On the 1st of November, 1700, died Charles II, the last male of the Austrian dynasty, which had governed Spain from the death of Ferdinand and Isabella.

The king had scarcely expired, before the ministers and officers of state assembled, according to ancient custom, to examine and publish the royal testament. As this was a new era in the history of Spain, and as general anxiety prevailed to know the new sovereign, the palace was crowded with people of all ranks, and the antechamber filled with the foreign ministers and principal courtiers, all eager to receive the earliest intelligence. At length, the folding doors being thrown open, the duke of Abrantes appeared, and a general silence ensued to hear the nomination. Near the door stood the two ministers of France and Austria, Blécourt and Harrach. Blécourt advanced with the confidence of a man who expected a declaration in his favour; but the Spaniard, casting on him a look of indifference, advanced to Harrach and embraced him with a fervour which announced the most joyful tidings. Maliciously prolonging his compliment, and repeating his embrace, he said, “Sir, it is with the greatest pleasure—sir, it is with the greatest satisfaction—for my whole life, I take my leave of the most illustrious house of Austria.” The ambassador, who during this strange address had already begun to express his own satisfaction and promise the future favour of his sovereign, was thunderstruck with the malicious, unexpected insult; and it required all his firmness to remain and hear the contents of the will, which overthrew the hopes and baffled the plans of his imperial master.

Philip arrived at Madrid on the 18th of February. On the 21st of April he made a triumphal entry, with a magnificence calculated to flatter a chivalrous and high-spirited nation, and to display all the splendour of a crown esteemed by its subjects the most powerful in the whole Christian world. The eyes of Spain and of Europe were turned to the young king, who was to form the commencement of a new dynasty, and whose accession was a new era in the political history of modern times. Philip had just entered the seventeenth year of his age. Bred up in a bigoted and monotonous court, where everything bore the stamp of submission and bent before the nod of the great monarch, Philip had learned to regard the person and will of his grandfather, Louis XIV, with a respect almost bordering on adoration. He had imbibed also a deep and awful sense of religion, and in his whole conduct and deportment displayed a moral purity and scrupulous decorum which are rarely found in courts.

FRENCH INFLUENCE DOMINATES

As the primary object of Louis XIV was a desire to exclude a hostile family, and employ the power, resources, and territories of Spain for the aggrandisement of his own kingdom, the means and persons who were to direct the movements and fashion the character of Philip were all adapted to the attainments of this end. The first instructions given by the monarch to his pupil and grandson, amidst much trifling and commonplace advice, contain the outlines of that system which time and events were to mature and complete.

Philip literally obeyed these instructions. He placed his full confidence in Portocarrero; he suffered him to assume the power of forming the new ministry, of gratifying his personal or political antipathies, and filling at his pleasure all offices and appointments of state; and from the commencement of his reign Philip was the king of a party and the vassal of France, to whom he principally owed his crown. As Louis foresaw, therefore, that the possession of the Spanish crown must ultimately depend on the decision of arms, he had spared no pains to commence a contest with advantage, even before the death of Charles; and he hoped by a prompt and vigorous effort to bring it to a speedy and successful issue. He had gradually collected a powerful army on the Spanish frontier. By threats and promises he prevailed on the king of Portugal to acknowledge the new sovereign, and conclude an alliance with the house of Bourbon. At the same time he secured an entrance into Italy by negotiating a marriage between Philip and a princess of Savoy. He likewise obtained permission to introduce a French garrison into Mantua, the key of the principal military passage from Germany into Italy.

The unexpected tenor of the Spanish testament, and the foresight and promptitude of Louis, struck a temporary panic into the principal courts of Europe. In Holland the dread of impending ruin excited a unanimous sentiment of indignation against France. Preparations were made for hostilities; but Louis surprised all the frontier fortresses, and captured fifteen thousand Dutch troops by whom they were garrisoned. The fear of an immediate invasion, extorted from the Dutch government an acknowledgment of Philip as sovereign of the whole Spanish monarchy. The parliament and nation of England constrained William to follow this example. The court of Vienna made vigorous preparations to bring the dispute to the test of arms.

On the other hand, the sanguine expectations which the Spanish nation had formed of the wisdom, perfection, and energy of the new government, were too extravagant to be realised; and it was the just remark of the shrewd Louville, that even should an angel descend from heaven to take the reins, the public hopes must be disappointed in the existing state of Spain, gangrened as it was from one extremity to the other. The crown was not only robbed of its splendour, but reduced to inconceivable penury. The same difficulties occurred in raising ten pistoles as ten thousand; the salaries of the royal household were unpaid; the pay of the troops was in constant arrears, and the royal guards were often reduced to share with mendicants the charitable donations of convents and hospitals. The whole army did not exceed twenty thousand men. Thus, totally ruined within and unprovided for war without, it was evident that the preservation of the crown must solely depend on the exertions of Louis XIV.

The change of sovereigns led to other mischiefs, which all the vigilance of the French court was in vain exerted to prevent. On the accession of a French prince, Madrid was crowded with swarms of Frenchmen, of the most despicable and abandoned characters, who were eager to gather the fruits of the promised land. Whole tribes of harlots, swindlers, gamesters, pickpockets, and projectors, allured thither by the lucre of gain, vilified by their infamous conduct their native country, and gave new force to that odium which had hitherto operated as an insuperable barrier between the two nations. The seeds of rebellion were diffused, and the public grievances aggravated by the fanaticism of the clergy. The priests abused the sacred office of confession to excite discontent; the French were stigmatised as heretics; those who were connected with them were accused of irreligion, and even the authority of the pope was falsely employed to give new strength to the pretensions of an Austrian prince. All these causes contributed to excite discontent in a nation wedded to ancient establishments and proud of former magnificence. But the general odium was still further aggravated by the appointment of a Frenchman to the management of the finances. As Portocarrero was himself unequal to the task of remodelling the revenue, Louis, at the instigation of the council, sent Jean Orry [or Orri], a man of obscure birth who in a subordinate branch of the finances in France had acquired a superior knowledge of political economy.

The new minister proposed extensive reforms both in the nature and perception of the revenue, and endeavoured to model it on that of France, with a precipitancy and want of address or discretion ill calculated to conciliate the unbending firmness of the Spanish character. This abrupt attempt to lay the axe at once to the root of all abuses gave great offence to every class of the nation; and the clamour was heightened by his plans for resuming the fiefs extorted by the nobles from the crown in times of trouble and confusion. The nobles imperiously demanded the convocation of the cortes of Castile, the only legitimate assembly which could authorise the innovations, and as an additional argument they urged the necessity of exchanging the customary pledges between the monarch and the people, by the confirmation of the material privilege on one side, and the oath of allegiance on the other. A proposal to convene a body which had essentially curbed the royal authority, embarrassed the king and his personal friends and adherents. It was referred to Louis, but he prudently declined interfering, and Philip, after long deliberation, endeavoured to evade it by declaring that the journey which he was about to make to Catalonia to receive his bride rendered it necessary to defer the convocation till after his return.c

THE NEW QUEEN AND THE PRINCESS ORSINI

The choice of a wife had been an object of anxiety: it fell on Maria Louisa, a princess of Savoy, a lady of mild habits, and no more than fourteen years of age—one who seemed to be excellently fitted for passive obedience. To prevent her correspondence with the court of Turin, she was deprived of all her native domestics; nor was any one of her suite suffered to attend her, except the princess d’Orsini [or des Ursins, or Orsinos], as her camarera mayor, or superintendent of her household. As this lady would probably exercise much influence over the queen, and through the queen over the king and government, she had been selected with great caution. By birth she was French, of the illustrious family of La Trémouille. Her first husband was the prince of Chalais, with whom she had passed some years in Spain: her second, whom she had married in Italy, was Flavio d’Orsini, duke of Bracciano, and grandee of Spain. Her intimacy with Madame de Maintenon proved of singular service to her ambition, after her husband’s death.

A French woman herself, indebted to France for her present fortune and her hopes of greater; acquainted with the Spanish language, society, and manners; possessing an extensive knowledge of the world, a fascinating manner, an intellect at once penetrating and supple; eloquent in her speech, always cheerful and even tempered, with art sufficient to hide her own views and to profit by those of others, she appeared admirably adapted for the purpose of Louis. Hence, after receiving minute instructions for her conduct, she was placed with the young queen, to whom she soon became necessary, and over whom her influence was unbounded.[97]

While Philip remained with his new queen at Barcelona, he opened the cortes of Catalonia. His reason for convoking that assembly was the hope of a considerable donative, perhaps of a supply sufficient to meet the war which his rival the archduke Charles was preparing to wage on his Italian possessions. Before any money was voted, demands were very properly made, and, with some modifications, granted; but the donative was so trifling in amount as to be scarcely worth acceptance. By the states homage was sworn to the king—no doubt with sincerity, notwithstanding the bitter injustice of the marquis of San Felipe,b who broadly asserts that they had no intention of observing the oath, and who calls the Catalans naturally perfidious. From Catalonia Philip was expected to return to Madrid; but in the belief that the wavering loyalty of the Neapolitans and Milanese—in the former a conspiracy had broken out for Charles, but soon suppressed—would be confirmed by his presence, he resolved to pass over into Italy. During his absence he left the queen regent of the kingdom, directing her on her return to the capital to hold the cortes of Aragon.

Philip could not command the cordial respect of the Neapolitans. The pope refused to grant him the investiture of the kingdom. From Naples he hastened to Milan, to oppose the imperial general, Prince Eugene, who, notwithstanding the opposition, had established himself in Lombardy. After some unimportant operations, he was present at the bloody but indecisive battle of Luzzara, where he showed great bravery. Soon afterwards he left the camp on his return to Spain, where he was now summoned.

WAR OF THE SPANISH SUCCESSION

Though William of England had acknowledged Philip, he had done so with duplicity: he knew that both his parliaments were at that time averse to war, and he could only wait for some act of hostility on the part of Louis, which, by incensing the English, should enable him to draw the sword. The measures which Louis aimed at the English and Dutch commerce soon furnished him with the opportunity he sought. The two governments now entered into an alliance with Austria, which had hitherto been fighting her own battles in Germany and Italy. The chief objects of this alliance were to obtain satisfaction for the Austrian claims on Spain; to rescue the Netherlands from France; to prevent the union of the French and Spanish crowns; and to exclude subjects of the former from the Spanish possessions in the West Indies. In revenge for this impolitic conduct of William, Louis, with equal impolicy, acknowledged the son of the exiled James Stuart as king of England. This insult roused the Protestant party; supplies were voted for the war; and though the king died in the midst of the preparations, Anne succeeded to the same policy.

Here commences the celebrated War of the Succession, which for so many years agitated all Europe, covered the Netherlands with blood, desolated the fairest provinces of Spain, and ended in the loss of her Italian possessions. The limits of the present chapter will allow us to do no more than briefly advert to its more striking incidents. The reader desirous of fuller information may refer to the histories of France, England, and Austria.

Omitting all mention of the interminable operations in the Low Countries, Germany, and Italy, in 1702 an expedition consisting of thirty English and twenty Dutch vessels of the line, exclusive of numerous transports, and carrying eleven thousand men, was sent against Cadiz. It was headed by the duke of Ormond, who was totally unqualified for the post; nor were the subordinate generals much more happily chosen.

To the solicitations made by the allied generals, that the local governors would change their sovereign, either insulting replies were returned, or a contemptuous silence was observed. The reply of Villadarias, who said that Spaniards never changed either their religion or their king, was the sentiment of all except one. The disembarkation being at length effected, with some loss, the governor of Rota admitted the invaders, and for his treason was created a marquis, by the agent of the archduke. But the inhabitants had little reason to congratulate themselves; they were plundered, insulted, beaten, and even murdered by the licentious soldiery. At the town of Santa Maria, the inhabitants of which fled at the approach of the invaders, greater excesses were committed.[98] Equally unsuccessful was the attempt of the English ships to force their way into the harbour. Cowardice was now added to murder and rapine; the invaders precipitately retreated to their ships; six hundred of the rearguard were cut to pieces by half the number of pursuers; more still were drowned in their precipitate efforts to regain the ships—all who straggled behind were massacred by the incensed peasantry. The armament returned, and in Vigo Bay it destroyed the greater part of a Spanish and French fleet, rich by the productions of the Indies.

The fate of the governor of Rota, who on the retreat of the English had been hanged by order of Villadarias, did not deter a nobleman of the highest rank, of great power, and still greater riches, from the same treason. Cabrera, the admiral of Castile, who in the preceding reign had dispensed the patronage of the crown, from disappointed ambition, at seeing the cardinal Portocarrero in possession of a post to which he considered himself entitled, opened a treasonable correspondence with the court of Vienna. His intrigues, in a few short months, did more for the allied cause than would have been effected by the English cabinet in as many years: he drew the Portuguese king, Pedro II, into the confederacy, and persuaded Leopold to allow the archduke to visit the peninsula. The treaty which was signed at Lisbon in May, 1703, was as infamous to the character of its partisans as any other transaction of this war.

On the return of Philip, he found the government embarrassed, and the nation indignant, at the recent loss of his wealthy galleons in Vigo Bay. He found, too, the divisions in his cabinet more bitter than even at the period of his departure. To the princess Orsini was owing the declining power of Cardinal Portocarrero, and the ascendency of the count de Montellano, who showed more deference to the queen’s favourite. D’Estrées, a man of considerable talent, of great family, and highly in favour with Louis, disdained to win the princess: the same influence procured his recall, his own nephew, the abbé D’Estrées, being made an instrument of his disgrace. At the same time the Spanish cardinal retired in disgust. The abbé succeeded to his uncle’s post; he, too, quarrelled with the princess; and by conduct at once rash and double, brought on himself the indignation of the king and queen. In his recall, however, he had the gratification to perceive that his charges against the favourite princess d’Orsini had their effect, and that she was ordered to leave the Spanish court at the same time.

Indignant at the loss of her favourite, the queen exhibited her revenge by thwarting the measures of the new French ambassador, the duke of Grammont, and by opposing the execution of every order sent from Paris. Louis soon found that, if he wished to retain his ascendency, her resentment must be appeased. This could be effected only by the return of the princess. That celebrated woman accordingly resumed her former empire; and Grammont was replaced by a successor.

While this feeble cabinet was thus a prey to the basest passions, the storm of war again lowered on the frontier. In pursuance of the treaty with Portugal, twelve thousand English and Dutch troops, who were soon joined by the archduke Charles in person, were landed in that country. But the duke of Schomberg, the general of the English forces, was a man of factitious reputation; he was far inferior in either activity or ability to a son of the English James II, the duke of Berwick, whom Louis placed at the head of the combined French and Spanish army.

With a force considerably superior to that of the enemy, divided into three bodies, and accompanied by Philip in person, he advanced into Portugal. First, Salvatierra was invested and reduced; other fortresses shared the same fate.

Fagel, the Dutch general, was surprised in the wild recesses of the Sierra Estrella; and though he himself effected his escape, his whole division was captured. The marquis de las Minas, the only good officer in the Portuguese service, took the field, defeated Ronquillo, one of the Spanish generals, and in a few days rescued several of the fortresses which had been reduced. Under the walls of Monscato a still more decisive advantage was gained over Ronquillo. The skill of De las Minas was equal to his valour; he baffled every attempt of Berwick to dislodge him, and even forced that general to return across the frontier.

As for Schomberg, he did nothing during the whole campaign, says Berwick,e but move from place to place with his army: he was consequently removed, and succeeded by Lord Galway, a man more imbecile than himself. Berwick could easily have triumphed over his stupid or cowardly enemies; but as he was no favourite at court, obstacles were thrown in his way, and towards the close of the campaign he was recalled.

While these indecisive events were passing in Portugal, an expedition, under the prince of Hesse-Darmstadt and Sir George Rooke, the English admiral, proceeded to Barcelona in 1704. The prince had boasted that no sooner should the standard of Charles be erected, than it would be joined by thousands of the disaffected Catalans. But though sufficiently inclined to throw off their allegiance to Philip, none joined the English, who, after an ineffectual attempt on Barcelona, re-embarked, and returned towards Portugal. On their passage, however, they took Gibraltar; and Sir George had the satisfaction to inflict some loss on the French fleet off the coast of Malaga. But the transactions of the year were little honourable to the allies of Austria.

The following year was destined to prove more memorable, and more successful to the allies. Gibraltar, the blockade of which had been commenced the preceding October by the marquis of Villadarias, and which was now pressed by Tessé, the successor of Berwick, made so gallant a defence that in May its siege was raised. Though disappointed at the ill success of its imbecile generals in Spain, the English cabinet was emboldened, by the victories of Marlborough, to make new and mightier efforts against the Bourbon prince in the south. In June, fifteen thousand men, under Lord Peterborough, were despatched to Spain. This extraordinary man, whose eccentricities even surpassed his genius, on arriving at Lisbon was joined by the archduke Charles, who was justly disgusted with the ill success of his affairs in Portugal. The prince of Hesse-Darmstadt persuaded the archduke to advance against Barcelona. He well knew that the indignation of the people against the crown and the Castilians, joined to their desire for the recovery of their lost independence,—a desire which had subsisted with unimpaired force since the time of Ferdinand the Catholic,—had multiplied the disaffected.

On arriving before Barcelona, Peterborough saw that the fortifications were in the best state, and well defended; and he knew that an army four times as numerous as the one he commanded would be necessary to form the first line of circumvallation. In this emergency he resolved to attempt the surprise of the fortress of Monjuich, which overlooks the city, and the possession of which would, if not decide, at least prepare the surrender of Barcelona. But that fortress, being built on the summit of an abrupt hill, and protected by formidable works, was considered impregnable; and impregnable it would have proved to an open attack. Secrecy being the soul of his enterprise, which he did not communicate even to the archduke, with the view of lulling the garrison into security, he re-embarked his great guns, and announced his intention of sailing for Italy. But, the very night appointed for his departure, he silently moved fourteen hundred men towards the works, acquainted the gallant Hesse-Darmstadt with his intention; and both heroes, on reaching the foot of the ramparts, waited until day should dawn.

The assault was then vigorously made by about three hundred men. It succeeded though the prince was killed. From this elevation the artillery of the English played with tremendous effect on the ramparts of the city; a breach was made, and a day appointed for the assault. The governor, Velasco, though among the bravest of the brave, to avoid the horrors attending a storming, offered to capitulate. On the 23rd of October, the archduke solemnly entered, and was proclaimed king of Spain. The example of the capital was followed by the rest of the principality; it spread into Valencia, next into Aragon and Murcia, which ultimately ranged themselves on the same side. For the rapidity of such success it is difficult to account.

The English historians gently slide over the atrocities of this war. Though all profess to follow San Felipeb they do not mention the rapes, murders, acts of sacrilege, and robberies committed by the English and their allies, the Catalan miquelets, who were, in fact, a species of banditti. Wives ravished before the eyes of their fettered husbands, daughters before their fathers; even churches turned into brothels, and the altars used as the most convenient places for the consummation of such iniquities, are said to have been common scenes. The Catalans themselves are implicated in them.

Lord Mahonf will not allow Tesség to have possessed merit of any description. Both his memoirs and his letters show that he was a sagacious observer; and his military talents were unquestionably not mean.

The reduction of Barcelona and the insurrection of Valencia could not fail to make a profound impression at Madrid. By this time Philip seems to have attained a salutary conviction that, unless he assumed an activity corresponding to his circumstances, his reign would soon be at an end; he accordingly resolved to take the field in person. Having petitioned Louis for a powerful reinforcement, and withdrawn most of the troops engaged on the frontiers of Portugal,—leaving a handful only under Berwick, who had been again ordered to assume the conduct of the western war,—he proceeded to invest Barcelona, the recovery of which would naturally constrain the submission of Catalonia, and perhaps put an end to the war by the capture of his rival.

In the passage through Aragon little care was taken by the royal army to cultivate the good will of the people; because a lieutenant was murdered in his bed at Guerrea, the incensed soldiers were permitted, not only to plunder the inhabitants, but to massacre the neighbouring peasantry. Philip proceeded towards the capital, under the walls of which he was joined by the duke of Noailles; and he had the gratification of seeing the entrance to the harbour blockaded by a fleet of thirty sail. Yet twenty-three days elapsed before the fall of Monjuich, and several more before a breach was made in the walls of the city wide enough to admit the assailants. In a few hours Philip was assured that the enemy would be in his power. At this critical moment, when the sun of Charles seemed to be set forever, a British squadron appeared in sight; the French fleet retired towards Toulon.

Philip, forsaking his guns, his baggage, and even his wounded, made a precipitate though reluctant retreat. At this time his affairs seemed hopeless. The duke of Marlborough had just triumphed at Ramillies; a French army in Italy had been almost annihilated; and the war in his own western provinces was no less disastrous than in the eastern. Great as were the abilities of Berwick, his small band could not face the forty thousand enemies before him: he therefore retreated, and had the mortification to witness the capture of Alcantara, Ciudad Rodrigo, and Salamanca, and the approach of the confederates towards Madrid. By his advice the court was removed to Burgos, the ancient capital of Castile. It was high time; for scarcely had Philip left it, when the light troops of Galway and De las Minas appeared in sight, and on the 28th day of June, those chiefs, at the head of thirty thousand men, made a triumphant entry into Madrid.

To ordinary and even to many acute observers the Bourbon power seemed forever fallen in the peninsula. Without forces, without money, a fugitive from his capital, which was occupied by a formidable enemy, his fairest provinces in the power of his rival, Philip was expected to retreat into France. But adversity called forth powers which had hitherto slumbered within him, and the existence of which had not been suspected, perhaps, even by himself. With a fortitude which would have done honour to a stoic, he bore his sudden, almost overwhelming reverses: with pathetic simplicity he harangued his handful of troops, whom he assured of his unalterable resolution of dying with them in defence of their common country; and, as to the future, he looked forward with a hope which showed that he knew the Spanish character much better than his timid counsellors.

When the allied troops had entered into Madrid, no shout had been raised in favour of Charles: a mournful silence reigned on every side. Madrid was not Spain, and the Spaniards were not Flemings—facts of which the allied generals had soon a melancholy experience. In Castile, almost every individual became a soldier. Estremadura furnished and equipped twelve thousand; in Salamanca, no sooner had the allies left it on the march to the capital than the inhabitants arose, again proclaimed Philip, and levied a body of troops to cut off all communication between them and Portugal. Those whom sickness or age prevented from drawing the sword, contributed their money to the same end. “The day before yesterday,” wrote the princess Orsini, “a priest brought 120 pistoles to the queen, from a village which contained only the same number of houses. He said, ‘My flock are ashamed of sending so small a sum; but they wish me to say that there are also 120 hearts faithful even to death.’ The good man wept as he spoke, and truly we wept with him!” The rising spirit of the people was not the only cause of this change: the allied generals grew suddenly inactive; the troops in Madrid abandoned themselves to many excesses, which they found more attractive than the fatigues and dangers of a campaign. Had even the inhabitants been attached to Charles, the presence of the Portuguese—such were nearly all the troops under De las Minas—would have changed their loyalty into disgust. Another expedient of a most loathsome kind did more mischief; the common women were instructed to visit the tents of the invaders, of whom six thousand were soon taken to the hospitals.

Charles himself wasted so much time in Barcelona and Aragon, that when he joined his generals at Guadalajara he perceived the active Berwick at the head of a greater force than his own. By that able man his communication with Aragon was intercepted—it had been already cut off with Portugal; Andalusia was in arms, so that his only way of escape was into Valencia.

Philip joined in the pursuit as far as the confines of Murcia, witnessed the reduction of Orihuela, Cuenca, and Cartagena, and returned in triumph to Madrid, which received him with enthusiastic demonstrations of joy.

The tide of success had now set in too strongly to be stemmed by any barrier opposed by the allies. On the plain of Almanza, De las Minas and Galway were signally defeated by the able Berwick. This victory established the throne of Philip: it inspired his adherents with confidence; in the same degree it dispirited his enemies, and it was followed by advantages of still greater moment. While the duke d’Orléans, who arrived with reinforcements from France, led an army into Aragon, Berwick proceeded to reduce the fortresses of Valencia. The capitals of both kingdoms submitted without striking a blow: in the former, the example was imitated by the remaining strong places; in the latter Denia, Jativa, and Alicante resisted, but were ultimately reduced. In punishment of their desperate valour the inhabitants of Jativa were barbarously butchered, the walls were razed to the ground, and when it was subsequently rebuilt, it was not allowed to retain its former name, but received that of San Felipe. But the heaviest of all penalties was the abolition of the ancient fueros, both of Aragon and Valencia, by a royal decree of June 29th, 1707. This abolition was effected in virtue of the royal authority, and of the right of conquest; the privileges, says the decree, had been granted at the mere pleasure of the crown, and the same pleasure now revoked them. The pretension was not more iniquitous than it was false. But these considerations had no influence on the Castilians, who looked only at the rebellion, and who, envious of the distinction hitherto possessed by the other kingdoms, were now resolved to reduce them to the same level. The same fate had been decreed against the privileges of Catalonia, the recovery of which now occupied the cares of the French general. But, before this object could be gained, new and almost unparalleled difficulties had to be encountered. Naples was conquered by the Austrians; and Milan was already in their power. Tortosa made a long and brilliant defence; some reinforcements were received from England; Galway was displaced by Stanhope, an officer of courage and experience; Count Starhemberg, the imperial general, arrived with auxiliaries, and the Balearic Isles were reduced by the allies.

Yet though in addition to these misfortunes the duke of Orléans was recalled through the intrigues of the princess Orsini; though, from the reverses of his arms in the Low Countries, Louis XIV intimated that he should be compelled to make whatever terms he could with the allies, if even they insisted on the sacrifice of his grandson; though the finances were in a distressed state; though, in the memorable campaign of 1710, Philip failed against Balaguer, was defeated by Starhemberg at Almenara, still more signally near Saragossa; though he was forced to retreat to his capital, and immediately afterwards to transfer his court from Madrid, which he was again destined to see in the power of his enemies, to Valladolid—still he had the consolation to find that his reverses endeared him to his people, and that Spanish loyalty and honour were not to be shaken. Volunteers again flocked in from all quarters; again were contributions of money and corn sent as free gifts. Add to this that the victory of La Godiña, obtained over the luckless Galway, the recovery of Ciudad Rodrigo, and the reduction of some Portuguese fortresses on the Estremadura frontier had naturally encouraged many to remain firm in their loyalty; and so great was the attachment borne to him that, when his rival Charles entered the capital (in October), scarcely a “viva!” was raised even by the lowest of the mob. The English general candidly confessed that the allies could command no more of the country than where they were actually encamped, and that the nation was against them. Charles was soon disgusted with Madrid; he left it the following month, and was scarcely beyond the gates when he had the mortification to hear the bells merrily ringing for his departure. During their stay, his English allies exasperated the people beyond forgiveness by their continued insults to the established faith, and by lawless rapine.

Again was Philip recalled by the inhabitants of Madrid, who greeted him with their warmest acclamations. Accompanied by the duke of Vendôme, who had arrived from France, he hastened in pursuit of the allies. At Brihuega they overtook Stanhope, at the head of fifty-five hundred men, chiefly English. In suffering himself to be surprised by a force so much superior, in a town of which the fortifications were few, and these few ruinous, was a fatal error; but he nobly resolved to prolong the defence to the last extremity. But in the end, when longer resistance was impossible, these brave men capitulated, and were dispersed through Castile.

The following morning Starhemberg, who had been requested by Stanhope to advance to the relief of his allies, arrived within sight of the place, and Vendôme prepared to receive him. In the battle which ensued, fortune declared for Vendôme.

These disasters, at a time when the allied cause was expected to be resistless, the amazing sacrifices of men and money, which England had so long and so unwisely made, and, above all, the change of Queen Anne’s ministry, strongly indisposed her people to the continuation of the war. Besides, by the death of the emperor Joseph, in April, 1711, Charles, the last male of his house, succeeded to immense possessions, and was invested with the imperial dignity—an expectation indeed soon verified by the event; and the union of so many states with the crown of Spain threatened to become no less fatal to the pretended balance of power than even the union of France and Spain.

At length Louis, having consented to swear that the two crowns of France and Spain should never be united on the same head; and Philip having renounced, both for himself and his successors, all claim to the former—engagements which neither considered binding—a general peace was signed, April 11th, 1713, by the ambassadors of all the sovereigns except the emperor. Its provisions, as far as Spain is concerned, were few but momentous. Philip was acknowledged king of Spain and the Indies; but Sicily, with the regal title, was ceded to the duke of Savoy, and Milan, Naples, Sardinia, and the Netherlands to the emperor; Gibraltar, and Minorca, with the commercial advantages before mentioned, to the English; a general amnesty was guaranteed to the Catalans, but without any stipulations for the preservation of their ancient fueros. In case Philip died without issue, the succession was to devolve, not on a prince of the house of France but on the duke of Savoy.

By this celebrated peace Spain was stripped of half her possessions in Europe. The War of the Succession was now virtually at an end: Charles, disabled by the defection of his allies, opened negotiations for withdrawing his troops from Catalonia; and though the inhabitants of the capital were resolved to continue the struggle unaided, it could not be of long continuance. Neither this war, nor the peace which followed it, was honourable to the allies. It was signalised by many atrocities, and by incessant insults to the religion of the country, and the morals of the people.

Of all the parties in this war, England is by far the most censurable. Hurried into it by hereditary, and in this case absurd, jealousy of France, she conducted it without glory, and ended it with discredit. She forced the Catalans into rebellion, yet she now abandoned them to a cruel and vindictive persecution.

THE CATALAN REVOLT (1713-1714 A.D.)

When the Catalans knew that the king had resolved to abolish their fueros, that neither honour nor justice was to be expected from England, and that the emperor himself was compelled to forsake them, instead of bewailing their situation, they manfully resolved to continue in arms against the whole force of the Bourbons. They rejected the proffered amnesty of Philip, unless their privileges were to be declared inviolable. Had the king complied with this condition, he would, doubtless, have attached to his throne, by the strongest of all ties, this brave and independent people; but he appears to have regarded every form of freedom with abhorrence, and to have considered the frequent insurrections as a consequence of their superior rights. A slight acquaintance with the national history would have taught him that they were occasioned by the repeated and unconstitutional usurpations of the crown.

The Catalans did not fall without one of the noblest struggles on record. An overwhelming army reduced all their fortresses, except Cardeña and the capital; the latter was invested, held for months in a state of blockade, while a formidable artillery played, with few intermissions, on the walls. In the spring of 1714, twenty thousand Frenchmen, under Berwick, arrived to reinforce the besiegers; nay, an English squadron was despatched for the same purpose. Nothing could daunt the inhabitants; all who were strong enough flew to arms; even the women and the ecclesiastics. Unfortunately they disgraced their cause by many excesses: never was tyranny more complete than that which reigned within the walls of Barcelona. All who did not prefer the rashest to the most moderate measures, were massacred by a ferocious mob. Even priests were forced from the altar or the pulpit to the scaffold or the gallows. In the meantime Berwick found that his most vigorous attacks were repulsed with loss. The desperate defenders had rallied round a black banner, on which was the representation of a death’s head,—an intimation that they would neither give nor receive quarter,—in a series of wild, almost superhuman efforts.

Nothing now remained but to make the last awful attempt. Fifty companies of grenadiers advanced. Of the desperate valour of the besieged some idea may be formed, when it is known that in the course of this eventful day the bastion of San Pedro was won and lost eleven times: women and priests advanced to the charge with amazing impetuosity; and such was the havoc which they and their comrades inflicted on the enemy, that in one regiment, long before the close of the struggle, every superior officer had fallen, and an ensign remained with the command. But numbers prevailed: after twelve hours of incessant fighting, the small remnant of Catalans began to give way; a white flag was hoisted, the carnage was suspended, negotiations were opened; but as the deputies still insisted on the inviolability of their ancient rights, they were hastily broken off. During the night, a fire of musketry was maintained from the houses; but in the morning of September 12th, when Berwick was proceeding to put all to the sword, and burn the city to the ground, the leaders consented to capitulate.[99]

In return for his renunciation of all future claim to the crown of Fiance, in 1712, Philip forced, rather than persuaded, his council to alter the order of succession in Spain—to introduce a sort of Salic law, by which the most distant male of the family would be called to the inheritance in preference to the nearest female. The cabals of the princess Orsini, who aspired to a small independent sovereignty in the Low Countries, and who in her disappointment opposed everything which had not served her personal ambition, added to the national dissatisfaction. Even after the death of the queen of Spain, in February, 1714, who left two sons, the infantes Luis and Ferdinand, her influence remained paramount. Perceiving that Philip would not long remain without a queen, it was her aim to provide him with one who would be as flexible to her purposes as the last. To preserve her present reign, she caused the direction of affairs to be intrusted to M. Orry, whose attempts to shake the power of the Inquisition, to curtail the immunities of the church, rendered both him and her the objects of orthodox hatred. But her ascendency was fast hastening to its close; and, with all her penetration, it was hastened by one of far humbler rank, but of superior cunning to herself.

At this period the celebrated Italian abate Alberoni appears on the stage of Spanish history: he had entered the country as the agent of the duke of Parma, and had been protected by Vendôme. He had access to the court, where he soon insinuated himself into the good graces of the princess. Seeing her embarrassment in choosing a wife for the king, he one day proposed Elizabeth [or Isabella] Farnese, daughter of the late, and niece of the present duke of Parma, whom he artfully represented as simple, devout, immured from the world, and exactly fitted to become her instrument.

Negotiations were secretly opened for the marriage; the papal dispensation—for the future was nearly related to the deceased queen—was procured; and the favourite exulted in the prospect of continued rule, when she discovered the real character of her future mistress. Scarcely was she introduced to Elizabeth, when, by order of the latter, she was arrested and hurried towards the frontier, without a moment’s time to collect her wardrobe. She passed to Rome, where she ended her days in the household of the unfortunate Stuart. Her fate excited no sympathy; it was rather beheld with satisfaction: but yet it will be regarded by future generations with much interest, as a peculiar illustration of the instability of courts.

A NEW EUROPEAN WAR (1715-1719 A.D.)

The disgrace of the princess Orsini was followed by the removal of Orry and her other creatures from the administration. Like her predecessor Maria Louisa, Elizabeth succeeded to the most unbounded power over the royal mind, especially after the death of Louis XIV, whom Philip had been accustomed to regard with mingled reverence and fear. That event changed his policy. Next to Louis XV, now a child, he was the heir to the French crown—his renunciation to procure the Peace of Utrecht had been esteemed both by himself and his grandfather a farce—and, as such, he might aspire to the regency. It was dexterously seized by the duke d’Orléans, a circumstance which alienated him from the French court.