History of Civilization in England, Vol. 2 of 3

by Henry Thomas Buckle

The ministers of Charles III., and the authors of those great reforms which signalized his reign, were dismissed, to make way for other advisers, better suited to this new state of things. Charles IV. loved the Church too well to tolerate the presence of enlightened statesmen. Aranda and Florida Blanca were both removed from office, and both were placed in confinement.[1486] Jovellanos was banished from court, and Cabarrus was thrown into prison.[1487] For, now, work had to be done, to which these eminent men would not put their hands. A policy which had been followed with undeviating consistency for nearly ninety years, was about to be rescinded, in order that the old empire of the seventeenth century, which was the empire of ignorance, of tyranny, and of superstition, might be resuscitated, and, if possible, restored to its pristine vigour.

Once more was Spain covered with darkness; once more did the shadows of night overtake that wretched land. The worst forms of oppression, says a distinguished writer, seemed to be settling on the country with a new and portentous weight.[1488] At the same time, and indeed as a natural part of the scheme, every investigation likely to stimulate the mind, was prohibited, and an order was actually sent to all the universities, forbidding the study of moral philosophy; the minister, who issued the order, justly observing, that the king did not want to have philosophers.[1489] There was, however, little fear of Spain producing anything so dangerous. The nation not daring, and, what was still worse, not wishing, to resist, gave way, and let the king do as he liked. Within a very few years, he neutralized the most valuable reforms which his predecessors had introduced. Having discarded the able advisers of his father, he conferred the highest posts upon men as narrow and incompetent as himself; he reduced the country to the verge of bankruptcy; and, according to the remark of a Spanish historian, he exhausted all the resources of the state.[1490]

Such was the condition of Spain, late in the eighteenth century. The French invasion quickly followed; and that unhappy country underwent every form of calamity and of degradation. Herein, however, lies a difference. Calamities may be inflicted by others; but no people can be degraded except by their own acts. The foreign spoiler works mischief; he cannot cause shame. With nations, as with individuals, none are dishonoured if they are true to themselves. Spain, during the present century, has been plundered and oppressed, and the opprobrium lights on the robbers, not on the robbed. She has been overrun by a brutal and licentious soldiery; her fields laid waste, her towns sacked, her villages burned. It is to the criminal, rather than to the victim, that the ignominy of these acts must belong. And, even in a material point of view, such losses are sure to be retrieved, if the people who incur them are inured to those habits of self-government, and to that feeling of self-reliance, which are the spring and the source of all real greatness. With the aid of these, every damage may be repaired, and every evil remedied. Without them, the slightest blow may be fatal. In Spain, they are unknown; and it seems impossible to establish them. In that country, men have so long been accustomed to pay implicit deference to the Crown and the Church, that loyalty and superstition have usurped the place of those nobler emotions, to which all freedom is owing, and in the absence of which, the true idea of independence can never be attained.

More than once, indeed, during the nineteenth century, a spirit has appeared, from which better things might have been augured. In 1812, in 1820, and in 1836, a few ardent and enthusiastic reformers attempted to secure liberty to the Spanish people, by endowing Spain with a free constitution. They succeeded for a moment, and that was all. The forms of constitutional government they could bestow; but they could not find the traditions and the habits, by which the forms are worked. They mimicked the voice of liberty; they copied her institutions; they aped her very gestures. And what then? At the first stroke of adverse fortune, their idol fell to pieces. Their constitutions were broken up, their assemblies dissolved, their enactments rescinded. The inevitable reaction quickly followed. After each disturbance, the hands of the government were strengthened, the principles of despotism were confirmed, and the Spanish liberals were taught to rue the day, in which they vainly endeavoured to impart freedom to their unhappy and ill-starred country.[1491]

What makes these failures the more worthy of observation is, that the Spaniards did possess, at a very early period, municipal privileges and franchises, similar to those which we had in England, and to which our greatness is often ascribed. But such institutions, though they preserve freedom, can never create it. Spain had the form of liberty without its spirit; hence the form, promising as it was, soon died away. In England, the spirit preceded the form, and therefore the form was durable. Thus it is, that though the Spaniards could boast of free institutions a century before ourselves, they were unable to retain them, simply because they had the institutions and nothing more. We had no popular representation till 1264;[1492] but in Castile they had it in 1169,[1493] and in Aragon in 1133.[1494] So, too, while the earliest charter was granted to an English town in the twelfth century,[1495] we find, in Spain, a charter conferred on Leon as early as 1020; and in the course of the eleventh century the enfranchisement of towns was as secure as laws could make it.[1496]

The fact, however, is, that in Spain these institutions, instead of growing out of the wants of the people originated in a stroke of policy on the part of their rulers. They were conceded to the citizens, rather than desired by them. For, during the war with the Mohammedans, the Christian kings of Spain, as they advanced southwards, were naturally anxious to induce their subjects to settle in the frontier towns, where they might face and repel the enemy. With this object they granted charters to the towns, and privileges to the inhabitants.[1497] And as the Mohammedans were gradually beaten back from the Asturias to Granada, the frontiers changed, and the franchises were extended to the new conquests, in order that what was the post of danger, might also be the place of reward. But, meanwhile, those general causes, which I have indicated, were predetermining the nation to habits of loyalty and of superstition, which grew to a height fatal to the spirit of liberty. That being the case the institutions were of no avail. They took no root; and as they were originated by one political combination, they were destroyed by another. Before the close of the fourteenth century, the Spaniards were so firmly seated in the territories they had lately acquired that there was little danger of their being again expelled[1498] while, on the other hand, there was no immediate prospect of their being able to push their conquests further, and drive the Mohammedans from the strongholds of Granada. The circumstances, therefore, which gave rise to the municipal privileges had changed; and as soon as this was apparent, the privileges began to perish. Being unsuited to the habits of the people, they were sure to fall, on the first opportunity.[1499] Late in the fourteenth century, their decline was perceptible; by the close of the fifteenth century, they were almost extinct; and, early in the sixteenth century, they were finally overthrown.[1500]

It is thus that general causes eventually triumph over every obstacle. In the average of affairs, and on a comparison of long periods, they are irresistible. Their operation is often attacked, and occasionally, for a little time, stopped by politicians, who are always ready with their empirical and short-sighted remedies. But when the spirit of the age is against those remedies, they can at best only succeed for a moment; and after that moment has passed, a reaction sets in, and the penalty for violence has to be paid. Evidence of this will be found in the annals of every civilized country, by whoever will confront the history of legislation with the history of opinion. The fate of the Spanish towns has afforded us one good proof; the fate of the Spanish Church will supply us with another. For more than eighty years after the death of Charles II. the rulers of Spain attempted to weaken the ecclesiastical power; and the end of all their efforts was, that even such an insignificant and incompetent king as Charles IV. was able, with the greatest ease, rapidly to undo what they had done. This is because, during the eighteenth century, while the clergy were assailed by law, they were favoured by opinion. The opinions of a people invariably depend on large general causes, which influence the whole country; but their laws are too often the work of a few powerful individuals, in opposition to the national will. When the legislators die, or lose office, there is always a chance of their successors holding opposite views, and subverting their plans. In the midst, however, of this play and fluctuation of political life, the general causes remain steady, though they are often kept out of sight, and do not become visible, until politicians, inclining to their side, bring them to the surface, and invest them with open and public authority.

This is what Charles IV. did in Spain; and when he took measures to favour the Church, and to discourage free inquiry, he merely sanctioned those national habits which his predecessors had disregarded. The hold which the hierarchy of that country possess over public opinion has always been proverbial; but it is even greater than is commonly supposed. What it was in the seventeenth century, we have already seen; and in the eighteenth century, there were no signs of its diminution, except among a few bold men, who could effect nothing, while the popular voice was so strong against them. Early in the reign of Philip V., Labat, who travelled in Spain, informs us, that when a priest performed mass, nobles of the highest rank deemed it an honour to help him to dress, and that they would go down on their knees to him, and kiss his hands.[1501] When this was done by the proudest aristocracy in Europe, we may suppose what the general feeling must have been. Indeed, Labat assures us, that a Spaniard would hardly be considered of sound faith, if he did not leave some portion of his property to the Church; so completely had respect for the hierarchy become an essential part of the national character.[1502]