Chapter VIII

OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF THE SPANISH INTELLECT FROM THE FIFTH TO THE MIDDLE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

In the preceding chapters, I have endeavoured to establish four leading propositions, which, according to my view, are to be deemed the basis of the history of civilization. They are: 1st, That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2nd, That before such investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which, at first aiding the investigation, is afterwards aided by it. 3rd, That the discoveries thus made, increase the influence of intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively not absolutely, the influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th, That the great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of civilization, is the protective spirit; by which I mean the notion that society cannot prosper, unless the affairs of life are watched over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the church; the state teaching men what they are to do, and the church teaching them what they are to believe. Such are the propositions which I hold to be the most essential for a right understanding of history, and which I have defended in the only two ways any proposition can be defended; namely, inductively and deductively. The inductive defence comprises a collection of historical and scientific facts, which suggest and authorize the conclusions drawn from them; while the deductive defence consists of a verification of those conclusions, by showing how they explain the history of different countries and their various fortunes. To the former, or inductive method of defence, I am at present unable to add anything new; but the deductive defence I hope to strengthen considerably, and by the aid of the following chapters, confirm not only the four cardinal propositions just stated, but also several minor propositions, which, though strictly speaking flowing from them, will require separate verification. According to the plan already sketched, the remaining part of the introduction will contain an examination of the history of Spain, of Scotland, of Germany, and of the United States of America, with the object of elucidating principles on which the history of England supplies inadequate information. And as Spain is the country where what I conceive to be the fundamental conditions of national improvement have been most flagrantly violated, so also shall we find that it is the country where the penalty paid for the violation has been most heavy, and where, therefore, it is most instructive to ascertain how the prevalence of certain opinions causes the decay of the people among whom they predominate.

We have seen that the old tropical civilizations were accompanied by remarkable features which I have termed Aspects of Nature, and which, by inflaming the imagination, encouraged superstition, and prevented men from daring to analyze such threatening physical phenomena; in other words, prevented the creation of the physical sciences. Now, it is an interesting fact that, in these respects, no European country is so analogous to the tropics as Spain. No other part of Europe is so clearly designated by nature as the seat and refuge of superstition. Recurring to what has been already proved,[1164] it will be remembered that among the most important physical causes of superstition are famines, epidemics, earthquakes, and that general unhealthiness of climate, which, by shortening the average duration of life, increases the frequency and earnestness with which supernatural aid is invoked. These peculiarities, taken together, are more prominent in Spain than anywhere else in Europe; it will therefore be useful to give such a summary of them as will exhibit the mischievous effects they have produced in shaping the national character.

If we except the northern extremity of Spain, we may say that the two principal characteristics of the climate are heat and dryness, both of which are favoured by the extreme difficulty which nature has interposed in regard to irrigation. For, the rivers which intersect the land, run mostly in beds too deep to be made available for watering the soil, which consequently is, and always has been, remarkably arid.[1165] Owing to this, and to the infrequency of rain, there is no European country as richly endowed in other respects, where droughts and therefore famines have been so frequent and serious.[1166] At the same time the vicissitudes of climate, particularly in the central parts, make Spain habitually unhealthy; and this general tendency being strengthened in the middle ages by the constant occurrence of famine, caused the ravages of pestilence to be unusually fatal.[1167] When we moreover add that in the Peninsula, including Portugal, earthquakes have been extremely disastrous,[1168] and have excited all those superstitious feelings which they naturally provoke, we may form some idea of the insecurity of life, and of the ease with which an artful and ambitious priesthood could turn such insecurity into an engine for the advancement of their own power.[1169]

Another feature of this singular country is the prevalence of a pastoral life, mainly caused by the difficulty of establishing regular habits of agricultural industry. In most parts of Spain, the climate renders it impossible for the labourer to work the whole of the day;[1170] and this forced interruption encourages among the people an irregularity and instability of purpose, which makes them choose the wandering avocations of a shepherd, rather than the more fixed pursuits of agriculture.[1171] And during the long and arduous war which they waged against their Mohammedan invaders, they were subject to such incessant surprises and forays on the part of the enemy, as to make it advisable that their means of subsistence should be easily removed; hence they preferred the produce of their flocks to that of their lands, and were shepherds instead of agriculturists, simply because by that means they would suffer less in case of an unfavourable issue. Even after the capture of Toledo, late in the eleventh century, the inhabitants of the frontier in Estramadura, La Mancha, and New Castile, were almost entirely herdsmen, and their cattle were pastured not in private meadows but in the open fields.[1172] All this increased the uncertainty of life, and strengthened that love of adventure, and that spirit of romance, which, at a later period, gave a tone to the popular literature. Under such circumstances, everything grew precarious, restless, and unsettled; thought and inquiry were impossible; doubt was unknown; and the way was prepared for those superstitious habits, and for that deep-rooted and tenacious belief, which have always formed a principal feature in the history of the Spanish nation.

To what extent these circumstances would, if they stood by themselves, have affected the ultimate destiny of Spain, is a question hardly possible to answer; but there can be no doubt that their effects must always have been important, though, from the paucity of evidence, we are unable to measure them with precision. In regard, however, to the actual result, this point is of little moment, because a long chain of other and still more influential events became interwoven with those just mentioned, and, tending in precisely the same direction, produced a combination which nothing could resist, and from which we may trace with unerring certainty the steps by which the nation subsequently declined. The history of the causes of the degradation of Spain will indeed become too clear to be mistaken, if studied in reference to those general principles which I have enunciated, and which will themselves be confirmed by the light they throw on this instructive though melancholy subject.

After the subversion of the Roman Empire, the first leading fact in the history of Spain is the settlement of the Visigoths, and the establishment of their opinions in the Peninsula. They, as well as the Suevi, who immediately preceded them, were Arians, and Spain during a hundred and fifty years became the rallying point of that famous heresy,[1173] to which indeed most of the Gothic tribes then adhered. But, at the end of the fifth century, the Franks, on their conversion from Paganism, adopted the opposite and orthodox creed, and were encouraged by their clergy to make war upon their heretical neighbours. Clovis, who was then king of the Franks, was regarded by the church as the champion of the faith, in whose behalf he attacked the unbelieving Visigoths.[1174] His successors, moved by the same motives, pursued the same policy;[1175] and, during nearly a century, there was a war of opinions between France and Spain, by which the Visigothic Empire was seriously endangered, and was more than once on the verge of dissolution. Hence, in Spain, a war for national independence became also a war for national religion,[1176] and an intimate alliance was formed between the Arian kings and the Arian clergy. The latter class were, in those ages of ignorance, sure to gain by such a compact,[1177] and they received considerable temporal advantages in return for the prayers which they offered up against the enemy, as also for the miracles which they occasionally performed. Thus early a foundation was laid for the immense influence which the Spanish priesthood have possessed ever since, and which was strengthened by subsequent events. For, late in the sixth century, the Latin clergy converted their Visigothic masters, and the Spanish government, becoming orthodox, naturally conferred upon its teachers an authority equal to that wielded by the Arian hierarchy.[1178] Indeed, the rulers of Spain, grateful to those who had shown them the error of their ways, were willing rather to increase the power of the church than to diminish it. The clergy took advantage of this disposition; and the result was, that before the middle of the seventh century the spiritual classes possessed more influence in Spain than in any other part of Europe.[1179] The ecclesiastical synods became not only councils of the church, but also parliaments of the realm.[1180] At Toledo, which was then the capital of Spain, the power of the clergy was immense, and was so ostentatiously displayed, that in a council they held there in the year 633, we find the king literally prostrating himself on the ground before the bishops;[1181] and half a century later, the ecclesiastical historian mentions that this humiliating practice was repeated by another king, having become, he says, an established custom.[1182] That this was not a mere meaningless ceremony, is moreover evident from other and analogous facts. Exactly the same tendency is seen in their jurisprudence; since, by the Visigothic code, any layman, whether plaintiff or defendant, might insist on his cause being tried not by the temporal magistrate, but by the bishop of the diocese. Nay, even if both parties to the suit were agreed in preferring the civil tribunal, the bishop still retained the power of revoking the decision, if in his opinion it was incorrect; and it was his especial business to watch over the administration of justice, and to instruct the magistrates how to perform their duty.[1183] Another, and more painful proof of the ascendency of the clergy, is that the laws against heretics were harsher in Spain than in any other country; the Jews in particular being persecuted with unrelenting rigour.[1184] Indeed, the desire of upholding the faith was strong enough to produce a formal declaration that no sovereign should be acknowledged, unless he promised to preserve its purity; the judges of the purity being of course the bishops themselves, to whose suffrage the king owed his throne.[1185]

Such were the circumstances which, in and before the seventh century, secured to the Spanish Church an influence unequalled in any other part of Europe.[1186] Early in the eighth century, an event occurred which apparently broke up and dispersed the hierarchy, but which in reality was extremely favourable to them. In 711 the Mohammedans sailed from Africa, landed in the south of Spain, and in the space of three years conquered the whole country, except the almost inaccessible regions of the north-west. The Spaniards, secure in their native mountains,[1187] soon recovered heart, rallied their forces, and began in their turn to assail the invaders. A desperate struggle ensued, which lasted nearly eight centuries, and in which, a second time in the history of Spain, a war for independence was also a war for religion; the contest between Arabian Infidels and Spanish Christians, succeeding that formerly carried on between the Trinitarians of France and the Arians of Spain. Slowly, and with infinite difficulty, the Christians fought their way. By the middle of the ninth century, they reached the line of the Douro.[1188] Before the close of the eleventh century, they conquered as far as the Tagus, and Toledo, their ancient capital, fell into their hands in 1085.[1189] Even then much remained to be done. In the south, the struggle assumed its deadliest form, and there it was prolonged with such obstinacy, that it was not until the capture of Malaga in 1487, and of Granada in 1492, that the Christian empire was re-established, and the old Spanish monarchy finally restored.[1190]

The effect of all this on the Spanish character was most remarkable. During eight successive centuries, the whole country was engaged in a religious crusade; and those holy wars which other nations occasionally waged, were, in Spain, prolonged and continued for more than twenty generations.[1191] The object being not only to regain a territory, but also to re-establish a creed, it naturally happened that the expounders of that creed assumed a prominent and important position. In the camp, and in the council-chamber, the voice of ecclesiastics was heard and obeyed; for as the war aimed at the propagation of Christianity, it seemed right that her ministers should play a conspicuous part in a matter which particularly concerned them.[1192] The danger to which the country was exposed being moreover very imminent, those superstitious feelings were excited which danger is apt to provoke, and to which, as I have elsewhere shown,[1193] the tropical civilizations owed some of their leading peculiarities. Scarcely were the Spanish Christians driven from their homes and forced to take refuge in the north, when this great principle began to operate. In their mountainous retreat, they preserved a chest filled with relics of the saints, the possession of which they valued as their greatest security.[1194] This was to them a national standard, round which they rallied, and by the aid of which they gained miraculous victories over their infidel opponents. Looking upon themselves as soldiers of the cross, their minds became habituated to supernatural considerations to an extent which we can now hardly believe, and which distinguished them in this respect from every other European nation.[1195] Their young men saw visions, and their old men dreamed dreams.[1196] Strange sights were vouchsafed to them from heaven; on the eve of a battle mysterious portents appeared; and it was observed that whenever the Mohammedans violated the tomb of a Christian saint, thunder and lightning were sent to rebuke the misbelievers, and, if need be, to punish their audacious invasion.[1197]

Under circumstances like these, the clergy could not fail to extend their influence; or, we may rather say, the course of events extended it for them. The Spanish Christians, pent up for a considerable time in the mountains of Asturias, and deprived of their former resources, quickly degenerated, and soon lost the scanty civilization to which they had attained. Stripped of all their wealth, and confined to what was comparatively a barren region, they relapsed into barbarism, and remained, for at least a century, without arts, or commerce, or literature.[1198] As their ignorance increased, so also did their superstition; while this last, in its turn, strengthened the authority of their priests. The order of affairs, therefore, was very natural. The Mohammedan invasion made the Christians poor; poverty caused ignorance; ignorance caused credulity; and credulity, depriving men both of the power and of the desire to investigate for themselves, encouraged a reverential spirit, and confirmed those submissive habits, and that blind obedience to the Church, which form the leading and most unfortunate peculiarity of Spanish history.

From this it appears, that there were three ways in which the Mohammedan invasion strengthened the devotional feelings of the Spanish people. The first way was by promoting a long and obstinate religious war; the second was by the presence of constant and imminent dangers; and the third way was by the poverty, and therefore the ignorance, which it produced among the Christians.

These events being preceded by the great Arian war, and being accompanied and perpetually reinforced by those physical phenomena which I have indicated as tending in the same direction, worked with such combined and accumulative energy, that in Spain the theological element became not so much a component of the national character, but rather the character itself. The ablest and most ambitious of the Spanish kings were compelled to follow in the general wake; and, despots though they were, they succumbed to that pressure of opinions which they believed they were controlling. The war with Granada, late in the fifteenth century, was theological far more than temporal; and Isabella, who made the greatest sacrifices in order to conduct it, and who in capacity as well as in honesty was superior to Ferdinand, had for her object not so much the acquisition of territory as the propagation of the Christian faith.[1199] Indeed, any doubts which could be entertained respecting the purpose of the contest must have been dissipated by subsequent events. For, scarcely was the war brought to a close, when Ferdinand and Isabella issued a decree expelling from the country every Jew who refused to deny his faith; so that the soil of Spain might be no longer polluted by the presence of unbelievers.[1200] To make them Christians, or, failing in that, to exterminate them, was the business of the Inquisition, which was established in the same reign, and which before the end of the fifteenth century was in full operation.[1201] During the sixteenth century, the throne was occupied by two princes of eminent ability, who pursued a similar course. Charles V., who succeeded Ferdinand in 1516, governed Spain for forty years, and the general character of his administration was the same as that of his predecessors. In regard to his foreign policy, his three principal wars were against France, against the German princes, and against Turkey. Of these, the first was secular; but the two last were essentially religious. In the German war, he defended the church against innovation; and at the battle of Muhlberg, he so completely humbled the Protestant princes, as to retard for some time the progress of the Reformation.[1202] In his other great war, he, as the champion of Christianity against Mohammedanism, consummated what his grandfather Ferdinand had begun. Charles defeated and dislodged the Mohammedans in the east, just as Ferdinand had done in the west; the repulse of the Turks before Vienna being to the sixteenth century what the conquest of the Arabs of Granada was to the fifteenth.[1203] It was, therefore, with reason that Charles, at the close of his career, could boast that he had always preferred his creed to his country, and that the first object of his ambition had been to maintain the interests of Christianity.[1204] The zeal with which he struggled for the faith, also appears in his exertions against heresy in the Low Countries. According to contemporary and competent authorities, from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand persons were put to death in the Netherlands during his reign on account of their religious opinions.[1205] Later inquirers have doubted the accuracy of this statement,[1206] which is probably exaggerated; but we know that, between 1520 and 1550, he published a series of laws, to the effect that those who were convicted of heresy should be beheaded, or burned alive, or buried alive. The penalties were thus various, to meet the circumstances of each case. Capital punishment, however, was always to be inflicted on whoever bought an heretical book, or sold it, or even copied it for his own use.[1207] His last advice to his son, well accorded with these measures. Only a few days before his death, he signed a codicil to his will, recommending that no favour should ever be shown to heretics; that they should all be put to death; and that care should be taken to uphold the Inquisition, as the best means of accomplishing so desirable an end.[1208]

This barbarous policy is to be ascribed, not to the vices, nor to the temperament of the individual ruler, but to the operation of large general causes, which acted upon the individual, and impelled him to the course he pursued. Charles was by no means a vindictive man; his natural disposition was to mercy rather than to rigour; his sincerity is unquestionable; he performed what he believed to be his duty; and he was so kind a friend, that those who knew him best were precisely those who loved him most.[1209] Little, however, could all that avail in shaping his public conduct. He was obliged to obey the tendencies of the age and country in which he lived. And what those tendencies were, appeared still more clearly after his death, when the throne of Spain was occupied upwards of forty years by a prince who inherited it in the prime of life, and whose reign is particularly interesting as a symptom and a consequence of the disposition of the people over whom he ruled.

Philip II., who succeeded Charles V. in 1555, was indeed eminently a creature of the time, and the ablest of his biographers aptly terms him the most perfect type of the national character.[1210] His favourite maxim, which forms the key to his policy, was, ‘That it is better not to reign at all than to reign over heretics.’[1211] Armed with supreme power, he bent all his energies towards carrying this principle into effect. Directly that he heard that the Protestants were making converts in Spain, he strained every nerve to stifle the heresy;[1212] and so admirably was he seconded by the general temper of the people, that he was able without risk to suppress opinions which convulsed every other part of Europe. In Spain, the Reformation, after a short struggle, died completely away, and in about ten years the last vestige of it disappeared.[1213] The Dutch wished to adopt, and in many instances did adopt, the reformed doctrine; therefore Philip waged against them a cruel war, which lasted thirty years, and which he continued till his death, because he was resolved to extirpate the new creed.[1214] He ordered that every heretic who refused to recant should be burned. If the heretic did recant, some indulgence was granted; but having once been tainted, he must die. Instead of being burned, he was therefore to be executed.[1215] Of the number of those who actually suffered in the Low Countries, we have no precise information;[1216] but Alva triumphantly boasted that, in the five or six years of his administration, he had put to death in cold blood more than eighteen thousand, besides a still greater number whom he had slain on the field of battle.[1217] This, even during his short tenure of power, would make about forty thousand victims; an estimate probably not far from the truth, since we know, from other sources, that in one year more than eight thousand were either executed or burned.[1218] Such measures were the result of instructions issued by Philip, and formed a necessary part of his general scheme.[1219] The desire paramount in his mind, and to which he sacrificed all other considerations, was to put down the new creed, and to reinstate the old one. To this, even his immense ambition and his inordinate love of power were subordinate. He aimed at the empire of Europe, because he longed to restore the authority of the Church.[1220] All his policy, all his negotiations, all his wars, pointed to this one end. Soon after his accession, he concluded an ignominious treaty with the Pope, that it might not be said that he bore arms against the head of the Christian world.[1221] And his last great enterprise, in some respects the most important of all, was to fit out, at an incredible cost, that famous Armada with which he hoped to humble England, and to nip the heresy of Europe in its bud, by depriving the Protestants of their principal support, and of the only asylum where they were sure to find safe and honourable refuge.[1222]

While Philip, following the course of his predecessors, was wasting the blood and treasure of Spain in order to propagate religious opinions,[1223] the people, instead of rebelling against so monstrous a system, acquiesced in it, and cordially sanctioned it. Indeed, they not only sanctioned it, but they almost worshipped the man by whom it was enforced. There probably never lived a prince who, during so long a period, and amid so many vicissitudes of fortune, was adored by his subjects as Philip II. was. In evil report, and in good report, the Spaniards clung to him with unshaken loyalty. Their affection was not lessened, either by his reverses, or by his forbidding deportment, or by his cruelty, or by his grievous exactions. In spite of all, they loved him to the last. Such was his absurd arrogance, that he allowed none, not even the most powerful nobles, to address him, except on their knees, and, in return, he only spoke in half sentences, leaving them to guess the rest, and to fulfil his commands as best they might.[1224] And ready enough they were to obey his slightest wishes. A contemporary of Philip, struck by the universal homage which he received, says that the Spanish did ‘not merely love, not merely reverence, but absolutely adore him, and deem his commands so sacred, that they could not be violated without offence to God.’[1225]

That a man like Philip II., who never possessed a friend, and whose usual demeanour was of the most repulsive kind, a harsh master, a brutal parent, a bloody and remorseless ruler,—that he should be thus reverenced by a nation among whom he lived, and who had their eyes constantly on his actions; that this should have happened, is surely one of the most surprising, and, at first sight, one of the most inexplicable facts in modern history. Here we have a king who, though afflicted by every quality most calculated to excite terror and disgust, is loved far more than he is feared, and is the idol of a very great people during a very long reign. This is so remarkable as to deserve our serious attention; and in order to clear up the difficulty, it will be necessary to inquire into the causes of that spirit of loyalty which, during several centuries, has distinguished the Spaniards above every other European people.

One of the leading causes was undoubtedly the immense influence possessed by the clergy. For the maxims inculcated by that powerful body have a natural tendency to make the people reverence their princes more than they would otherwise do. And that there is a real and practical connexion between loyalty and superstition, appears from the historical fact that the two feelings have nearly always flourished together and decayed together. Indeed, this is what we should expect on mere speculative grounds, seeing that both feelings are the product of those habits of veneration which make men submissive in their conduct and credulous in their belief.[1226] Experience, therefore, as well as reason, points to this as a general law of the mind, which, in its operation, may be occasionally disturbed, but which holds good in a large majority of cases. Probably the only instance in which the principle fails is, when a despotic government so misunderstands its own interests as to offend the clergy, and separate itself from them. Whenever this is done, a struggle will arise between loyalty and superstition; the first being upheld by the political classes, the other by the spiritual classes. Such a warfare was exhibited in Scotland; but history does not afford many examples of it, and certainly it never took place in Spain, where, on the contrary, several circumstances occurred to cement the union between the Crown and the Church, and to accustom the people to look up to both with almost equal reverence.

By far the most important of these circumstances was the great Arab invasion, which drove the Christians into a corner of Spain, and reduced them to such extremities, that nothing but the strictest discipline, and the most unhesitating obedience to their leaders, could have enabled them to make head against their enemies. Loyalty to their princes became not merely expedient, but necessary; for if the Spaniards had been disunited, they would, in the face of the fearful odds against which they fought, have had no chance of preserving their national existence. The long war which ensued, being both political and religious, caused an intimate alliance between the political and religious classes, since the kings and the clergy had an equal interest in driving the Mohammedans from Spain. During nearly eight centuries, this compact between Church and State was a necessity forced upon the Spaniards by the peculiarities of their position; and, after the necessity had subsided, it naturally happened that the association of ideas survived the original danger, and that an impression had been made upon the popular mind which it was hardly possible to efface.

Evidence of this impression, and of the unrivalled loyalty it produced, crowds upon us at every turn. In no other country are the old ballads so numerous and so intimately connected with the national history. It has, however, been observed, that their leading characteristic is the zeal with which they inculcate obedience and devotion to princes, and that from this source, even more than from military achievements, they draw their most favourite examples of virtue.[1227] In literature the first great manifestation of the Spanish mind was the poem of The Cid, written at the end of the twelfth century, in which we find fresh proof of that extraordinary loyalty which circumstances had forced upon the people.[1228] The ecclesiastical councils display a similar tendency; for, notwithstanding a few exceptions, no other church has been equally eager in upholding the rights of kings.[1229] In civil legislation, we see the same principle at work; it being asserted, on high authority, that in no system of laws is loyalty carried to such extreme height as in the Spanish codes.[1230] Even their dramatic writers were unwilling to represent an act of rebellion on the stage, lest they should appear to countenance what, in the eyes of every good Spaniard, was one of the most heinous of all offences.[1231] Whatever the king came in contact with, was in some degree hallowed by his touch. No one might mount a horse which he had ridden;[1232] no one might marry a mistress whom he had deserted.[1233] Horse and mistress alike were sacred, and it would have been impious for any subject to meddle with what had been honoured by the Lord's anointed. Nor were such rules confined to the prince actually reigning. On the contrary, they survived him, and, working with a sort of posthumous force, forbade any woman whom he had taken as a wife, to marry, even after he was dead. She had been chosen by the king; such choice had already raised her above the rest of mortals; and the least she could do was to retire to a convent, and spend her life mourning over her irreparable loss. These regulations were enforced by custom rather than by law.[1234] They were upheld by the popular will, and were the result of the excessive loyalty of the Spanish nation. Of that loyalty their writers often boast, and with good reason, since it was certainly matchless, and nothing seemed able to shake it. To bad kings and to good kings it equally applied. It was in full strength amid the glory of Spain in the sixteenth century; it was conspicuous when the nation was decaying in the seventeenth century; and it survived the shock of civil wars early in the eighteenth.[1235] Indeed, the feeling had so worked itself into the traditions of the country, as to become not only a national passion, but almost an article of national faith. Clarendon, in his History of that great English Rebellion, the like of which, as he well knew, could never have happened in Spain, makes on this subject a just and pertinent remark. He says that a want of respect for kings is regarded by the Spaniards as a ‘monstrous crime;’ ‘submissive reverence to their princes being a vital part of their religion.’[1236]

These, then, were the two great elements of which the Spanish character was compounded. Loyalty and superstition; reverence for their kings and reverence for their clergy were the leading principles which influenced the Spanish mind, and governed the march of Spanish history. The peculiar and unexampled circumstances under which they arose, have been just indicated; and having seen their origin, we will now endeavour to trace their consequences. Such an examination of results will be the more important, not only because nowhere else in Europe have these feelings been so strong, so permanent, and so unmixed, but also because Spain, being seated at the further extremity of the Continent, from which it is cut off by the Pyrenees, has, from physical causes, as well as from moral ones, come little into contact with other nations.[1237] The course of affairs being, therefore, undisturbed by foreign habits, it becomes easier to discover the pure and natural consequences of superstition and loyalty, two of the most powerful and disinterested feelings which have ever occupied the human heart, and to whose united action we may clearly trace the leading events in the history of Spain.

The results of this combination were, during a considerable period, apparently beneficial, and certainly magnificent. For, the church and the crown making common cause with each other, and being inspirited by the cordial support of the people, threw their whole soul into their enterprises, and displayed an ardour which could hardly fail to insure success. Gradually advancing from the north of Spain, the Christians, fighting their way inch by inch, pressed on till they reached the southern extremity, completely subdued the Mohammedans, and brought the whole country under one rule and one creed. This great result was achieved late in the fifteenth century, and it cast an extraordinary lustre on the Spanish name.[1238] Spain, long occupied by her own religious wars, had hitherto been little noticed by foreign powers, and had possessed little leisure to notice them. Now, however, she formed a compact and undivided monarchy, and at once assumed an important position in European affairs.[1239] During the next hundred years, her power advanced with a speed of which the world had seen no example since the days of the Roman Empire. So late as 1478 Spain was still broken up into independent and often hostile states; Granada was possessed by the Mohammedans; the throne of Castile was occupied by one prince, the throne of Aragon by another. Before the year 1590, not only were these fragments firmly consolidated into one kingdom, but acquisitions were made abroad so rapidly as to endanger the independence of Europe. The history of Spain, during this period, is the history of one long and uninterrupted success. That country, recently torn by civil wars, and distracted by hostile creeds, was able in three generations to annex to her territory the whole of Portugal, Navarre, and Roussillon. By diplomacy, or by force of arms, she acquired Artois and Franche Comté, and the Netherlands; also the Milanese, Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, the Balearic Islands, and the Canaries. One of her kings was emperor of Germany; while his son influenced the councils of England, whose queen he married. The Turkish power, then one of the most formidable in the world, was broken and beaten back on every side. The French monarchy was humbled. French armies were constantly worsted; Paris was once in imminent jeopardy; and a king of France, after being defeated on the field, was taken captive, and led prisoner to Madrid. Out of Europe, the deeds of Spain were equally wonderful. In America, the Spaniards became possessed of territories which covered sixty degrees of latitude, and included both the tropics. Besides Mexico, Central America, Venezuela, New Granada, Peru, and Chili, they conquered Cuba, San Domingo, Jamaica, and other islands. In Africa, they obtained Ceuta, Melilla, Oran, Bougiah, and Tunis, and overawed the whole coast of Barbary. In Asia, they had settlements on each side of the Deccan; they held part of Malacca; and they established themselves in the Spice Islands. Finally, by the conquest of the noble archipelago of the Philippines, they connected their most distant acquisitions, and secured a communication between every part of that enormous empire which girdled the world.

In connexion with this, a great military spirit arose, such as no other modern nation has ever exhibited. All the intellect of the country which was not employed in the service of the Church was devoted to the profession of arms. Indeed, the two pursuits were often united; and it is said that the custom of ecclesiastics going to war was practised in Spain long after it was abandoned in other parts of Europe.[1240] At all events, the general tendency is obvious. A mere list of successful battles and sieges in the sixteenth and part of the fifteenth century, would prove the vast superiority of the Spaniards, in this respect, over their contemporaries, and would show how much genius they had expended in maturing the arts of destruction. Another illustration, if another were required, might be drawn from the singular fact that since the time of ancient Greece, no country has produced so many eminent literary men who were also soldiers. Calderon, Cervantes, and Lope de Vega risked their lives in fighting for their country. The military profession was also adopted by many other celebrated authors, among whom may be mentioned, Argote de Molina, Acuña, Bernal Diaz del Castillo, Boscan, Carrillo, Cetina, Ercilla, Espinel, Francisco de Figueroa, Garcilasso de la Vega, Guillen de Castro, Hita, Hurtado de Mendoza, Marmol Carvajal, Perez de Guzman, Pulgar, Rebolledo, Roxas, and Virues; all of whom bore, in this manner, unconscious testimony to the spirit by which Spain was universally pervaded.

Here, then, we have a combination which many readers will still consider with favour, and which, at the time it occurred, excited the admiration, albeit the terror, of Europe. We have a great people glowing with military, patriotic, and religious ardour, whose fiery zeal was heightened, rather than softened, by a respectful obedience to their clergy, and by a chivalrous devotion to their kings. The energy of Spain, being thus both animated and controlled, became wary as well as eager; and to this rare union of conflicting qualities we must ascribe the great deeds which have just been related. But the unsound part of a progress of this sort is, that it depends too much upon individuals, and therefore cannot be permanent. Such a movement can only last as long as it is headed by able men. When, however, competent leaders are succeeded by incompetent ones, the system immediately falls to the ground, simply because the people have been accustomed to supply to every undertaking the necessary zeal, but have not been accustomed to supply the skill by which the zeal is guided. A country in this state, if governed by hereditary princes, is sure to decay; inasmuch as, in the ordinary course of affairs, incapable rulers must sometimes arise. Directly this happens, the deterioration begins; for the people, habituated to indiscriminate loyalty, will follow wherever they are led, and will yield to foolish counsels the same obedience that they had before paid to wise ones. This leads us to perceive the essential difference between the civilization of Spain and the civilization of England. We, in England, are a critical, dissatisfied, and captious people, constantly complaining of our rulers, suspecting their schemes, discussing their measures in a hostile spirit, allowing very little power either to the Church or to the Crown, managing our own affairs in our own way, and ready, on the slightest provocation, to renounce that conventional, lip-deep loyalty, which, having never really touched our hearts, is a habit lying on the surface, but not a passion rooted in the mind. The loyalty of Englishmen is not of that sort which would induce them to sacrifice their liberties to please their prince, nor does it ever, for a moment, blind them to a keen sense of their own interests. The consequence is, that our progress is uninterrupted, whether our kings are good or whether they are bad. Under either condition, the great movement goes on. Our sovereigns have had their full share of imbecility and of crime. Still, even men like Henry III. and Charles II. were unable to do us harm. In the same way, during the eighteenth and many years of the nineteenth century, when our improvement was very conspicuous, our rulers were very incompetent. Anne and the first two Georges were grossly ignorant; they were wretchedly educated, and nature had made them at once weak and obstinate. Their united reigns lasted nearly sixty years; and after they had passed away, we, for another period of sixty years, were governed by a prince who was long incapacitated by disease, but of whom we must honestly say that, looking at his general policy, he was least mischievous when he was most incapable. This is not the place to expose the monstrous principles advocated by George III., and to which posterity will do that justice from which contemporary writers are apt to shrink; but it is certain that neither his contracted understanding, nor his despotic temper, nor his miserable superstition, nor the incredible baseness of that ignoble voluptuary who succeeded him on the throne, could do aught to stop the march of English civilization, or to stem the tide of English prosperity. We went on our way rejoicing, caring for none of these things. We were not to be turned aside from our path by the folly of our rulers, because we know full well that we hold our own fate in our own hands, and that the English people possess within themselves those resources and that fertility of contrivance by which alone men can be made great, and happy, and wise.

In Spain, however, directly the government slackened its hold, the nation fell to pieces.[1241] During that prosperous career which has just been noticed, the Spanish throne was invariably filled by very able and intelligent princes. Ferdinand and Isabella, Charles V. and Philip II., formed a line of sovereigns not to be matched in any other country for a period of equal length. By them, the great things were effected, and by their care, Spain apparently flourished. But, what followed when they were withdrawn from the scene, showed how artificial all this was, and how rotten, even to the core, is that system of government which must be fostered before it can thrive, and which, being based on the loyalty and reverence of the people, depends for success not on the ability of the nation, but on the skill of those to whom the interests of the nation are entrusted.

Philip II., the last of the great kings of Spain, died in 1598, and after his death the decline was portentously rapid.[1242] From 1598 to 1700, the throne was occupied by Philip III., Philip IV., and Charles II. The contrast between them and their predecessors was most striking.[1243] Philip III. and Philip IV. were idle, ignorant, infirm of purpose, and passed their lives in the lowest and most sordid pleasures. Charles II., the last of that Austrian dynasty which had formerly been so distinguished, possessed nearly every defect which can make a man ridiculous and contemptible. His mind and his person were such as, in any nation less loyal than Spain, would have exposed him to universal derision. Although his death took place while he was still in the prime of life, he looked like an old and worn-out debauchee. At the age of thirty-five, he was completely bald; he had lost his eyebrows; he was paralyzed; he was epileptic; and he was notoriously impotent.[1244] His general appearance was absolutely revolting, and was that of a drivelling idiot. To an enormous mouth, he added a nether jaw protruding so hideously that his teeth could never meet, and he was unable to masticate his food.[1245] His ignorance would be incredible, if it were not substantiated by unimpeachable evidence. He did not know the names of the large towns, or even of the provinces, in his dominions; and during the war with France he was heard to pity England for losing cities which in fact formed part of his own territory.[1246] Finally, he was immersed in the most grovelling superstition; he believed himself to be constantly tempted by the devil; he allowed himself to be exorcised as one possessed by evil spirits; and he would not retire to rest, except with his confessor and two friars, who had to lie by his side during the night.[1247]

Now it was that men might clearly see on how sandy a foundation the grandeur of Spain was built. When there were able sovereigns, the country prospered; when there were weak ones, it declined. Nearly everything that had been done by the great princes of the sixteenth century, was undone by the little princes of the seventeenth. So rapid was the fall of Spain, that in only three reigns after the death of Philip II., the most powerful monarchy existing in the world was depressed to the lowest point of debasement, was insulted with impunity by foreign nations, was reduced more than once to bankruptcy, was stripped of her fairest possessions, was held up to public opprobrium, was made a theme on which school-boys and moralists loved to declaim respecting the uncertainty of human affairs, and, at length, was exposed to the bitter humiliation of seeing her territories mapped out and divided by a treaty in which she took no share, but the provisions of which she was unable to resent.[1248] Then, truly, did she drink to the dregs the cup of her own shame. Her glory had departed from her, she was smitten down and humbled. Well might a Spaniard of that time who compared the present with the past, mourn over his country, the chosen abode of chivalry and romance, of valour and of loyalty. The mistress of the world, the queen of the ocean, the terror of nations, was gone; her power was gone, no more to return. To her might be applied that bitter lamentation, which, on a much slighter occasion, the greatest of the sons of men has put into the mouth of a dying statesman. Good reason, indeed, had the sorrowing patriot to weep, as one who refused to be comforted, for the fate of his earth, his realm, his land of dear souls, his dear, dear land, long dear for her reputation through the world, but now leased out like to a tenement or pelting farm.[1249]

It would be a weary and unprofitable task to relate the losses and disasters of Spain during the seventeenth century. The immediate cause of them was undoubtedly bad government and unskilful rulers; but the real and overriding cause, which determined the whole march and tone of affairs, was the existence of that loyal and reverential spirit which made the people submit to what any other country would have spurned, and, by accustoming them to place extreme confidence in individual men reduced the nation to that precarious position in which a succession of incompetent princes was sure to overthrow the edifice which competent ones had built up.[1250]

The increasing influence of the Spanish Church was the first and most conspicuous consequence of the declining energy of the Spanish government. For, loyalty and superstition being the main ingredients of the national character, and both of them being the result of habits of reverence, it was to be expected that, unless the reverence could be weakened, what was taken from one ingredient would be given to the other. As, therefore, the Spanish government, during the seventeenth century, did, owing to its extreme imbecility, undoubtedly lose some part of the hold it possessed over the affections of the people, it naturally happened that the Church stepped in, and occupying the vacant place, received what the crown had forfeited. Besides this, the weakness of the executive government encouraged the pretensions of the priesthood, and emboldened the clergy to acts of usurpation, which the Spanish sovereigns of the sixteenth century, superstitious though they were, would not have allowed for a single moment.[1251] Hence the very striking fact, that, while in every other great country, Scotland alone excepted, the power of the Church diminished during the seventeenth century, it, in Spain, actually increased. The results of this are well worth the attention, not only of philosophic students of history, but also of every one who cares for the welfare of his own country, or feels an interest in the practical management of public affairs.

For twenty-three years after the death of Philip II., the throne was occupied by Philip III., a prince as distinguished by his weakness as his predecessors had been by their ability. During more than a century the Spaniards had been accustomed to be entirely ruled by their kings, who, with indefatigable industry, personally superintended the most important transactions, and in other matters exercised the strictest supervision over their ministers. But Philip III., whose listlessness almost amounted to fatuity, was unequal to such labour, and delegated the powers of government to Lerma, who wielded supreme authority for twenty years.[1252] Among a people so loyal as the Spaniards, this unusual proceeding could not fail to weaken the executive; since, in their eyes, the immediate and irresistible interference of the sovereign was essential to the management of affairs, and to the well-being of the nation. Lerma, well aware of this feeling, and conscious that his own position was very precarious, naturally desired to strengthen himself by additional support, so that he might not entirely depend on the favour of the king. He therefore formed a strict alliance with the clergy, and, from the beginning to the end of his long administration did everything in his power to increase their authority.[1253] Thus the influence lost by the crown was gained by the Church, to whose advice a deference was paid even greater than had been accorded by the superstitious princes of the sixteenth century. In this arrangement, the interests of the people were of course unheeded. Their welfare formed no part of the general scheme. On the contrary, the clergy, grateful to a government so sensible of their merits, and so religiously disposed, used all their influence in its favour; and the yoke of a double despotism was riveted more firmly than ever upon the neck of that miserable nation, which was now about to reap the bitter fruit of a long and ignominious submission.[1254]

The increasing power of the Spanish Church during the seventeenth century, may be proved by nearly every description of evidence. The convents and churches multiplied with such alarming speed, and their wealth became so prodigious, that even the Cortes, broken and humbled though they were, ventured on a public remonstrance. In 1626, only five years after the death of Philip III., they requested that some means might be taken to prevent what they described as a constant invasion on the part of the Church. In this remarkable document, the Cortes, assembled at Madrid, declared that never a day passed in which laymen were not deprived of their property to enrich ecclesiastics; and the evil, they said, had grown to such a height, that there were then in Spain upwards of nine thousand monasteries, besides nunneries.[1255] This extraordinary statement has, I believe, never been contradicted, and its probability is enhanced by several other circumstances. Davila, who lived in the reign of Philip III., affirms that in 1623, the two orders of Dominicans and Franciscans alone amounted to thirty-two thousand.[1256] The other clergy increased in proportion. Before the death of Philip III., the number of ministers performing in the Cathedral of Seville had swelled to one hundred; and in the diocese of Seville, there were fourteen thousand chaplains; in the diocese of Calahorra, eighteen thousand.[1257] Nor did there seem any prospect of remedying this frightful condition. The richer the Church became, the greater was the inducement for laymen to enter it; so that there appeared to be no limit to the extent to which the sacrifice of temporal interests might be carried.[1258] Indeed, the movement, notwithstanding its suddenness, was perfectly regular, and was facilitated by a long train of preceding circumstances. Since the fifth century, the course of events, as we have already seen, invariably tended in this direction, and insured to the clergy a dominion which no other nation would have tolerated. The minds of the people being thus prepared, the people themselves looked on in silence at what it would have been impious to oppose; for, as a Spanish historian observes, every proposition was deemed heretical which tended to lessen the amount, or even to check the growth of that enormous wealth which was now possessed by the Spanish Church.[1259]

How natural all this was, appears also from another fact of considerable interest. In Europe generally, the seventeenth century was distinguished by the rise of a secular literature in which ecclesiastical theories were disregarded; the most influential writers, such as Bacon and Descartes, being laymen, rather hostile to the Church than friendly to it, and composing their works with views purely temporal. But in Spain, no change of this sort occurred.[1260] In that country, the Church retained her hold over the highest as well as over the lowest intellects. Such was the pressure of public opinion, that authors of every grade were proud to count themselves members of the ecclesiastical profession, the interests of which they advocated with a zeal worthy of the Dark Ages. Cervantes, three years before his death, became a Franciscan monk.[1261] Lope de Vega was a priest; he was an officer of the Inquisition; and in 1623 he assisted at an auto da fé, in which, amid an immense concourse of people, a heretic was burned outside the gate of Alcalá at Madrid.[1262] Moreto, one of the three greatest dramatists Spain has produced, assumed the monastic habit during the last twelve years of his life.[1263] Montalvan, whose plays are still remembered, was a priest, and held office in the Inquisition.[1264] Tarrega, Mira de Mescua, and Tirso de Molina, were all successful writers for the stage, and were all clergymen.[1265] Solis, the celebrated historian of Mexico, was also a clergyman.[1266] Sandoval, whom Philip III. appointed historiographer, and who is the principal authority for the reign of Charles V., was at first a Benedictine monk, afterwards became bishop of Tuy, and later still, was raised to the see of Pampeluna.[1267] Davila, the biographer of Philip III., was a priest.[1268] Mariana was a Jesuit;[1269] and Miñana, who continued his History, was superior of a convent in Valencia.[1270] Martin Carrillo was a jurisconsult as well as an historian, but, not satisfied with his double employment, he too entered the Church, and became canon of Saragossa.[1271] Antonio, the most learned bibliographer Spain ever possessed, was a canon of Seville.[1272] Gracian, whose prose works have been much read, and who was formerly deemed a great writer, was a Jesuit.[1273] Among the poets, the same tendency was exhibited. Paravicino was for sixteen years a popular preacher at the courts of Philip III. and Philip IV.[1274] Zamora was a monk.[1275] Argensola was a canon of Saragossa.[1276] Gongora was a priest;[1277] and Rioja received a high post[1278] in the Inquisition. Calderon was chaplain to Philip IV.;[1279] and so fanatical are the sentiments which tarnish his brilliant genius, that he has been termed the poet of the Inquisition.[1280] His love for the Church was a passion, and he scrupled at nothing which could advance its interests. In Spain, such feelings were natural; though to other nations they seem so strange, that an eminent critic has declared that it is hardly possible to read his works without indignation.[1281] If this be so, the indignation should be extended to nearly all his contemporary countrymen, great or small. There was hardly a Spaniard of that period who did not entertain similar sentiments. Even Villaviciosa, author of one of the very best mock-heroic poems Spain has produced, was not only an officer in the Inquisition, but, in his last will, he strongly urged upon his family and all his descendants, that they too should, if possible, enter the service of that noble institution, taking whatever place in it they could obtain, since all its offices were, he said, worthy of veneration.[1282] In such a state of society, anything approaching to a secular or scientific spirit was, of course, impossible. Every one believed; no one inquired. Among the better classes, all were engaged in war or theology, and most were occupied with both. Those who made literature a profession, ministered, as professional men too often do, to the prevailing prejudice. Whatever concerned the Church was treated not only with respect, but with timid veneration. Skill and industry worthy of a far better cause, were expended in eulogizing every folly which superstition had invented. The more cruel and preposterous a custom was, the greater the number of persons who wrote in its favour, albeit no one had ventured to assail it. The quantity of Spanish works to prove the necessity of religious persecution is incalculable; and this took place in a country where not one man in a thousand doubted the propriety of burning heretics. As to miracles, which form the other capital resource of theologians, they, in the seventeenth century, were constantly happening, and as constantly being recorded. All literary men were anxious to say something on that important subject. Saints, too, being in great repute, their biographies were written in profusion, and with an indifference to truth which usually characterizes that species of composition. With these and kindred topics, the mind of Spain was chiefly busied. Monasteries, nunneries, religious orders, and cathedrals received equal attention, and huge books were written about them, in order that every particular might be preserved. Indeed, it often happened that a single convent, or a single cathedral, would have more than one historian; each seeking to distance his immediate competitor, and all striving which could do most to honour the Church and to uphold the interests of which the Church was the guardian.[1283]

Such, was the preponderance of the ecclesiastical profession, and such was the homage paid to ecclesiastical interests by the Spaniards during the seventeenth century.[1284] They did everything to strengthen the Church in that very age when other nations first set themselves in earnest to weaken it. This unhappy peculiarity was undoubtedly the effect of preceding events; but it was the immediate cause of the decline of Spain, since, whatever may have been the case in former periods, it is certain that, in modern times, the prosperity of nations depends on principles to which the clergy, as a body, are invariably opposed. Under Philip III. they gained an immense accession of strength; and in that very reign they signalized this new epoch of their power by obtaining, with circumstances of horrible barbarity, the expulsion of the whole Moorish nation. This was an act so atrocious in itself,[1285] and so terrible in its consequences, that some writers have ascribed to it alone, the subsequent ruin of Spain; forgetting that other causes, far more potent, were also at work, and that this stupendous crime could never have been perpetrated, except in a country which, being long accustomed to regard heresy as the most heinous of all offences, was ready, at any cost, to purge the land and to free itself from men whose mere presence was regarded as an insult to the Christian faith.

After the reduction, late in the fifteenth century, of the last Mohammedan kingdom in Spain, the great object of the Spaniards became to convert those whom they had conquered.[1286] They believed that the future welfare of a whole people was at stake; and finding that the exhortations of their clergy had no effect, they had recourse to other means, and persecuted the men they were unable to persuade. By torturing some, by burning others, and by threatening all, they at length succeeded; and we are assured that, after the year 1526, there was no Mohammedan in Spain, who had not been converted to Christianity.[1287] Immense numbers of them were baptized by force; but being baptized, it was held that they belonged to the Church, and were amenable to her discipline.[1288] That discipline was administered by the Inquisition, which, during the rest of the sixteenth century, subjected these new Christians, or Moriscoes, as they were now called,[1289] to the most barbarous treatment. The genuineness of their forced conversion was doubted; it therefore became the business of the Church to inquire into their sincerity.[1290] The civil government lent its aid; and among other enactments, an edict was issued by Philip II. in 1566, ordering the Moriscoes to abandon everything which by the slightest possibility could remind them of their former religion. They were commanded, under severe penalties, to learn Spanish, and to give up all their Arabic books. They were forbidden to read their native language, or to write it, or even to speak it in their own houses. Their ceremonies and their very games were strictly prohibited. They were to indulge in no amusements which had been practised by their fathers; neither were they to wear such clothes as they had been accustomed to. Their women were to go unveiled; and as bathing was a heathenish custom, all public baths were to be destroyed, and even all baths in private houses.[1291]

By these and similar measures,[1292] these unhappy people were at length goaded into rebellion; and in 1568 they took the desperate step of measuring their force against that of the whole Spanish monarchy. The result could hardly be doubted; but the Moriscoes maddened by their sufferings, and fighting for their all, protracted the contest till 1571, when the insurrection was finally put down.[1293] By this unsuccessful effort, they were greatly reduced in numbers and in strength; and, during the remaining twenty-seven years of the reign of Philip II. we hear comparatively little of them. Notwithstanding an occasional outbreak, the old animosities were subsiding, and in the course of time would probably have disappeared. At all events, there was no pretence for violence on the part of the Spaniards, since it was absurd to suppose that the Moriscoes, weakened in every way, humbled, broken, and scattered through the kingdom, could, even if they desired it, effect any thing against the resources of the executive government.

But, after the death of Philip II., that movement began which I have just described, and which, contrary to the course of affairs in other nations, secured to the Spanish clergy in the seventeenth century, more power than they had possessed in the sixteenth. The consequences of this were immediately apparent. The clergy did not think that the steps taken by Philip II. against the Moriscoes were sufficiently decisive; and even during his lifetime they looked forward to a new reign, in which these Christians of doubtful sincerity should be either destroyed or driven from Spain.[1294] While he was on the throne, the prudence of the government restrained in some degree the eagerness of the Church; and the king, following the advice of his ablest ministers, refused to adopt the measures to which he was urged, and to which his own disposition prompted him.[1295] But, under his successor, the clergy, as we have already seen, gained fresh strength, and they soon felt themselves sufficiently powerful to begin another and final crusade against the miserable remains of the Moorish nation.[1296]

The Archbishop of Valencia was the first to take the field. In 1602, this eminent prelate presented a memorial to Philip III. against the Moriscoes; and finding that his views were cordially supported by the clergy, and not discouraged by the crown, he followed up the blow by another memorial having the same object.[1297] The Archbishop, who spoke as one having authority, and who from his rank and position was a natural representative of the Spanish Church, assured the king that all the disasters which had befallen the monarchy, had been caused by the presence of these unbelievers, whom it was now necessary to root out, even as David had done to the Philistines, and Saul to the Amalekites.[1298] He declared that the Armada, which Philip II. sent against England in 1588, had been destroyed, because God would not allow even that pious enterprise to succeed, while those who undertook it, left heretics undisturbed at home. For the same reason, the late expedition to Algiers had failed; it being evidently the will of Heaven that nothing should prosper while Spain was inhabited by apostates.[1299] He, therefore, exhorted the king to exile all the Moriscoes, except some whom he might condemn to work in the galleys, and others who could become slaves, and labour in the mines of America.[1300] This, he added, would make the reign of Philip glorious to all posterity, and would raise his fame far above that of his predecessors, who in this matter had neglected their obvious duty.[1301]

These remonstrances, besides being in accordance with the known views of the Spanish Church, were warmly supported by the personal influence of the Archbishop of Toledo, the primate of Spain. In only one respect did he differ from the views advocated by the Archbishop of Valencia. The Archbishop of Valencia thought that children under seven years of age need not share in the general banishment, but might, without danger to the faith, be separated from their parents, and kept in Spain. To this, the Archbishop of Toledo strongly objected. He was unwilling, he said, to run the risk of pure Christian blood being polluted by infidels; and he declared that sooner than leave one of these unbelievers to corrupt the land, he would have the whole of them, men, women, and children, at once put to the sword.[1302]

That they should all be slain, instead of being banished, was the desire of a powerful party in the Church, who thought that such signal punishment would work good by striking terror into the heretics of every nation. Bleda, the celebrated Dominican, one of the most influential men of his time, wished this to be done, and to be done thoroughly. He said, that, for the sake of example, every Morisco in Spain should have his throat cut, because it was impossible to tell which of them were Christians at heart, and it was enough to leave the matter to God, who knew his own, and who would reward in the next world those who were really Catholics.[1303]

It was evident that the fate of the wretched remnant of a once splendid nation was now sealed. The religious scruples of Philip III. forbade him to struggle with the Church; and his minister Lerma would not risk his own authority by even the show of opposition. In 1609, he announced to the king, that the expulsion of the Moriscoes had become necessary. ‘The resolution,’ replied Philip, ‘is a great one; let it be executed.’[1304] And executed it was, with unflinching barbarity. About one million of the most industrious inhabitants of Spain were hunted out like wild beasts, because the sincerity of their religious opinions was doubtful.[1305] Many were slain, as they approached the coast; others were beaten and plundered; and the majority, in the most wretched plight, sailed for Africa. During the passage, the crew, in many of the ships, rose upon them, butchered the men, ravished the women, and threw the children into the sea. Those who escaped this fate, landed on the coast of Barbary, where they were attacked by the Bedouins, and many of them put to the sword. Others made their way into the desert, and perished from famine. Of the number of lives actually sacrificed, we have no authentic account; but it is said, on very good authority, that in one expedition, in which 140,000 were carried to Africa, upwards of 100,000 suffered death in its most frightful forms within a few months after their expulsion from Spain.[1306]

Now, for the first time, the Church was really triumphant.[1307] For the first time, there was not a heretic to be seen between the Pyrenees and the Straits of Gibraltar. All were orthodox, and all were loyal. Every inhabitant of that great country obeyed the Church, and feared the king. And from this happy combination, it was believed that the prosperity and grandeur of Spain were sure to follow. The name of Philip III. was to be immortal, and posterity would never weary of admiring that heroic act by which the last remains of an infidel race were cast out from the land. Those who had even remotely participated in the glorious consummation, were to be rewarded by the choicest blessings. Themselves, and their families, were under the immediate protection of Heaven. The earth should bear more fruit, and the trees should clap their hands. Instead of the thorn should come up the fir-tree, and instead of the brier, the myrtle. A new era was now inaugurated, in which Spain, purged of her heresy, was to be at ease, and men, living in safety, were to sleep under the shade of their own vineyards, sow their gardens in peace, and eat of the fruit of the trees they had planted.[1308]

These were the promises held out by the Church, and believed by the people. It is our business to inquire how far the expectations were fulfilled, and what the consequences were of an act which was instigated by the clergy, welcomed by the nation, and eagerly applauded by some of the greatest men of genius Spain has produced.[1309]

The effects upon the material prosperity of Spain may be stated in a few words. From nearly every part of the country, large bodies of industrious agriculturists and expert artificers were suddenly withdrawn. The best systems of husbandry then known, were practised by the Moriscoes, who tilled and irrigated with indefatigable labour.[1310] The cultivation of rice, cotton, and sugar, and the manufacture of silk and paper, were almost confined to them.[1311] By their expulsion, all this was destroyed at a blow, and most of it was destroyed for ever. For, the Spanish Christians considered such pursuits beneath their dignity. In their judgment, war and religion were the only two avocations worthy of being followed. To fight for the king, or to enter the Church was honourable; but everything else was mean and sordid.[1312] When, therefore, the Moriscoes were thrust out of Spain, there was no one to fill their place; arts and manufactures either degenerated, or were entirely lost, and immense regions of arable land were left uncultivated. Some of the richest parts of Valencia and Granada were so neglected, that means were wanting to feed even the scanty population which remained there.[1313] Whole districts were suddenly deserted, and down to the present day have never been repeopled. These solitudes gave refuge to smugglers and brigands, who succeeded the industrious inhabitants formerly occupying them; and it is said, that from the expulsion of the Moriscoes is to be dated the existence of those organized bands of robbers, which, after this period, became the scourge of Spain, and which no subsequent government has been able entirely to extirpate.[1314]

To these disastrous consequences, others were added, of a different, and, if possible, of a still more serious kind. The victory gained by the Church increased both her power and her reputation. During the rest of the seventeenth century, not only were the interests of the clergy deemed superior to the interests of laymen, but the interests of laymen were scarcely thought of. The greatest men, with hardly an exception, became ecclesiastics, and all temporal considerations, all views of earthly policy, were despised and set at nought. No one inquired; no one doubted; no one presumed to ask if all this was right. The minds of men succumbed and were prostrate. While every other country was advancing, Spain alone was receding. Every other country was making some addition to knowledge, creating some art, or enlarging some science. Spain, numbed into a death-like torpor, spellbound and entranced by the accursed superstition which preyed on her strength, presented to Europe a solitary instance of constant decay. For her, no hope remained; and, before the close of the seventeenth century, the only question was, by whose hands the blow should be struck, which would dismember that once mighty empire, whose shadow had covered the world, and whose vast remains were imposing even in their ruin.

To indicate the different steps which mark the decline of Spain would be hardly possible, since even the Spaniards, who, when it was too late, were stung with shame, have abstained from writing what would only be the history of their own humiliation; so that there is no detailed account of the wretched reigns of Philip IV. and Charles II., which together comprise a period of nearly eighty years.[1315] Some facts, however, I have been able to collect, and they are very significant. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the population of Madrid was estimated to be 400,000; at the beginning of the eighteenth century, less than 200,000.[1316] Seville, one of the richest cities in Spain, possessed in the sixteenth century upwards of sixteen thousand looms, which gave employment to a hundred and thirty thousand persons.[1317] By the reign of Philip V., these sixteen thousand looms had dwindled away to less than three hundred;[1318] and, in a report which the Cortes made to Philip IV., in 1662, it is stated that the city contained only a quarter of its former number of inhabitants, and that even the vines and olives cultivated in its neighbourhood, and which comprised a considerable part of its wealth, were almost entirely neglected.[1319] Toledo, in the middle of the sixteenth century, had upwards of fifty woollen manufactories; in 1665, it had only thirteen, almost the whole of the trade having been carried away by the Moriscoes, and established at Tunis.[1320] Owing to the same cause, the art of manufacturing silk, for which Toledo was celebrated, was entirely lost, and nearly forty thousand persons, who depended on it, were deprived of their means of support.[1321] Other branches of industry shared the same fate. In the sixteenth century, and early in the seventeenth, Spain enjoyed great repute for the manufacture of gloves, which were made in enormous quantities, and shipped to many parts, being particularly valued in England and France, and being also exported to the Indies. But Martinez de Mata, who wrote in the year 1655, assures us that at that time this source of wealth had disappeared; the manufacture of gloves having quite ceased, though formerly, he says, it had existed in every city in Spain.[1322] In the once-flourishing province of Castile, every thing was going to ruin. Even Segovia lost its manufactures, and retained nothing but the memory of its former wealth.[1323] The decay of Burgos was equally rapid; the trade of that famous city perished; and the deserted streets and empty houses formed such a picture of desolation, that a contemporary, struck by the havoc, emphatically declared that Burgos had lost every thing except its name.[1324] In other districts, the results were equally fatal. The beautiful provinces of the south, richly endowed by nature, had formerly been so wealthy, that their contributions alone sufficed, in time of need, to replenish the imperial treasury; but they now deteriorated with such rapidity, that, by the year 1640, it was found hardly possible to impose a tax on them which would be productive.[1325] During the latter half of the seventeenth century, matters became still worse, and the poverty and wretchedness of the people surpass all description. In the villages near Madrid, the inhabitants were literally famishing; and those farmers who had a stock of food refused to sell it, because, much as they needed money, they were apprehensive of seeing their families perish around them. The consequence was, that the capital was in danger of being starved; and ordinary threats producing no effect, it was found necessary, in 1664, that the President of Castile, with an armed force, and accompanied by the public executioner, should visit the adjacent villages, and compel the inhabitants to bring their supplies to the markets of Madrid.[1326] All over Spain, the same destitution prevailed. That once rich and prosperous country was covered with a rabble of monks and clergy, whose insatiate rapacity absorbed the little wealth yet to be found. Hence it happened, that the government, though almost penniless, could obtain no supplies. The tax-gatherers, urged to make up the deficiency, adopted the most desperate expedients. They not only seized the beds and all the furniture, but they unroofed the houses, and sold the materials of the roof, for whatever they would fetch. The inhabitants were forced to fly; the fields were left uncultivated; vast multitudes died from want and exposure; entire villages were deserted; and in many of the towns, upwards of two-thirds of the houses were, by the end of the seventeenth century, utterly destroyed.[1327]

In the midst of these calamities, the spirit and energy of Spain were extinguished. In every department, all power and life disappeared. The Spanish troops were defeated at Rocroy in 1643; and several writers ascribe to that battle the destruction of the military reputation of Spain.[1328] This, however, was only one of many symptoms.[1329] In 1656, it was proposed to fit out a small fleet; but the fisheries on the coast had so declined, that it was found impossible to procure sailors enough to man even the few ships which were required.[1330] The charts which had been made, were either lost or neglected; and the ignorance of the Spanish pilots became so notorious, that no one was willing to trust them.[1331] As to the military service, it is stated, in an account of Spain, late in the seventeenth century, that most of the troops had deserted their colours, and that the few who were faithful were clothed in rags, received no pay, and were dying of hunger.[1332] Another account describes this once mighty kingdom as utterly unprotected; the frontier towns ungarrisoned; the fortifications dilapidated and crumbling away; the magazines without ammunition; the arsenals empty; the workshops unemployed; and even the art of building ships entirely lost.[1333]

While the country at large was thus languishing, as if it had been stricken by some mortal distemper, the most horrible scenes were occurring in the capital, under the eyes of the sovereign. The inhabitants of Madrid were starving; and the arbitrary measures which had been adopted to supply them with food, could only produce temporary relief. Many persons fell down in the streets exhausted, and died where they fell; others were seen in the public highway evidently dying, but no one had wherewithal to feed them. At length the people became desperate, and threw off all control. In 1680, not only the workmen of Madrid, but large numbers of the tradesmen, organized themselves into bands, broke open private houses, and robbed and murdered the inhabitants in the face of day.[1334] During the remaining twenty years of the seventeenth century, the capital was in a state, not of insurrection, but of anarchy. Society was loosened, and seemed to be resolving itself into its elements. To use the emphatic language of a contemporary, liberty and restraint were equally unknown.[1335] The ordinary functions of the executive government were suspended. The police of Madrid, unable to obtain the arrears of their pay, disbanded, and gave themselves up to rapine. Nor did there seem any means of remedying these evils. The exchequer was empty, and it was impossible to replenish it. Such was the poverty of the court, that money was wanting to pay the wages of the king's private servants, and to meet the daily expenses of his household.[1336] In 1693, payment was suspended of every life-pension; and all officers and ministers of the crown were mulcted of one-third of their salaries.[1337] Nothing, however, could arrest the mischief. Famine and poverty continued to increase;[1338] and, in 1699, Stanhope, the British minister then residing in Madrid, writes, that never a day passed in which people were not killed in the streets scuffling for bread; that his own secretary had seen five women stifled to death by the crowd before a bakehouse; and that, to swell the catalogue of misery, upwards of twenty thousand additional beggars from the country had recently flocked into the capital.[1339]

If this state of things had continued for another generation, the wildest anarchy must have ensued, and the whole frame of society been broken up.[1340] The only chance of saving Spain from a relapse into barbarism, was that it should fall, and fall quickly, under foreign dominion. Such a change was indispensable; and there was reason to fear that it might come in a form which would have been inexpressibly odious to the nation. For, late in the seventeenth century, Ceuta was besieged by the Mohammedans; and as the Spanish Government had neither troops nor ships, the greatest apprehensions were entertained respecting the fate of this important fortress; there being little doubt, that if it fell, Spain would be again overrun by the infidels, who, this time, at least, would have found little difficulty in dealing with a people weakened by suffering, half famished, and almost worn out.[1341]

Fortunately, in the year 1700, when affairs were at their worst, Charles II., the idiot king, died; and Spain fell into the hands of Philip V., the grandson of Louis XIV. This change from the Austrian dynasty to the Bourbon,[1342] brought with it many other changes. Philip, who reigned from 1700 to 1746,[1343] was a Frenchman, not only by birth and education, but also in feelings and habits.[1344] Just before he entered Spain, Louis charged him never to forget that he was a native of France, the throne of which he might some day ascend.[1345] After he became king, he neglected the Spaniards, despised their advice, and threw all the power he could command into the hands of his own countrymen.[1346] The affairs of Spain were now administered by subjects of Louis XIV., whose ambassador at Madrid frequently performed the functions of prime minister.[1347] What had once been the most powerful monarchy in the world, became little else than a province of France; all important matters being decided in Paris, from whence Philip himself received his instructions.[1348]

The truth is, that Spain, broken and prostrate, was unable to supply ability of any kind; and if the government of the country was to be carried on, it was absolutely necessary that foreigners should be called in.[1349] Even in 1682, that is, eighteen years before the accession of Philip V., there was not to be found a single native well acquainted with the art of war; so that Charles II. was obliged to intrust the military defence of the Spanish Netherlands to De Grana, the Austrian ambassador at Madrid.[1350] When, therefore, the War of the Succession broke out, in 1702, even the Spaniards themselves desired that their troops should be commanded by a foreigner.[1351] In 1704, the extraordinary spectacle was exhibited of the Duke of Berwick, an Englishman, leading Spanish soldiers against the enemy, and being in fact generalissimo of the Spanish army.[1352] The King of Spain, dissatisfied with his proceedings, determined to remove him; but, instead of filling his place with a native, he applied to Louis XIV. for another general; and this important post was confided to Marshal Tessé, a Frenchman.[1353] A little later, Berwick was again summoned to Madrid, and ordered to put himself at the head of the Spanish troops, and defend Estremadura and Castile.[1354] This he effected with complete success; and, in the battle of Almansa, which he fought in 1707, he overthrew the invaders, ruined the party of the pretender Charles,[1355] and secured the seat of Philip on the throne.[1356] As the war, however, still continued, Philip, in 1710, wrote to Paris for another general, and requested that the Duke de Vendôme might be sent to him.[1357] This able commander, on his arrival, infused new vigour into the Spanish counsels, and utterly defeated the allies;[1358] so that the war by which the independence of Spain was established, owed its success to the ability of foreigners, and to the fact that the campaigns were planned and conducted, not by natives, but by French and English generals.

In the same way, the finances were, by the end of the seventeenth century, in such deplorable confusion, that Portocarrero, who at the accession of Philip V. was the nominal minister of Spain, expressed a desire that they should be administered by some one sent from Paris, who could restore them.[1359] He felt that no one in Spain was equal to the task, and he was by no means singular in this opinion. In 1701, Louville wrote to Torcy, that if a financier did not soon arrive from France, there would shortly be no finances to administer.[1360] The choice fell upon Orry, who reached Madrid in the summer of 1701.[1361] He found everything in the most miserable condition; and the incompetence of the Spaniards was so obvious, that he was soon forced to undertake the management, not only of the finances, but also of the war-department. To save appearances, Canalez became the ostensible minister at war; but he, being completely ignorant of affairs, merely performed the drudgery of that office, the real duties of which were fulfilled by Orry himself.[1362]

This dominion of the French continued, without interruption, until the second marriage of Philip V., in 1714, and the death of Louis XIV., in 1715, both of which events weakened their influence, and for a time almost destroyed it. The authority, however, which they lost, was transferred, not to Spaniards, but to other foreigners. Between 1714 and 1726, the two most powerful and conspicuous men in Spain were Alberoni, an Italian, and Ripperda, a Dutchman. Ripperda was dismissed in 1726;[1363] and after his fall, the affairs of Spain were controlled by Konigseg, who was a German, and who, indeed, was the Austrian ambassador residing at Madrid.[1364] Even Grimaldo, who held office before and after the dismissal of Ripperda, was a disciple of the French school, and had been brought up under Orry.[1365] All this was not the result of accident, nor is it to be ascribed to the caprice of the court. In Spain, the national spirit had so died away, that none but foreigners, or men imbued with foreign ideas, were equal to the duties of government. To the evidence already quoted on this point, I will add two other testimonies. Noailles, a very fair judge, and by no means prejudiced against the Spaniards, emphatically stated, in 1710, that, notwithstanding their loyalty, they were incapable of ruling, inasmuch as they were ignorant both of war and of politics.[1366] In 1711, Bonnac mentions that a resolution had been formed to place no Spaniard at the head of affairs, because those hitherto employed had proved to be either unfortunate or unfaithful.[1367]

The government of Spain being taken from the Spaniards, now began to show some signs of vigour. The change was slight, but it was in the right direction, though, as we shall presently see, it could not regenerate Spain, owing to the unfavourable operation of general causes. Still, the intention was good. For the first time, attempts were made to vindicate the rights of laymen, and to diminish the authority of ecclesiastics. Scarcely had the French established their dominion, when they suggested that it might be advisable to relieve the necessities of the state, by compelling the clergy to give up some of the wealth which they had accumulated in their churches.[1368] Even Louis XIV. insisted that the important office of President of Castile should not be conferred on an ecclesiastic, because, he said, in Spain the priests and monks had already too much power.[1369] Orry, who for several years possessed immense influence, exerted it in the same direction. He endeavoured to lessen the immunities possessed by the clergy, in regard to taxation, and also in regard to their exemption from lay jurisdiction. He opposed the privilege of sanctuary; he sought to deprive churches of their right of asylum. He even attacked the Inquisition, and worked so powerfully on the mind of the king, that Philip, at one time, determined to suspend that dreadful tribunal, and abolish the office of grand inquisitor.[1370] This intention was very properly abandoned; for there can be no doubt that if it had been enforced, it would have caused a revolution, in which Philip would probably have lost his crown.[1371] In such case, a reaction would have set in, which would have left the Church stronger than ever. Many things, however, were done for Spain in spite of the Spaniards.[1372] In 1707, the clergy were forced to contribute to the state a small part of their enormous wealth; the tax being disguised under the name of a loan.[1373] Ten years later, during the administration of Alberoni, this disguise was thrown off; and not only did government exact what was now called ‘the ecclesiastical tax,’ but it imprisoned or exiled those priests who, refusing to pay, stood up for the privileges of their order.[1374] This was a bold step to be taken in Spain, and it was one on which, at that time, no Spaniard would have ventured. Alberoni, however, as a foreigner, was unversed in the traditions of the country, which, indeed, on another memorable occasion, he set at defiance. The government of Madrid, acting in complete unison with public opinion, had always been unwilling to negotiate with infidels; meaning by infidels every people whose religious notions differed from their own. Sometimes, such negotiations were unavoidable, but they were entered into with fear and trembling, lest the pure Spanish faith should be tainted by too close a contact with unbelievers. Even in 1698, when it was evident that the monarchy was at its last gasp, and that nothing could save it from the hands of the spoiler, the prejudice was so strong, that the Spaniards refused to receive aid from the Dutch, because the Dutch were heretics. At that time, Holland was in the most intimate relation with England, whose interest it was to secure the independence of Spain against the machinations of France. Obvious, however, as this was, the Spanish theologians, being consulted respecting the proposal, declared that it was inadmissible, since it would enable the Dutch to propagate their religious opinions; so that, according to this view, it was better to be subjugated by a Catholic enemy, than to be assisted by a Protestant friend.[1375]

Still, much as the Spaniards hated Protestants, they hated Mohammedans yet more.[1376] They could never forget how the followers of that creed had once conquered nearly the whole of Spain, and had, during several centuries, possessed the fairest portion of it. The remembrance of this strengthened their religious animosity, and caused them to be the chief supporters of nearly every war which was waged against the Mohammedans, both of Turkey and of Africa.[1377] But Alberoni, being a foreigner, was unmoved by these considerations, and, to the astonishment of all Spain, he, on the mere ground of political expediency, set at naught the principles of the Church, and not only concluded an alliance with the Mohammedans, but supplied them with arms and with money.[1378] It is, indeed, true, that, in these and similar measures, Alberoni opposed himself to the national will, and that he lived to repent of his boldness. It is, however, also true, that his policy was part of a great secular and anti-theological movement, which, during the eighteenth century, was felt all over Europe. The effects of that movement were seen in the government of Spain, but not in the people. This was because the government for many years was wielded by foreigners, or by natives imbued with a foreign spirit. Hence we find that, during the greater part of the eighteenth century, the politicians of Spain formed a class more isolated, and, if I may so say, more living on their own intellectual resources, than the politicians of any other country during the same period. That this indicated a state of disease, and that no political improvement can produce real good, unless it is desired by the people before being conferred on them, will be admitted by whoever has mastered the lessons which history contains. The results actually produced in Spain, we shall presently see. But it will first be advisable that I should give some further evidence of the extent to which the influence of the Church had prostrated the national intellect, and by discouraging all inquiry, and fettering all freedom of thought, had at length reduced the country to such a plight, that the faculties of men, rusted by disuse, were no longer equal to fulfil the functions required from them; so that in every department, whether of political life, or of speculative philosophy, or even of mechanical industry, it was necessary that foreigners should be called in, to do that work, which the natives had become unable to perform.

The ignorance in which the force of adverse circumstances had sunk the Spaniards, and their inactivity, both bodily and mental, would be utterly incredible, if it were not attested by every variety of evidence. Gramont, writing from personal knowledge of the state of Spain, during the latter half of the seventeenth century, describes the upper classes as not only unacquainted with science or literature, but as knowing scarcely any thing even of the commonest events which occurred out of their own country. The lower ranks, he adds, are equally idle, and rely upon foreigners to reap their wheat, to cut their hay, and to build their houses.[1379] Another observer of society, as it existed in Madrid in 1679, assures us that men, even of the highest position, never thought it necessary that their sons should study; and that those who were destined for the army could not learn mathematics, if they desired to do so, inasmuch as there were neither schools nor masters to teach them.[1380] Books, unless they were books of devotion, were deemed utterly useless; no one consulted them; no one collected them; and, until the eighteenth century, Madrid did not possess a single public library.[1381] In other cities professedly devoted to purposes of education, similar ignorance prevailed. Salamanca was the seat of the most ancient and most famous university in Spain, and there, if anywhere, we might look for the encouragement of science.[1382] But De Torres, who was himself a Spaniard, and was educated at Salamanca, early in the eighteenth century, declares that he had studied at that university for five years before he had heard that such things as the mathematical sciences existed.[1383] So late as the year 1771, the same university publicly refused to allow the discoveries of Newton to be taught; and assigned as a reason, that the system of Newton was not so consonant with revealed religion as the system of Aristotle.[1384] All over Spain, a similar plan was adopted. Everywhere, knowledge was spurned, and inquiry discouraged. Feijoo, who, notwithstanding his superstition, and a certain slavishness of mind, from which no Spaniard of that age could escape, did, on matters of science, seek to enlighten his countrymen, has left upon record his deliberate opinion, that whoever had acquired all that was taught in his time under the name of philosophy, would, as the reward of his labour, be more ignorant than he was before he began.[1385] And there can be no doubt that he was right. There can be no doubt that, in Spain, the more a man was taught, the less he would know. For, he was taught that inquiry was sinful, that intellect must be repressed, and that credulity and submission were the first of human attributes. The Duke de Saint Simon, who, in 1721 and 1722, was the French ambassador at Madrid, sums up his observations by the remark, that, in Spain, science is a crime, and ignorance a virtue.[1386] Fifty years later, another shrewd observer, struck with amazement at the condition of the national mind, expresses his opinion in a sentence equally pithy and almost equally severe. Searching for an illustration to convey his sense of the general darkness, he emphatically says, that the common education of an English gentleman would, in Spain, constitute a man of learning.[1387]