When Ferdinand died, Carlos, his brother, proclaimed himself king. Basque Country, Navarra and Catalonia, fearing that they lost their ancient priviledges if Isabella was crowned queen, supported him. But Maria Christina was going to defend her daughter's right as sovereign, whatever it took—even if she had to pact with the liberals, which she personally despised.

Even outside of the country the European powers had a say on the matter.

"The Spanish throne cannot be in the hands of those insolent liberals!" Austria declared.

"The Church doesn't recognize Isabella as queen, so..." Prussia stated.

"Do you really want to go back to the medieval system, gentlemen? I don't think so" France replied.

"We are talking about giving the power to a woman!" Austria exclaimed.

"What the hell does that have to do with what we are discussing?" Portugal said. "Russia, I thought you admired Catherine II! What about your Maria Theresa, Austria? Almost everyone has had a female ruler!"

"Only because there was no other choice" Russia replied, shaking one finger.

"There is a legal problem here: the Salic law is still running because the previous kings didn't do things properly. Ferdinand couldn't just say it has no effect. That Pragmatic Sanction is illegal" Prussia pointed out.

"And do you really want liberals to get the crown? After what they did to you, France? Remember your head in a basket?" Austria said.

"We are going nowhere" England declared and turned his head to the man by his side. "Spain."

But Spain didn't reply. He was there, but he was barely listening to that conversation. He didn't have a say on the matter, anyway. Now it all depended on the military strength of each side. So the European powers ignored him and his crippling headache.


1834


"...You do not look very convinced."

Spain tried to look at the regent queen to the face, but his eyes averted to her swollen stomach. What a miracle. Her husband had died a year before and she was six months pregnant. The nation finally got to look at her.

"You dedicate no chapters to the rights of the citizens."

"Well...but my ministers have decided the relationships between the Court and the Crown. The power is shared with them...I know you, well, raised your spirits when you wrote the Constitution, but understand I cannot give your sovereignty. I have to protect my daughter's right...A Royal Statute is better than nothing, don't you think?"

Spain sighed.

"I guess so..."

Maria Christina tilted her head.

"...Is everything alright, Antonio?"

"...No...I...need to lay down a bit."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No, it's alright."

So Spain went to his bedroom to have a little rest. It wouldn't help, because it was something no doctor o druggist could solve. Out there, in the towns, his people were fighting their own brothers. People read the news about it with great expectation but had a peaceful life. He, on the other hand...He had felt glimpses of this in the past, but never like this. It was...exasperating. Most of the time he couldn't think straight. He felt so dizzy he couldn't take a carriage because he couldn't take the swinging. He even quit smoking because it made him vomit.

He had barely blown out the candle and closed his eyes when the sound of the door opening made him open them again.

Little Isabella walked to him.

"Are you sick, Antonio?" she asked him.

Spain nodded. Isabella placed her little hand on his forehead and kissed it. Spain then took her in his arms, getting her comfortable in bed, and embraced her. Both of them closed their eyes and tried to sleep.

He was still having those unpleasant thoughts about that poor child. The Carlists were part of him too, so their ideas had invaded his mind—but he was slowly keeping them under control. Isabella was a child. A nice child who didn't deserve it. He felt so sorry for her and her sister, ignored in favor of that sergeant of the royal guards, Fernando Míez, their mother was so close to—When he woke up in the morning, Spain would have to look for him and congratulate him, by the way...


1836


"Long live the Constitution! Long live Mina! Long live England!"

"Antonio, what is happening?" Isabella looked at his nation, weeping.

Her mother had been in a meeting with the rebels for hours. Of course, Isabella was nervous. So was Spain.

Maria Christina had favored the moderates openly and now she was paying the price. The progressive, often leaded by military men, were protesting all around the country. The Carlists gaining power had contributed to her discredit and it lead to that. She thought she would have a peaceful time at the palace of La Granja and she found unfriendly faces looking at her. Those men agreed with the rebels and, to make things worse, hadn't been paid in months. They wanted to greet Spain with a national hymn, but when they were told they were not allowed to sing such things, their patience reached the limit.

"You will have to be very careful with what you do when you grow up, see? Or this will happen to you every day" Spain said to her. Luisa Fernanda was also scared, so he held her in his arms too and kissed her hair for comfort.

Something good came from all of that, though. Maria Christina was forced to pledge allegiance to the Constitution of 1812. Spain was sovereign again.

Maria Christina was reluctant to it, but Spain taught Isabella personally about it. It was something good, he told her. It meant the two of them would work together to do good things.

Maybe it was the relief, the mild happiness, what made him grab paper and ink and write a letter to Mexico.

«...I hereby recognize your independence and wish you the best. No matter what, I will always consider you a part of me and love you. Hugs you, Spain».


1841


Maria Christina thought with the Constitution written in 1837 everything would be fine. She thought giving Spain sovereignty, separating powers, giving people freedom and rights was enough. But Spain didn't like it. Yes, men could vote, but only four percent of them, since their right was based on a restricted census. Also, a second chamber of government was introduced, the Senate, which was undeniably moderate; not to mention the monarch could freely choose and dismiss ministers and veto laws. That was not what Spain wanted.

Then she brought that new law, the Law of Local Government, which allowed the government to choose the mayors and councilmen. It was contrary to Constitution. It was like going back to the old times.

That, and the continuous scandals, because she was never seen not being pregnant, made Spain lose his patience.

"Are you asking me to leave, Antonio?"

She was defiant, but Spain was firm. After a moment of silence, Maria Christina sighed.

"Very well. In that case, I will write my abdication right now...Maybe if you had helped me reign we wouldn't have had to come to this..."

If she tried to attack his conscience, she failed. However, Spain had to say something in his defense: he was not in the state of helping anybody, but to be helped.

Thank God the headache the Carlist uprising ceased. Since general Baldomero Espartero had a lot to do with it, reconquering what was lost in the hands of general Zumalacárregui after his death, it was decided that he should be Spain's boss from then on.

Things sure changed a lot during that time. Maria Christina was asked to leave the country. In Rome, she got the Pope's blessing in her marriage with Míez, a secret everybody knew about, even thought he was a plebeian. She probably was so infatuated by that man she didn't think once about her daughters, the daughters she had with Ferdinand, that is, which she left in Spain. Isabella had to witness the purge of all the staff: the education of the future queen of Spain had to be progressive.

Well, education...Not that Isabella received a great education, in Spain's opinion. Every day there was a new person in the government with different ideas, so the future queen learned much more about piano, religion and domestic matters than politics or humanities. Isabella didn't make things easy ,either. Spain had always tried to teach her things that would be useful, since he had seen so many kings and queens make mistakes and do things right, but she was way more concerned about playing with her dogs than listen to him. Everything she wanted to hear from him were the tales of the battles he had fought in.

Spain really hoped Espartero didn't give him a reason to worry, so he could focus on giving Isabella the education she needed...He had enough having to accept that his siblings in South America were not coming back.

«...I have always loved you, Ecuador, and I am sure you will manage well. However, if you ever need me, España will be there.»

But it seemed that everything, everything at all was going wrong lately...


1842


What England thought was intimidation was actually wonder. He smiled at the little queen-to-be and bowed to kiss her hand.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I have had a very good time here. You have a very beautiful country."

"Thank you. I think we got to find the best aesthetic, after you have destroyed it so many times..." Spain smirked.

"I am very pleased to have met you, your Highness" England didn't hear that or pretended so.

"Pleasure is mine, Mr. England" Isabella replied as she was supposed to.

"Take care" England was a bit colder to Spain, just bowing his head to him. Like, yes, they had already shaken hands a lot of times before, why doing the same thing over and over?

"Hope you have a good journey back home" Spain wished him, and he couldn't believe he was saying that to that man.

England got into the carriage which in some days would take him to the port, from which he would return to his island. As soon as he disappeared, Isabella started snickering.

"By God, are his eyebrows ugly..." she said. Like the twelve year-old child she was.

"I know, right?" Spain chuckled.

But as they were taken back to Montjuic's castle, Spain thought he couldn't encourage such behavior in her.

"No, no, no, no. Isabelita, no. You have to respect other people, as ugly as they are."

"But Antonio, you were laughing too!"

"I know, and it's your fault. You are a woman and people will pay special attention to what you do, so you'd better be careful."

"Sometimes you are so boring..."

But she was right: didn't England have some valet who could fix them?

"Please, Spain, sing for me" that night she asked him before going to bed.

"Did you say your prayers?" Spain replied.

"Yes, so, come on, please! It helps me sleep well!"

Spain couldn't resist the way she was looking at him.

"...Alright, alright!"

Isabella, excited, bounced on bed until she finally found the perfect posture to listen, lying on her stomach, with her elbows on the mattress and her hands holding her head. Spain sat on the edge of the bed by her side and started singing:

«Rosa das rosas e Fror das frores,

Dona das donas, Sennor das sennores.

Rosa de beldad e de parecer

e Fror d,alegria e de prazer,

Dona en mui piadosa ser

Sennor en toller coitas e doores.

Atal Sennor dev ome muit amar,

que de todo mal o pode guardar;

e pode-ll os peccados perdõar,

que faz no mundo per maos sabores.

Devemo-la muit amar e servir,

ca punna de nos guardar de falir;

des i dos erros nos faz repentir,

que nos fazemos come pecadores.

Esta dona que tenno por Sennore

de que quero seer trobador,

se eu per ren poss aver seu amor,

dou ao demo os outros amores.»

Isabella gazed at him for long, with a little smile on her face.

"It must be so sad..."

"It is not sad, it talks about Virgin Mary and-"

"I mean knowing songs from the old times" Isabella explained. "Living centuries. Seeing so many people grow old and die, like the people who wrote the song, who used to sing it. It must be really sad..."

That was so unexpected Spain lost his smile and was silent for a while.

"I bet you miss a lot of people" Isabella continued.

"...I do" Spain looked back at his little queen and smiled. "But I am happy I got to know them. Now, enough chatter. Matters like this Will give you nightmares. You are supposed to be sleeping already."

"Good night, Antonio."

"Good night, dear."

Spain walked out of the room but didn't go to bed. Instead, he took a long walk around the castle, watched the city for one more hour. He tried to shake off what Isabella said to him, but it was the gospel truth: people like England would probably be around for many more centuries to come, but Isabella...one Isabella would be a memory too...

He desperately needed something to distract himself from those thoughts, but what he got was not precisely what he wanted. From up there, he could see the lights of the barricades which were being built.

Soon, it became something too big to notice.

Espartero had to act. He traveled from Madrid to Barcelona and was informed of the situation.

It seemed the people had found out about the deal with England and they didn't like it. Numerous voices claimed it would be their ruin. So many Catalan producers depended on their sales, and if English textiles were introduced at a lower cost...Also, Espartero was being too repressive. Spain also thought he was a very severe man, but, well, there were things that had to be done.

But not what he did...Not what he did...

Espartero tried to put order in the city, but the Barcelona people were against them. They threw rocks at their heads, fought them, disobeyed their orders. Isabella was taken back to Madrid just to be safe, while Spain stayed with him, watching the course of events, concerned, hoping there was a solution.

They got a manifest, in which they asked Espartero to protect the Spanish industry and asked...for the independence of Catalonia? Signed by...Catalonia...

"They think they have won?" Espartero took Spain out of his confusion, crossing hsi arms behind of his back and gazing into space with a serious look on his face. "Well, I have not said my last word..."

It was soon spread all over Barcelona. The rebels had forty-eight hours to surrender. Else, the city would be bombed.

"It...what?"

Spain gazed at Espartero intensively, demanding an explanation, and the general just sat on his armchair and served himself a glass of liquor.

"If you want respect, Spain, you have to earn it."

Barcelona didn't understand either. They tried to negotiate, but Espartero didn't even want to hear about it. He would negotiate nothing. All he wanted was their surrender.

And since they didn't, executed his threat.

Spain heard the first explosion when he was in the toilet. He had to lean on a wall to prevent himself from falling. Feeling something strange, ugly and wrong inside of his chest, like he was running out of air, he ran to Espartero. He looked for him. And he finally found him, supervising the bombing, standing up tall, giving the orders.

"Fire!"

All those cannons were aiming at the city, his beautiful Barcelona...He saw fire, buildings crumbling...Could Espartero hear the screams too? Because he could, even at that distance. Maybe inside of his head.

"STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

The soldiers stopped, and Espartero frowned.

"Keep firing" he ordered.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Spain exclaimed.

"What I had to do. You cannot let these people control you."

"THOSE ARE CIVILIANS!"

"They have attacked my soldiers. They could have hurt the queen too."

"But..." He couldn't breathe. Dear God, he couldn't breathe...

"Keep firing, I said!"

The soldiers were hesitant. Who should they obey? Their regent or the nation itself? In the end, Espartero's iron calm won, and projectiles kept falling on Barcelona.

One thousand and fourteen. That was the number of them Barcelona needed to surrender at midnight, the next day. Spain felt each one of them, that is why he had to lie down in bed for days. Yet he could still feel it. The destruction of hundreds of homes, the hospital and the city hall. The twenty six killed. The hundreds of collaborators who after that were caught and executed. The fear...

"I did all of this for you, my lord" Espartero said the next time he saw him. He was supposed to be apologizing, but Spain had the impression he had not changed his mind at all.

Spain didn't even want to see him for the rest of his life. That slight was something Espartero found back to Madrid, everywhere he went, everywhere he looked. Nobody wanted him near. Nobody thanked him for his service.

That is why he was forced to resign.

Thus, Isabella was crowned queen, at the age of fourteen.


1846


Many names had been considered for Isabella's future husband. Of course, Europe couldn't mind their own business and some countries proposed a candidate. France presented the duke of Montpensier, who was accepted but as the husband of Isabella's sister Luisa Fernanda, aged fourteen. Maria Christina, as a mother, also had candidates: the count of Trapani, Isabella's carnal uncle, infante Enrique, cousin, and considered she had the right as a mother and guard of her daughter's well-being to reject Francisco de Paula of the Two Sicilies. President Narváez also expressed his will to marry the young queen. But who was chosen in the end?

"Paquita! I can't believe it turned out to be Paquita!" Isabella lamented in the confidentiality of her room, to Spain.

Yes, Spain couldn't believe it either. Her cousin Francis of Assisi was not a man he could consider...well, he couldn't even be considered a man! Everybody knew he was queer. He could not be a good husband.

"Oh, Antonio, what shall I do?"

"What can I say, my love? There's no other option. Carlos..."

"Don't even mention him! Sigh...I...I will marry Francis, alright...But just because I don't want to touch that man..."

If she had accepted her cousin's proposal, everybody would have gotten what they wanted. Isabella's uncle would have gotten the throne, maybe not for him, but for his descendants. She would have been married to someone decent. But he understood her refusal. He also saw something fishy in all of that.

"How am I going to give heirs to the throne if he is...?"

"Well...I'm sure you'll find a way."

Spain attended the wedding feeling weirdly sad. Poor girls, he thought. Doomed to marry conveniently so they could save the throne. Girls like them should not be going through those sorts of things...

The bad thing was that Isabella's rejection was not taken well by the Carlists and Spain started suffering migraines again...


1868


Pablo didn't like losing—and less when the rival cheated. When Ramiro was discovered hiding aces in his sleeve, he, enraged, smashed the bottle against his head. Nobody was concerned for a rascal like Ramiro, who had a hard head anyway: everybody laughed. Even Spain did. At that moment very few people looked at him. Yes, he was the nation, but he came to the tavern so often he was well known and nobody was impressed. His coming was only important because he had tons of money and payment would never be a problema.

It was then when a paper slipped from the hands of the guy in the nearby table. Spain politely bent down to grab it and give it to him.

"There you go, am-"

He didn't take his eyes off it. Had he done it, he would have noticed how the man paled.

Spain stood up, his smile vanishing and pointed at the picture.

"Where did you get this?"

It was a disgusting drawing of Isabella, in a stable, holding a donkey on its hind legs, so it was in the right position to... 'Just to try everything...to screw an ass, she found a way', was written on the foot.

The man didn't reply. He tried to but couldn't. Spain crumpled the paper then punched him in the face.

"Antonio! Antonio!" Luis exclaimed, grabbing him before he killed him with his own hands.

"Come on, it's okay..." Ramiro was bleeding, but even he got up to push Spain away from the man.

"No! It's not okay! I'm going to end with this...!" Spain shook all those people away from him and stormed out of the bar. His good mood was ruined for the rest of the night.

He knew Isabella was out of control, but this was going too far...

He had met many kings and queens during his life. He knew, being in a position of power, they were allowed to do things the rest of the mortals couldn't. Take Philip IV, for instance. He even prayed on nuns, and Spain had to make up numerous posts so all of his natural children had a position. What about Maria Christina? 'Married secretly, pregnant publicly'. He couldn't talk too loud: he had succumbed to the charms of the Indians he found the first time he traveled to America and his monarchs had always provided him women to satisfy his carnal needs with. But Isabella...He met those pleasures too soon, forced, but she got hooked on them. Surely, with a husband like that, who had a lover whose name even Spain knew...She called general Serrano 'the pretty general', it was so shameless Serrano had to be moved out of Madrid. But he was not the only one. There were so many more. Out of the twelve babies she birthed—or aborted, unfortunately—, it was unsure which of them were Francis'. If there was one.

No, that was not the kind of behavior her people expected from her. In fact, that was not everything. The lacking education she had received was now showing, and Spain regretted not being able to get results from his own implication. She was rude at the table, hated reading, had a terrible handwriting which made her job difficult, and was way too generous giving out titles. The doctor who helped her deliver little Alfonso, just for predicting it was going to be a boy was named marquis. Marquis of the Royal Fortunate Answer.

And most of all, she had no initiative: her will depended on what the people around her told her. Spain tried not to intervene, but she allowed all of those men and women dictate her laws, the direction of her government. Spain didn't know anymore if he was a conservative or a progressive. So many presidents had passed that he didn't have the time to learn their names before they were replaced. But she preferred the moderated, and they were starting to impose their will to all other options.

Spain found himself poor again, and Isabella was more concerned about having sex with every man she came across than being a good queen. She had impulsed the railroad, that was true, but she wouldn't win the love and respect of her people just with that.

One more uprising and...

Was God mocking him? Did he have a cruel sense of humor? When he got to palace, Isabella had already packed her things. Right when Spain was coming, she was leaving.

She looked at her sadly, surrounded by her children, taking the hand of her daughter María del Pilar, her husband by her side.

"The people have made it clear in Cadiz, that man...Topete. They don't want me. You don't want me, either."

Spain didn't reply, looked down at his feet, and Isabella smiled sadly.

"That's what I thought...Do you know what they said? 'Down the Bourbons! Long live Spain with honor!'. I see you shall not live with honor as long as I am queen, so I free you, Antonio, querido."

The queen sighed, looking around her, at that castle she wouldn't see again.

"You have been ungrateful, Antonio" Francis said to Spain. "We did everything we could for you, and you..."

"No" Isabella interrupted him. "This is not his fault. Probably it was mine."

She approached him. Once she was so young, so sweet. She was grown up now, older than Spain seemed—but she still was like a child in more than a sense. She kissed his cheeks and caressed them.

"Goodbye, Antonio. And thank you for everything."

With that said, she grabbed her daughter's hand again and marched out of the room. Francis considered there was nothing he wanted to say, maybe, because he just left. Little Alfonso walked slower so he could give Spain a last look.

Even then Spain knew he was not going to see her ever again.

All he could do was to wait, sat on the sofa, and wait to see in whose hands he was now. Those were such unpredictable times he prepared himself mentally for any outcome...


This century is the nightmare of every Spanish student, because there are so many dates, so many names, a couple of constitutions... Isabella II's reign was such an unstable one...

It began with her uncle Carlos demanding the throne. With the support of the Holy Alliance, he fought for it in what could be considered an interlude to our sadly known Civil War. However, it was not such a big deal and most of Spain could have a normal life. In the end, Isabella won and was crowned queen. During her mother's regency, her decisions were not popular, because she favored one group and also had a scandalous affair with a member of the royal guard, of which she had twelve children. A revolt made her exile herself and a liberal who fought against the Carlists, Espartero, was named regent. He disentailed the belongings of the church and ended with the privileges of some areas of Spain, but what really brought his downfall was the bombing of Barcelona, which was not to suffocate independence movements, as if has been said, but to control an insurrection caused by a deal with England which would damage the interests of the wool producers in Catalonia. (Also, this is completely unrelated, but we have a saying in our language which is 'you have the balls as big as the horse of Espartero's, referring to a equestrian statue of him which had big attributes, to say a person is very brave).

So Espartero had to leave and Isabella was declared in majority of age at the age of fourteen. Someone so young, childish and so badly educated (her mother didn't give her the attention she needed) was an easy target for flatterers, as she admitted herself to novelist Benito Pérez Galdós. Her reign is a succession of different governments of different ideologies, uprisings and scandals, because she turned out to be as much of a sex addict as her father was. Her husband and cousin was homosexual, and she paid him a million reales for acknowledging her children as his. Both of them were mocked in a series of pornographic and satiric pictures called "Los Borbones en Pelota" ("The Bourbons naked").

She married Francis, instead of her cousin, Carlos' son, and that provoked the Second Carlist war.

It all ended with the revolution called La Gloriosa, which was formed by military men from all kinds of ideologies. They had the support of the Spanish people, who were fed up of her. She fled to Paris, where she lived for the rest of her days. She was said to be a merry, nice person, who loved her country; she was just unlucky to have been born a queen.

Also, this is the time when the South American nations finally got recognized as independent, after winning their respective wars against Spain.

And the poem Spain sings to young Isabella is the Cantiga of Saint Mary, Rosa das Rosas, from the 13th century.