It was Fray Marcos, and in succeeding days this frail old man spoke often with Garcilaço, reviewing the evil things that had happened to him and complaining of how his enemies never allowed the world to forget that it had been his misleading information which had tricked Coronado’s army into its disasters. ‘Son, it’s impossible to determine what is truth and what falsehood. I cannot now remember whether I saw the Seven Cities in reality or in a dream … but that’s no matter, for I did see them.’
Garcilaço was now a grown man of thirty-three, who worked hard and to whom a crust of bread was either firmly in hand or was not, and he was not disposed to tolerate philosophical niceties: ‘You were never on the hill. And if you had been, you couldn’t have seen the Cities. Not from where we were.’
‘The hill has nothing to do with it. You do not judge a man by whether he climbed a hill or not. I saw the Cities. When I preach about the City of God that awaits us in its glory, do I climb some hill to see it? No, it exists because God wants it to exist. And the Seven Cities of Cíbola exist in the same way. They will be found one day because men like Esteban and me will always seek them.’
At this mention of the dancing black man, Marcos fell to weeping, and after some moments, said softly: ‘I was not generous with him, Garcilaço. I deplored his way with women. But in the long view of history, what are a few women, more or less?’
This rhetorical question brought a most unexpected consequence: ‘Garcilaço, my son, I have been most eager to find you. I sent that friar to seek you out. When the last viceroy took his Spanish soldiers home with him, one of them left behind a daughter. Ten years old … we could find no mother.’ He fell to coughing, then said: ‘I took her in. She works in our kitchen … María Victoria. But she’s getting old enough now that people are beginning to talk, to say ugly things about me—the usual charges you heard when you were her age.’ He brought his hands together under his chin and stared at his son: ‘It’s time that girl found a husband.’
He led the way into the kitchen, where María Victoria, a golden-skinned mestizo girl of fifteen, proved so attractive that Garcilaço asked in honest bewilderment: ‘Why would she be interested in me?’ and Marcos said: ‘Because I’ve been telling her all these years how brave you were in the north, how you proved yourself to be a man of honor.’
He grasped María Victoria’s right hand and placed it in Garcilaço’s: ‘I give you my daughter.’ He kissed them both, then said: ‘My children, in this life honor is everything. It is the soul of Spain. Some cabelleros have it, most do not. You Indians can earn it too, and if you do, it adorns life.’ Tears came to his eyes as he added: ‘I’ve always tried to preserve my honor, and have done nothing of which I am ashamed.’
He himself conducted the wedding ceremony, and shortly thereafter, died. For some years chroniclers, when summarizing his life, belabored the infamous role he had played in lying about Cíbola, but now his scandals have been forgiven and forgotten.
María Victoria and Garcilaço did not forget him, and for good reason. Fray Marcos had been a Franciscan pledged to poverty, but as a prudent man he had always managed to sequester his share of the gold coins which passed his way in either governmental or religious activity. ‘It wasn’t really stealing, children,’ he assured them two days before he died. ‘A man of honor never steals, but he can put a few coins aside.’
When Garcilaço asked: ‘Where’s the gold hidden?’ Marcos merely smiled, but some days after the friar’s funeral María took her husband to where she used to sleep, and hidden in a wall behind her cot he found a substantial hoard. ‘Fray Marcos knew that the father-provincial liked to make surprise visits,’ she whispered, ‘to make sure his friars kept obedient to their vows of poverty. Father could always guess when the old inspector was coming, and then he gave me his gold to hide.’
The windfall enabled the newlyweds to purchase land, build a house, hire Indians to drive the family mules down to Vera Cruz, and buy a black tutor from Cuba to educate them. Many years later, when it became customary for well-to-do mestizos to take surnames, the viceroy bestowed Garza upon them, and it became a tradition in the family that their progenitor had been a Spanish sailor of that name.
… TASK FORCE
At our organizing meeting in January we had agreed that our young assistants would assume responsibility for inviting to each of our formal sessions some respected scholar who would address us for about forty minutes on whatever aspect of Texas history we might be concentrating upon at that time. Their first offering provided a lucky coincidence.
In conformance with the governor’s desire that we hold our meetings in various cities across the state so as to attract maximum attention to our work, our February meeting, which would emphasize Hispanic factors in Texas history, was to be held in Corpus Christi, that beautiful, civilized town on the Gulf. It was appropriate that we meet there, because Corpus was already more than sixty-percent Hispanic, with every indication that the percentage would increase.
When I started to make plans as to how we would get there, I learned how convenient it was to work with really rich Texans, for Rusk had three airplanes to whisk him to and from his oil and banking ventures, while Quimper had two for his distant ranches. Since each had a Lear Jet for longer distances and a King Air for shorter, we had our choice, and in this time-saving way we covered much of Texas, for as Quimper told us: ‘When you have interests in a nation as big as Texas, stands to reason you got to have planes.’
When we landed at the airport in Corpus, we were met by Dr. Plácido Navarro Padilla, an elderly Mexican scholar from the cathedral city of Saltillo, which lay two hundred and sixty miles south of the Rio Grande. During the hectic decade 1824–1833, Saltillo had served as the capital of Coahuila-y-Tejas, so that a natural affinity existed between it and Austin, our present capital.
He was a dapper man, with neatly trimmed gray mustache and silver-rimmed eyeglasses, and had the easy grace which marks so many Spanish scholars. He could disarm those with whom he argued by flashing a congenial smile and an apologetic bow of his head, but in debate he could be fierce. When our staff member from SMU introduced him, she explained: ‘Dr. Padilla has specialized in Mexican-Texan relations …’
‘Excuse me,’ the doctor interrupted in excellent English. ‘My name is Navarro.’
‘But it says in our report,’ Ransom Rusk countered, ‘that your name is Padilla.’
‘That is my mother’s name. It comes last, Spanish style. My father’s name … my name … is Navarro.’
‘We’re proud to have you with us,’ Rusk said with an attempt at warmth. ‘Proceed.’
‘Your Republic of Texas fell under United States rule during the final days of 1845, actual admission coming in 1846. Since this is 1983, you have been American for a hundred and thirty-seven years. But you must remember that Spanish interest in your area started with Alonso Alvarez de Piñeda in 1519. Serious settlement started in El Paso in 1581, and Mexican control did not end until 1836, so that you were under Spanish-Mexican hegemony for three hundred and seventeen years. In other words, Texas was Spanish more than twice as long as it has been American, and this must never be forgotten.’
He proceeded with a forceful analysis of the Spanish heritage in Texas, a subject on which he was well qualified, since he had taught it during seven summer sessions as visiting professor at the University of Texas: ‘Your land is surveyed in leagues and labors, according to Spanish custom. Many of the laws governing your use of rivers are Spanish in origin. The religion in large parts of your terrain is Roman Catholicism. The names of your towns and counties are often Spanish. Your best architecture is Spanish Colonial, as are many of your rural customs. Texas is indelibly dyed in Hispanic colors, and the inheritance is a good one.’
Rusk, always a defender of Anglo-Saxon superiority, was not prepared to accept this emphasis on things Spanish: ‘Suppose we grant that in the beginning your impact was impressive. But it has been the relatively few years of English-spe
aking domination which have given Texas its character.’
‘For the moment it might seem that way,’ Dr. Navarro conceded, ‘but during the passage of centuries cultural influences have a stubborn way of persisting, and I would suppose that with every passing decade the power of your Spanish inheritance will become more evident.’
‘Are you equating Mexican with Spanish?’
‘I am.’
‘Now wait. If I see five hundred Mexicans on Texas streets, Dr. Navarro, I see never a hint of Spanish influence, barring their language and religion.’
‘What do you see?’
‘Indians. You can’t find a drop of Spanish blood.’
Dr. Navarro smiled disarmingly: ‘In odd corners of Mexico you will find people like me. Pure Spanish through unbroken generations.’
I was rather irritated with Rusk because of the surly way in which he heckled our speaker, and I had about concluded that I must rebuke him for his incivility when he smiled bleakly and told Navarro: ‘I accept your correction. You’ve been around here a lot longer than I have.’
It turned out to be a stimulating meeting, for which our young assistants were much relieved. Navarro threw off sparks like a busy grindstone on a frosty morning, especially when he spoke of those first three Spaniards who were associated, if only peripherally, with Texas.
‘I understand there’s a movement afoot among your historians to play down the importance of Cabeza de Vaca, Fray Marcos and Coronado in the beginnings of Texas, and this I can understand. Cabeza de Vaca never knew he was in Texas; Fray Marcos never came near the place; and if Coronado entered your state, which many doubt, it could only have been in the bleakest part of the Panhandle.
‘But our concerns extend far beyond the geographical boundaries of Texas. This state has an imperial significance. Its natural sphere of influence includes all the areas explored by these three men, even those areas in northern Mexico. If we think regionally, we see that every step Cabeza de Vaca, Fray Marcos and Coronado took had implications for Texas and its imperium. These men remain important factors in your history.
‘But I am more interested in their psychological reverberations, and here you must indulge me if I wax poetic, for I visualize myself as a poet striving to write the Odyssey and the Lusiads of Spain in Mexico.
‘Cabeza de Vaca established the ideal pattern for a Texan: bold, daring, persistent, observant, optimistic even when disaster hovered. He is the stubborn Texan, the gallant, the unconquered, and I cherish his memory.
‘Fray Marcos had an apocalyptic vision of what the Texas imperium might become, and just as he fired the vision of his contemporaries, he ignites ours today. He is the patron saint of the great liars in Texas history, the braggadocios, the adventurers whose tales exceed their adventures. Every Texan land-seeker who assured his wife “The good location for us lies just over that hill,” every wildcatter who traced a streambed to the sure oil site, every builder in Houston right now who is convinced he will find tenants for his condominium if only some investor will finance the next six months—they’re all descendants of Fray Marcos, the confidence man, and Texas would not be the same without them.
When I hear the name Coronado, my heart salutes. A great dreamer who in your Texas vernacular “put his money where his mouth was,” he risked all and lost all, but in doing so, gained immortality. The history of Texas is filled with his kind, the great gamblers, the men whose eyes were fixed beyond the horizon. Like him they try, they fail, but do not complain. I would like to fail the way Francisco Vásquez de Coronado failed.’
After recommending that we not drop these noble Spaniards from our curriculum, he came to the heart of his challenging talk, which I will abbreviate, using only his words:
‘I beg you, as you work at laying the foundations of historical education in Texas, not to fall prey to The Black Legend. This is a historical aberration promulgated by devout Dutch and English Protestants in the sixteenth century. It is a distortion of history, but it has taken root, I am sorry to say, in many quarters of American historical writing. Its main tenets are clearly defined and easily spotted. Do please try to avoid their errors.’
‘What are they?’ Quimper asked, and Navarro gave a concise summary.
‘The Black Legend claims that everything bad which happened in Spanish history was due to the Spanish Catholic church. The phrase seems to have originated from the black cloth worn by Phillip II and his priests. It claims that insidious popes from Rome dominated Spanish civil government. That priests tyrannized Spanish society. That the Inquisition ran rampant through Spanish society. That Catholic domination caused the end of Spanish culture and inhibited Spanish learning. That priestly domination caused the weakening and decline of Spanish power, both at home and in the colonies.’
In our meetings Ransom Rusk always struggled for clarification of ideas, and now, even though he had a strong bias against Mexicans, he labored to understand the point Navarro was trying to make: ‘I was taught in college that Spain was backward because of its religion. Where’s the error?’
For the moment, Dr. Navarro ignored this interruption, for he wished to nail down an important point: ‘So long as The Black Legend muddied only theological waters it could be tolerated, but when it began to influence international relations, it became a menace, for then it claimed that Catholicism, under the baleful guidance of its black-robed priests, sought to undermine and destroy Protestant governments as well as Protestant churches.’
‘I’ve always believed that,’ Rusk said, whereupon Navarro looked at him with a forgiving smile: ‘I almost believed it, too, when I was a student at Harvard, because that was all they taught. So you can be forgiven, Mr. Rusk.’
‘Thank you. Now I’d certainly like to hear your whitewash of the situation.’
‘That is what I am noted for in Mexican intellectual circles. Whitewashing The Black Legend.’
He proceeded with an insightful analysis of the baleful influences of The Black Legend: ‘It obstructed serious American study of Spain’s influence because it offered such a ready-made explanation for anything that went wrong. Did Spanish power in Europe and the New World wane? “See? The Black Legend was right!” Did Spain mismanage her colonies in America, much as England mismanaged hers? “The malignant influence of the Catholic church!” Did things go contrary to the way Protestants wanted? “Blame it on The Black Legend.” ’
Quimper interrupted: ‘But Spain did decline. It did fall behind. We all know that.’
Navarro surprised me by agreeing heartily with what Lorenzo had said: ‘Of course Spain declined. So has France declined. And certainly England has. But they all declined for the same reasons that the United States will one day decline. The inevitable movement of history, the inescapable consequences of change. Not because either England or Spain was nefarious, or unusually cruel, or blinded by religion.’
This was too much for Rusk’s stalwart Baptist heart: ‘But damn it all, your Inquisition did burn people!’ to which Navarro replied without even pausing for breath: ‘Let us say about the same number that English Protestants hanged or burned for being witches. And some fanatics argue that your killings were more reprehensible because they came so late, after a social conscience had been formed.’ I seemed to remember that the last auto-da-fé in Mexico occurred in 1815, when the great revolutionary leader Father José María Morelos was condemned by the Inquisition and shot by soldiers. But Navarro’s obvious skill at polemics so intimidated me that I remained silent.
But now he changed tactics, becoming even eager to acknowledge each weakness of Spain or her church, and he even conceded that The Black Legend might have contributed some good in that it had driven Spanish historians to a more careful analysis of their culture in their determination to defend it. In the end we respected him for his unrelenting defense of things Spanish.
‘You must never let prejudice blind you to the fact that in the years when Spain first explored and took possession of Texas, it was the foremost e
mpire on earth, excelling even China. It dominated the continent of Europe, much of the Americas, trade and the exchange of ideas. It was majestic in its power and glorious in its culture. It controlled far more completely then than either the United States or Russia does today. Its influence permeated what would become the future Texas, and to teach students otherwise would be to turn one’s back upon the spiritual history of Texas.’
Just as I began to fear that he was trying to make too strong a case for Spanish and Catholic influence, he broke into a wide, conciliatory smile: ‘You must remember one fundamental fact about your great state of Texas. If we date its beginning in 1519 with the Piñeda exploration, or 1528 with the marooning of Cabeza de Vaca on Galveston Island, it was about two hundred and fifty years before the first Protestant stepped foot on Texas soil. Of course, Mr. Rusk, when the rascal finally appeared his boots made a deep impression.’
He then turned to one of the most difficult problems: ‘The glory and the power! You simply must believe that when Coronado ventured into what is now the Texas Panhandle in 1540 he was impelled by two forces of precisely equal importance, spiritual desire to spread Christianity and temporal hunger for gold and the power it would bring. I have read a hundred accounts of those stirring days, and I have done everything possible to discount the bombast and the speeches made for public consumption, but in the end I stand convinced that men like Coronado really did believe they were doing God’s work when they proposed to subdue heathen lands in northern New Spain. I can cite a score of instances in which the conquistadores placed the rights of the church above those of the state, and they did so because they saw themselves first as God’s servants, discharging His commands. Gold and power the conquistadores did not find in Texas, but they did find human hearts into which they could instill the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. I have always felt that Texas started as a God-fearing state and that from the first moment it was Christian.’