CHARACTER SKETCH.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1424, 15 June 1899, Page 24

CHARACTER SKETCH.

THE BOY KINO OF SPAIN. One of the most interesting figures of to-day is Alfonso XIII., King of Spain, who belongs entirely and exclusively to the Twentieth Century. The years that he has passed on this side of 1900 have been few and irresponsible. He does not take up the reins of sovereignty or assume the cares of kingship until 1902, and between now and then revolutions may overwhelm his hapless country. But he already sits upon a dignified throne, and though at present he is unknown outside his own palace, he has a near prospect of ruling the destinies of twenty millions of subjects. Few kings, even of Spain, have begun life under worse auspices. His name is unfortunate; his number a pledge of bad luck. His unhappy father was dead before he came into the world, and his mother, the daughter of an Austrian archduke, was confronted with the hateful task of ruling an antipathetic country. So far the .mother has emerged from an impossible situation with a certain distinction, if without much glory. But the son WILL HAVE A HARDER TASK set him than ever fell to his mother's lot, and he will face the music inexperienced and untrained. His aspect is familiar to everyone in Madrid, and his presence has never yet succeeded in arousing enthusiasm. Now and again, as the guard is changed outside the palace at Madrid, a pale, harassed face is seen gazing from a window. The face appears suddenly, and as suddenly passes from your sight. “ There is the king,” murmurs a lazy onloooker, and the king it is, who looks out upon his people uncheered and almost unrecognised. So, too, you may meet him driving in the afternoon in sad solemnity. No one raises a hat or does reverence to the boy who has succeeded to some of the honours which were Philip IV.’s. Even if the casual cabman makes room for the royal cortege, he does it with a bad grace, and with the air of a man who has gone out of his way to pay a compliment to mediocrity. And yet in this king of thirteen years there should be all the elements of romance. He is young, unfortunate, and a monarch, If his people did not love him, surely he might stir pity. He inspires neither pity nor love. He passes unnoticed—that is all. The truth is, lie has never touched the Spanish heart, and unless he be endowed with unexpected tact and talent he is never likely to touch it. The circumstances of his life have fought against his success. In the first place, HIS APPEARANCE arouses an instant antipathy. He is too blonde, his hair is too light, his forehead is too high to correspond with the national type. “Heis no Spaniard,” says one citizen in contempt; “he is an Austrian.” Another asks indignantly: “Why should we be ruled by a pale-faced boy, who doesn’t seem to carry in his veins a drop of true Spanish blood ?” Again, lie is placid, almost inert, in liis manner. His hand is seldom raised in a gesture of excitement; liis eye doc-s not burn with enthusiasm.

The true Spanish boy, said a detractor once, is never still. So long as he has an old rag in his hand he can play at hull-fighting in the streets. Or he need never be dull if the side of a house and a tennis-ball suggest a game of pilota to his active mind. At any rate lie must always be running about, or devising a new sport. The time will come soon enough when he shall hide himself in the shade or gossip idly at the street corner. But the young King is never taken off his guard. He seems overweighted with the duties of the future. He is familiar enough to the inhabitants of Madrid, yet nobody ever saw him run about, or laugh the gay, empty laugh of childhood. Yet, if the Spaniard would but remember the past, he should esteem the young King for this very solemnitv. Indeed, it may be said, that Alfonso XTTF. is only upholding THE TRADITION OF HIS HIGH OFFICE.

When Spain was mistress of the world her kings held laughter a disgrace, and at the end of the seventeenth century the poor bride of Charles 11., who did not easily forget the manners of her own French Court, was condemned to hatred for her frank hilarity. But the Spaniard has either forgotten liis tradition or changed liis view. In his dislike of the young King he reproves the precocious dignity which the contemporaries of Philip TV. would have esteemed above all the talents, and if Alphonso XIII. is ever fo win a national popularity he must make a sudden, brusque appeal to the people’s heart. If he would only profess an active admiration of bull-fighting, or, better still, descend into the ring, liis future would be secure. But lie is never likelv to kill an Andalusian bull with his own hand, as did Philip IV., and so he must keep patience and wait upon luck. Unfortunate in his presence, he is doubly unfortunate in his epoch. During his brief reign his kingdom has suffered a terrific disaster, and when the Regency is over lie will succeed to the management of a far smaller empire than that over which his father ruled. Cuba, the island which no Spaniard believed could ever be taken awav, is now governed under another flag, while the Philippines, which first fell under under THE TRON HAND OF PHILIP 11., and which two years since seemed reconquered, are Spain’s no more. Moreover, lie lias no hope of reconquest. The truncated Spain over which he will presently rule lie will hand down truncated to his successor. It is a sad destiny, but a destiny imposed by years of forgetfulness and misrule.

Does lie know—this hoy who wears the toy uniform with a dapper grace, and yet looks as though his brain had grown faster than liis body—does he know liow sad is the fate in store for him? Possibly not, for it was ever a Spanish custom to conceal an unpleasant truth, and as certain of

liis predecessors declined to believe in the loss of Portugal or America, so Alfonso XIII. may grow up in ignorance of his lost colonies. But, alas! all will be disffikorod him in good time, pud lie will know that recovery is impossible. And if, perchance, there is a latent strength in his character he will find at home a more useful, if less brilliant, policy. For Spain, though her colonies are lost for ever, is still marvellously rich within her own borders. Moreover, the Spaniards are not a decayed or decaying race. If they could not sustain the burden of a long war conducted by generals who were rarely superior to corruption, they can, with peace and encouragement,

CULTIVATE THEIR OWN RICH SOIL and uncover their own abundant minerals. There are few corners of Europe more highly blessed by Nature than that part of the Peninsula over which the young Alfonso XIII. will be summoned to rule. The ground neetb brt to be rcratched to produce corn, oil and wine. The mines will yield their reluctant burden with no more expenditure of money and toil than is elsewhere required. There is no need to charge the country with a vast army or a useless navy. The natural boundaries of Spain are her best defence. She may, in brief, rely upon herself and forget her enemies.

For her the glory of conquest is past, The fatherland of unnumbered heroes, who won triumph in war as in the arts, will never again become a serious factor in the affairs of Europe. And Alfonso XIII. will govern a country which can spread neither beyond the Pyrenees nor beyond the Mediterranean. If beneath the glove of an impassive manner he conceal an iron hand, his future need not be inglorious. At least he may inspire his subjects to make the best of their own great country. And henceforth his worst enemies must be sought at home. Revolution will be a bitterer danger than America. His youth and the circumstances of his successions make you think of the wretched Charles 11. and his intriguing mother. But as the Queen Christina is infinitely more patriotic than Maria Anna, so Alfonso XIII. is more highly gifted than Charles 11., and if only he weather the storms of rebellion and pierce the waves of unpopularity, he may yet enter the harbour of a good and peaceful reign.—“ London Daily Maih”