspicions were only allayed for the moment; their feeble sovereign again changed his purpose; and fresh indications of flight produced an insurrection at Aranjuez, which led to the abdication of Charles. The particulars of these events must be given in the warm and glowing language of the author.

'An alarm was given late at night, whether wantonly or in design, by one of the body guards, who fired a pistol: others instantly assembled, and the mob gathered round Godoy's house, and endeavoured to force their way in. His own soldiers were faithful to him, and some of the life-guards fell in this attempt. Don Diego Godoy, brother to the fa vourite, came with the regiment which he commanded to his assistance, and ordered them to fire upon the people; they refused to obey, and suffered their commander to be disarmed and bound hand and foot. The tumult increased, and some cries were uttered, by which it appeared that the dethronement of Charles was desired as well as the death of Godoy. Ferdinand was at that hour the idol of the unreflecting multitude, and not a thought was expressed or felt of effecting any other change than that of removing one king to make room for another. When the house of the favourite was at length forced, he himself was not to be found. In their indignation the people committed his furniture to the flames; many valuable ornaments were destroyed, but nothing was pil

fered;

fered; and the insignia of his various orders, rich with gold and jewels, were carefully preserved and delivered to the king. In the height of their fury also they had compassion upon the wife and daughter of Godoy; the former perhaps had been made an object of popular favour because of the scandalous life of her husband, and they were conducted safely to the palace with a kind of triumph, but in a state of feeling which may well be conceived. The uproar continued through the night. At the earliest break of day Ferdinand appeared in the balcony, and by his presence some degree of order was restored. The populace were weary, if they were not satisfied; the troops ranged themselves under their respective banners, guards were posted at the door of the house which had been ransacked, and quiet was apparently re-established. At seven in the morning the king issued a decree, saying, that as he intended to command his army and navy in person, he dismissed the Prince of the Peace from his rank of generalissimo and chief admiral, and permitted him to withdraw whithersoever he pleased. He also notified this in a letter to Buonaparte, wherein, as if the real cause of the dismission could possibly be concealed, it was said that leave had been granted to the minister to resign these offices because he had long and repeatedly requested it: " but," the king added, “as I cannot for get the services the prince has rendered me, and particularly that of having co-operated with my invariable desire to maintain the alliance and intimate friendship that unite me to your impérial and royal majesty, I shall preserve my esteem for him."

The people were not to be appeased by a measure so obviously designed to save the favourite from their hatred, and give him an opportunity of effecting his escape. There were no seditious movements during that day and the ensuing night; but the cause of alarm and agitation continued. Godoy, in the first moment of danger, had taken shelter in a garret, among a heap of mats, in one of which he wrapt himself. There he remained about two and thirty hours; till, unable longer to endure the intolerable thirst produced by the feverishness of fear, on the morning of the 19th he left his hiding-place, and came forth to meet his fate, whatever it might be. It would have been a dreadful one, if the soldiers had not first perceived him, and afforded him some protection against an infuriated populace. Notwithstanding the guard under which he was immediately placed, the raging mob fell upon him, and he was led away prisoner. He had pistols when he had bid himself, and he has been reproached for not using them either against himself or his assailants; but though at such a time he could have little hope of life, he had a Catholic sense of the value of what little interval might be granted him, and he cried out for a confessor when death appeared to be at hand. That cry may sometimes avail with a Catholic mob, when it would be vain to entreat for any other mercy. He was, however, beaten and wounded, and his escort would hardly have been able to have saved his life, if the king had not sent Ferdinand to save him. Under his protection-under the protection of the man whom he had most injured, and whom he justly regarded as his greatest enemy, he was deposited safely in the guard-house; and

the