with a list of all the defeats of the past half century, starting with the bloody battle of Rocroy, when the Spanish forces who were winning ended up massacred by the French. The leader of the Spanish forces, Francisco de Melo, had thrown his victory to the winds, yet for this he received no sanction but a purse of twelve thousand ducats. How better, the Connestabilessa wondered, could one have fostered the decay and subversion of all values?
Since then, everything had fallen apart: the humiliations in
Flanders had been followed by the defeats at Balaguer, Elvas and Estremoz, the rout of Spain's armies at Lens and the shameful retreat from Castel Rodrigo. Then came the loss of Portugal after twenty-four long years of war and the uprising in Naples, put down only with the greatest of difficulty. (They had even proclaimed a republic). How could one be surprised by the continual military reversals when one knew that, to compensate for their lack of equipment, the Spanish armies had (as at the expedition against Fuentarrabia) been reduced to using antique arms from the collection of the Duke of Albuquerque, which had been rejected by the King himself a century before. How could one be surprised, knowing that Charles's father, Philip IY had for his most trusted counsellor a nun from an enclosed order who knew nothing of the world?
Passing from battles to diplomacy, matters became even worse: the Peace of Westphalia had humiliated Spain, while that of the Pyrenees had made her an object of ridicule in the eyes of all Europe.
Meanwhile, the members of the dynasty had been dying like flies: the first wife of Philip IX Isabella, had died at the age of forty-one, followed two years later by her first-born, Balthazar Charles; the little Prince Philip Prosper had died before reaching the age of five and Charles II's first wife had died of suspected poisoning when she was not yet thirty.
Now, at the end of this long Calvary, here in the capital we are reduced to utter chaos. The secret agents of both parties, all hired or held to ransom, circulate rumours of defeat, foment revolts, make every government hated by the people.
My friend, do you think they have not realised? The order is peremptory: let the Minister be corrupt, let the magistrate be arbitrary and let the priest sin.
The Grandees of the Kingdom have all been set at one another's throats, so that no joint action is any longer possible. Let every government be short-lived, so as to increase uncertainty. Let robber Ministers be dealt with clemently, or not at all, so as to convince honest citizens that Evilpays. Let the rulers tarry at ceremonies and festivities, indifferent to the fact that their country is falling to pieces. All hope must be lost: for the morrow, for justice, for humanity.
Only then, impelled by the powerful force of evil examples, will the plan of the Great Jackals come to fruition: the police will rob, the merchant will cheat, the soldier will desert, the honest mother will prostitute herself. Children will grow up without love and without illusions to sow disorder and unhappiness among future generations. Let Herod's test be renewed, may every seed of love die out; let madness flourish.
Every Spaniard's claim to rights, respect, dignity, must be destroyed. He must be convinced that his destiny matters to no one and that he can therefore count on no help. He must feel betrayed by everything and everyone, and he must hate.
In the face of his dismay, his hunger, his fear, Palace protocol must remain sumptuous, the privileges of the rich, shameless. Every day must, for Spaniards, bear the colours of disillusionment, the odour of betrayal, the bitter taste of rage; until, one morning, they will rise cursing their rulers, but with resignation. When that day comes, the time will be ripe.
The ruin or fortune of Kingdoms depends not upon finances, not upon armies, but on the soul of the people. Even the most sanguinary tyrant can in the long run do nothing against the hostility and mistrust of his fellow- countrymen. This is more powerful than cannons, swifter than cavalry, more indispensable than money, for true power (and every Minister knows this) proceeds from the Spirit, not the Flesh.
The people's scorn is a hot wind that no wall can stop. It will in the end dissolve the hardest stone, the most solid bastion, the sharpest sword.
That is why tyrants have since time immemorial yearned to crush the people, but not without first obtaining their assent.
For that purpose, however, the lie is essential, the mother and sister of all despots. They invoke dangers which they themselves have secretly created, magnified by newspapers, and to which they claim to hold the solution. To achieve this, they will demand and be given full powers. And with those powers, they will reduce the people to desperation.
What will then happen? The Great Jackals will exult. Oh, how stupid they are! For this will also be their own end: all will fight one another, to divide the spoils of dead Spain. A great fratricidal struggle, a new Pelopponese war, after which there will no longer be any possibility of peace, only more wars, this war's daughters.
Not knowing Spain's political affairs, I could not understand to what the Connestabilessa was referring. I therefore passed on at once to reading the report itself and thus learned what had quite rightly given rise to so much discomfiture:
Observations which may be of use in relation to
Spanish affairs
When King Philip IV died, Charles II was still a child. The Regency thus went to his mother, Maria Anna. Incapable of governing the fate of the Kingdom on her own, Philip IV's widow appointed to the head of the government a Jesuit, her confessor Father Nidhard. Very soon, however, he was ejected by a conspiracy headed by Don John the Bastard. A few years later, the post was taken by Valenzuela, an unscrupulous adventurer whom Charles II, now an adolescent, had made a Grandee of Spain in order to make up for a banal hunting accident (when he had shot him in a buttock). But the Bastard instigated a second plot, exiled the Queen Mother and had Valenzuela arrested too. The latter's wife was arrested, incarcerated and raped. She ended her days begging and died mad. When, however, the Bastard died too, the Queen Mother returned and appointed a new Minister, the Duke of Medinaceli.
Medinaceli worked all day long, apparently exhausting himself in the process, but never achieved a thing. Despite this, he resigned because the task was too wearying. In the end, the Count of Oropesa took the reins. His health was delicate. He was tormented by constant attacks of Saint Anthony's fire and spent more time in bed than on his feet. After barely three years in office, he was thrown out by a palace coup and sent into exile. King Charles then appointed a new Junta without any chief minister. This, however, was soon nicknamed the 'government of swindlers'. Its failure gave rise in turn to a quadrumvirate consisting of three noblemen and a Cardinal. They achieved absolutely nothing, so there was yet another change of government: the Duke of Montalto came to power, but he too was soon dismissed. The King then recalled Oropesa whom he particularly liked, but the people rose in revolt and swept him away: disguised as a monk, he made a miraculous escape with his wife and son when the rebels came for him.
The public accounts are so disastrous and confused that no one can manage to reconstruct the State budget. Taxes are kept high by public officials so that they can make money out of them, milking surreptitiously the entries in the Exchequer or else exacting bribes. The Royal finances are in such a parlous state that even the staff of the Alcazar go unpaid. At the same time, they increase the taxes on meat and oil for three weeks in order to pay the actors who celebrate the King's birthday.
The French burst into Catalonia. The Spanish army was routed on the river Ter; Palamos and Gerona are under occupation.
El Rey, who looks upon government as the Devil looks on holy water, spends his days in the gardens of the Buen Retiro picking punnets of raspberries.
In the streets, the host of wretches, beggars, petty thieves and homeless people has grown out of all proportion. The people are on their knees. The humblest foodstuffs are paid for with their weight in gold. Thefts, homicides and rapine are the order of the day. Taxes on bakers' goods are raised and the bakers go on strike. Madrid, already famished, is breadless. Flour can be found nowhere. To obtain a little, the English Ambassador has had to send out a squad armed to the teeth, or else his servants would be attacked. To work as a baker means running a daily risk of being robbed and killed.
The only thing that the hungry people get for a reply is the latest in a long line of announcements that the Queen is with child and Spain will soon have an heir to the Throne, but no one believes the Palace's lies.
The darkest day was a year ago, on 29th April 1699, when the furious mob came to the Alcazar, under the windows of the Royal Family. The Sovereign had to come out onto the balcony in person and only by a miracle did he succeed in calming the insurgents. At Court, all is turning to catastrophe.
