divided between the Austrian
faction, of which the Queen and the leading ministers Oropesa and Melgar
were the chiefs, and the French faction, of which the most important
member was Cardinal Portocarrero, Archbishop of Toledo. At length an
event which, as far as can now be judged, was not the effect of a deeply
meditated plan, and was altogether unconnected with the disputes about
the succession, gave the advantage to the adherents of France. The
government, having committed the great error of undertaking to supply
Madrid with food, committed the still greater error of neglecting to
perform what it had undertaken. The price of bread doubled. Complaints
were made to the magistrates, and were heard with the indolent apathy
characteristic of the Spanish administration from the highest to the
lowest grade. Then the populace rose, attacked the house of Oropesa,
poured by thousands into the great court of the palace, and insisted on
seeing the King. The Queen appeared in a balcony, and told the rioters
that His Majesty was asleep. Then the multitude set up a roar of fury.
"It is false; we do not believe you. We will see him." "He has slept too
long," said one threatening voice; "and it is high time that he should
wake." The Queen retired weeping; and the wretched being on whose
dominions the sun never set tottered to the window, bowed as he
had never bowed before, muttered some gracious promises, waved a
handkerchief in the air, bowed again, and withdrew. Oropesa, afraid of
being torn to pieces, retired to his country seat. Melgar made some
show of resistance, garrisoned his house, and menaced the rabble with
a shower of grenades, but was soon forced to go after Oropesa; and the
supreme power passed to Portocarrero.

Portocarrero was one of a race of men of whom we, happily for us,
have seen very little, but whose influence has been the curse of Roman
Catholic countries. He was, like Sixtus the Fourth and Alexander the
Sixth, a politician made out of an impious priest. Such politicians are
generally worse than the worst of the laity, more merciless than any
ruffian that can be found in camps, more dishonest than any pettifogger
who haunts the tribunals. The sanctity of their profession has an
unsanctifying influence on them. The lessons of the nursery, the habits
of boyhood and of early youth, leave in the minds of the great majority
of avowed infidels some traces of religion, which, in seasons of
mourning and of sickness, be