Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 60, No. 374, December, 1846

A word or two respecting the King-consort of Spain, Don Francisco de Assis. We have already intimated that, as a Spanish Bourbon, he may pass muster. 'Tis saying very little. A more pitiful race than these same Bourbons of Spain, surely the sun never shone upon. In vain does one seek amongst them a name worthy of respect. What a list to cull from! The feeble and imbecile Charles the Fourth; Ferdinand, the cruel and treacherous, the tyrannical and profligate; Carlos, the bigot and the hypocrite; Francisco, the incapable. Nor is the rising generation an improvement upon the declining one. How should it be, with only the Neapolitan cross to improve the breed? Certainly Don Francisco de Assis is no favourable specimen, either physically or morally, of the young Bourbon blood. For the sake of the country whose queen is his wife, we would gladly think well of him, gladly recognise in him qualities worthy the descendant of a line of kings. It is impossible to do so. The evidence is too strong the other way. If it be true, and we have reason to believe it is, that he came forward with reluctance as a candidate for Isabella's hand, chiefly through unwillingness to stand in the light of his brother Don Enrique, partly perhaps through consciousness of his own unfitness for the elevated station of king-consort, this at least shows some good feeling and good sense. Unfortunately, it is the only indication he has given of the latter quality. His objections to a marriage with his royal cousin were overruled in a manner that says little for his strength of character. When it was found that his dislike to interfere with his brother's pretensions was the chief stumbling-block, those interested in getting over it set the priests at him. To their influence his weak and bigoted mind was peculiarly accessible. Their task was to persuade him that Don Enrique was no better than an atheist, and that his marriage with the Queen would be ruinous to the cause of religion in Spain. This was a mere fabrication. Enrique had never shown any particularly pious dispositions, but there was no ground for accusing him of irreligion, no reason to believe that, as the Queen's husband, he would be found negligent of the church's forms, or setting a bad example to the Spanish nation. The case, however, was made out to the satisfaction of the feeble Francisco, whose credulity and irresolution are only to be equalled in absurdity by the piping treble of the voice with which, as a colonel of cavalry, he endeavoured to convey orders to his squadrons. Sacrificing, as he thought, fraternal affection to the good of his country, he accepted the hand reluctantly placed in his, became a king by title, but remained, what he ever must be, in reality a zero.

It was during the intrigues put in practice to force the Trapani alliance upon Spain, that the Spanish people turned their eyes to Don Francisco de Paulo's second son, who lived away from the court, following with much zeal his profession of a sailor. Not only the Progresistas, but that section of the Moderados whose principles were most assimilated to theirs, looked upon Don Enrique as the candidate to be preferred before all others. For this there were many reasons. As a Spaniard he was naturally more pleasing to them than a foreigner; in energy and decision of character he was far superior to his brother. Little or nothing was known of his political tendencies; but he had been brought up in a ship and not in a palace, had lived apart from Camarillas and their evil influences, and might be expected to govern the country constitutionally, by majorities in the Cortes, and not by the aid and according to the wishes of a pet party. The general belief was, that his marriage with Isabella would give increased popularity to the throne, destroy illegitimate influences, and rid the Queen of those interested and pernicious counsellors who so largely abused her inexperience. These very reasons, which induced the great mass of the nation to view Don Enrique with favour, drew upon him the hatred of Christina and her friends. He was banished from Spain, and became the object of vexatious persecutions. This increased his popularity; and at one time, if his name had been taken as a rallying cry, a flame might have been lighted up in the Peninsula which years would not have extinguished. The opportunity was inviting; but, to their honour be it said, those who would have benefited by embracing it, resisted the temptation. It is no secret that the means and appliances of a successful insurrection were not wanting; that money wherewith to buy the army was liberally forthcoming; that assistance of all kinds was offered them; and that their influence in Spain was great; for in the eyes of the nation they had expiated their errors, errors of judgment only, by a long and painful exile. But, nevertheless, they would not avail themselves of the favourable moment. So long as a hope remained of obtaining their just desires by peaceable means, by the force of reason and the puissante propagande de la parole, they refused again to ensanguine their native soil, and to re-enter Spain on the smoking ruins of its towns, over the lifeless bodies of their mistaken countrymen.

By public prints of weight and information, it has been estimated, that during Don Enrique's brief stay at Paris, he indignantly rejected certain friendly overtures made to him by the King of the French. The nature of these overtures can, of course, only be conjectured. Perhaps, indeed, they were but a stratagem, employed by the wily monarch to detain his young cousin at Paris, that the apparent good understanding between them might damp the courage of the national party in Spain, and win the wavering to look with favour upon the French marriage. There can be little question that in the eyes of Louis Philippe, as well as of Christina, Don Francisco is a far more eligible husband for the Queen than his brother would have been, even had the latter given his adhesion to the project of the Montpensier alliance. Rumour – often, it is true, a lying jade – maintained that at Paris he firmly refused to do so. She now whispers that at Brussels he has been found more pliant, and that, within a brief delay, the happy family at Madrid will be gratified by the return of that truant and mutinous mariner, Don Enrique de Borbon, who, after he has been duly scolded and kissed, will doubtless be made Lord High Admiral, or rewarded in some equally appropriate way for his tardy docility. We vouch not for the truth of this report; but shall be noway surprised if events speedily prove it well founded. Men there are with whom the love of country is so intense, that they would rather live despised in their own land than respected in a foreign one. And when, to such flimsy Will-o'-the-wisp considerations as the esteem and love of a nation, are opposed rank, money, and decorations, a palace to live in, sumptuous fare, and a well-filled purse, and perhaps, ere long, a wealthy bride, who would hesitate? If any would, seek them not amongst the Bourbons. Loath indeed should we be to pledge ourselves for the consistency and patriotism of a man whose uncle and grandfather betrayed their country to a foreign usurper. The fruit of a corrupt and rotten stem must ever be looked upon with suspicion. It is the more prized when perchance it proves sound and wholesome.

Of the Duke of Montpensier, previously to his marriage, little was heard, and still, little is generally known of him, except that his exterior is agreeable, and that he had been rapidly pushed through the various military grades to that of general of artillery. That any natural talents he may be endowed with, have been improved to the utmost by careful education, is sufficiently guaranteed by the fact of his being a son of Louis Philippe. We are able to supply a few further details. The Infanta's husband is a youth of good capacity, possessing a liberal share of that mixture of sense, judgment, and wit, defined in his native tongue by the one expressive word esprit. His manners are pleasant and affable; he is a man with whom his inferiors in rank can converse, argue, even dispute – not a stilted Spanish Bourbon, puffed up with imaginary merit, inflated with etiquette, and looking down, from the height of his splendid insignificance and inane pride, upon better men then himself. He is one, in short, who rapidly makes friends and partisans. Doubtless, during his late brief visit to Spain, he secured some; hereafter he will have opportunities of increasing their number; and the probabilities are, that in course of time he will acquire a dangerous influence in the Peninsula. The lukewarm and the vacillating, even of the Progresista party, will be not unlikely, if he shows or affects liberalism in his political opinions, to take him into favour, and give him the weight of their adherence; forgetting that by so doing they cherish an anti-national influence, and twine more securely the toils of France round the recumbent Spanish lion. On the other hand, there will always be a powerful Spanish party, comprising a vast majority of the nation, and by far the largest share of its energy and talent, distinguished by its inveterate dislike of French interlopers, repulsing the duke and his advances by every means in their power, and branding his favourers with the odious name of Afrancesados. To go into this subject, and enlarge upon the probable and possible results of the marriage, would lead us too far. Our object in the present article has rather been to supply FACTS than indulge in speculations. For the present, therefore, we shall merely remind our readers, that jealousy of foreign interference is a distinguishing political characteristic of Spaniards; and that, independently of this, the flame of hatred to France and Frenchmen still burns brightly in many a Spanish bosom. Spain has not yet forgiven, far less forgotten, the countless injuries inflicted on her by her northern neighbours: she still bears in mind the insolent aggressions of Napoleon – the barbarous cruelties of his French and Polish legions – the officious interference in '23. These and other wrongs still rankle in her memory. And if the effacing finger of Time had begun to obliterate their traces, the last bitter insult of the forced marriage has renewed these in all their pristine freshness.

We remember to have encountered, in a neglected foreign gallery, an ancient picture of a criminal in the hands of torturers. The subject was a painful one, and yet the painting provoked a smile. Some wandering brother of the brush, some mischievous and idly-industrious Tinto, had beguiled his leisure by transmogrifying the costumes both of victim and executioners, converting the ancient Spanish garb into the stiff and unpicturesque apparel of the present day. The vault in which the cruel scene was enacted, remains in all its gloomy severity of massive pillars, rusty shackles, and cobwebbed walls; the grim unshapely instruments of torture were there; the uncouth visages of the executioners, the agonised countenance of the sufferer, were unaltered. But, contrasting with the antique aspect and time-darkened tints of these details, were the vivid colouring and modern fashions of Parisian paletots, trim pantaloons, and ball-room waistcoats. We have been irresistibly reminded of this defaced picture by the recent events in Spain. They appear to us like a page from the history of the middle ages transported into our own times. The daring and unprincipled intrigue whose dénoûment has just been witnessed, is surely out of place in the nineteenth century, and belongs more properly to the days of the Medicis and the Guise. A review of its circumstances affords the elements of some romantic history of three hundred years ago. At night, in a palace, we see a dissolute Italian dowager and a crafty French ambassador coercing a sovereign of sixteen into a detested alliance. The day breaks on the child's tearful consent; the ambassador, the paleness of his vigil chased from his cheek by the flush of triumph, emerges from the royal dwelling. Quick! to horse! – and a courier starts to tell the diplomat's master that the glorious victory is won. A few days – a very few – of astonishment to Europe and consternation to Spain, and a French prince, with gay and gallant retinue, stands on the Bidassoa's bank and gazes wistfully south-wards. Why does he tarry; whence this delay? He waits an escort. Strange rumours are abroad of ambuscade and assassination; of vows made by fierce guerillas that the Infanta's destined husband shall never see Madrid. At last the escort comes. Enclosed in serried lines of bayonets and lances, dragoons in van, artillery in rear, the happy bridegroom prosecutes his journey. What is his welcome? Do the bright-eyed Basque maidens scatter flowers in his path and Biscay's brave sons strain their stout arms to ring peals in his honour? Do the poor and hardy peasantry of Castile line the highway and shout vivas as he passes? Not so. If bells are rung and flowers strewn, it is by salaried ringers and by women hired, not to wail at a funeral, but to celebrate a marriage scarcely more auspicious. If hurrahs, few and faint, are heard, those who utter are paid for them. Sullen looks and lowering glances greet the Frenchman, as, guarded by two thousand men-at-arms, he hurries to the capital where his bride awaits him. In all haste, amidst the murmurs of a deeply offended people, the knot is tied. Not a moment must be lost, lest something should yet occur to mar the marriage feast. And now for the rewards, shamefully showered upon the venal abettors of this unpopular union. A dukedom and grandeeship of Spain for the ambassador's infant son; titles to mercenary ministers; high and time-honoured decorations, once reserved as the premium for exalted valour and chivalrous deeds – to corrupt deputies; diamond snuff-boxes, jewels and gold, to the infamous writers of prostituted journals; Christina rejoices; her Camarilla are in ecstasies; Bresson rubs his hands in irrepressible exultation; in his distant capital the French monarch heaves a sigh of relief and satisfaction as his telegraph informs him of the fait accompli. Then come splendid bullfights and monster pucheros, to dazzle the eyes and stop the mouths of the multitude. Pan y toros – panisac circenses– to the many-headed beast. And in all haste the prince hurries back to Paris with his bride, to receive the paternal benediction, the fraternal embrace, and the congratulations of the few score individuals, who alone, in all France, feel real pleasure and profit in his marriage. And thus, by foreign intrigue and domestic treachery, has the independence of Spain been virtually bought and sold.

ST MAGNUS', KIRKWALL

See yonder, on Pomona's isle —Where winter storms delight to roam;But beaming now with summer's smile —The Sainted Martyr's sacred dome!Conspicuous o'er the deep afarIt sheds a soft and saving ray,A landmark sure, a leading star,To guide the wanderer on his way.It tells the seaman how to steerThrough swelling seas his labouring barkIt helps the mourner's heart to cheer,And speeds him to his heavenly mark.With joy of old this northern skySaw holy men the fabric found,To lift the Christian Cross on high,And spread the Healer's influence round.By beauty's power they sought to raiseRude eyes and ruder hearts to Heaven:They sought to speak their Maker's praiseWith all the skill His grace had given.And now, where passions dark and wildWere foster'd once at Odin's shrine,A people peaceful, just, and mild,Live happy in that light divine.Preserved through many a stormy age,Let pious zeal the relic guard:Nor Time with slow insidious rageDestroy what fiercer foes have spared.

THE GAME LAWS

From our youth upwards we have entertained a deep feeling of affection for the respectable fraternity of the Quakers. Our love, probably, had its date and origin from very early contemplation of a print, which represented an elderly pot-bellied individual, with a broad-brimmed hat and drab terminations, in the act of concluding a treaty with several squatting Indians, only redeemed from a state of nature by a slight garniture of scalps and wampum. Underneath was engraved a legend which our grand-aunt besought us to treasure in our memory as a sublime moral lesson. It ran thus: – The Bloodless Triumph, or Penn's Treaty with the Chiefs; and we were told that the fact thereby commemorated was one of the most honourable achievements to be found in the pages of general history. With infantine facility we believed in the words of the matron. No blood or rapine – no human carcasses or smoking wigwams, deformed the march of the Quaker conqueror. Beneath a mighty tree, in the great Indian wilderness, was the patriarchal council held; and the fee-simple of a territory, a good deal larger than an average kingdom, surrendered, with all its pendicles of lake, prairie, and hunting-ground, to the knowing philanthropist, in exchange for some bales of broad-cloth, a little cutlery, a liberal allowance of beads, and a very great quantity, indeed, of adulterated rum and tobacco. Never, we believe, since Esau sold his birth-right, was a tract of country acquired upon terms so cheap and easy. Some faint idea of this kind appears to have struck us at the time; for, in answer to some question touching the nature of the goods supposed to be contained in several bales and casks which were prominently represented in the picture, our relative hastily remarked, that she did not care for the nature of the bargain – the principle was the great consideration. And so it is. William Penn unquestionably acted both wisely and well: he brought his merchandise to a first-rate market, and left a valuable legacy of acuteness to his children and faithful followers. Our grand-aunt – rest her soul! – died in the full belief of ultimate Pennsylvanian solvency. She could not persuade herself, that the representatives of the man who had acquired a principality at the expense of a ship-load of rubbish, would prove in any way untrue to their bonds; and by her last will and testament, whereof we are the sole executor, she promoted us to the agreeable rank of a creditor on the Pennsylvanian government. If any gentleman is desirous to be placed in a similar position, with a right to the new stock which has been recently issued in lieu of a monetary dividend, he may hear of an excellent investment by an early application to our brokers. We also are most firm believers in the fact of American credit, and we shall not change our opinion – at least until we effect the sale.

All this, however, is a deviation from our primary purpose, which was to laud and magnify the Brotherhood. We repeat that we loved them early, and also that we loved them long. It is true that some years ago a slight estrangement – the shadow of a summer cloud – disturbed the harmony which had previously existed between Maga and the Society of Friends. A gentleman of that persuasion had been lost somewhere upon the skirts of Helvellyn, and our guide and father, Christopher, in one of those sublime prose-pœans which have entranced and electrified the world, commemorated that apotheosis so touchingly, that the whole of Christendom was in tears. Unfortunately, some passing allusion to the garments of the defunct Obadiah, grated uncomfortably on the jealous ear of Darlington. An affecting picture of some ravens, digging their way through the folds of the double-milled kerseymere, was supposed to convey an occult imputation upon the cloth, and never, since then, have we stood quite clear in the eyes of the offended Conventicle. Still, that unhappy misunderstanding has by no means cooled our attachment. We honour and revere the Friends; and it was with sincere pleasure that we saw the excellent Joseph Pease take his seat and lift up his voice within the walls of Parliament. Had Pease stood alone, we should not now, in all human probability, have been writing on the subject of the game laws.

We are, however, much afraid that a great change has taken place in the temper and disposition of the Society. Formerly a Quaker was considered most essentially a man of peace. He was reputed to abhor all strife and vain disputation – to be laconic and sparing in his speech – and to be absolutely crapulous with humanity. We would as soon have believed in the wrath of doves as in the existence of a cruel Quaker; nor would we, during the earlier portion of our life, have entrusted one of that denomination with the drowning of a superfluous kitten. Barring a little absurd punctilio in the matter of payment of their taxes – at all times, we allow, a remarkably unpleasant ceremony – the public conduct of our Friends was blameless. They seldom made their voices heard except in the honourable cause of the suffering or the oppressed; and with external politics they meddled not at all, seeing that their fundamental ideas of a social system differed radically from those entertained by the founders of the British constitution. Such, and so harmless, were the lives of our venerated Friends, until the demon of discord tempted them by a vision of the baleful hustings.

Since then we have remarked, with pain, a striking alteration in their manner. They are bold, turbulent, and disputatious to an almost incredible extent. If there is any row going on in the parish, you are sure to find that a Quaker is at the bottom of it. Is there to be a reform in the Police board – some broad-brimmed apostle takes the chair. Are tithes obnoxious to a Chamber of Commerce – the spokesman of the agitators is Obadiah. Indeed, we are beginning to feel as shy of a quarrel with men of drab as we formerly were with the militant individuals in scarlet. We are not quite so confident as we used to be in their reliance upon moral force, and sometimes fear the latent power which lurks in the physical arm.

Of these champions, by far the most remarkable is Mr John Bright, who, in the British House of Commons, represents the town of Durham. The tenets of his peaceful and affirmative creed, are, to say the least of it, in total antagonism to his character. Ever since he made his first appearance in public, he has kept himself, and every one around him, in perpetual hot-water. In the capacity of Mr Cobden's bottle-holder, he has displayed considerable pluck, for which we honour him; and he is not altogether unworthy to have been included in that famous eulogy which was passed by the late Premier – no doubt to the cordial satisfaction of his friends – upon the Apostle of cotton and free-trade. The name of John is nearly as conspicuous as that of Richard in the loyal annals of the League; and we are pleased to observe, that, like his great generalissimo, Mr Bright has preferred his claim for popular payment, and has, in fact, managed to secure a few thousands in return for the vast quantity of eloquence which he has poured into the pages of Hansard. We are not of that old-fashioned school who object to the remuneration of our reformers. On the contrary, we think that patriotism, like every other trade, should be paid for; and with such notable examples, as O'Connell in Ireland, and the Gamaliel of Sir Robert in the south, we doubt not that the principle hereafter will be acted upon in every case. The man who shall be fortunate enough to lead a successful crusade against the established churches, and to sweep away from these kingdoms all vestiges both of the mitre and the Geneva gown, will doubtless, after sufficient laudation by the then premier, of the talent and perseverance which he has exhibited throughout the contest, receive from his liberated country something of an adequate douceur. What precise pension is due to him who shall deliver us from the thraldom of the hereditary peerage, is a question which must be left to future political arithmetic. In the mean time, there are several minor abuses which may be swept away on more moderate scavenger wages; and one of these which we fully expect to hear discussed in the ensuing session of Parliament, is the existence of the Game laws.

Mr Bright, warned by former experience, has selected a grievance for himself, and started early in his expedition against it. The part of jackal may be played once, but it is not a profitable one; and we can understand the disappointed feelings of the smaller animal, when he is forced to stand by an-hungered, and behold the gluttonous lion gorging himself with the choicest morsels of the chase. It must be a sore thing for a patriot to see his brother agitator pouching his tens and hundreds of thousands; whilst he, who likewise has shouted in the cause, and bestowed as much of his sweet breath as would have served to supply a furnace, must perforce be contented with some stray pittances, doled hesitatingly out, and not altogether given without grudging. No independent and thoroughgoing citizen will consent, for a second time, to play so very subsidiary a part; therefore he is right in breaking fresh ground, and becoming the leader of a new movement. It may be that his old monopolising ally shall become too plethoric for a second contest. Like the desperate soldier who took a castle and was rewarded for it, he may be inclined to rest beneath his laurels, count his pay, and leave the future capture of fortalices to others who have less to lose. A hundred thousand pounds carry along with them a sensation of ease as well as dignity. After such a surfeit of Mammon, most men are unwilling to work. They unbutton their waistcoats, eschew agitation, eat, drink, are merry, and become fat.