Nothing in history is more pathetic than this first marriage of Alfonso XII. and its unhappy termination.  The children of Queen Isabel and those of her sister, the Duquesa de Montpensier, had been brought up together, and there was a boy-and-girl attachment between the Prince of Asturias and his cousin Mercedes.  When Alfonso became King, almost as it seemed by accident, and it was thought necessary that he should marry, the boy gravely assured his Ministers that he was quite willing to do so, and in fact intended to marry his cousin.  Nothing could be more inopportune, nothing more contrary to the welfare of the distracted country!  From the time that the notorious “Spanish marriages” had become facts, the Duke of Montpensier had been an intriguer.  The birth of heirs to the throne of Spain (it is useless to go back to those long-past scandals) had completely upset the machinations of Louis Philippe and his Ministers.  So long as Don Francisco de Assis and the Spanish nation chose to acknowledge the children as legitimate, there was nothing to be done.  The direct hope of seeing his sons Kings of Spain faded from the view of the French husband of the sister of Isabel II., but he never for one moment ceased to intrigue.  Although loaded with benefits and kindness by the Queen, Montpensier took no small part in the revolution which drove her from the country.  Topete, and Serrano—­who had once been what the Spaniards called Pollo Real himself—­were bound in honour to uphold his candidature for the vacant throne; their promise had been given long before the pronunciamiento at Cadiz had made successful revolution possible.  Prim alone stood firm:  “Jamas, jamas!” (Never, never!) he replied to every suggestion to bring Montpensier forward.  In those words he signed his own death-warrant.  His actual murderers were never brought to justice, ostensibly were never found; but there never was a Spaniard who doubted that the foul deed was the result of instigation.

[Illustration:  IN THE WOODS AT LA GRANJA]

To have Mercedes as Queen Consort, was to bring her father once more within the limits of practical interference with national politics.  To all remonstrance, however, the young King had one answer:  “I have promised,” and the nation, recognising that as a perfectly valid argument, acquiesced, though with many forebodings.  The marriage took place, and within a few months the girl Queen was carried with her unborn child to the melancholy Panteon de los Principes at the Escorial.

The marriage of the Infanta Isabel with Count Girgenti, a Neapolitan Bourbon, was an unhappy one, and she obtained a legal separation from him after a very short matrimonial life.  Spaniards have a perfect genius for giving apt nicknames.  Scarcely was the arrangement for the marriage made known when the Count’s name was changed to that of Indecente.  He fought, however, for Isabel II. at Alcolea, which was at any rate acting more decently than did Montpensier,