Iberia (26 page)
Authors: James Michener
The latter, which would be the heart of my system, would be
attacked in a radical way. Twice in the student’s four years—once
at the beginning and once at the end, so that he could see in
himself his deepening capacity—I would ask him to spend the
year or most of the year in studying one brief segment of history.
During that time he would take no traditional courses whatever,
no mathematics, no chemistry, no Literature IV. Instead he would
immerse himself in the world culture operating at that period in
time, and to do so he would study the art forms, the music, the
contemporary understanding of geography, the philosophy, the
religious convictions, the economics, the travel, the architecture,
the writing and the daily life of the peasant. And he would be
obliged to explore in depth the half-dozen nations or principalities
which best illustrated the significant meanings of the age being
studied.
I have often speculated on what periods would be most fruitful
for such an approach and have felt inclined toward
70 and
the fall of Jerusalem, and 1832 and the passage of reform in Great
Britain, plus some one date to be agreed upon when Greece and
Rome were in confrontation and another in the Middle Ages
before dissolution of old patterns had begun. Any two of these,
properly investigated, would provide a young man with enough
insights to illuminate the rest of his life, but there has always been
one period which has stood preeminent. If I were now forced to
educate myself anew, it would be to this period that I would direct
myself, the period when more notable men were in power and
more ideas in conflict than at any other in world history.
It would be sometime in the 1530’s, when Catholic Spain and
France, Protestant England and Muslim Turkey were contesting
the leadership of Europe and when Hindu India was preparing
itself for the advent of Akbar the Great, and Orthodox Russia was
beginning its consolidation under Ivan the Terrible. To
understand this period would be to understand the movements
that formed modern history. Observe the dates, the right-hand
one representing more or less when the man in question came
into power:
Francis I of France
(1494-1547)
1515
(1491-1547)
1509
(1500-1558)
1519
(1495?-1566)
1520
(1483-1546)
1519
(1530-1584)
1547
(1542-1605)
1556
These men were titans and they tore the preconceptions of their
narrow worlds to shreds. They were builders, and when they died
they left their nations a legacy of accomplishment. They were
warriors who defended their realms and extended them. They
were patrons of the arts and left their cities richer and their
universities improved. Some were good administrators and set
patterns which determined the future conduct of their lands, and
all were men who wrestled with great forces.
Of the seven Luther was the most intelligent, Suleiman the
most glorious, Akbar the finest human being, Francis the most
cunning, Henry the most determined, and Ivan the most violent.
Carlos V excelled in nothing, but it was he who commanded most
of the world and who left the most lasting impression.
Americans are apt to ignore the tremendous power of Carlos
and Spain in these critical years toward the middle of the sixteenth
century. There was no nation which came close to rivaling Spain.
Because of its ownership of the Low Countries and certain
provinces which are now part of France, it exercised a pincers
movement on that country and kept it frustrated. England, not
yet a major power, was neutralized by marriage compacts. In the
Mediterranean, Spain held control of the north coast of Africa
and kept the Muslim power of Turkey at least at arm’s length.
Through its ownership of Sardinia, Sicily, Naples and some of
the smaller Italian states, Spain exerted great pressure on the
Papacy and exacted favorable decisions when it was not engaged
in outright war against the Pope. And in Mexico and Peru it
owned mines from which floods of wealth reached Spain, rarely
to stay there.
The Spanish fleet, brought into being by Cisneros, was the best
operating. The Spanish army was the terror of Europe. Spanish
universities were without superiors. To Spain were attracted the
foremost painters of Europe, and the merit of Spanish letters was
acknowledged. It was truly an age of gold, when all nations lay in
fee, as it were, to Spanish leadership and power.
All that was required, in those crucial years when the future of
the world was being determined, was that Spain evolve some kind
of government and economic system which would enable her to
retain what she had and to build on it at a rate of growth
comparable to that at which England, France and Germany would
build. If Spain had maintained only that normal rate of progress,
she would have remained the world’s dominant power for two
or three more centuries and we might now be speaking Spanish.
The central problem of Spanish history is why Carlos V and Felipe
II failed to discover the system of government and the patterns
of growth required to sustain their nation.
At the foot of the hill on which the Alcázar stands is a fine
museum which not many Toledo visitors see, and that is a pity,
because it is a memorial to the greatness of Carlos V. It is housed
in the old hospital of Santa Cruz, built from funds left by Cardinal
Mendoza, and the doorway is another flamboyant memorial
showing Mendoza assisting the Empress Helena, mother of
Constantine the Great, as she finds the true cross. The interior of
the museum is of a type which I do not usually like, a
conglomeration of tapestry, furniture, etching, carpeting,
sculpture, bric-a-brac and mementos, with here and there a
notable painting. But this museum is different, because it has
been assembled with excellent taste. I have introduced half a dozen
connoisseurs to it—ordinary travel literature does not stress it,
perhaps because the custodians don’t want too many visitors—and
they have been enchanted.
I shall not speak ot the paintings; the museum has only
twenty-three El Grecos, including the ‘Assumption of the Virgin,’
one of his latest and greatest works. But I should like to comment
briefly on the many objects relating to Carlos V. Here is the
well-known bronze statue of Carlos, with jutting jaw, suspicious
little eyes and hair coming down to a sharp V above his eyes. He
seems a compact, determined man, visibly apprehensive about
the tasks confronting him, for he was called to transform a
peninsular mentality into one with a world outlook; he tried to
avoid but could not the religious challenges thrown at him by
that damned monk, Martin Luther; professors at the University
of Salamanca were warning him that if a nation brought in so
much gold from Mexico and Peru it might go bankrupt because
of the ensuing rise in the cost of living, but that made no sense at
all; and the various popes in Rome kept passing edicts which
caused confusion.
Along this wall, strung out for some forty-five feet, is the
printed scroll depicting his coronation as Holy Roman Emperor.
In the procession we see hundreds of figures—kings, scribes,
musicians, heralds, cardinals, along with Pope Clement VII and
a display of war machines. Oxen are being roasted and stewards
are throwing out free bread to the peasants.
In this corner is a handsome little carving showing Carlos and
his younger and more gifted brother Fernando, who excelled him
in so many ways. Fernando looks larger, seems intelligent, is
better-looking, but Carlos by holding on far outdistanced
Fernando. It was he, not Fernando, who was elected Holy Roman
Emperor, although at the end of his life he passed the job on to
his brother.
At the far end of the museum, in a gallery two stories high,
hang the blue battle pennants flown by Carlos’ illegitimate son,
Don Juan de Austria, at the Battle of Lepanto, where the Turks
were contained in 1571. The largest of the flags is about sixty feet
long, emblazoned not with nationalistic slogans but with I.N.R.I.
and Jesus on the cross. Spanish galleons really did go into battle
with the goal of saving Christianity.
Below the blue pennants rests a portrait of Don Juan, the
preserver of Spain, for had he lost at Lepanto, Islam would have
controlled the Mediterranean and Spain might once more have
become Moorish. Don Juan is shown as a young man in ruffs and
battle armor, with a bright-red scarf over his right shoulder; he
was a man of such charismatic power that when he died in the
Low Countries his body was cut into four parts, pickled in brine
and smuggled home so that the French might not know so great
an adversary was dead. Of course, as soon as the barrels had
crossed the Pyrenees the body was sewn together again.
In another room I see the tall, brooding figure of Carlos’
legitimate son Felipe II, husband of Mary Tudor and Spain’s most
typical king, and off to one side, in a place of honor, I see again
that marvelous bronze statue of Isabel, the Portuguese princess
whom Carlos married. Look at her, standing in a stiffly brocaded
dress, bejeweled, confident, half smiling. She is regal and
self-assured, and her statue is one of the most pleasing in Spain.
Carlos loved her and was a good husband. If she was as charming
as her statue, one can understand why.
On the walls of the upper cloister appear two gold-encrusted
maps which summarize Carlos. The first depicts his numerous
battle campaigns: ‘Tunis 1535; Algiers 1529; Zaragoza 1518; Naples
1528; Brussels 1521; and chief of all, Mühlberg 1547.’ The second
map shows his travels and is a jungle of crossing lines which
wander off to strange locations. It carries the well-known passage
from his abdication speech: ‘I have been nine times in Germany,
six in Spain, seven in Italy, ten in Flanders. In peace and war I
have been four times in France, two in England and two in Africa
for a total of forty expeditions, without counting the voyages to
my kingdoms. Eight times I have crossed the Mediterranean and
three times the Ocean [to England]. I am at peace with all and
from all ask pardon if I have offended anyone.’
These maps help explain a cardinal fact about Carlos: although
King of Spain he was rarely in the country. His preoccupation
was always with the other parts of his empire and he allowed the
internal government of Spain to drift. At the beginning of his
reign he set the pattern for much that was to follow. Faced by civil
war throughout Spain, he summoned his nobles to distant
Santiago de Compostela and told them, ‘This nation is faced by
a crisis which could destroy it. Do something. I’ll be back in three
years.’ At a later period he was absent for fourteen years.
Carlos was never a congenial man, but in the last two years of
his life he performed an unexpected act which captivated the
imagination of his people and continues to do so today. While
still possessed of full powers, he voluntarily resigned as emperor
and turned his scepter over to his son Felipe. To appreciate fully
what he did next I had to take a long expedition westward into
the mountains of the Sierra de Gredos.
I drove north out of Toledo to the Madrid—Badajoz road,
which carries traffic heading for Portugal. There I turned left for
Talavera de la Reina, the ugly commercial town, center of Spain’s
ceramic industry and forever remembered as the place where
Joselito, prince of bullfighters, was gored to death on May 16,
1920. West of Talavera, I headed north toward the Gredos
mountains, but before entering them turned west and drove along
the foothills for about fifty miles through bleak and desolate
scenery. How empty most of Spain is.
At last I came to a sign which indicated that a short distance
off the road to the north lay the monastery of Yuste. I followed
the dusty road which seemed to lead nowhere, when suddenly I
turned a corner and saw a low, mean building of no attractiveness
whatever but the goal of all travelers who want to pay their
respects to Carlos V, for it was to this remote monastery, isolated,
forlorn and with nothing to commend it, that the great emperor
retired.
I had the good fortune to reach Yuste at the same time that
two French priests drove up in their Renault. ‘What a road,’ they
said, eager to compare experiences. The driver was tall and
taciturn, but he had the facts. His passenger was on the chubby
side and he had the enthusiasm.
‘You must imagine Carlos in Brussels at the height of his
powers,’ the round priest said. ‘Sixty years old, maybe sixty-five,
and the most powerful man in the world.’
‘Fifty-five,’ the thin one said. ‘Born 1500. Abdicated the
Netherlands throne 1555. Abdicated the Spanish throne 1556.
You can figure it out for yourself.’
‘It was to this spot he came. Look. Not a house. Not even a
church. Think how lonely it must have been for him, the great
man, to end his days in such surroundings.’ He shook his head
sadly, then turning to his comrade, asked, ‘How many years was
he here?’
‘Came in early 1557. Died in late 1558.’
him,’ the fat priest said. ‘What was his name?’
We walked through the cold, dark monastery and imagined
‘An Italian engineer, Juanelo of Cremona. Remember, Carlos
was emperor of much of Italy too.’
pump for lifting water from the Río Tajo into Toledo. Carlos
loved him and the two spent what amounted to an exile here.’
unkempt grounds. To the north were the Gredos mountains, in
all other directions the lonely emptiness of Extremadura. ‘What
a place for a great man to die,’ the fat priest lamented. Apparently
he was imagining how many of the good things he appreciated
would not have been available had he accompanied the emperor.
