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History of the War of the Succession in Spain. By Lord Mahon. 8vo. London: 1832.
The days when Miscellanies in Prose and Verse by a Person of Honor, and Romances
of M. Scuderi, done into English by a Person of Quality, were attractive to
readers and profitable to booksellers, have long gone by. The literary
privileges once enjoyed by lords are as obsolete as their right to kill the
king's deer on their way to Parliament, or as their old remedy of scandalum
magnatum. Yet we must acknowledge that, though our political opinions are by no
means aristocratical, we always feel kindly disposed towards noble authors.
Industry, and a taste for intellectual pleasures, are peculiarly respectable in
those who can afford to be idle and who have every temptation to be dissipated.
It is impossible not to wish success to a man who, finding himself placed,
without any exertion or any merit on his part, above the mass of society,
voluntarily descends from his eminence in search of distinctions which he may
justly call his own.
This is, we think, the second appearance of Lord Mahon in the character of an
author. His first book was creditable to him, but was in every respect inferior
to the work which now lies before us. He has undoubtedly some of the most
valuable qualities of a historian, great diligence in examining authorities,
great judgment in weighing testimony, and great impartiality in estimating
characters. We are not aware that he has in any instance forgotten the duties
belonging to his literary functions in the feelings of a kinsman. He does no
more than justice to his ancestor Stanhope; he does full justice to Stanhope's
enemies and rivals. His narrative is very perspicuous, and is also entitled to
the praise, seldom, we grieve to say, deserved by modern writers, of being very
concise. It must be admitted, however, that, with many of the best qualities of
a literary veteran, he has some of the faults of a literary novice. He has not
yet acquired a great command of words. His style is seldom easy, and is now and
then unpleasantly stiff. He is so bigoted a purist that he transforms the Abbe
d'Estrees into an Abbot. We do not like to see French words introduced into
English composition; but, after all, the first law of writing, that law to which
all other laws are subordinate, is this, that the words employed shall be such
as convey to the reader the meaning of the writer. Now an Abbot is the head of a
religious house; an Abbe is quite a different sort of person. It is better
undoubtedly to use an English word than a French word; but it is better to use a
French word than to misuse an English word.
Lord Mahon is also a little too fond of uttering moral reflections in a style
too sententious and oracular. We shall give one instance: "Strange as it seems,
experience shows that we usually feel far more animosity against those whom we
have injured than against those who injure us: and this remark holds good with
every degree of intellect, with every class of fortune, with a prince or a
peasant, a stripling or an elder, a hero or a prince." This remark might have
seemed strange at the Court of Nimrod or Chedorlaomer; but it has now been for
many generations considered as a truism rather than a paradox. Every boy has
written on the thesis "Odisse quem loeseris." Scarcely any lines in English
poetry are better known than that vigorous couplet,
"Forgiveness to the injured does belong; But they ne'er pardon who have done the
wrong."
The historians and philosophers have quite done with this maxim, and have
abandoned it, like other maxims which have lost their gloss, to bad novelists,
by whom it will very soon be worn to rags.
It is no more than justice to say that the faults of Lord Mahon's book are
precisely the faults which time seldom fails to cure, and that the book, in
spite of those faults, is a valuable addition to our historical literature.
Whoever wishes to be well acquainted with the morbid anatomy of governments,
whoever wishes to know how great states may be made feeble and wretched, should
study the history of Spain. The empire of Philip the Second was undoubtedly one
of the most powerful and splendid that ever existed in the world. In Europe, he
ruled Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands on both sides of the Rhine, Franche
Comte, Roussillon, the Milanese, and the Two Sicilies. Tuscany, Parma, and the
other small states of Italy, were as completely dependent on him as the Nizam
and the Rajah of Berar now are on the East India Company. In Asia, the King of
Spain was master of the Philippines and of all those rich settlements which the
Portuguese had made on the coast of Malabar and Coromandel, in the Peninsula of
Malacca, and in the Spice-islands of the Eastern Archipelago. In America his
dominions extended on each side of the equator into the temperate zone. There is
reason to believe that his annual revenue amounted, in the season of his
greatest power, to a sum near ten times as large as that which England yielded
to Elizabeth. He had a standing army of fifty thousand excellent troops, at a
time when England had not a single battalion in constant pay. His ordinary naval
force consisted of a hundred and forty galleys. He held, what no other prince in
modern times has held, the dominion both of the land and of the sea. During the
greater part of his reign, he was supreme on both elements. His soldiers marched
up to the capital of France; his ships menaced the shores of England.
It is no exaggeration to say that, during several years, his power over Europe
was greater than even that of Napoleon. The influence of the French conqueror
never extended beyond low-water mark. The narrowest strait was to his power what
it was of old believed that a running stream was to the sorceries of a witch.
While his army entered every metropolis from Moscow to Lisbon, the English
fleets blockaded every port from Dantzic to Trieste. Sicily, Sardinia, Majorca,
Guernsey, enjoyed security through the whole course of a war which endangered
every throne on the Continent. The victorious and imperial nation which had
filled its museums with the spoils of Antwerp, of Florence, and of Rome, was
suffering painfully from the want of luxuries which use had made necessaries.
While pillars and arches were rising to commemorate the French conquests, the
conquerors were trying to manufacture coffee out of succory and sugar out of
beet-root. The influence of Philip on the Continent was as great as that of
Napoleon. The Emperor of Germany was his kinsman. France, torn by religious
dissensions, was never a formidable opponent, and was sometimes a dependent
ally. At the same time, Spain had what Napoleon desired in vain, ships,
colonies, and commerce. She long monopolized the trade of America and of the
Indian Ocean. All the gold of the West, and all the spices of the East, were
received and distributed by her. During many years of war, her commerce was
interrupted only by the predatory enterprises of a few roving privateers. Even
after the defeat of the Armada, English statesmen continued to look with great
dread on the maritime power of Philip. "The King of Spain," said the Lord Keeper
to the two Houses in 1593, "since he hath usurped upon the Kingdom of Portugal,
hath thereby grown mighty, by gaining the East Indies: so as, how great soever
he was before, he is now thereby manifestly more great: . . . He keepeth a navy
armed to impeach all trade of merchandise from England to Gascoigne and Guienne
which he attempted to do this last vintage; so as he is now become as a frontier
enemy to all the west of England, as well as all the south parts, as Sussex,
Hampshire, and the Isle of Wight. Yea, by means of his interest in St. Maloes, a
port full of shipping for the war, he is a dangerous neighbor to the Queen's
isles of Jersey and Guernsey, ancient possessions of this Crown, and never
conquered in the greatest wars with France."
The ascendancy which Spain then had in Europe was, in one sense, well deserved.
It was an ascendancy which had been gained by unquestioned superiority in all
the arts of policy and of war. In the sixteenth century, Italy was not more
decidedly the land of the fine arts, Germany was not more decidedly the land of
bold theological speculation, than Spain was the land of statesmen and of
soldiers. The character which Virgil has ascribed to his countrymen might have
been claimed by the grave and haughty chiefs, who surrounded the throne of
Ferdinand the Catholic, and of his immediate successors. That majestic art,
"regere imperio populos," was not better understood by the Romans in the
proudest days of their republic, than by Gonsalvo and Ximenes, Cortes and Alva.
The skill of the Spanish diplomatists was renowned throughout Europe. In England
the name of Gondomar is still remembered. The sovereign nation was unrivalled
both in regular and irregular warfare. The impetuous chivalry of France, the
serried phalanx of Switzerland, were alike found wanting when brought face to
face with the Spanish infantry. In the wars of the New World, where something
different from ordinary strategy was required in the general and something
different from ordinary discipline in the soldier, where it was every day
necessary to meet by some new expedient the varying tactics of a barbarous
enemy, the Spanish adventurers, sprung from the common people, displayed a
fertility of resource, and a talent for negotiation and command, to which
history scarcely affords a parallel.
The Castilian of those times was to the Italian what the Roman, in the days of
the greatness of Rome, was to the Greek. The conqueror had less ingenuity, less
taste, less delicacy of perception than the conquered; but far more pride,
firmness, and courage, a more solemn demeanor, a stronger sense of honor. The
subject had more subtlety in speculation, the ruler more energy in action. The
vices of the former were those of a coward; the vices of the latter were those
of a tyrant. It may be added, that the Spaniard, like the Roman, did not disdain
to study the arts and the language of those whom he oppressed. A revolution took
place in the literature of Spain, not unlike that revolution which, as Horace
tells us, took place in the poetry of Latium: "Capta ferum victorem cepit." The
slave took prisoner the enslaver. The old Castilian ballads gave place to
sonnets in the style of Petrarch, and to heroic poems in the stanza of Ariosto,
as the national songs of Rome were driven out by imitations of Theocritus, and
translations from Menander.
In no modern society, not even in England during the reign of Elizabeth, has
there been so great a number of men eminent at once in literature and in the
pursuits of active life, as Spain produced during the sixteenth century. Almost
every distinguished writer was also distinguished as a soldier or a politician.
Boscan bore arms with high reputation. Garcilaso de Vega, the author of the
sweetest and most graceful pastoral poem of modern times, after a short but
splendid military career, fell sword in hand at the head of a storming party.
Alonzo de Ercilla bore a conspicuous part in that war of Arauco, which he
afterwards celebrated in one of the best heroic poems that Spain has produced.
Hurtado de Mendoza, whose poems have been compared to those of Horace, and whose
charming little novel is evidently the model of Gil-Blas, has been handed down
to us by history as one of the sternest of those iron proconsuls who were
employed by the House of Austria to crush the lingering public spirit of Italy.
Lope sailed in the Armada; Cervantes was wounded at Lepanto.
It is curious to consider with how much awe our ancestors in those times
regarded a Spaniard. He was, in their apprehension, a kind of daemon, horribly
malevolent, but withal most sagacious and powerful. "They be verye wyse and
politicke," says an honest Englishman, in a memorial addressed to Mary, "and
can, thorowe ther wysdome, reform and brydell theyr owne natures for a tyme, and
applye their conditions to the maners of those men with whom they meddell
gladlye by friendshippe; whose mischievous maners a man shall never knowe untyll
he come under ther subjection: but then shall he parfectlye parceyve and fele
them: which thynge I praye God England never do: for in dissimulations untyll
they have ther purposes, and afterwards in oppression and tyrarnnye, when they
can obtayne them, they do exceed all other nations upon the earthe." This is
just such language as Arminius would have used about the Romans, or as an Indian
statesman of our times might use about the English. It is the language of a man
burning with hatred, but cowed by those whom he hates; and painfully sensible of
their superiority, not only in power, but in intelligence.
But how art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer son of the morning! How art thou
cut down to the ground, that didst weaken the nations! If we overleap a hundred
years, and look at Spain towards the close of the seventeenth century, what a
change do we find! The contrast is as great as that which the Rome of Gallienus
and Honorius presents to the Rome of Marius and Caesar. Foreign conquest had
begun to eat into every part of that gigantic monarchy on which the sun never
set. Holland was gone, and Portugal, and Artois, and Roussillon, and Franche
Comte. In the East, the empire founded by the Dutch far surpassed in wealth and
splendor that which their old tyrants still retained. In the West, England had
seized, and still held, settlements in the midst of the Mexican sea.
The mere loss of territory was, however, of little moment. The reluctant
obedience of distant provinces generally costs more than it is worth. Empires
which branch out widely are often more flourishing for a little timely pruning.
Adrian acted judiciously when he abandoned the conquests of Trajan; and England
was never so rich, so great, so formidable to foreign princes, so absolutely
mistress of the sea, as since the loss of her American colonies. The Spanish
Empire was still, in outward appearance, great and magnificent. The European
dominions subject to the last feeble Prince of the House of Austria were far
more extensive than those of Lewis the Fourteenth. The American dependencies of
the Castilian Crown still extended far to the North of Cancer and far to the
South of Capricorn. But within this immense body there was an incurable decay,
an utter want of tone, an utter prostration of strength. An ingenious and
diligent population, eminently skilled in arts and manufactures, had been driven
into exile by stupid and remorseless bigots. The glory of the Spanish pencil had
departed with Velasquez and Murillo. The splendid age of Spanish literature had
closed with Solis and Calderon. During the seventeenth century many states had
formed great military establishments. But the Spanish army, so formidable under
the command of Alva and Farnese, had dwindled away to a few thousand men, ill
paid and ill disciplined. England, Holland, and France had great navies. But the
Spanish navy was scarcely equal to the tenth part of that mighty force which, in
the time of Philip the Second, had been the terror of the Atlantic and the
Mediterranean. The arsenals were deserted. The magazines were unprovided. The
frontier fortresses were ungarrisoned. The police was utterly inefficient for
the protection of the people. Murders were committed in the face of day with
perfect impunity. Bravoes and discarded serving-men, with swords at their
sides,. swaggered every day through the most public streets and squares of the
capital, disturbing the public peace, and setting at defiance the ministers of
justice. The finances were in frightful disorder. The people paid much. The
Government received little. The American viceroys and the farmers of the revenue
became rich, while the merchants broke, while the peasantry starved, while the
body-servants of the sovereign remained unpaid, while the soldiers of the royal
guard repaired daily to the doors of convents, and battled there with the crowd
of beggars for a porringer of broth and a morsel of bread. Every remedy which
was tried aggravated the disease. The currency was altered; and this frantic
measure produced its never-failing effects. It destroyed all credit, and
increased the misery which it was intended to relieve. The American gold, to use
the words of Ortiz, was to the necessities of the State but as a drop of water
to the lips of a man raging with thirst. Heaps of unopened dispatches
accumulated in the offices, while the ministers were concerting with
bedchamber-women and Jesuits the means of tripping up each other. Every foreign
power could plunder and insult with impunity the heir of Charles the Fifth. Into
such a state had the mighty kingdom of Spain fallen, while one of its smallest
dependencies, a country not so large as the province of Estremadura or
Andalusia, situated under an inclement sky, and preserved only by artificial
means from the inroads of the ocean, had become a power of the first class, and
treated on terms of equality with the Courts of London and Versailles.
The manner in which Lord Mahon explains the financial situation of Spain by no
means satisfies us. "It will be found," says he, "that those individuals
deriving their chief income from mines, whose yearly produce is uncertain and
varying, and seems rather to spring from fortune than to follow industry, are
usually careless, unthrifty, and irregular in their expenditure. The example of
Spain might tempt us to apply the same remark to states." Lord Mahon would find
it difficult, we suspect, to make out his analogy. Nothing could be more
uncertain and varying than the gains and losses of those who were in the habit
of putting into the State lotteries. But no part of the public income was more
certain than that which was derived from the lotteries. We believe that this
case is very similar to that of the American mines. Some veins of ore exceeded
expectation; some fell below it. Some of the private speculators drew blanks,
and others gained prizes. But the revenue of the State depended, not on any
particular vein, but on the whole annual produce of two great continents. This
annual produce seems to have been almost constantly on the increase during the
seventeenth century. The Mexican mines were, through the reigns of Philip the
Fourth and Charles the Second, in a steady course of improvement; and in South
America, though the district of Potosi was not so productive as formerly, other
places more than made up for the deficiency. We very much doubt whether Lord
Mahon can prove that the income which the Spanish Government derived from the
mines of America fluctuated more than the income derived from the internal taxes
of Spain itself.
All the causes of the decay of Spain resolve themselves into one cause, bad
government. The valor, the intelligence, the energy which, at the close of the
fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century, had made the Spaniards the
first nation in the world, were the fruits of the old institutions of Castile
and Arragon, institutions eminently favorable to public liberty. These
institutions the first Princes of the House of Austria attacked and almost
wholly destroyed. Their successors expiated the crime. The effects of a change
from good government to bad government are not fully felt for some time after
the change has taken place. The talents and the virtues which a good
constitution generates may for a time survive that constitution. Thus the reigns
of princes, who have established absolute monarchy on the ruins of popular forms
of government often shine in history with a peculiar brilliancy. But when a
generation or two has passed away, then comes signally to pass that which was
written by Montesquieu, that despotic governments resemble those savages who cut
down the tree in order to get at the fruit. During the first years of tyranny,
is reaped the harvest sown during the last years of liberty. Thus the Augustan
age was rich in great minds formed in the generation of Cicero and Caesar. The
fruits of the policy of Augustus were reserved for posterity. Philip the Second
was the heir of the Cortes and of the Justiza Mayor; and they left him a nation
which seemed able to conquer all the world. What Philip left to his successors
is well known.
The shock which the great religious schism of the sixteenth century gave to
Europe, was scarcely felt in Spain. In England, Germany, Holland, France,
Denmark, Switzerland, Sweden, that shock had produced, with some temporary evil,
much durable good. The principles of the Reformation had triumphed in some of
those countries. The Catholic Church had maintained its ascendancy in others.
But though the event had not been the same in all, all had been agitated by the
conflict. Even in France, in Southern Germany, and in the Catholic cantons of
Switzerland, the public mind had been stirred to its inmost depths. The hold of
ancient prejudice had been somewhat loosened. The Church of Rome, warned by the
danger which she had narrowly escaped, had, in those parts of her dominion,
assumed a milder and more liberal character. She sometimes condescended to
submit her high pretensions to the scrutiny of reason, and availed herself more
sparingly than in former times of the aid of the secular arm. Even when
persecution was employed, it was not persecution in the worst and most frightful
shape. The severities of Lewis the Fourteenth, odious as they were, cannot be
compared with those which, at the first dawn of the Reformation, had been
inflicted on the heretics in many parts of Europe.
The only effect which the Reformation had produced in Spain had been to make the
Inquisition more vigilant and the commonalty more bigoted. The times of
refreshing came to all neighboring countries. One people alone remained, like
the fleece of the Hebrew warrior, dry in the midst of that benignant and
fertilizing dew. While other nations were putting away childish things, the
Spaniard still thought as a child and understood as a child. Among the men of
the seventeenth century, he was the man of the fifteenth century or of a still
darker period, delighted to behold an Auto da fe, and ready to volunteer on a
Crusade.
The evils produced by a bad government and a bad religion, seemed to have
attained their greatest height during the last years of the seventeenth century.
While the kingdom was in this deplorable state, the King, Charles, second of the
name, was hastening to an early grave. His days had been few and evil. He had
been unfortunate in all his wars, in every part of his internal administration,
and in all his domestic relations. His first wife, whom he tenderly loved, died
very young. His second wife exercised great influence over him, but seems to
have been regarded by him rather with fear than with love. He was childless; and
his constitution was so completely shattered that, at little more than thirty
years of age, he had given up all hopes of posterity. His mind was even more
distempered than his body. He was sometimes sunk in listless melancholy, and
sometimes harassed by the wildest and most extravagant fancies. He was not,
however, wholly destitute of the feelings which became his station. His
sufferings were aggravated by the thought that his own dissolution might not
improbably be followed by the dissolution of his empire.
Several princes laid claim to the succession. The King's eldest sister had
married Lewis the Fourteenth. The Dauphin would, therefore, in the common course
of inheritance, have succeeded to the crown. But the Infanta had, at the time of
her espousals, solemnly renounced, in her own name, and in that of her
posterity, all claim to the succession. This renunciation had been confirmed in
due form by the Cortes. A younger sister of the King had been the first wife of
Leopold, Emperor of Germany. She too had at her marriage renounced her claims to
the Spanish crown; but the Cortes had not sanctioned the renunciation, and it
was therefore considered as invalid by the Spanish jurists. The fruit of this
marriage was a daughter, who had espoused the Elector of Bavaria. The Electoral
Prince of Bavaria inherited her claim to the throne of Spain. The Emperor
Leopold was son of a daughter of Philip the Third, and was therefore first
cousin to Charles. No renunciation whatever had been exacted from his mother at
the time of her marriage.
The question was certainly very complicated. That claim which, according to the
ordinary rules of inheritance, was the strongest, had been barred by a contract
executed in the most binding form. The claim of the Electoral Prince of Bavaria
was weaker. But so also was the contract which bound him not to prosecute his
claim. The only party against whom no instrument of renunciation could be
produced was the party who, in respect of blood, had the weakest claim of all.
As it was clear that great alarm would be excited throughout Europe if either
the Emperor or the Dauphin should become King of Spain, each of those Princes
offered to waive his pretensions in favor of his second son, the Emperor, in
favor of the Archduke Charles, the Dauphin, in favor of Philip Duke of Anjou.
Soon after the peace of Ryswick, William the Third and Lewis the Fourteenth
determined to settle the question of the succession without consulting either
Charles or the Emperor. France, England, and Holland, became parties to a treaty
by which it was stipulated that the Electoral Prince of Bavaria should succeed
to Spain, the Indies, and the Netherlands. The Imperial family were to be bought
off with the Milanese; and the Dauphin was to have the Two Sicilies.
The great object of the King of Spain and of all his counselors was to avert the
dismemberment of the monarchy. In the hope of attaining this end, Charles
determined to name a successor. A will was accordingly framed by which the crown
was bequeathed to the Bavarian Prince. Unhappily, this will had scarcely been
signed when the Prince died. The question was again unsettled, and presented
greater difficulties than before.
A new Treaty of Partition was concluded between France, England, and Holland. It
was agreed that Spain, the Indies, and the Netherlands, should descend to the
Archduke Charles. In return for this great concession made by the Bourbons to a
rival house, it was agreed that France should have the Milanese, or an
equivalent in a more commodious situation, The equivalent in view was the
province of Lorraine.
Arbuthnot, some years later, ridiculed the Partition Treaty with exquisite humor
and ingenuity. Everybody must remember his description of the paroxysm of rage
into which poor old Lord Strutt fell, on hearing that his runaway servant Nick
Frog, his clothier John Bull, and his old enemy Lewis Baboon, had come with
quadrants, poles, and inkhorns, to survey his estate, and to draw his will for
him. Lord Mahon speaks of the arrangement with grave severity. He calls it "an
iniquitous compact, concluded without the slightest reference to the welfare of
the states so readily parceled and allotted; insulting to the pride of Spain,
and tending to strip that country of its hard-won conquests." The most serious
part of this charge would apply to half the treaties which have been concluded
in Europe quite as strongly as to the Partition Treaty. What regard was shown in
the Treaty of the Pyrenees to the welfare of the people of Dunkirk and
Roussillon, in the Treaty of Nimeguen to the welfare of the people of Franche
Comte, in the Treaty of Utrecht to the welfare of the people of Flanders, in the
treaty of 1735 to the welfare of the people of Tuscany? All Europe remembers,
and our latest posterity will, we fear, have reason to remember how coolly, at
the last great pacification of Christendom, the people of Poland, of Norway, of
Belgium, and of Lombardy, were allotted to masters whom they abhorred. The
statesmen who negotiated the Partition Treaty were not so far beyond their age
and ours in wisdom and virtue as to trouble themselves much about the happiness
of the people whom they were apportioning among foreign rulers. But it will be
difficult to prove that the stipulations which Lord Mahon condemns were in any
respect unfavorable to the happiness of those who were to be transferred to new
sovereigns. The Neapolitans would certainly have lost nothing by being given to
the Dauphin, or to the Great Turk. Addison, who visited Naples about the time at
which the Partition Treaty was signed, has left us a frightful description of
the misgovernment under which that part of the Spanish Empire groaned. As to the
people of Lorraine, an union with France would have been the happiest event
which could have befallen them. Lewis was already their sovereign for all
purposes of cruelty and exaction. He had kept their country during many years in
his own hands. At the peace of Ryswick, indeed, their Duke had been allowed to
return. But the conditions which had been imposed on him made him a mere vassal
of France.
We cannot admit that the Treaty of Partition was objectionable because it
"tended to strip Spain of hard-won conquests." The inheritance was so vast, and
the claimants so mighty, that without some dismemberment it was scarcely
possible to make a peaceable arrangement. If any dismemberment was to take
place, the best way of effecting it surely was to separate from the monarchy
those provinces which were at a great distance from Spain, which were not
Spanish in manners, in language, or in feelings, which were both worse governed
and less valuable than the old kingdoms of Castile and Arragon, and which,
having always been governed by foreigners, would not be likely to feel acutely
the humiliation of being turned over from one master to another.
That England and Holland had a right to interfere is plain. The question of the
Spanish succession was not an internal question, but an European question. And
this Lord Mahon admits. He thinks that when the evil had been done, and a French
prince was reigning at the Escurial, England and Holland were justified in
attempting, not merely to strip Spain of its remote dependencies, but to conquer
Spain itself; that they were justified in attempting to put, not merely the
passive Flemings and Italians, but the reluctant Castilians and Asturians, under
the dominion of a stranger. The danger against which the Partition Treaty was
intended to guard was precisely the same danger which afterwards was made the
ground of war. It will be difficult to prove that a danger which was sufficient
to justify the war was insufficient to justify the provisions of the treaty. If,
as Lord Mahon contends, it was better that Spain should be subjugated by main
force than that she should be governed by a Bourbon, it was surely better that
she should be deprived of Sicily and the Milanese than that she should be
governed by a Bourbon.
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