The sittings took place, and the artist worked assiduously; and when he thought the portrait was far enough advanced to be seen by the General, he placed it before him. But, unfortunately, the picture did not please the commander, who shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and said in English to his friend that he would not accept such a caricature as a gift. General Alava declined to translate this depreciatory remark; but the artist had noticed the scornful gestures of the Englishman, and the son in alarm saw his father turn his eyes to the loaded pistols which always lay ready to hand on the table. The young man’s fear was increased when Wellington rose from his seat in a discourteous way, and put on his hat preparatory to departure. Then Goya, enraged at the officer’s contemptuous manner, seized the pistols, and the General clapped his hand to his sword. The scene would have ended in a tragedy had not Lord Alava assured the irate General that the artist was suffering from sudden mental aberration, and young Goya restrained his father by force from using the deadly weapons. Wellington gave a great ball at the Town Hall the night before he left Madrid, and with this return for the bull-fights, serenades, and fêtes, which had been given in his honour, he took his departure from the Spanish capital. The English camp in the Retiro was raised a month later by General Hill, and it is a matter of regret that the step was accompanied by the blowing up of the royal manufactory of porcelain, for the fabrication is now extinct. The magnificent walls and ceilings of one of the salons of the royal palace, decorated with cherubs, fruit, and flowers, in this beautiful ware, show that Spain boasted an industry which rivalled that of Sèvres, Dresden, or Worcestershire. The reason given for this act of vandalism was that the French might have used the building as a barrack; but it did not satisfy the Spanish, who could not contain their indignation at the deed, which was made worse by the English withdrawing to Portugal and leaving the capital. Ferdinand, with his usual duplicity, wrote to Berthémy from Valençay, where he was practically a prisoner. In this letter he pleaded in a cringing way for the protection of Napoleon, who had robbed him of his crown. “My greatest desire,” he writes, “is to be the adopted son of His Majesty the Emperor, _our Sovereign_. I believe I am worthy of this adoption, which would make the happiness of my life, by reason of my love and affection to the sacred person of His Majesty, and by _my submission and entire obedience to his intentions and desires_. “Moreover, I am anxious to leave Valençay, for this place is in every way disagreeable to us and in no way suits us. “I am glad to trust in the magnanimity of conduct and the generous beneficence which always distinguish Your Imperial Majesty, and to hope that my ardent desire will be soon fulfilled. “Receive, etc.,