[1814 - 1874] 19th Century Turmoil: Absolutism vs. Liberalism

The year is 1814. Napoleon’s eagles are in retreat, and a wave of exhausted relief washes over Spain. For six long, brutal years, the people have fought a war of resistance—the *Guerra de la Independencia*—against French occupation. In the crucible of that war, a new Spain had been forged. While guerrilla fighters harassed French columns in the dusty mountains, a group of bold thinkers gathered in the besieged port city of Cádiz. There, in 1812, they drafted one of Europe's most radical documents: a constitution. It declared that sovereignty resided not in a king, but in the nation itself. It abolished feudal privileges and the dreaded Inquisition. It was a promise of a modern, liberal future. Now, the king, Ferdinand VII, is coming home. The Spanish people, from the peasants in their roughspun wool to the merchants in the cities, call him *El Deseado*—the Desired One. They believe he will embrace this new dawn. He is, after all, their king, for whom they shed so much blood. But Ferdinand has other ideas. He has spent his exile steeped in the old ways, believing in the divine, absolute right of kings. As his carriage rolls towards Madrid, he doesn't see a nation of citizens; he sees a flock of subjects to be brought to heel. On May 4, 1814, with the backing of conservative nobles and high clergy who feared losing their immense power, he issues a decree. He doesn't just amend the constitution; he declares it null and void, as if it never existed. The dream of Cádiz is shattered. The Inquisition is restored, its chilling shadow once again falling over the land. Liberals are arrested, their books burned, their hopes turned to ash. The clock is violently wound back. For six years, an oppressive silence hangs over Spain, the “Sexenio Absolutista.” In the grand apartments of the Royal Palace in Madrid, men in powdered wigs and women in empire-waist gowns whisper of a return to order. But beyond the palace walls, in the clandestine meetings of Masonic lodges and in the barracks of resentful army officers, the liberal flame is secretly tended. The army, which had fought for the nation, feels betrayed. Many of its officers were not aristocrats, but men who had risen through merit during the war, men who had read Rousseau and believed in the Cádiz ideals. In 1820, the silence breaks. An army, led by Colonel Rafael del Riego, is assembled near Cádiz to be shipped to the Americas to crush independence movements there. Instead of boarding the ships, Riego turns his army around and proclaims the restoration of the 1812 Constitution. His *pronunciamiento*, or military coup, initially falters, but the idea spreads like wildfire. Garrisons across Spain join the cause. Ferdinand, seeing his support evaporate, is trapped. In a moment of high drama, he is forced to appear on the balcony of his palace and swear an oath to the very constitution he despised, supposedly muttering, "Let us march frankly, and I the first, upon the constitutional path." Thus begins the *Trienio Liberal*, three years of fragile, chaotic freedom. The liberals, back in power, are fractious and divided. Some want moderate reform; others demand radical change. Meanwhile, in the countryside, life for the average person has changed little. Over 70% of the population is illiterate, their lives governed by the harvest, the local priest, and the tolling of the church bell. They are suspicious of these fast-talking liberals from the cities, whose anti-clerical policies offend their deep-seated faith. For them, the king, however flawed, is a symbol of God-given stability. This division is all the absolutist powers of Europe need. In 1823, a massive French army, the "Hundred Thousand Sons of Saint Louis," storms across the Pyrenees, not as invaders this time, but as restorers of royal power. The liberal government collapses. Ferdinand is "freed," and he unleashes a wave of vengeance that makes his first repression look mild. This is the “Ominous Decade.” Riego is captured and subjected to a humiliating trial, then hanged and quartered in Madrid, his remains displayed to terrorize any who would dare defy the king. Thousands more are executed, imprisoned, or forced into exile. But the turmoil is far from over. Ferdinand, the great champion of tradition, has a problem: he has no male heir. His only child is a daughter, Isabella. An old law prevents women from inheriting the throne if a male relative exists. His brother, the arch-conservative Don Carlos, waits expectantly. In a desperate act to preserve his own lineage, Ferdinand changes the law, allowing his infant daughter Isabella to become his heir. When Ferdinand dies in 1833, Spain explodes. Don Carlos declares himself the rightful king, Charles V. He rallies the defenders of "God, Country, and King"—the rural peasants of the Basque Country and Navarre, the staunch traditionalists, and all those who despised the liberals in Madrid. This is the start of the First Carlist War, a savage seven-year civil war that pits brother against brother. It is a war of ideologies fought in the fields and mountains. On one side are the Carlists, fighting for an absolute monarchy and the power of the Church. On the other are the *Isabelinos* or "Liberals," a strange coalition of moderates and progressives, who rally around the child-queen Isabella II as their only hope against a return to the darkest absolutism. The war is devastating, costing over 150,000 lives. It solidifies the military’s role as the ultimate arbiter of Spanish politics. Generals like Baldomero Espartero become national heroes and political kingmakers. When the war finally ends in 1840, Spain is bankrupt and exhausted, but Isabella’s throne is secure. Her reign, from 1833 to 1868, is a dizzying carousel of political instability. Governments rise and fall, constitutions are written and rewritten, and military *pronunciamientos* become a regular feature of political life. Yet, amidst the chaos, Spain is slowly, painfully, modernizing. The vast lands of the Church are seized and sold off, creating a new class of wealthy bourgeois landowners. The first railway line is laid in 1848, a thin iron ribbon connecting Barcelona to Mataró, promising to stitch the fragmented country together. In the cities, gaslights begin to illuminate the nights, and factories, particularly textile mills in Catalonia, begin to spew smoke into the sky. A new urban working class, the proletariat, is born, living in cramped conditions and dreaming of yet another, more radical, kind of revolution. Isabella II, however, proves to be a politically disastrous queen, known more for her chaotic personal life and her favoritism than for her statesmanship. By 1868, liberals, progressives, and even moderate generals have had enough. A final, successful coup, the "Glorious Revolution," sends Isabella packing into exile in France. For the first time, Spain is without a monarch of its own choosing. What now? The country embarks on a six-year quest for a stable government. They import an Italian king, Amadeo of Savoy, who lasts two years before abdicating in frustration, declaring the Spanish to be ungovernable. Then, in 1873, the politicians declare the First Spanish Republic. It is a noble, idealistic experiment, but it is doomed from the start. Torn apart by federalist revolts, another Carlist War, and political infighting, the Republic lasts a mere eleven months before it collapses under the weight of its own chaos. By 1874, sixty years after Ferdinand the "Desired" returned, Spain has come full circle. The army, weary of the endless turmoil, orchestrates one last *pronunciamiento*. They restore the monarchy, placing Isabella's son, Alfonso XII, on the throne. A period of fragile stability will follow, but the sixty years of violent struggle between the old Spain and the new, between the cross and the constitution, have carved deep scars into the soul of the nation, wounds that would fester and erupt again in the century to come.