When Ferdinand took his last breath, his brother Carlos proclaimed himself king.
"My brother was not of sound mind when he abolished the Salic Law! He was tricked into it! Our laws are very clear: the masculine line is preferred over the feminine! Spain cannot be in the hands of people who are willing to break traditions, law and common sense at their whim!"
Basque Country and Catalonia, fearing that they lost their ancient privileges if Isabella was crowned queen, supported him almost immediately. 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, and everything the Church says is sacred—pun intended..." Prussia stated.
"Do you really want to go back to the medieval system, gentlemen, when our kings had us on a leash? I don't think so." France replied.
"We are talking about giving the power to a woman! Worse: a toddler!" Austria exclaimed.
"What the hell does that have to do with what we are discussing?" Portugal intervened. "The child will grow up eventually. And giving power to a woman...Russia, you, for instance, I thought you admired Catherine enough to call her The Great! What about your Maria Theresa, Austria? Almost everyone inside this room has had a female ruler and it didn't go that bad, did it?"
"That only happened because there was no other choice." Russia replied, shaking one finger. "We all know that women are too sensitive, gullible and frail to be good rulers."
"And I want to point out one tiny but crucial detail here." Prussia said. "There is a legal problem that makes the Pragmatic Sanction invalid: the Salic law is still running because the previous kings didn't do things properly. Ferdinand couldn't just say it has no effect. There is a process in the abolishment and passing of the laws to prevent people just doing what they want with no accountability."
"Do you really want liberals to get the crown, Portugal, France? After what they did to you, France? Remember your head in a basket?" Austria said.
"Thank you, Austria. I really love recalling that marvelous moment." France rolled his eyes, resting his head on his fist.
"We are going nowhere, gentlemen. It's been an hour and all we have done is yell at each other." England declared and turned his head to the man by his side. "Spain."
But Spain didn't reply. He was present, 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.
A headache he got knowing that cities were being burnt, people were being executed, hills were filled with guerrillas, neighbors betrayed one another...
«God, King and Fatherland!», one part of them shouted.
«The Queen is a sweet child!», the other replied.
The tactics his people had learnt dealing with France were being used to hurt and kill each other.
1834
"...You do not look very convinced."
Spain tried to look at Maria Christina to the face, really, but his eyes looked away to her swollen stomach. What a miracle. Her husband had been dead for quite some time and she was six months pregnant. The nation finally got to look at her to the face.
"You dedicate no chapters to the rights of the citizens." He said.
"Well...but my ministers have decided the relationships between the Court and the Crown. We can share the power...I know you...well...got maybe a bit too enthusiastic when you wrote the Constitution, but understand that I cannot give you full 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..."
"But I have taken your suggestions of last week into consideration and I think you are right. The Inquisition is a tribunal behind the times. It has no purpose anymore. I am going to pass a law abolishing it for-"
Maria Christina tilted her head.
"...Is everything alright, Antonio?" She asked.
"...No...I...need to lay down a bit." Spain admitted, a hand on his forehead.
"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 to death. People read the news about it with great expectation but it seemed like something distant, something that only happened in the mountains, in small villages, something that only concerned Basque Country. He, on the other hand...He had felt glimpses of this kind of internal disputes 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 slowly. 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? Why are there so many people with weapons? I'm scared!" Isabella pleaded 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; so did her minister Mendizábal disentailing and auctioning the properties of the Church—Vatican was so angry that he had broken all relations with Spain. Her continuous pregnancies and that dear corps guard of hers, Fernando Muñoz getting the title of Duke of Riansares for unknown merits didn't help her at all increase her popularity. Spain was more and more angry at her. It was evident that she was not being a very good leader. She thought she would have a peaceful time alone at the palace of La Granja and she found unfriendly faces all around her. Those men agreed with the rebels and, to make things worse, hadn't been paid in months. They wanted to greet Spain at palace 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 Isabella. Luisa Fernanda was also scared, so he held her in his arms too and kissed her hair for comfort.
"I thought you were the people and the people were you." Isabella said.
"It is a way to put it. Yes."
"Are you angry at Mom, then?"
Spain did not reply to that.
Something good came from all of that, though. Maria Christina was forced to pledge allegiance to the Constitution of 1812. Spain was independent from royal power again.
Maria Christina was reluctant to it, but Spain taught Isabella personally about the Constitution, the rights of the citizen and the powers. It was something good, he told her. It meant the two of them would work together to do good things when she was old enough to be crowned.
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. I know you are still angry. 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. He never had the last word. Maria Christina did.
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 the Queen had been involved in the shameful case of money being stolen from Spain's pockets to lavish her entourage and the court and invest in businesses that make them disgustingly rich, not to mention that she was never seen not being pregnant (eight miraculous children in total—not even Virgin Mary was that lucky!). Spain ended up losing his patience.
"Are you asking me to leave, Spain?"
She was defiant, but Spain was firm. After a moment of tense silence, Maria Christina sighed.
"Very well. In that case, I will write my abdication right now...Maybe if you had helped me reign, if you had been clear about what you wanted me to do, we wouldn't have had to come to this..."
If she tried to attack his conscience, she failed. He had been very clear about what he wanted—it was her who didn't listen. Spain had something more to say 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 politely asked to leave Spain's house. Now in Rome, without a nation to bicker to her apparently, she got the Pope's blessing in her marriage with Fernández, a secret everybody knew about, in spite of him being a plebeian. She probably was so infatuated by that man that she never once thought of her daughters—the daughters she had with Ferdinand, that is—, which she left under Spain's and Espartero's care.
Abandoned by her mother! Poor child. Spain pitied her greatly.
"Now that we have gotten rid of the one who was dragging you down, it is time that we make some changes." Espartero told Spain. "Many changes indeed. Look at the other nations. England has gotten very rich and powerful thanks to his industry. France is everyone's referent. I know, I know, your traditions must be preserved, but it wouldn't do you harm to look closely and imitate what they do right."
It was ironic, wasn't it? Spain had always thought that God always favored his people. But he witnessed how all the blessings went to England, the heretical, and France, the apostate.
Espartero was not the only one who told him that. Everyone around him thought the same. Spain was getting behind in the great race that was taking place in Europe and not all fault was Maria Christina's. He needed to get to work. Losing his South American siblings had affected the economy gravely. Although he didn't have as many expenses as he used to, he needed to earn some money. Rely less on religion and be more practical. God couldn't save him if he didn't do his part, right?
Spain visited his neighbors and took many notes. They also came to visit him and published books about their impressions about his house and himself. He read them.
«The Spanish do not like to work. Playing the guitar and sitting under the sun is enough entertainment for them.» ("We are forced to be lazy. There is no job. And if we got it, it just does not compensate.")
«Spain is very superstitious and a passionate Catholic at the same time. This makes him intolerant and wary of progress.» ("If I didn't know I have God watching me, I would have given up on life a very long time ago...")
«Spain and his people are very rude. His women are beautiful but have no shame. The men drink too much and are very loud. They've got no class or manners.» ("I am tired of feeling restrained. I want to laugh and cry and shout if I want to, and not apologize about it...")
...Perhaps they were right? Perhaps he had behaved like a monster without him realizing? Was he a brute as much as he denied it?
Everyone had to leave for a reason...
Argüelles, President of the Parliament, once told him that his siblings needed to feel equal to him, not mere colonies, cattle he could use and whip...
Influenced by all this input, Spain decided Isabella needed to be what her ancestors weren't. She had to be the best version of herself. She had to look into the future. The young queen had to witness the purge of all the staff she had grown up around: 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 herself 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 were not coming back.
«...I have always loved you, Ecuador, and I am sure you will manage well. However, if you ever need me, Big Brother Spain will be there.»
Still, 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 home."
"Thank you. I think we got to find the best aesthetic, after you have destroyed it so many times..." Spain smirked, his arms folded.
"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 Perfidious Albion.
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 those eyebrows?
"Please, Spain, sing for me." She asked him that night 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 that old cantiga Alfonso X had written centuries before, in that Galician-Portuguese dialect he didn't use anymore:
«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.»
Isabella gazed at him for long, with a little smile on her face, until he finished.
"It must be so sad..." She muttered.
"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. The darn child and her remarks!
"...I do." Spain looked back at his little queen and smiled. "But I am happy I got to know them. Now, enough chatter. And don't think about grim matters like these. It 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...there would come a day when Isabella would be a memory too...Just like her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great grandfather...
They would meet each other in Heaven, but him?...
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. One of the biggest protests he had ever seen.
Espartero had to act. He traveled from Madrid to Barcelona and was informed of the situation.
It seemed that the people had found out about the deal with England and they didn't like it. Numerous voices claimed it would be their doom. 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 his 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 unconditional surrender.
And since they didn't reach an agreement and the surrender didn't come, 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 all around. 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, turning around.
"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..." Spain 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 bombs 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, Your Greatness." 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, after an unfortunate pistol duel that ruined his reputation and his chances to get the throne. 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 had it written on his face. 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 uncle's proposal, everybody would have gotten what they wanted. Carlos would have gotten what he wanted, 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 Carlos' offering.
"Now, returning to Francis, how am I going to give heirs to the throne if he is...?" Isabella asked.
"Well...I'm sure you'll find a way." Spain could only say.
Spain attended the wedding feeling weirdly sad. Poor girls, he thought. Doomed to marry someone they found disgusting in order to make alliances, keep the undesired away from Spain. They sacrificed their youth to become spouses and mothers, because it was their family's wish and it was the best for him. Girls like them should not be going through those sorts of things...
The bad thing was that Isabella's rejection was taken as an insult by the Carlists and Spain started suffering migraines again...
He was going to throw up. Oh, Lord, he was going to throw up!
"This is going too fast..." Spain mumbled, his face white as a sheet of paper.
"I know. Isn't it marvelous?" Isabella smiled, sitting by her side.
They hadn't gotten to Mataró yet, but it looked like they were going to be there in a second. This was indeed faster than a stagecoach, or anything Spain had rode in his life. Spain refused to look through the window and look at a view that passed zooming.
"Cuba said he loved it." Isabella remarked.
"Cuba's far more brave than I am." And he was not sick, Spain thought but didn't add. "How fast is this going? Fifty kilometers per hour? That's enough for a pregnant lady to lose her child! And talking about children, they say they use baby grease to-"
"Won't you shut up, Spain? You're acting like an old man! Relax, will you?"
He couldn't. Devilish inventions like this railroad thing turned his stomach.
But it was progress and he had to accept it and see its qualities.
Not too long after that, now in their destination, Spain was acquainted with another new invention.
"One...Two..." The photographer said.
There was a flash that blinded Spain for a solid minute.
The image would take a while to fix on the support. Spain was allowed to watch the process closely and he admired everything that man did, all the chemicals he used, the processes.
"Done." The photographer showed Spain the photograph first.
Well, paintings were way more flattering. One could trick the brush but not the camera. There was Isabella, who had gained a lot of weight lately, and there was him—did he really have that dimwit face? It was like looking at oneself in a mirror...How marvelous! That was an invention he did like! Too bad that he couldn't smile for the picture.
This was being a century full of inventions and incredible machines. Had he encountered these centuries ago, he would have sent them and their producers to the fire right away! Science almost seemed like magic.
Spain was eager to see what would be invented next. He could barely wait and started thinking of what he could invent himself.
These were very chaotic times, things changed so fast...
...And he had to keep up with the other nations.
Everyone, France, England, Germany, Italy, had found out what seemed like the Garden of Eden, so close to them it almost seemed incredible that no one had noticed until then: Africa. Not only had it been a good market for slaves: there were so many valuable minerals and rocks, trees, so many nations to trade with...Not to mention the space, which was always something needed.
He was not going to be less than them. The nation who discovered America was not going to let this chance go to waste, and joined the expeditions, starting from the North of the continent, beyond Gibraltar.
The first nation he encountered was a Moorish woman whose hair was covered with a veil, turquoise eyes and tan skin. Morocco. He found her washing her clothes in a fountain, wiping a drop of sweat that was falling from her forehead. When she raised her eyes and looked at him she went completely still, like a doe surprised by a hunter. It was charming indeed. Spain almost felt timid for a second, but he overcame this feeling. He had come to make a conquest but not that kind of conquest.
"You must know why I am here. If you don't put up any resistance, I will be kind."
He doubted she understood Spanish, so he repeated it in English, and was about to try in French when she suddenly grabbed her amphora and threw it at him.
It seemed he was not the first nation who had tried to yield her. Or perhaps his fame preceded him. But that was a clear no.
Spain sighed. "Very well. War, then."
1868
Pablo didn't like losing—and less when the rival cheated. When Ramiro was discovered hiding aces up his sleeve, he, enraged, smashed the bottle against his head. Nobody was concerned for a rascal like Ramiro, who had a hard head anyway and would be fine; 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 problem.
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, fri-"
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?" He asked with a different tone of voice.
It was a disgusting drawing of Isabella, naked in a stable, holding a donkey on its hind legs, so the animal was in the right position to insert its priapic penis inside her... «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!" His friend Luis exclaimed, grabbing him before he killed him with his own hands.
"Come on, it's okay..." Ramiro was bleeding and still not completely back to his senses, 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 that, 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 preyed on nuns, and Spain had to make up numerous posts and titles 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 by men older than her, but she got hooked on them. Not surprising, with a husband like that, who had a lover whose name even Spain knew and was not a woman's...She called general Serrano 'the pretty general', the whole thing became so shameless Serrano had to be moved out of Madrid. But Serrano was not the only one. There were so many more, oh yes. 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 he 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 if he was a conservative or a progressive anymore. 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 and eating like a pig than being a good queen. She had impulsed many important works and changes, that was true, but she wouldn't win the love and respect of her people just with that.
One more uprising and...
Oh, but when he got to palace! 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 admiral...Topete. They don't want me...You don't want me, either." She said.
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, dear Antonio."
The queen sighed, looking around her, at that palace of Miramar, San Sebastián through the window, with those therapeutic waves of the sea, all of them places she wouldn't visit again.
"Your Greatness has been very ungrateful." Francis said to Spain. "We did everything we could for you, and you...You could stop this if you wanted."
"No." Isabella interrupted him. "This is not his fault. Probably it was all mine."
She approached him. Once she was so young, so sweet...She was grown up now, much older than Spain seemed, his mother, one could have said—but she still was very sweet, like a child in more than a sense. She kissed his cheeks and caressed them.
"Goodbye, Antonio. And thank you for everything."
Even in those circumstances, she never stopped calling him by that nickname...
With that said, she grabbed her daughter's hand again and marched out of the room, towards the train station, off to France. Francis considered there was nothing he wanted to say, maybe, because he just left without looking back. Eleven year-old Alfonso walked slower so he could give Spain a last glance.
Spain found himself alone, regretting not having been able to say a thing to Isabella before she departed. He had the feeling that he was only going to see her again in the pictures.
All he could do after the royal family walked away was to wait, sat on the sofa, and see in whose hands he was now. Those were such unpredictable times he prepared himself mentally for any outcome...