FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.
What had hitherto been the curse of Spain, its intestinal divisions,
feuds, rival projects of petty kings, was soon to be removed by the
union of Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon, whose marriage
took place October 19, 1469. Isabella was eighteen years of age,
Ferdinand only seventeen; but their training had been such that their
intelligence and deportment were in advance of their years. They were
cousins and lovers. Isabella was a blonde, with blue eyes and chestnut
hair, a small but symmetrical figure, graceful and modest of carriage,
intellectual, devout, charming, but not handsome. Ferdinand was tall
and manly, a fine horseman, courteous, chivalrous, like his wife of
the fair, Gothic type, eloquent of speech, with elegant bearing and
polished manners.
These were the two who for thirty years were to reign together, who
were to unite the dismembered fragments of war–harried Spain, who were
to establish a throne that was to command the respect of all Europe, a
kingdom whose influence was to extend around the world. And yet, if the
historians are to be credited, they were so poor at the time of their
betrothal that they were compelled to borrow money for their wedding.
Fortunately, their credit was good, for, despite their poverty, it
was known to all that they had great expectations. But their enemies
pressed them hard, and it was only by stealing off in disguise, with
a few attendants merely as company, that Ferdinand was able to reach
Valladolid, where Isabella was awaiting him, and claim his bride.
Five years later, in 1474, Isabella’s brother Enrique, the last male
of the house of Trastamare, passed away, and his sister succeeded
to the throne of Castile, to which she was already entitled. In the
ancient city of Segovia, with attendant pomp and ceremony, on the 13th
of December, 1474, the heralds proclaimed her Queen of Castile. But
her claim was disputed, and there ensued the “war of succession,” only
ended by the defeat of the Portuguese at the battle of Toro, after
which peace was concluded, with France and Portugal, in 1479. That
same year, by the death of his father, John II, Ferdinand succeeded
to Aragon and its dependencies, and thus the twain found themselves
virtual rulers of the best part of Spain.
With the exception of Navarre, which went to Eleanor, Ferdinand’s
half–sister, and of the kingdom of Granada, still held by the Moors,
united Castile and Aragon may be said to have included all Spain, from
the Atlantic east to the Mediterranean, and from the Pyrenees on the
north to the Straits of Gibraltar on the south, though each kingdom
was independent. By the exercise of consummate skill, patience, and
persistence, both in the field of war and in diplomacy, the entire
peninsula, with the exception of Portugal, eventually was welded into
one kingdom, and the various armies that had so frequently clashed
in conflict were placed under one supreme command. This was not
accomplished until after many years, but almost from the first these
two wise sovereigns bent all their energies to the consummation of
their purpose: Isabella in the domestic administration, Ferdinand in
war and diplomacy, which was to unite Spain and expel the hated infidel.
We will not now pause to inquire their motives, but note only the
vastness of the undertaking. More than any other nation, perhaps, the
Spanish were divided, one section speaking a French dialect, another
the Basque; one province might be aristocratic, another monarchical,
and yet another democratic, while every one had its own peculiar laws
and rights, called “_fueros_.” To show the feeling of independence
which pervaded Aragon, for instance, we may quote the ancient formula
used in seating a king on the throne: “We, each of whom is as good as
you, and who altogether are more powerful, make you our king as long as
you shall keep our _fueros_; otherwise not.”
These _fueros_ were charters of privileges, which had been granted by
former kings, lords, or counts to the inhabitants of certain towns,
particularly to those which were, or at one time had been, on the
exposed frontiers, deserted by or recaptured from the Moors. The
occasion had long since passed for the granting of these privileges,
but the people still clung to them, jealously guarding against their
infringement or revocation. In some provinces, as in the Basque region,
the _fueros_ rendered the inhabitants almost immune from service to the
king or queen, free from national taxes, not liable for soldiers to
serve beyond their own frontiers, etc. The first of the _fueros_ was
granted as early as 1020, and seems to have been that of Leon. Then
there was the _Cortes_, or popular assemblage of representatives from
all over the kingdom, the first of Castile, consisting of a deputy from
each city, having met in 1169.
Again, there was the Church to reckon with, for it was now established
on a sure foundation, and the primacy of Spain, with its archbishopric
at Toledo, was considered second only to the papacy in its influence
and revenues. As Isabella was devout by nature, and as Ferdinand was
politic, they allied themselves with the Church from the first, and
though themselves swayed by its servants, made it the means toward
an ultimate end, which was the consolidation of their empire and the
subjugation of the people.
We have seen already that one of the forces in Spain ever acting
against united effort for the expulsion of the Moors was the
independence of the nobility. Castile itself derived its name from the
number of its castles, mainly belonging to independent nobles, rich
and warlike, possessed of vast estates, not subject to taxation or
imprisonment—in fact little kings, some of them at the outset almost
as powerful as their sovereigns themselves. These were the _ricos
hombres_, who held most of the lucrative offices; next to them ranked
the _hidalgos_ and _caballeros_ (_Hijo de algo_, son of somebody, and
_caballero_, a horseman, knight, cavalier, nobleman), who comprised the
floating population of warriors or free lances, ready for a fight at a
moment’s notice, and always spoiling for a tilt with the enemy.
These were all dealt with in due course, in one manner or another,
until all were more or less firmly attached to the crown and pledged
to its support. The manner in which the sovereigns attached to their
service the three great military orders of Calatrava, Santiago, and
Alcantara well illustrates the subtlety of Isabella and the craft
of Ferdinand. These orders were founded after the models of the
Hospitalers and the Templars during the Crusades; but while originally
intended for warfare against the Moors, they had become possessed of
vast wealth and influence during the three hundred years of their
existence. They were, in fact, through their strength, their capacity
to send thousands of armed cavaliers into the field, and their absolute
independence, a possible menace to the crown; so, when it happened
that a vacancy occurred in the grand mastership of Santiago, in 1476,
the queen by intrigue secured it for Ferdinand. Eleven years later
he secured that of Calatrava, and in 1494, the last of all, the
grand mastership of Alcantara. Thus were the most powerful of the
independent military organizations secured and held in fealty to
the crown. Though it required eighteen years to accomplish this, yet
eventually it was brought about—an exhibition of persistence and craft
which throws a flood of light upon the doings and aims of these astute
rulers over regenerated Spain.
The unarmed and undisciplined masses were of little account, in the
scheme of reconquest planned by Ferdinand and Isabella. But the upper
classes, with their immense wealth and privileges, with their castles,
princely domains, and armed retainers—these were the first objects
aimed at by the sovereigns, when they were forging the weapons and
welding the nation together, preliminary to their onslaught upon the
Moors. Isabella, as early as 1476, revived the association of common
people which had once risen against the nobles, two hundred years
before, called the _Hermandad_, or Brotherhood, composed mainly of
people of the middle class, who acted as police and detectors of crime,
and in the end became powerful enough to prove an effectual check upon
the arrogance of the feudal lords. When, however, the sovereigns found
themselves possessed of a strong standing army, with servile soldiers
to do their bidding, the _Hermandad_ was disbanded; having served as a
means to an end, it passed away.
It was during the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, and early in their
reign, that another factor tending to the consolidation of their
power was availed of, in the establishment of the “Holy Office” of
the Inquisition. That terrible tribunal, with its spies working in
secret, its judges shielded from public view, its proceedings veiled in
secrecy, was revived in Spain and presided over, by the infamous Tomas
de Torquemada, as inquisitor general, who was prior of a Dominican
monastery at Segovia. Yielding to his pleadings, Isabella consented to
apply to the Pope for permission to use the institution as a means of
weeding out heresy from among the Jews and Moors in her dominions. In
an evil day for Spain, and to the discredit of the humanity of those
days, this queen—who has received the praise of generations for her
eminent wisdom, modesty, generosity, maternal tenderness, discretion,
moderation—not only gave her consent, but did all in her power, to
bring to the flames thousands of her subjects, whose only offence was
that they differed from her on points of religious belief!
During the remaining years of Torquemada’s life, or from 1483 to 1498,
it is estimated that eight or nine thousand “heretics” were burned
to death at the stake. And he was but one, the first, of a line of
Spanish “inquisitors,” who inflicted upon others of his race, made
in God’s image, entitled to compassion, the most fiendish tortures it
was possible for man to conceive. We can not forget nor ignore the
terrible truth that it was by the express sanction of Isabella, as well
as through her connivance, that this monstrosity reared its hideous
head in her kingdom, and devoured her loyal subjects. In her day was
inaugurated that barbarous “solemnity” called the “_auto da fé_,” edict
of the Inquisition, when the heretics ferreted out by the familiars
of the Holy Office were marched through the principal streets of her
capital, clad in robes covered with hellish emblems, flames and devils,
and followed by processions of priests and monks to the great square,
where they were burned at the stake; consumed by flames which even
royalty considered it an honour to light and a pleasure to gaze upon!
Ferdinand, of course, was an accessory; he even forced the Inquisition
upon the Aragonese, who rebelled against it; but to him have never been
imputed the high and honourable qualities ascribed to the “gentle”
Isabella. This, the darkest, foulest blot upon her escutcheon—which
neither the plea of the exigencies of the time, nor that equally
puerile argument that she lived when ideas of morality and human
brotherhood were crude, will avail to remove—will stand against her
forever, an ineffaceable witness to the innate cruelty and bigotry of
this descendant of Pedro the Cruel and Henry of Trastamare, fratricides
both, and one a regicide!
But the country prospered awhile—that is, the kingdom gained in
material wealth—chiefly, however, from the confiscated properties of
the expelled heretics. During the thirty years between the accession
of Isabella and her death—1474 to 1504—the royal revenues increased
more than thirtyfold. After the discoveries in America the sovereigns
were compelled to establish five great councils to manage affairs,
the most important of which was the Council of the Indies, with its
headquarters at Seville; but, notwithstanding, all power was more and
more centralized, until after the death of Ferdinand and the accession
of Charles I.
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