Every circumstance was in favor of the aggrandizement of the royal power. The monarch being no longer merely king of Aragon or of Castile, but of Spain, the ancient kingdoms dwindled into insignificance before the majesty and the splendor of the throne, and sank by degrees to the rank which alone suited them, that of provinces. From that moment the action of the monarch became more extensive and complicated, and consequently he could not come so frequently into contact with his vassals. The celebration of the cortes in each of the recently united kingdoms, would have occasioned long delays; for the king was oftentimes engaged at another part of the empire. When sedition was to be chastised, abuses to be checked, or excesses to be repressed, he was no longer obliged to have recourse to the forces of the particular kingdom in which these things occurred, as he could employ the arms of Castile to subdue insurrection in the kingdom of Aragon, and those of Aragon to put down the rebels of Castile. Grenada lay at his feet; Italy yielded to one of his victorious captains; in his fleet was Columbus, who had just discovered a new world; under these circumstances, it was in vain to listen for the murmurs of the cortes and of ayuntamientos,—these were no longer heard, they had totally disappeared.
Had the national manners had a peaceable tendency, had not Spain been habituated to war, democratic institutions would probably have been preserved with less difficulty. Had the attention of the people been fixed exclusively upon their municipal and political affairs, they would have better understood their real interests; kings themselves would not have been so ready to rush into war, and the throne would in some degree have lost the prestige it obtained from the splendor and success of its armies; the administration would not have been imbued with that blunt harshness for which military habits are always more or less remarkable; and the ancient fueros would thus have more easily retained some consideration. But precisely at that period Spain was the most warlike nation in the world; it was in its element on the battle-field; seven centuries of combats had made it a nation of soldiers. Its recent victories over the Moors; the exploits of its armies in Italy; the discoveries of Columbus; every thing, in fine, contributed to its exaltation, and to inspire it with that spirit of chivalry which, for so long a time, was one of its distinguishing characteristics. It was necessary for the king to be a captain; and he was certain to captivate the minds of Spaniards, so long as he won renown by brilliant feats of arms. Now, arms are the bane of popular institutions. After a victory on the field of battle, the order and discipline of the camp are usually transferred to the city.
From the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, the throne rose to such a height of power that liberal institutions were almost lost sight of. The people and the grandees, it is true, reappeared upon the scene after the death of Isabella; but this was entirely owing to the misunderstanding between Ferdinand the Catholic and Philip le Bel, which impaired the unity, and consequently the strength of the throne; and hence, as soon as these circumstances disappeared, the throne again resumed its full preponderance, and that not only during the last days of Ferdinand, but even under the regency of Ximenes. The men of Castile, exasperated by the excesses of the Flemish, and encouraged perhaps by the hope, that the rule of a young monarch would be, as it usually is, only feeble, again raised their voices; their remonstrances and complaints speedily ended in commotions and in open insurrection. Notwithstanding many circumstances highly favorable to the Communeros, and the probability that their conduct would be followed by all the provinces of the monarchy, we find that the insurrection, although considerable, did not assume either the importance or extent of a national movement; a great portion of the Peninsula preserved a strict neutrality, and the rest inclined to the cause of monarchy. If I am not mistaken, this fact indicates that the throne had already obtained an immense prestige, and was regarded as the highest and most powerful institution. The entire reign of Charles V. was extremely well calculated to perfect this beginning. Commenced under the auspices of the battle of Villalar, this reign continued through an uninterrupted series of wars, in which the treasures and the blood of Spain were spent with incredible profusion in all the countries of Europe, Africa, and America. The nation was not allowed time even to think of its affairs: almost always deprived of the presence of its king, it had become a province at the disposal of the Emperor of Germany, the ruler of Europe. True, the cortes of 1538 boldly gave Charles a severe lecture instead of the succor he demanded. But it was already too late; the clergy and the nobility were expelled from the cortes, and the representation of Castile was restricted for the future to the procuradores alone; that is, it was doomed to be no more than the shadow of what it had been—a mere instrument of the royal will.
Much has been said against Philip II.; but, in my opinion, this monarch merely kept his place, and allowed things to take their natural course. The crisis was already past; the question already decided; the Spanish nation could not regain its lost influence, save by the regenerating action of centuries. Still, we must not imagine that absolute power was so fully and completely established as to leave not a vestige of ancient liberty; but this liberty could do nothing from its asylum in Aragon and Catalonia against the giant that held it in check from the midst of a country entirely subject to his sway, from the capital of Castile. The monarchs might probably, by one bold and heavy blow, have struck down every thing that opposed them; but whatever probabilities of success they had in the vast means at their disposal, they were very careful not to make the attempt, but left the inhabitants of Navarre, the subjects of the crown of Aragon, in the tranquil enjoyment of their franchises, rights, and privileges. At the same time, they were careful to prevent the contagion spreading to the other provinces. By means of partial attacks, and more especially by leading the people to allow their ancient liberties to fall into desuetude, they gradually diminished their zeal for them, and insensibly brought them to a habit of tamely bending under the action of a central power.[39]
[CHAPTER LXVII.]
POLITICAL LIBERTY AND RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE.
In the sketch I have here drawn, the rigorous accuracy of which no one can question, we have not discovered any thing like oppression in Catholicity, nor any alliance between the clergy and the throne for the destruction of liberty: what we have discovered is merely the regular and natural order of things,—a successive development of events contained in each other, as the plant is contained in the germ. As for the Inquisition, I think I have said enough respecting it in the chapters that treat of it: in this place I will merely observe, that it was not a political instrument in the hands of kings, ready to be used at their beck. Religion was its object; and as we have seen, far from losing sight of this object to suit the wishes of the sovereign, it unhesitatingly condemned the doctrines that would have unjustly extended the powers of the monarch. Shall I be told, that the Inquisition was in its very nature intolerant, and consequently opposed to the growth of liberty? I answer, that toleration, as now understood, had at that time no existence in any European country. Besides, it was under the direct and full influence of religious intolerance that the people were emancipated, municipalities organized, the system of large representative assemblies established, which, under different names, and more or less directly, interfered in public affairs.
Men's ideas were not yet so far perverted as to lead them to believe that religion was favorable and conducive to the oppression of the people; on the contrary, we observe in the hearts of these people a vehement desire for liberty and progress, whilst at the same time they clung with enthusiasm to a faith, in the sight of which it appeared to them just and salutary to refuse toleration to any doctrine at variance with the teaching of the Church of Rome. Unity of faith does not fetter the people—does not impede their movements in any direction—as well, indeed, might it be said, that the mariner is fettered by the compass that guides him in safety through the wide expanse of waters. Was the ancient unity of European civilization wanting in grandeur, in variety, or in beauty? Did Catholic unity, presiding over the destinies of society, arrest its progress, even in the ages of barbarism? Let us fix our eyes upon the grand and delightful spectacle exhibited in the centuries preceding the sixteenth, and pause a moment to reflect; we shall all the better understand in what manner Protestantism has given a wrong direction to the course of civilization.
The immense agitation occasioned by the gigantic enterprise of the Crusades shows in what a state of fermentation were the elements deposited in the bosom of society. The shock excited them to activity—union augmented their force—every where, and in every sense, was to be seen a vigorous and active movement, a sure presage of the high degree of civilization and refinement which Europe was about to attain. The arts and sciences, as if called into life by some powerful voice, reappeared, loudly asserting their claim to protection and an honorable reception. On the feudal castles, those heirlooms of the manners of the period of conquest, a ray of light suddenly gleamed, that illuminated with the rapidity of lightning all climates and all people. Those masses of men, who had hitherto bent in painful toil for the benefit of their masters, now lifted up their heads, and, with bold hearts and enfranchised lips, demanded a share in social advantages. Addressing each other with a look of intelligence, they combined together, and insisted in common that the law should be substituted for caprice. Then towns sprang up, increased in size and importance, and were surrounded with ramparts; municipal institutions arose, and began to develop themselves; kings, till then the sport of the pride, ambition or stubbornness of the feudal lords, seized upon an opportunity so favorable, and made common cause with the people. Threatened with destruction, feudalism entered valiantly into the contest, but in vain; and, restrained by a power even more irresistible than the weapons of its adversaries, and, as if oppressed by the air it breathed, it felt its action impeded, its energies enfeebled, and, despairing of victory, it gave itself up to the enjoyment to be found in the patronage of the arts.
To the coat of mail now succeeded elegance of dress; to the powerful shield, the pompous escutcheon; to the bearing and address of the warrior, the manners of the courtier:—thus was the whole power of feudalism undermined; the popular element was left completely at liberty to develop itself; and the powers of monarchs became every day more extensive. Royalty thus strengthened, municipal institutions in full vigor, and feudalism undermined, the remnants of barbarism and oppression still existing in the laws fell one by one beneath the attacks of so many adversaries; and, for the first time in the world's history, there was seen a considerable number of great nations presenting the peaceful spectacle of many millions of men living in social union, and enjoying together the rights of men and of citizens. Until this period, public tranquillity, and even the very existence of society, had to be secured by carefully excluding from the working of the political machine a great number of individuals by means of slavery—a system that proved at once the intrinsic inferiority and weakness of the governments of antiquity. The Christian religion, with the courage inspired by the consciousness of strength, and with an ardent love for humanity, had never doubted that she held in her hands other means of restraining men than a recourse to degradation and violence, and had, in fact, resolved the problem in a manner the most noble and generous. She had said to society: "Dost thou dread this immense multitude, that have no sufficient titles to thy confidence? I will stand security for them. Thou enslavest them; thou puttest chains around their necks; I will subdue their hearts. Leave them free; and this multitude, before which thou tremblest as before a herd of wild beasts, will become a class of men serviceable to themselves and to thee." This voice had been heard, and all men were freed from the yoke of slavery— all entered upon this noble struggle, which was to place society in equilibrium, without destroying or shaking its foundations. We have already said above, that there existed powerful adversaries. Shocks more or less violent were inevitable; but there was no cause for anticipating any serious catastrophe, unless some fatal combination of circumstances arose to overthrow the only power capable of moderating the inflamed, and sometimes exasperated, passions of men—to impose silence upon that powerful voice, ever ready to say to the combatants, That is enough. That voice—the voice of Christianity—might have been heard with greater or less docility; but it would always have sufficed to calm down the fury of the passions, to moderate the fierceness of their conflicts, and thus to prevent scenes of bloodshed.