The Execution of "La Pola"

Policarpa Salavarrieta (Assumed name, given name unknown, aka La Pola; Guaduas, Viceroyalty of New Granada, c. 1795 – Bogotá, United Provinces of New Granada, 14th November 1817) 

By José María Espinosa Prieto, 1855

Today we travel to New Granada to hear the tale of a Colombian seamstress turned spy. Known as La Pola, the life of Policarpa Salavarrieta was short and her death was brutal, but her memory lives on today, lauded as a heroine of independence. On the anniversary of her execution, I tell the story of those final moments and who she came to stand before the firing squad.

Salavarrieta was already involved in revolutionary politics when she came to live in Bogotá, the stronghold of the Spanish Royalists. Here she took up residence in the home of resistance leader, Andrea Ricaurte y Lozano, supposedly in the role of a housemaid. She worked as a seamstress within the households of the royalist ruling families, gathering intelligence from under their very noses.

It seems crushingly inevitable that Salavarrieta's ongoing revolutionary operations in Bogotá could not continue undisturbed and so it would prove to be the case. When the authorities captured some of her contacts, they soon unravelled the complex web of information that their prisoners shared and the information led them right to Salavarrieta's door. 

La Pola was arrested in November 1817 and, after a cursory trial on 10th November, she and her associates were found guilty of treason. The date of their execution by firing squad was set for just four days later, at nine o'clock in the morning.

If Salavarrieta felt any fear she showed none and on the morning of her death, left her cell bound for what became the Bolívar Square, where she would face the firing squad. She refused to pray with the priests who were charged with accompanying her and instead cursed and shouted at her Spanish guards as they went along, telling them that the days of their rule over her nation were numbered.

Upon reaching the square, Salavarrieta was led up onto the scaffold and told to turn her back to the firing squad, in the accepted manner for the execution of traitors. Keeping up her furious rhetoric she did so and when told to kneel, she refused. Instead La Pola stood before the squad and when the order came to fire she turned, facing her executors head on with a cry of, "I have courage to suffer this death and a thousand more. Do not forget my example!".

La Pola's remains were handed over to her brothers, who were Augustinian friars, and they buried her in the church of San Agustín, her short, Revolutionary life finally at an end.

Francisco Goya: Doña Isabel de Porcel

Today I return to my occasional series examining the artworks that have taken my fancy. I cannot remember the first time I saw the painting that is featured here today but I know it was many years ago, and I knew neither the artist nor sitter at the time. Happily I have remedied that, and it is my pleasure to share some thoughts on the Portrait of Doña Isabel de Porcel by Francisco Goya.

This oil on canvas work was completed in 1806 and shows Isabel Lobo Velasco de Porcel, wife of Goya's friend, Antonio de Porcel. Goya had enjoyed great hospitality courtesy of Porcel and intended that this portrait of the gentleman's much younger wife would be a suitable way to repay him for his friendship.

Porcel was a quarter of a century older than his second wife and she is twenty five years old in this portrait, and her dress is most evocative of her time and nationality. She has chosen to be painted wearing the dress of a maja, the black mantilla and bright fabrics beneath it  lending her an air of simple national pride in addition to well-dressed style. Isabel wishes to be seen as a woman of fashion, taste and standing but one still in touch with her national identity and traditions.

Her pose is likewise carefully selected and she holds herself with confidence and poise, a faint smile playing about her lips. We are left in no doubt that Porcel is a lucky man to have such a wife and when I look at the portrait, I see a woman whom Goya clearly knew and counted as a friend. He captures something of her character in her expression, a playfulness and self assurance captured in oils that allows us a glimpse back in time at this fine Spanish lady.

"His head was full of water": The Death of Charles II of Spain

Charles II of Spain (aka, The Bewitched; Madrid, Spain, 6th November 1661 - Madrid, Spain, 1st November 1700)

On this day, King Charles II of Spain breathed his last. His reign had not been easy, his short life plagued by ill health and when he died with no heir to follow him despite two marriages, he shuffled into history as the last Hapsburg to sit on the Spanish throne.

Charles had not had an easy time of it. All the privilege and royal blood in the world was of little use to him as he suffered from a number of disabilities, both physical and psychological. Charles struggled through his reign and was considered something of a distraction at court, an unimportant figure who could be sidelined and ignored. He  had little or no real power and the Spanish court descended into intrigue and infighting, ruled by Regents and favourites.

Towards the end of his life, Charles always weak health deteriorated even further and as it did, his psychological health also began to grow worse. His behaviour, always wayward, became utterly erratic and he became fascinated in his deceased relatives, even going so far as to have their corpses exhumed so that he might view them.

Of course, the fact that he was a king meant that Charles was indulged to a point by those who quite enjoyed life under an ineffectual monarch. Once the pressure of politics drove his frays nerves to collapse, however, Charles decided to officially retire from court life.

Although his post-retirement life was short, it was more happy and he was able to pass his days in undemanding activities such as simple games and sport, with the king having a particular love of shooting. Just a few days prior to his thirty ninth birthday, Charles passed away quietly at his home, leaving no heir to take his place and plunging Spain into the war of succession.

The final word must go his memorable autopsy notes, which leave us in no doubt that the king's famously poor health was nothing if not comprehensive:

"[His corpse]... did not contain a single drop of blood; his heart was the size of a peppercorn; his lungs corroded; his intestines rotten and gangrenous; he had a single testicle, black as coal, and his head was full of water."

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The Short Life and Tragic Death of Maria Isabel of Portugal

Maria Isabel of Portugal (Maria Isabel Francisca; Queluz, Portugal, 19th May 1797 – Madrid, Spain, 26th December 1818)

Maria Isabel of Portugal in front of the Prado by Bernardo López y Piquer in 1829 

It seems that not a day goes by without us meeting one of the many wives of King Ferdinand VII of Spain and today it is my pleasure to introduce you to the second of that illustrious group in as many days! Like two of the fellows, her life was short and her death tragic.

Born to John VI of Portugal and his wife, Carlota Joaquina of Spain, it was always intended that the young Infanta would one day make someone an excellent dynastic match. She was raised in preparation for that destiny, and developed an abiding passion for the arts.

Before she was too old, it was decided that the gentleman in question would be her maternal uncle, Ferdinand VII. Ten years a widower and with no heir, the king of Spain was in need of a wife and family and his niece fit the bill perfectly. The couple were married on 29th September 1816 when the bride was 19 years old, her groom thirteen years her senior.

The newlyweds got along nicely enough and before too much time had passed, news began to circulate that the queen was with child. She gave birth to a daughter in August 1817 but the little girl died before she was six months old. With the court still waiting for an heir, the young queen once again announced her pregnancy but once again the outcome was to be tragic.

The December birth of the second child was long and painful and the breeched baby was stillborn. Thinking the queen also dead, her physicians began to operate to remove the deceased infant. In fact, Maria Isabel was alive and she cried out in agony, bleeding profusely from her abdomen. The unfortunate young woman passed away that same evening, leaving Ferdinand a widow for the second time.

In 1819, the late queen's collection of art formed the basis of the newly opened Museo del Prado. Dedicated to her memory, Ferdinand later commissioned the portrait above showing his wife before the museum that was built in her honour.

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A Lady of Many Names: Maria Josepha Amalia of Saxony

Maria Josepha Amalia of Saxony (Maria Josepha Amalia Beatrix Xaveria Vincentia Aloysia Franziska de Paula Franziska de Chantal Anna Apollonia Johanna Nepomucena Walburga Theresia Ambrosia; Dresden, Saxony, Germany, 6th December 1803 – Aranjuez, Spain, 18th May 1829)

Maria Josepha of Saxony by  Francesco Lacoma y Fontanet, 1820

Well, having taken the time to navigate her name, the tea is well and truly poured so let's meet Maria Josepha Amalia of Saxony. Her life was as short as her name was long but it was certainly not uneventful.

When Maria Josepha Amalia was just a few months old her mother, Caroline of Parma, died and her father, Maximilian, Crown Prince of Saxony, sent the little girl off to be raised in a convent. Here she developed a piety and faith that never left her, even when she left the convent behind to enter the world.

Elsewhere, our old friend Ferdinand VII of Spain was on the hunt for a bride, having been left a widower with no heirs by the death of his second wife, Maria Isabel of Portugal. Prince Maximilian suggested that he might know of just the girl and the match was made, with 25 year old Ferdinand marrying 16 year old Maria Josepha Amalia on 20th October 1819 in Madrid.

The king was enraptured by his new wife's poised and demure demeanour, not to mention her considerable beauty but the young last found life as a bride something of a culture shock. As she struggled to adapt to this new existence the court waited on tenterhooks for an heir to arrive.

And waited.

With two childless marriages behind him, Ferdinand's latest match continued to be fruitless as the queen refused to grant her husband access to her bed, so devout was her faith. Finally Pope Pius VII himself prevailed upon her to at least try for an heir but it was not to be. Rarely seen in public, the young queen died of a fever at home in Aranjuez, leaving her husband bereft.

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A Scandalous Regent: Maria Christina of the Two Sicilies

Maria Christina of the Two Sicilies (Maria Cristina Ferdinanda di Borbon; Palermo, Italy, 27th April 1806 - Le Havre, France, 22nd August 1878)

Maria Christina of the Two Sicilies by Vicente López y Portaña, 1830

Hot on the heels of Maria Amalia's salon trip yesterday, I am pleased to welcome another lady of the  Two Sicilies today in the well-dressed shape of Maria Christina. She was born the daughter of Francis I of the Two Sicilies and Maria Isabella, his second spouse.

Like so many noble children the destiny of Maria Christina was shaped by family and when her mother's brother, King Ferdinand VII of Spain, found himself heirless and widowed for a third time in 1829, it was swiftly agreed that the young lady would make an excellent match for her uncle. The couple were wed on 11th December 1829 in Madrid; the thrice-widowed groom was 45 years old, his niece and bride just 23. In fact, the quest for a male heir was to remain unfulfilled and by the time Ferdinand died in 1833, the couple had two young daughters but no son. With the three year old Isabella next in line to the throne thanks to a change in the laws of succession, Maria Christina took on the role of Regent.

Maria Christina and Ferdinand VII by Luis de la Cruz y Rios, 1832

Whilst married to Ferdinand, Maria Christina encountered Agustín Fernando Muñoz; two years her junior and a Sergeant of the Royal Guard, Muñoz made quite an impact on the queen. Just three months after the death of her husband, Maria Christina and Muñoz were married in a secret ceremony. Together they had seven children, all of whom survived childhood. The couple knew that they must keep their marriage a secret if Maria Christina was to remain as Regent but their affair was public knowledge at court, even if their legal bond was not.

Maria Christina's regency was not without conflict and the late king's brother, Infante Carlos, Count of Molina, argued vociferously that the law naming Isabella as heir was actually illegal and that he was the rightful King of Spain. In addition, he claimed that Ferdinand had no wish to make his daughter queen and that Maria Christina had forged legal documents bearing her late husband's name in a quest to rob Carlos of his rightful claim to the throne.

Agustín Fernando Muñoz

This was a family and political dispute that was not going to die a quiet death and when the Carlist Wars broke out, Maria Christina stood against Carlos and his demands for an absolute monarchy with himself at the helm. Despite strong support for Carlos from the traditionalist members of the ruling classes and the Catholic Church, the army came out in favour of Maria Christina and she successfully defended her daughter's claim to the throne.

Eventually and inevitably, news of the secret marriage began to leak out and soon the scandal engulfed the court. Ministers and influential military leaders prevailed upon Maria Christina to step aside and in 1840 she and Muñoz went into exile in France, with the regency now assumed by General Baldomero Espartero, Count of Luchana. Here they remained until Queen Isabella II assumed the throne in 1844, at which point she swiftly gave her official blessing to her mother's marriage, granting permission for a public ceremony, as well as awarding Muñoz the title of Duke of Riánsares. He would go on to be highly decorated in both Spain and France, where he and Maria Christina made their home.

When the 1868 revolution swept Isabella from power, she joined her mother and stepfather in France. After the scandal of their early years, Maria Christina and Muñoz had settled into a devoted and happy retirement, living very well from the profits of the business interests of the well-liked Muñoz. Maria Christina became a widow in 1873 and lived on in quiet retirement for five further years before she too passed away, her turbulent life finally at an end.

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To Do His Utmost: The Execution of Admiral Byng

Admiral John Byng (Southill, Bedfordshire, England, baptised 29th October 1704 – The Solent, England, 14th March 1757)

Today I will share a tale of a naval battle, of supposed cowardice and twisted legal wranglings that ended before a firing squad. The case echoes even today, as the family of Admiral John Byng continue their efforts to clear his name.

The high-flying Byng enjoyed a highly successful naval career, temporarily putting it on hold to pursue life as a Member of Parliament before he returned to the sea. In 1756 he sailed out of England to join the Battle of Menorca, under orders not to let the French capture Port Mahon under any circumstances. Even as the mission began Byng was plagued by doubt, certain that his vessel was underprepared and sure to be overwhelmed by the forces of the French. Upon his arrival he found the garrison at Port Mahon completely besieged by the French and wrote that he believed his chances of success were slim in the circumstances.

Admiral John Byng by Thomas Hudson, 1749

Despite this, Byng did go into battle on 20th May 1756 and the result was a far from happy one. With the French forces heavily outgunning their adversaries, Byng's vessel, the Ramillies, ended up towards the back of the English fleet and never came within firing range of another ship. On that unfortunate day several English vessels suffered serious damage whilst the French were untouched. The engagement had been a disaster and as Byng gave orders to head for Gibraltar, an order was issued to arrest the Admiral as a coward who had retreated from battle.

When Byng returned to England he was placed under guard in Greenwich Hospital as a war of words raged and eventually, it was decided that the Admiral would face a court martial. The case opened on 28th December 1756 at Portsmouth, with Byng charged under the 12th Article of War:

"Every Person in the Fleet, who through cowardice, negligence or dissatisfaction, shall in time of action withdraw or keep back, or not come into the fight or engagement,  or shall not do his utmost to take or destroy every ship which it shall be his duty to engage, and to assist and relieve all and every of His Majesty's ships or those of his allies, which it shall be his duty to assist and relieve, every such person so offending, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death."

There was little room  for interpretation of the sentence to one found guilty under the 12th Article and so, with the public demanding answers and Crown and parliament keen to settle the matter, the court marital set out to ascertain whether the Admiral had "done his utmost" during battle and to aid his garrison. Byng argued passionately that he had not deliberately kept the Ramillies out of the battle but had been forced to do so by the fact that the opposing forces were at angles to one another, rendering it virtually impossible for him to engage the French from his position. Serving as his own defence he countered that he had been sent to battle without adequate forces and that his sailing for Gibraltar after the engagement had not been in retreat, but by necessity. 

The Shooting of Admiral Byng, 1757

However, Byng's prosecutors would hear none of it and although he was absolved of cowardice, they ruled that he had indeed failed to do his utmost and the mandatory punishment was death. However, his judges found this inescapable outcome a bitter pill to swallow and unanimously recommended that George II show clemency and grant the Admiral a reprieve. Influential figures raised their voices in support of a lighter sentence and Byng's family campaigned tirelessly on his behalf yet it was to no avail. Petitions brought before the king fell on deaf ears and, believing Byng was a coward, George gave his decision: the death penalty would stand.

Byng was taken from his prison on HMS Monarque in the Solent and brought to the quarterdeck at noon on 14th March 1757. Here a firing squad of Royal Marines awaited him alongside the crew of the Monarque and sailors from other ships, all of whom were there to show their support of the unfortunate Admiral. Blindfolded, he knelt on a cushion and dropped his handkerchief to signal he was ready to die. At this moment, the squad fired as one, ending the life of Admiral Byng.

Louis Godin, A Forgotten Frenchman

Louis Godin (Paris, France, 28th February 1704  – Cadiz, Spain, 11th September 1760)

Another trip to France today to hear the story of Louis Godin, an astronomer and seismologist who saw much of the world during his lifetime. Travelling in Europe and South America he made a name for himself in Peru and Spain even as, at home, he was gradually forgotten!

Born to François Godin and Elisabeth Charron, Godin was a bright and inquisitive boy with a fascination with science and astronomy. Showing a marked and prodigious talent for the field, as his teenage years progressed, Godin began studying with Joseph Delisle and by the age of 20 he had already published a seminal set of astronomical tables.

This endeavour proved important in Godin's life as he was made a member of the French Academy of Sciences, who also employed him to complete a seven-volume history of the Academy and other publications. In addition, the young man was granted permission to put forward a proposal for exploratory missions across the globe in pursuit of scientific discoveries, particularly methods for measuring longitude at the equator.

The plan was approved and Godin was chosen to accompany Charles Marie de La Condamine and Pierre Bouguer to Peru in 1734, where they remained for four years. The mission was not always happy and Godin broke from his colleagues to perform his own experiments. At the conclusion of the expedition Godin was invited to remain in Peru as a professor at the University of Lima and accepted the position. Following the 1746 earthquake he made scientific studies of the disaster, as well as assisting casualties and helping design replacement, safer buildings.

Godin returned to France in 1751 to find himself virtually forgotten; his role at the Academy had been taken by another and much of his money had been lost due to careless investments. Although he would be readmitted to the Academy after five years, Godin decided for now to leave the land of his birth and travel to Cadiz to take another academic position. Here he proved himself invaluable when the Lisbon earthquake caused tremors throughout Cadiz.

In the final years of his life, Godin's health failed and he embarked on a whirlwind of astronomical experiments, finally observing Halley's Comet a year before he died and leaving a wealth of unfinished and unpublished works amongst his papers.

The Abdication of Philip V

A small Spanish something today; a story of abdication told to me by a rather charming gentleman of Madrid who occasionally visits my salon, always clad in the finest silks. There is a little throne-hopping, an untimely death and a troublesome treaty, all the ingredients of a royal drama.

Philip V of Spain by Jean Ranc, 1723

On 14 January 1724, Philip V of Spain made a momentous decision when, without any prior clues as to his intention, he abdicated the throne. The crown of Spain passed to his 17 year old son, Louis.

Philip gave no reasons for his abdication but throughout his life had suffered from deep melancholia and episodes of depression. It may be that he was concerned at the mental problems he was experiencing and therefore decided to give up the throne rather than continue with the burden of rule. A second theory is that Philip was motivated by the tribulations of the French royal family, and saw a potential opportunity for expansion.

Louis I of Spain by Jean Ranc, 1724

The recent death of the regent Duke of Orléans had left the French throne with something of a headache, as Louis XV was still too young to rule. Philip himself believed that he might lay claim to the crown of France as a descendant of Louis XIV but could not do so whilst still ruling Spain, as the Treaty of Utrecht forbade a union between the two crowns. By abdicating the Spanish throne, Philip may have hoped that he could find a loophole in the treaty and become the next king of France.

Fate was to play a final twist on the Spanish king though as the newly enthroned Louis fell victim to smallpox on 31st August 1724, and Philip found himself once more sitting on the throne of Spain.

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Family Feuds and Rumours of Poisoning: Princess Maria Antonia of Naples and Sicily

Maria Antonia of Naples and Sicily (Maria Antonietta Teresa Amelia Giovanna Battista Francesca Gaetana Maria Anna Lucia; Caserta, Italy, 14th December 1784 - Aranjuez, Spain, 21st May 1806)

Princess Maria Antonia of Naples and Sicily by Vicente López y Portaña 

It must be something in the air at the moment because we seem to be meeting lots of ladies who lived painfully short lives of late and today is no exception. It is time to leave England behind for the climes of Italy and Spain and the story of Princess Maria Antonia.

As with two of our other guests, Maria Antonia was the daughter of Ferdinand I of the Two Sicilies and Maria Carolina of Austria and, like so many of the young nobles we have met, her future was decided by means of negotiations and power plays. Like so many of the young ladies we have met, Maria Antonia was raised to make a good marriage and, whilst the princess was still a girl, she and her siblings were already the subject of marital negotiations.

To secure alliances, it was agreed that the intelligent and vibrant young lady would marry her first cousin, Infante Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias and future king of Spain. Her brother was likewise to marry into the Spanish court, becoming the husband of Ferdinand's sister, Infanta Maria Isabella. Maria Antonia and Ferdinand were wed on 4th October 1802.

The marriage was far from devoted and Maria Antonia thought Ferdinand most unappealing, so it is perhaps not a surprise that the expected heir did not materialise. Instead, pregnancies in 1804 and 1805 both resulted in miscarriages, occasions that did nothing to endear Maria Antonia to her new family. Life at court was far from happy for the young woman as the families of the bride and groom simply did not get on and Maria Antonia found herself constantly in opposition to Maria Luisa, her mother in law. Indeed, accusations of poisoning and sabotage were flung around on all sides and the young woman's mother had a particular loathing for her Spanish opposite that can hardly have made marital life fun.

In fact, dislike for Maria Luisa was one of the few areas where Ferdinand and Maria Antonia did see eye to eye. The heir apparent took his wife's advice and opinion of his mother seriously and valued her guidance in his own efforts to gain political ascendancy over Maria Luisa and her close ally, prime minister Manuel Godoy. However, by this point Maria Antonia's health was already deteriorating, weakened by the miscarriages and the condition that would kill her.

Maria Antonia died of tuberculosis in 1806 aged just 21. Her grieving mother fervently believed that her daughter had fallen victim to a poison plot by her mother-in-law, a belief she held until her dying day.

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The Lonely Life of Louise Élisabeth d'Orléans

Louise Élisabeth d'Orléans (Versailles, France, 11th December 1709 - Paris, France, 16th June 1742)

Louise Élisabeth d'Orléans by Jean Ranc, 1724

We have encountered many cultured, poised and very noble women here at the Guide yet our visitor today was known for being a little more earthy than some of her peers and fellow princesses. My own grandmother Gilflurt can be somewhat ribald yet even she never quite matched some of the more unusual behaviour of Louise Élisabeth d'Orléans, a young lady who lived a somewhat sad life.

Élisabeth d'Orléans was born to Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, and his wife, Françoise Marie de Bourbon. As the fifth of seven children, it was always supposed by her disinterested parents that she would make an uninspiring and unimportant dynastic marriage and her convent education was basic, focussing on making her a relatively useful wife. However, her father was regent ruler of France and when war broke out with Spain, King Philip V suggested that an admirable way to make peace might be through a series of alliance-building marriages.

Louis I of Spain by Jean Ranc, 1724

It was agreed that the 11 year old Élisabeth would marry Louis of Spain and the wedding took place by proxy in November 1721. Élisabeth left for Madrid immediately afterwards, taking with her an enormous dowry of 4 million livres but upon her arrival she was subject to a far from glowing welcome. Given the title of Princess of Asturias, she was not made welcome at the Spanish court and found herself mocked and gossiped about, her insular upbringing leaving her without friends or support. Still only a girl,  Élisabeth  lacked the emotional maturity to stand up to such bullying and instead began to behave increasingly bizarrely, displaying poor manners and hygiene and apparently appearing naked in front of people. She and Louis did not get on at all and went for long periods without seeing one another, often not speaking when they were together; perhaps unsurprisingly, there were no children from the marriage. 

Louis and Élisabeth became king and queen on 15th January 1724 yet the reign was a short one and Louis died of smallpox within the year. A widow at just 15, Élisabeth remained in Madrid after her husband's death yet found herself utterly isolated and eventually returned to France. The Spanish crown moved to have her marriage annulled and the unhappy young girl endured an isolated existance in Paris. She died at the age of just 32, lonely to the last.

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A Triple Murder at Sea

Well, it seems to be a week for nautical tragedies of one sort or another and today's tale is another sorry story of violence and chaos. It is a tale of adventure and ambition that begins in Scotland and ends in the ocean, with the brutal murder of a family.

George Glas was born in Dundee in 1725 and trained as a ship's surgeon, making numerous voyages in this capacity before he took command of his own vessel. His ship traded between Africa, the Canary Islands and Brazil, and eventually Glas discovered an apparently unexploited river near Senegal that he was sure would be an excellent spot for a trading port. Glas took his idea to the English government and obtained an agreement that he would be given £15000 if he could obtain the port in the name of the king.

Portrait of Wills Hill, 1st Marquess of Downshire by Pompeo Batoni, 1766; Hill gave his name to Port Hillsborough

Glas accepted the challenge and, in 1764, set off to secure the port. He took his wife and daughter along on the expedition, intending to settle them in the new settlement that he would establish once negotiations were complete. In fact, Glas' confidence initially appeared to be well-founded and he was able to peacefully negotiate the use of the land.

By the end of the year Glas had founded the small  settlement of Port Hillsborough, named in honour of Wills Hill, Earl of Hillsborough and President of the Board of Trade and Plantations. However, when Glas undertook a trip to Lanzarote towards the end of the year, he was captured by the Spanish and imprisoned at Santa Cruz de Tenerife. Glas wrote to England requesting assistance, telling the authorities that the Spanish believed that the port should rightfully be theirs. Indeed, as he languished in prison, the Spanish authorities began a campaign to prove their claim.

During Glas' imprisonment, Port Hillsborough was attacked by locals and many members of the settlement killed, though Glas' wife and daughter were able to flee. They made for Tenerife where, following diplomatic efforts, Glas was freed and the family were reunited once more.

With their dreams of life at Port Hillsborough in tatters, the Glas family set off for England aboard the Spanish and Portuguese crewed barque, Earl of Sandwich. As the ship neared Ireland on 30th November 1765, word spread through the crew that the vessel was carrying a fortune in treasure. The sailors mutinied and when Glas left his quarters to investigate what was happening, he was stabbed to death. His wife and child were dragged from their  cabin and thrown overboard to drown as the mutineers scuttled the ship and made off with its cargo.

However, fate had a final twist to play in the tragic story of the Glas family and rather than sinking, the crew less ship drifted on to beach on the Irish coast. The body of George Glas was found on deck where he had fallen and it took little deduction to realise that the sailors who had recently come on shore and were currently getting soundly drunk in a  local alehouse may know something about the crime. The mutineers were swiftly rounded up and confessed to their crime. Within days they were hanged at Dublin, concluding the sorry story of the family Glas.

The Many-Titles of Maria Luisa of Spain

Maria Luisa of Spain (Portici, Spain, 24th November 1745 - Vienna, Austria, 15th May 1792)

Maria Luisa of Spain by Lorenzo Baldissera Tiepolo, 1763

After our theatrical detour we are back in a royal house today to welcome a lady of many titles to the salon. Maria Luisa was born Princess of Naples and Sicily and eventually became a Grand Duchess, a queen and an empress!

Maria Luisa was born to Maria Amalia of Saxony and the future Charles III of Spain, at that point King of Naples and Sicily. Already a Princess, when Charles inherited the Spanish throne in 1759, Maria Luisa became known as Infanta of Spain. The bright and cheerful girl was already embarked on an education that would prepare her for the life of a royal wife and at age of 15 she and her family moved to their new Spanish kingdom to take up residence.

Leopold I, Grand Duke of Tuscany with his wife Maria Luisa and their children by Johann Zoffany, 1776
(L to R: Maria Theresa of Austria, Archduke Charles, Archduke Maximilian, Maria Anna of Austria, Archduke Alexander Leopold (seated with dog), Maria Luisa, Archduke Joseph, Leopold II, Archduke Francis, Archduke Ferdinand) 

Her future was decided on 16th February 1764 when Maria Luisa was married by proxy to Archduke Peter Leopold, the son of Emperor Francis I and Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. The couple finally met in person in August 1765 for their formal wedding ceremony and when her father in law died within a week of the wedding, the new Grand Duke and Duchess of Tuscany moved to Florence to begin life as as husband and wife. Maria Luisa enthusiastically undertook her official duties and enjoyed life as the Grand Duchess, throwing herself into society. When the couple were crowned king and queen of Bohemia in 1790, they added one more impressive title to their collection, yet it was not yet the end of their rise through the noble ranks.

Despite its arranged beginnings and Leopold's penchant for extra-marital affairs, the couple's marriage was settled and friendly , Maria Luisa and Leopold's marriage was a happy one and the couple had 16 children, all but three of whom survived to adulthood. They lived in Florence for a quarter of a century until Leopold was elected Holy Roman Emperor at which point the family moved to Vienna. Sadly their life here proved to be short-lived; both the Emperor and Empress would be dead within two years, neither one yet 50 years old.

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Charles IV of Spain, An Abdicated King

Charles IV (Carlos Antonio Pascual Francisco Javier Juan Nepomuceno Jose Januario Serafin Diego; Naples, Italy, 11th November 1748 – Rome, Italy, 20th January 1819) 

Charles IV of Spain by Goya

Not for the first time today our guest is a king who lost his throne, though this particular monarch did at least keep his head, falling foul of Napoleon and his own son's ambition in the process. An amiable man with a love of sport and hunting but, crucially, no time for politics, today we mark the birthday of of King Charles IV of Spain.

Charles was born as the second son of Charles III and Maria Amalia of Saxony. His elder brother, Don Felipe, suffered from epilepsy and numerous severe learning disabilities and was duly excluded from succession to his father's thrones of Spain and Naples and Sicily. In preparation for his dynastic duties, Charles married his cousin, Maria Louisa of Parma, in 1765 and though her reputation was to become one of manipulation and spite, the couple had 14 children, with six surviving into adulthood. Whether the bride and groom were in love is open to debate but she was certainly a powerful influence over her husband, ruling the country from behind the scenes while he indulged in his favourite hobbies.

Despite being a king-in-waiting, Charles had no interest in politics or intrigue and devoted himself instead to outdoor pursuits. However, one thing he did believe was in the absolutism of monarchy and when he came to the throne in 1788, he held true to this particular belief in his own mind if not behaviour.

Charles IV of Spain and His Family by Francisco Goya, 1800
From left to right: Francisco Goya (in the shadows), Carlos Maria Isidro, Ferdinand, Maria Josefa, placeholder character for Ferdinand's as -yet unknown wife, María Isabel, Maria Luisa of Parma, Francisco de Paula, Charles IV, Don Antonio Pascual, Carlota Joaquina (partially obscured) Don Luis de Parma, Maria Luisa (wife of Don Luis), Carlos Luis (baby)

As Charles IV, the king had no desire to rock the apparently steady boat he had inherited from his father and to this end he decided to keep the same senior, trusted officials in office. Happy to leave the responsibility of government to the prime minister, José Moñino, the Count of Floridablanca, and Maria Luisa, Charles spent many happy days hunting and riding whilst behind the scenes, political intrigues were at work. The prime minister was removed from office by enemies and replaced with Pedro Pablo Abarca de Bolea, Count of Aranda, in 1792. However, he lasted less than a year himself and was in turn succeeded by Manuel de Godoy, a man whom some gossips believed was more than just friends with Maria Luisa.

Under Godoy's leadership the country prevaricated back and forth between alliances and animosities, Charles' apparent disinterest in his kingdom and the swiftly emptying Spanish coffers doing little to endear the king to his people. Indeed, his own son, Crown Prince Ferdinand, planned a failed coup in 1807 in an attempt to take the throne. Just a year later, the people of Spain had grown tired of their disinterested monarch and marched on the winter palace at Aranjuez. Godoy was arrested and the king bowed to public pressure to dismiss him. Just a couple of days later Charles himself was forced from office in favour of Ferdinand.

Charles IV as Prince of Asturias by Anton Raphael Mengs, 1765

The abdicated king appealed to Napoleon for assistance in taking back his throne but found that his intended ally had other things in mind. With huge numbers of troops stationed in Spanish territory, Napoleon used this leverage to convince both Charles and Ferdinand to abdicate, declaring his own brother, Joseph Bonaparte, King of Spain. Along with Godoy and Maria Luisa, Charles was help prisoner in France until King Joseph lost his throne and Ferdinand was returned to rule. With his throne lost forever, the former king Charles IV of Spain spent some time searching for a place in the world, eventually establishing himself in Rome at the Palazzo Barberini.

Utterly bewildered by the events that had caused him to lose his throne to the end, Charles returned to his hobbies though perhaps with slightly less enthusiasm than before. He remained in Rome until the end of his life, dying a month after his wife in 1819.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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