Joachim Murat’s position was always a difficult one, to be sure. Although King of Naples, he was in Napoleon’s time only a king at his imperial brother-in-law’s pleasure, and regarded by the latter as little more than a proconsul, elevated to a throne in order to carry out his master’s wishes. At the same time he was conscientious enough to attempt the task of being a real king—and a good one. He loved the “flair” of kingship, but he did recognise some of his responsibilities towards his subjects and continued, while Napoleon’s back was turned, to govern fairly well. The Neapolitans loved show and noise and ceremony, and they liked the handsome, dashing, open-handed cavalryman. The country was rich, too. In those days, even if the peasants lived like cattle, at least they had plenty to eat and drink, and even now those times are spoken of as a bankrupt speaks of the fat years behind him. “Era una schiuma d’oro” (It was a froth of gold), said one old man to me, some years ago, “before this government of robbers took possession of it!” Of all Napoleon’s kinglings, Bernadotte alone contrived to keep his crown, and that may very well have been because Napoleon did not choose him, but only acceded to the popular demand when he let him reign. Murat came to the throne of the Two Sicilies in 1808, when poor unlucky Joseph was compelled, much against his will, to go to Spain. Joachim was not always popular; indeed, that would have been impossible, in the condition of things which prevailed in 1810 and 1811. He could not always be on the spot, and in his absence he had to trust to his government. This being made up of Neapolitans—both Liberal and otherwise—and of the Frenchmen who had come in with him, did not trust itself, and the King’s authority came to be decentralised beyond all control from the throne. His life was conspired against several times. Once in particular a plot was hatched to assassinate him while he was hunting in the woods of Mondragone, but one of the conspirators turned king’s evidence and the plotters were caught. When they were brought to trial, and their guilt was proved, their advocate was making the best he could of a bad job, when the presiding judge stopped the proceedings to read aloud a paper which he had just received from the King.