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But greater events were at hand. The English Government had determined to send
an expedition to Spain, under the command of Charles Mordaunt, Earl of
Peterborough. This man was, if not the greatest, yet assuredly the most
extraordinary character of that age, the King of Sweden himself not excepted.
Indeed, Peterborough may be described as a polite, learned, and amorous Charles
the Twelfth. His courage had all the French impetuosity, and all the English
steadiness. His fertility and activity of mind were almost beyond belief. They
appeared in everything that he did, in his campaigns, in his negotiations, in
his familiar correspondence, in his lightest and most unstudied conversation. He
was a kind friend, a generous enemy, and in deportment a thorough gentleman. But
his splendid talents and virtues were rendered almost useless to his country, by
his levity, his restlessness, his irritability, his morbid craving for novelty
and for excitement. His weaknesses had not only brought him, on more than one
occasion, into serious trouble; but had impelled him to some actions altogether
unworthy of his humane and noble nature. Repose was insupportable to him. He
loved to fly round Europe faster than a traveling courier. He was at the Hague
one week, at Vienna the next. Then he took a fancy to see Madrid; and he had
scarcely reached Madrid, when he ordered horses and set off for Copenhagen. No
attendants could keep up with his speed. No bodily infirmities could confine
him. Old age, disease, imminent death, produced scarcely any effect on his
intrepid spirit. Just before he underwent the most horrible of surgical
operations, his conversation was as sprightly as that of a young man in the full
vigor of health. On the day after the operation, in spite of the entreaties of
his medical advisers, he would set out on a journey. His figure was that of a
skeleton. But his elastic mind supported him under fatigues and sufferings which
seemed sufficient to bring the most robust man to the grave. Change of
employment was as necessary to him as change of place. He loved to dictate six
or seven letters at once. Those who had to transact business with him complained
that though he talked with great ability on every subject, he could never be
kept to the point. "Lord Peterborough," said Pope, "would say very pretty and
lively things in his letters, but they would be rather too gay and wandering;
whereas, were Lord Bolingbroke to write to an emperor, or to a statesman, he
would fix on that point which was the most material, would set it in the
strongest and fiercest light, and manage it so as to make it the most
serviceable to his purpose." What Peterborough was to Bolingbroke as a writer,
he was to Marlborough as a general. He was, in truth, the last of the
knights-errant, brave to temerity, liberal to profusion, courteous in his
dealings with enemies, the Protector of the oppressed, the adorer of women. His
virtues and vices were those of the Round Table. Indeed, his character can
hardly be better summed up, than in the lines in which the author of that clever
little poem, Monks and Giants, has described Sir Tristram.
"His birth, it seems, by Merlin's calculation, Was under Venus, Mercury, and
Mars; His mind with all their attributes was mixed, And, like those planets,
wandering and unfixed.
"From realm to realm he ran, and never staid: Kingdoms and crowns he won, and
gave away: It seemed as if his labors were repaid By the mere noise and movement
of the fray: No conquests or acquirements had he made; His chief delight was, on
some festive day To ride triumphant, prodigal, and proud, And shower his wealth
amidst the shouting crowd.
"His schemes of war were sudden, unforeseen, Inexplicable both to friend and
foe; It seemed as if some momentary spleen Inspired the project, and impelled
the blow; And most his fortune and success were seen With means the most
inadequate and low; Most master of himself, and least encumbered, When
overmatched, entangled, and outnumbered."
In June 1705, this remarkable man arrived in Lisbon with five thousand Dutch and
English soldiers. There the Archduke embarked with a large train of attendants,
whom Peterborough entertained magnificently during the voyage at his own
expense. From Lisbon the armament proceeded to Gibraltar, and, having taken the
Prince of Hesse Darmstadt on board, steered towards the north-east along the
coast of Spain.
The first place at which the expedition touched, after leaving Gibraltar, was
Altea in Valencia. The wretched misgovernment of Philip had excited great
discontent throughout this province. The invaders were eagerly welcomed. The
peasantry flocked to the shore, bearing provisions, and shouting, "Long live
Charles the Third." The neighboring fortress of Denia surrendered without a
blow.
The imagination of Peterborough took fire. He conceived the hope of finishing
the war at one blow. Madrid was but a hundred and fifty miles distant. There was
scarcely one fortified place on the road. The troops of Philip were either on
the frontiers of Portugal or on the coast of Catalonia. At the capital there was
no military force, except a few horse who formed a guard of honor round the
person of Philip. But the scheme of pushing into the heart of a great kingdom
with an army of only seven thousand men, was too daring to please the Archduke.
The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt, who, in the reign of the late King of Spain, had
been Governor of Catalonia, and who overrated his own influence in that
province, was of opinion that they ought instantly to proceed thither, and to
attack Barcelona, Peterborough was hampered by his instructions, and found it
necessary to submit.
On the sixteenth of August the fleet arrived before Barcelona; and Peterborough
found that the task assigned to him by the Archduke and the Prince was one of
almost insuperable difficulty. One side of the city was protected by the sea;
the other by the strong fortifications of Monjuich. The walls were so extensive,
that thirty thousand men would scarcely have been sufficient to invest them. The
garrison was as numerous as the besieging army. The best officers in the Spanish
service were in the town. The hopes which the Prince of Darmstadt had formed of
a general rising in Catalonia were grievously disappointed. The invaders were
joined only by about fifteen hundred armed peasants, whose services cost more
than they were worth.
No general was ever in a more deplorable situation than that in which
Peterborough was now placed. He had always objected to the scheme of besieging
Barcelona. His objections had been overruled. He had to execute a project which
he had constantly represented as impracticable. His camp was divided into
hostile factions and he was censured by all. The Archduke and the Prince blamed
him for not proceeding instantly to take the town; but suggested no plan by
which seven thousand men could be enabled to do the work of thirty thousand.
Others blamed their general for giving up his own opinion to the childish whims
of Charles, and for sacrificing his men in an attempt to perform what was
impossible. The Dutch commander positively declared that his soldiers should not
stir: Lord Peterborough might give what orders he chose; but to engage in such a
siege was madness; and the men should not be sent to certain death when there
was no chance of obtaining any advantage.
At length, after three weeks of inaction, Peterborough announced his fixed
determination to raise the siege. The heavy cannon were sent on board.
Preparations were made for re-embarking the troops. Charles and the Prince of
Hesse were furious, but most of the officers blamed their general for having
delayed so long the measure which he had at last found it necessary to take. On
the twelfth of September there were rejoicings and public entertainments in
Barcelona for this great deliverance. On the following morning the English flag
was flying on the ramparts of Monjuich. The genius and energy of one man had
supplied the place of forty battalions.
At midnight Peterborough had called out the Prince of Hesse, with whom he had
not for some time been on speaking terms, "I have resolved, sir," said the Earl,
"to attempt an assault; you may accompany us, if you think fit, and see whether
I and my men deserve what you have been pleased to say of us." The Prince was
startled. The attempt, he said, was hopeless; but he was ready to take his
share; and, without further discussion, he called for his horse.
Fifteen hundred English soldiers were assembled under the Earl. A thousand more
had been posted as a body of reserve, at a neighboring convent, under the
command of Stanhope. After a winding march along the foot of the hills,
Peterborough and his little army reached the walls of Monjuich. There they
halted till daybreak. As soon as they were descried, the enemy advanced into the
outer ditch to meet them. This was the event on which Peterborough had reckoned,
and for which his men were prepared. The English received the fire, rushed
forward, leaped into the ditch, put the Spaniards to flight, and entered the
works together with the fugitives. Before the garrison had recovered from their
first surprise, the Earl was master of the outworks, had taken several pieces of
cannon, and had thrown up a breastwork to defend his men. He then sent off for
Stanhope's reserve. While he was waiting for this reinforcement, news arrived
that three thousand men were marching from Barcelona towards Monjuich. He
instantly rode out to take a view of them; but no sooner had he left his troops
than they were seized with a panic. Their situation was indeed full of danger;
they had been brought into Monjuich, they scarcely knew how; their numbers were
small; their general was gone: their hearts failed them, and they were
proceeding to evacuate the fort. Peterborough received information of these
occurrences in time to stop the retreat. He galloped up to the fugitives,
addressed a few words to them, and put himself at their head. The sound of his
voice and the sight of his face restored all their courage, and they marched
back to their former position.
The Prince of Hesse had fallen in the confusion of the assault; but everything
else went well. Stanhope arrived; the detachment which had marched out of
Barcelona retreated; the heavy cannon were disembarked, and brought to bear on
the inner fortifications of Monjuich, which speedily fell. Peterborough, with
his usual generosity, rescued the Spanish soldiers from the ferocity of his
victorious army, and paid the last honors with great pomp to his rival the
Prince of Hesse.
The reduction of Monjuich was the first of a series of brilliant exploits.
Barcelona fell; and Peterborough had the glory of taking, with a handful of men,
one of the largest and strongest towns of Europe. He had also the glory, not
less dear to his chivalrous temper, of saving the life and honor of the
beautiful Duchess of Popoli, whom he met flying with disheveled hair from the
fury of the soldiers. He availed himself dexterously of the jealousy with which
the Catalonians regarded the inhabitants of Castile. He guaranteed to the
province in the capital of which he was now quartered all its ancient rights and
liberties, and thus succeeded in attaching the population to the Austrian cause.
The open country now declared in favor of Charles. Tarragona, Tortosa, Gerona,
Lerida, San Mateo, threw open their gates. The Spanish Government sent the Count
of Las Torres with seven thousand men to reduce San Mateo. The Earl of
Peterborough, with only twelve hundred men, raised the siege. His officers
advised him to be content with this extraordinary success. Charles urged him to
return to Barcelona; but no remonstrances could stop such a spirit in the midst
of such a career. It was the depth of winter. The country was mountainous. The
roads were almost impassable. The men were ill-clothed. The horses were knocked
up. The retreating army was far more numerous than the pursuing army. But
difficulties and dangers vanished before the energy of Peterborough. He pushed
on, driving Las Torres before him. Nules surrendered to the mere terror of his
name; and, on the fourth of February, 1706 he arrived in triumph at Valencia.
There he learned that a body of four thousand men was on the march to join Las
Torres. He set out at dead of night from Valencia, passed the Xucar, came
unexpectedly on the encampment of the enemy, and slaughtered, dispersed, or took
the whole reinforcement. The Valencians could scarcely believe their eyes when
they saw the prisoners brought in.
In the meantime the Courts of Madrid and Versailles, exasperated and alarmed by
the fall of Barcelona and by the revolt of the surrounding country, determined
to make a great effort. A large army, nominally commanded by Philip, but really
under the orders of Marshal Tesse, entered Catalonia. A fleet under the Count of
Toulouse, one of the natural children of Lewis the Fourteenth, appeared before
the port of Barcelona, The city was attacked at once by sea and land. The person
of the Archduke was in considerable danger. Peterborough, at the head of about
three thousand men, marched with great rapidity from Valencia. To give battle,
with so small a force, to a great regular army under the conduct of a Marshal of
France, would have been madness. The Earl therefore made war after the fashion
of the Minas and Empecinados of our own time. He took his post on the
neighboring mountains, harassed the enemy with incessant alarms, cut off their
stragglers, intercepted their communications with the interior, and introduced
supplies, both of men and provisions, into the town. He saw, however, that the
only hope of the besieged was on the side of the sea. His commission from the
British Government gave him supreme power, not only over the army, but, whenever
he should be actually on board, over the navy also. He put out to sea at night
in an open boat, without communicating his design to any person. He was picked
up several leagues from the shore, by one of the ships of the English squadron.
As soon as he was on board, he announced himself as first in command, and sent a
pinnace with his orders to the Admiral. Had these orders been given a few hours
earlier, it is probable that the whole French fleet would have been taken. As it
was, the Count of Toulouse put out to sea. The port was open. The town was
relieved. On the following night the enemy raised the siege and retreated to
Roussillon. Peterborough returned to Valencia, a place which he preferred to
every other in Spain; and Philip, who had been some weeks absent from his wife,
could endure the misery of separation no longer, and flew to rejoin her at
Madrid.
At Madrid, however, it was impossible for him or for her to remain. The splendid
success which Peterborough had obtained on the eastern coast of the Peninsula
had inspired the sluggish Galway with emulation. He advanced into the heart of
Spain. Berwick retreated. Alcantara, Ciudad Rodrigo, and Salamanca fell, and the
conquerors marched towards the capital.
Philip was earnestly pressed by his advisers to remove the seat of government to
Burgos. The advance guard of the allied army was already seen on the heights
above Madrid. It was known that the main body was at hand. The unfortunate
Prince fled with his Queen and his household. The royal wanderers, after
traveling eight days on bad roads, under a burning sun, and sleeping eight
nights in miserable hovels, one of which fell down and nearly crushed them both
to death, reached the metropolis of Old Castile. In the meantime the invaders
had entered Madrid in triumph, and had proclaimed the Archduke in the streets of
the imperial city. Arragon, ever jealous of the Castilian ascendancy, followed
the example of Catalonia. Saragossa revolted without seeing an enemy. The
governor whom Philip had set over Carthagena betrayed his trust, and surrendered
to the Allies the best arsenal and the last ships which Spain possessed.
Toledo had been for some time the retreat of two ambitious, turbulent and
vindicative intriguers, the Queen Dowager and Cardinal Porto Carrero. They had
long been deadly enemies. They had led the adverse factions of Austria and
France. Each had in turn domineered over the weak and disordered mind of the
late King. At length the impostures of the priest had triumphed over the
blandishments of the woman; Porto Carrero had remained victorious; and the Queen
had fled in shame and mortification, from the Court where she had once been
supreme. In her retirement she was soon joined by him whose arts had destroyed
her influence. The Cardinal, having held power just long enough to convince all
parties of his incompetency, had been dismissed to his See, cursing his own
folly and the ingratitude of the House which he had served too well. Common
interests and common enmities reconciled the fallen rivals. The Austrian troops
were admitted into Toledo without opposition. The Queen Dowager flung off that
mournful garb which the widow of a King of Spain wears through her whole life,
and blazed forth in jewels. The Cardinal blessed the standards of the invaders
in his magnificent cathedral, and lighted up his palace in honor of the great
deliverance. It seemed that the struggle had terminated in favor of the
Archduke, and that nothing remained for Philip but a prompt flight into the
dominions of his grandfather.
So judged those who were ignorant of the character and habits of the Spanish
people. There is no country in Europe which it is so easy to overrun as Spain,
there is no country in Europe which it is more difficult to conquer. Nothing can
be more contemptible than the regular military resistance which Spain offers to
an invader; nothing more formidable than the energy which she puts forth when
her regular military resistance has been beaten down. Her armies have long borne
too much resemblance to mobs; but her mobs have had, in an unusual degree, the
spirit of armies. The soldier, as compared with other soldiers, is deficient in
military qualities; but the peasant has as much of those qualities as the
soldier. In no country have such strong fortresses been taken by surprise: in no
country have unfortified towns made so furious and obstinate a resistance to
great armies. War in Spain has, from the days of the Romans, had a character of
its own; it is a fire which cannot be raked out; it burns fiercely under the
embers; and long after it has, to all seeming, been extinguished, bursts forth
more violently than ever. This was seen in the last war. Spain had no army which
could have looked in the face an equal number of French or Prussian soldiers;
but one day laid the Prussian monarchy in the dust; one day put the crown of
France at the disposal of invaders. No Jena, no Waterloo, would have enabled
Joseph to reign in quiet at Madrid.
The conduct of the Castilians throughout the War of the Succession was most
characteristic. With all the odds of number and situation on their side, they
had been ignominiously beaten. All the European dependencies of the Spanish
crown were lost. Catalonia, Arragon, and Valencia had acknowledged the Austrian
Prince. Gibraltar had been taken by a few sailors; Barcelona stormed by a few
dismounted dragoons. The invaders had penetrated into the centre of the
Peninsula, and were quartered at Madrid and Toledo. While these events had been
in progress, the nation had scarcely given a sign of life. The rich could hardly
be prevailed on to give or to lend for the support of war; the troops had shown
neither discipline nor courage; and now at last, when it seemed that all was
lost, when it seemed that the most sanguine must relinquish all hope, the
national spirit awoke, fierce, proud, and unconquerable. The people had been
sluggish when the circumstances might well have inspired hope; they reserved all
their energy for what appeared to be a season of despair. Castile, Leon,
Andalusia, Estremadura, rose at once; every peasant procured a firelock or a
pike; the Allies were masters only of the ground on which they trod. No soldier
could wander a hundred yards from the main body of the invading army without
imminent risk of being poniarded. The country through which the conquerors had
passed to Madrid, and which, as they thought, they had subdued, was all in arms
behind them. Their communications with Portugal were cut off. In the meantime,
money began, for the first time, to flow rapidly into the treasury of the
fugitive King. "The day before yesterday," says the Princess Orsini, in a letter
written at this time, "the priest of a village which contains only a hundred and
twenty houses brought a hundred and twenty pistols to the Queen. 'My flock,'
said he, 'are ashamed to send you so little; but they beg you to believe that in
this purse there are a hundred and twenty hearts faithful even to the death.'
The good man wept as he spoke; and indeed we wept too. Yesterday another small
village, in which there are only twenty houses, sent us fifty pistols."
While the Castilians were everywhere arming in the cause of Philip, the Allies
were serving that cause as effectually by their mismanagement. Galway staid at
Madrid, where his soldiers indulged in such boundless licentiousness that one
half of them were in the hospitals. Charles remained dawdling in Catalonia.
Peterborough had taken Requena, and wished to march from Valencia towards
Madrid, and to effect a junction with Galway; but the Archduke refused his
consent to the plan. The indignant general remained accordingly in his favorite
city, on the beautiful shores of the Mediterranean, reading Don Quixote, giving
balls and suppers, trying in vain to get some good sport out of the Valencia
bulls, and making love, not in vain, to the Valencian women.
At length the Archduke advanced into Castile, and ordered Peterborough to join
him. But it was too late. Berwick had already compelled Galway to evacuate
Madrid; and, when the whole force of the Allies was collected at Guadalaxara, it
was found to be decidedly inferior in numbers to that of the enemy.
Peterborough formed a plan for regaining possession of the capital. His plan was
rejected by Charles. The patience of the sensitive and vainglorious hero was
worn out. He had none of that serenity of temper which enabled Marlborough to
act in perfect harmony with Eugene, and to endure the vexatious interference of
the Dutch deputies. He demanded permission to leave the army. Permission was
readily granted; and he set out for Italy. That there might be some pretext for
his departure, he was commissioned by the Archduke to raise a loan in Genoa, on
the credit of the revenues of Spain.
From that moment to the end of the campaign the tide of fortune ran strong
against the Austrian cause. Berwick had placed his army between the Allies and
the frontiers of Portugal. They retreated on Valencia, and arrived in that
Province, leaving about ten thousand prisoners in the hands of the enemy.
In January 1707, Peterborough arrived at Valencia from Italy, no longer bearing
a public character, but merely as a volunteer. His advice was asked, and it
seems to have been most judicious. He gave it as his decided opinion that no
offensive operations against Castile ought to be undertaken. It would be easy,
he said, to defend Arragon, Catalonia, and Valencia, against Philip. The
inhabitants of those parts of Spain were attached to the cause of the Archduke;
and the armies of the House of Bourbon would be resisted by the whole
population. In a short time the enthusiasm of the Castilians might abate. The
government of Philip might commit unpopular acts. Defeats in the Netherlands
might compel Lewis to withdraw the succors which he had furnished to his
grandson. Then would be the time to strike a decisive blow. This excellent
advice was rejected. Peterborough, who had now received formal letters of recall
from England, departed before the opening of the campaign; and with him departed
the good fortune of the Allies. Scarcely any general had ever done so much with
means so small. Scarcely any general had ever displayed equal originality and
boldness. He possessed, in the highest degree, the art of conciliating those
whom he had subdued. But he was not equally successful in winning the attachment
of those with whom he acted. He was adored by the Catalonians and Valencians;
but he was hated by the prince whom he had all but made a great king, and by the
generals whose fortune and reputation were staked on the same venture with his
own. The English Government could not understand him. He was so eccentric that
they gave him no credit for the judgment which he really possessed. One day he
took towns with horse-soldiers; then again he turned some hundreds of infantry
into cavalry at a minute's notice. He obtained his political intelligence
chiefly by means of love affairs, and filled his dispatches with epigrams. The
ministers thought that it would be highly impolitic to entrust the conduct of
the Spanish war to so volatile and romantic a person. They therefore gave the
command to Lord Galway, an experienced veteran, a man who was in war what
Moliere's doctors were in medicine, who thought it much more honorable to fail
according to rule, than to succeed by innovation, and who would have been very
much ashamed of himself if he had taken Monjuich by means so strange as those
which Peterborough employed. This great commander conducted the campaign of 1707
in the most scientific manner. On the plain of Almanza he encountered the army
of the Bourbons. He drew up his troops according to the methods prescribed by
the best writers, and in a few hours lost eighteen thousand men, a hundred and
twenty standards, all his baggage and all his artillery. Valencia and Arragon
were instantly conquered by the French, and, at the close of the year, the
mountainous province of Catalonia was the only part of Spain which still adhered
to Charles.
"Do you remember, child," says the foolish woman in the Spectator to her
husband, "that the pigeon-house fell the very afternoon that our careless wench
spilt the salt upon the table?" "Yes, my dear," replies the gentleman, "and the
next post brought us an account of the battle of Almanza." The approach of
disaster in Spain had been for some time indicated by omens much clearer than
the mishap of the salt-cellar; an ungrateful prince, an undisciplined army, a
divided council, envy triumphant over merit, a man of genius recalled, a pedant
and a sluggard entrusted with supreme command. The battle of Almanza decided the
fate of Spain. The loss was such as Marlborough or Eugene could scarcely have
retrieved, and was certainly not to be retrieved by Stanhope and Staremberg.
Stanhope, who took the command of the English army in Catalonia, was a man of
respectable abilities, both in military and civil affairs, but fitter, we
conceive, for a second than for a first place. Lord Mahon, with his usual
candor, tells us, what we believe was not known before, that his ancestor's most
distinguished exploit, the conquest of Minorca, was suggested by Marlborough.
Staremberg, a methodical tactician of the German school, was sent by the emperor
to command in Spain. Two languid campaigns followed, during which neither of the
hostile armies did anything memorable, but during which both were nearly
starved.
At length, in 1710, the chiefs of the Allied forces resolved to venture on
bolder measures. They began the campaign with a daring move, pushed into
Arragon, defeated the troops of Philip at Almenara, defeated them again at
Saragossa, and advanced to Madrid. The King was again a fugitive. The Castilians
sprang to arms with the same enthusiasm which they had displayed in 1706. The
conquerors found the capital a desert. The people shut themselves up in their
houses, and refused to pay any mark of respect to the Austrian prince. It was
necessary to hire a few children to shout before him in the streets. Meanwhile,
the Court of Philip at Valladolid was thronged by nobles and prelates. Thirty
thousand people followed their King from Madrid to his new residence. Women of
rank, rather than remain behind, performed the journey on foot. The peasants
enlisted by thousands. Money, arms, and provisions, were supplied in abundance
by the zeal of the people. The country round Madrid was infested by small
parties of irregular horse. The Allies could not send off a dispatch to Arragon,
or introduce a supply of provisions into the capital. It was unsafe for the
Archduke to hunt in the immediate vicinity of the palace which he occupied.
The wish of Stanhope was to winter in Castile. But he stood alone in the council
of war; and, indeed it is not easy to understand how the Allies could have
maintained themselves, through so unpropitious a season, in the midst of so
hostile a population. Charles, whose personal safety was the first object of the
generals, was sent with an escort of cavalry to Catalonia in November; and in
December the army commenced its retreat towards Arragon.
But the Allies had to do with a master-spirit. The King of France had lately
sent the Duke of Vendome to command in Spain. This man was distinguished by the
filthiness of his person, by the brutality of his demeanor, by the gross
buffoonery of his conversation, and by the impudence with which he abandoned
himself to the most nauseous of all vices. His sluggishness was almost
incredible. Even when engaged in a campaign, he often passed whole days in his
bed. His strange torpidity had been the cause of some of the most serious
disasters which the armies of the House of Bourbon had sustained. But when he
was roused by any great emergency, his resources, his energy, and his presence
of mind, were such as had been found in no French general since the death of
Luxembourg.
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