by Tom Anderson
Such a murderous regime could not last forever, not even if its populace had been thoroughly cowed. Rebellion was inevitable.
And so we come to the man remembered by history, simply, as Der Führer…
Chapter #52: The Arandite Plan
From: “And the Sun shall Rise in the West” by P. D. de Veers (1951)—
When the man who was named – depending on whom you asked – the Infante Charles, King Charles IV of Spain, or Traitor – fled into the west from A Coruña, his initial plans were relatively simple. As the Duke of Aranda had advised him as chief minister, there was the possibility of gathering forces in Spain’s New World colonies in order to attempt a reconquista at a later date. Trying to stand against the French at the present, it was clear, was suicide. Not only was Jean de Lisieux’s France a far greater military power than Spain – Spain, the old decaying former superpower halfway through military reforms and muddled all the more because of it – but only half of Spain, at best, would fight for Charles. Though pockets of Carlistas remained and some of these remnants allied with Portugal, the bulk of Spain supported the claimant King Philip VII, and French troops were there to make sure they stayed supporting him.
Some historians have claimed that Charles IV or Aranda had the same perceptive insight into Lisieux that is often attributed to Peter IV of Portugal. This is questionable. Peter’s information on Lisieux ultimately came from the Portuguese spy network in Paris, which was second to none; after all, Portugal – distant, not too powerful, and not really a traditional enemy of France – was low down on the list of the Garde Nationale’s list of countries to watch out for. While even skilful British or Austrian spies were often uncovered and tortured by the Garde (along with many innocent Frenchmen and foreigners alike), the Portuguese were often capable of slipping by. Peter’s source is sometimes said to be François Bleuel, one of Lisieux’s secretaries, who was supposedly blackmailed by a Portuguese controller after his unnatural sexual activities were uncovered. This would have been a particularly deadly revelation in Lisieux’s France, in which anything that impeded reproduction of the pure Latin race required, in Lisieux’s bloodless term, revision.
Regardless of this, it seems doubtful that Peter would share much of his knowledge of Lisieux with Charles. The two never met, their emissaries spoke only briefly and Peter did not see Charles as an ally so much as an opportunity. Supporting the Carlistas in Spain would help provide a buffer against a French attack on Portugal, but it would also weaken Spain herself: both were in Portugal’s national interests.
So it seems to be merely a lucky accident that Charles’ plan was less hopeless than it seemed at first. It was not until September 1803, two months after Charles’ fleet sailed from A Coruña, that Lisieux published his Nouvelle Carte in the wake of La Nuit Macabre. Charles could not have known that French interest in Iberia would not be permanent.
Charles’ fleet arrived, at last, in the port of Veracruz in October. It had been a peaceful crossing and all the ships had remained together, yet morale had dropped into the bilges. The men knew that they were coming to Mexico not as conquistadors, as Cortes had almost three centuries earlier, but as the remnants of a defeated army.[6] Charles was well aware of this and did his best to counteract it: as soon as they had reached Veracruz and been welcomed by the local alcalde [mayor] he declared a day of feasting to celebrate their triumph over adversity, comparing it to the escape of Pelagius of Asturias from the Battle of Guadalete. This was the battle of unnumbered tears, the defeat of the Visigothic rulers of Spain and the death of King Roderick that had ushered in centuries of Muslim rule. Yet Pelagius had escaped, Charles reminded his men, founded a Christian kingdom in Asturias, and ultimately begun the long reconquista of Iberia.
Of course, that reconquista had taken seven hundred years. It was to be hoped that this one might be a little more rapid.
The alcalde of Veracruz was rather relieved when Charles declared his intention to go to the City of Mexico as soon as possible. As common to all sailors released from routine and duty after a long voyage, the crews of Charles’ nine ships had wreaked havoc on Veracruz’s port districts and some way beyond. While Veracruz repaired itself, Charles and Aranda led their men on an overland march to the City. They marched at a leisurely pace, wanting for word of their coming to spread before they arrived. While they did so, and when they commandeered villages and towns in which to rest along the way, Charles took counsel with Aranda and his brothers.
For all four of the other Infantes had thrown their lots in with Charles, some of them early on, others later when Philip declared all his brothers enemies of the state. Antonio, Ferdinand, John and Gabriel all had ideas of their own about what to do, and Charles knew he had to give them a voice in his plans if he were to retain their support. Possessing that support would grant him a powerful tool of legitimacy against Philip; and besides, some of his brothers had talents worth using. Gabriel, despite being the youngest at the age of just twenty-six, had commanded troops during Cuesta’s abortive invasion of France and was an outspoken proponent of the slow and much-debated military reforms in Spain. Antonio had always had a grand if somewhat mad scheme for a great North African crusade, complete with plans from Ferdinand and Isabella’s book about how to rule over Morocco and Algiers by swamping them with Spanish settlers. It has been suggested that he was inspired by the “Wolfean Dilution” policy adopted by the ENA in New Scotland and Canada. John was considered the best orator of the family, while Ferdinand was a quiet, hard-working prince who would probably have been better off if he had been born as a civil service bureaucrat.
However, none of the royals’ ideas could compare to those of the Duke of Aranda. His father had begun his plans, but Aranda took them to fruition. Until now neither father nor son had ever actually been to Spain’s colonies in the New World – those individuals who had, like the late Prime Minister Saavedra, had sometimes pointed out flaws in their plans for the region. But sometimes courageous plans born of ignorance of the facts can triumph over the predictions of the informed and the rational. If this were not the case, war and politics would have no excitement.
Charles’ host finally arrived in the City of Mexico in early December, as the people of the City celebrated the Feast of St Nicholas. Charles encamped his men outside the City and went in to meet the Viceroy, Martín de Gálvez. Gálvez was a competent administrator, but one who had gotten used to having his own way in a huge chunk of the world due to being the uncontradictable lieutenant of an absolute monarch who was conveniently never there to watch what he was doing. The Viceroyalty of New Spain, as it was termed in those days, essentially also ruled over the captaincies-general of California, Guatemala, Yucatán, and the Philippines. It could be considered that Gálvez, despite being only a viceroy, was one of the more wide-ranging rulers of the world.
He was also one used to things staying the same and remaining in comfortable rows of figures. Gálvez had been credited for his cool-headed response to the encroachment of the British adventurer John Goodman in Spanish-claimed territory in Noochaland. As usual he had taken matters into his own hands, dispatching Admiral Rodriguez to arrest Goodman and negotiating directly with Fredericksburg without getting either London or Madrid directly involved. That coup had been four years ago and it had, most thought, ensured that Gálvez would remain in his position until his death.
Now, however, Gálvez’ comfortable world was crashing down around him. Charles, whom he acknowledged as the legitimate heir of Spain, had fled the country. The motherland was conquered in all but name. As with the rest of the Spanish Empire, the elite of the City of Mexico was composed chiefly of peninsulares, men born in the Iberian Peninsula,[7] and a sense of personal shock resounded throughout all Spanish America as soon as the news got out. It was also heard far beyond, in America that had never been Spanish, and in America that had been Spanish until recently. In the latter, in particular, it was considered highly…interesting.
The Viceroy did not d
isagree with anything the man he acknowledged as his rightful King said. He concurred with the idea that Spain must be reconquered, and he accepted that it was a good idea to recruit a new army in the colonies. He assented that he would do everything in his power to aid this goal. He went on agreeing with everything right up until the moment when the King informed him that his office was to be abolished.
That got Gálvez’ attention. But before he could protest, the Duke of Aranda explained: this was a perfect time to reform the colonial administration, which was in many ways still stuck in the sixteenth century from which it had been born. The previous reforms after the Second Platinean War were too limited, too cautious. A bold plan was needed. And the scheme of the Duke of Aranda and his father – as it soon became known, the “Arandite Plan” – was that plan.
Hours later, the three of them emerged from the Palacio de Virrey[8] with the bolder strokes of the scheme agreed upon. In truth only Gálvez’ inherent cautious conservatism stopped him from endorsing the plan more wholeheartedly. After all, he would no longer be a mere Viceroy under the new regime, but he would have a better title: that of Secretario Imperial de Estado de Nueva España…
The plan was reworked upon consultation with the other Infantes and with certain important political and church figures from the colonies, in particular the Captains-General of the other lands ruled from the City. Some of the latter, in particular, were unhappy with Aranda’s ideas, but were placated with being given more impressive roles and titles in place of their existing ones. The Captain-General of the Philippines demanded a fuller status than his domain eventually received, to which Aranda replied sweetly that such status would be entirely forthcoming – with the one caveat that the absentee captain-general would dwell in Manila. He promptly withdrew his objection.
Though wild rumours spread throughout the viceroyalty of the earnest talks being held in the Palacio de Virrey, the people of the City were not informed of their content until December 26th, the Feast of St Stephen, which was ever afterwards the national day of New Spain. On the day before, the people had celebrated Christmas, with King Charles taking Mass in the Cathedral Metropolitana in the Plaza de Armas, the main city square (Plaza Mayor). Now, a gathering of a more secular kind was held in the Plaza, though many eyewitnesses said afterwards that its undertones had such sacred moment in the history of the land that they might as well be religious.
A platform was erected, in a part of the square later known as ‘the plinth’ (El Zócalo), and the Viceroy stood atop it with the King, the four Infantes and the Duke of Aranda. Before him stood the wealthy and important, yet beyond them were the great masses of the people, all eager to catch a glimpse of King Charles. It was the first time in history that a King of Spain had actually visited his New World possessions. The drastic circumstances of that visit were, at least temporarily, ignored.
Gálvez gave an introductory address that was not especially well-managed or -remembered, then gave way for King Charles, the Duke of Aranda and the Infante John, who spoke in turn. The words they spoke would have repercussions far beyond the New World.
The Arandite Plan, which was formally given the name “Imperial Constitution”, was expounded to the people of the land which had, until that moment, been known as the Viceroyalty of New Spain. Yet that name had fallen out of popular use, forgotten as vague and undefined, and most of the people called their country Mexico.[9]
Now, King Charles declared the abolition of the Viceroyalty and all the Captaincies-General. The people stared, as dumbstruck as Gálvez had been. The Infante John explained. He spoke of the great pride that the King held in his loyal Colonies, of the need to pull together in the great cause of liberating the motherland, and the bestowing of a blessing upon the New World in recognition of its faithfulness in the face of temptation. He compared the travails of the loyal colonies with the temptations of Christ, with the UPSA cast in the role of Satan, and then linked the UPSA ideologically to the Republican French who had conquered Spain. It was a masterful speech and touched the hearts of most of those who heard it, rousing their blood.
Aranda handled the details of the plan that had, in its basics, originated in his father’s head. A new state would emerge, an Empire of the Indies (later known as the Empire of New Spain out of common usage) which would cover all Spanish lands in the New World. This state would be held to be coëval with the Kingdom of Spain herself, or nearly so. In addition to his title of King of Spain, Charles took the title of Emperor of the Indies. So far, one might say that he was influenced mainly by Frederick of Britain.[10]
Yet he went further, pointing out that the new Empire was far too large for a single centralised administration to properly govern it all. Thus the Empire was divided into three parts: the Kingdom of Mexico, extending from the claimed lands in Noochaland down to San Cristobal; the Kingdom of Guatemala, from there to Panama and including the Philippines and the remains of the Spanish West Indies; and the Kingdom of New Granada, covering all the remaining loyal lands in South America. Charles appointed three of his brothers to be the first Kings of these new kingdoms: Antonio for Mexico, Ferdinand for Guatemala, and John for New Granada. Gabriel was left without a throne, but Charles declared him Generalissimo of the Nuevo Ejército, the ‘New Army’ which would retake Spain from the French using reformed training and new ideas.
It is difficult in retrospect to consider what the immediate response to the speeches was, given the mythic proportions that day has grown to in the New Spanish national consciousness. Indeed perhaps there were many who could not see what good the reforms did for them, and the conservatives who saw only dangerous change. Yet the people lifted their voices in acclamation: both those who loved their King for what he was, and the liberal forces who praised his reforms and feared the dark side of the popular revolution that would be the only other way to obtain a more equitable land in which to live.
And so on that day, December 26th 1803, the colonies of Spain in the “Indies” of Columbus ceased to exist. The empire had become its own Empire, with its own Emperor and kings, and made it clear that it owed no allegiance to the pretender sitting in Madrid with a French bayonet at his throat. God had granted the New World to Spain in gratitude for the Reconquista, it was said: now the New World would repay that debt by performing the Reconquista once more.
Indeed that prophecy turned out to be largely true. But in the short term it was not the kind of Reconquista they were expecting…
As soon as the news reached Córdoba, plans were already being drawn up to take advantage of it. This was an opportunity of which the expansionist President-General Castelli had been dreaming. The Partido Solidaridad’s dominance of the Cortes Nacionales was such that there would be no holding back. Castelli took time to prepare, of course, but on July 24th 1804, the United Provinces of South America declared war on the ‘unrecognised regime’ to her north.
It was time, as Castelli put it in a fiery speech, to free the brothers in bondage from the shackles of the King.
No-one could know the outcome of this clash between two very different ideologies for reforming the governance of the New World.
In a certain philosophical way, in the long run, they both won.
In the more immediate way that is of relevance to the people of the world, somebody lost.
Chapter #53: Three Stripes of Neapolitan
“Damn the tactics! Give me the wind! Go right at ’em!”
- Admiral Horatio Nelson
*
From: “MIDDLE SEA: A History of the Mediterranean – Volume VI: The Jacobin Wars” (Dr David Harrison, Oxford University Press, 1976)—
Horatio Nelson first came to Naples in 1789, when he was still first lieutenant of HMS Raisonnable – though he would soon be made post and given the new fourth-rate frigate Habana. The Raisonnable had been patrolling the Mediterranean, guarding British shipping around Malta from Algerine piracy and sending a signal to Britain’s then enemies, Bourbon France and Spain. Although the caus
e of the Platinean rebels had emerged triumphant from the Second Platinean War with British help, the shock defeat of the Royal Navy at Trafalgar by the Franco-Spanish fleet weighed heavily on everyone’s minds. The Portland-Burke Ministry had reacted by ordering fleets of new and improved ships from the shipyards of Chatham, Blackwall and Portsmouth, but for the present the Admiralty was determined to recover the honour of the Navy by waving the flag in the enemy’s face.
So it was that when the Raisonnable called into Naples the city on August 15th, political intrigue was always present beneath the gritted smiles. The Kingdoms of Naples and Sicily, ruled by Charles VI and VIII (the second son of Charles III of Spain)[11] were no less Bourbon than France or Spain. However, Naples had chosen to remain neutral in the recent conflicts – wisely, considering how many times the kingdom had changed hands since the start of the century – and Sir Richard Hamilton, the British minister to the Neapolitan court, was doing his best to steer the kingdoms into a more Anglophile policy. Splitting off Naples from France and Spain would be a British foreign policy coup and would significantly relieve the pressure on the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet. The loss of Minorca during the Third War of Supremacy was still acutely felt: Malta was now the RN’s only major base in the Mediterranean.