Mexico (50 page)

One evening, after a particularly vigorous attack by one professor and my valiant attempt at refutation, the young fellow from Bolivia asked me: "Sometimes you say you're an American, sometimes a Mexican. Who are you? And why do you defend Spain so vigorously?"

"I'm both, American and Mexican Indian, but spiritually I'm heavily Spanish. And I know what I'm talking about, better than any of the professors, because the Inquisition touched my family with a cruel and heavy hand. They talk abstract principles. I talk reality."

It was late in the winter of 1524 in Salamanca in western Spain that Mexico became linked to my Spanish heritage. This is how it happened:

The University of Salamanca, which then stood in premier position, was playing host to a convocation of learned men from Europe's three other principal universities: Bologna, in Italy; the Sorbonne, in France; and upstart Oxford, from England.

This particular convocation had been summoned to deal with interpretations of religious matters that were of interest to the Catholic world, particularly the schismatic effect of occurrences in Germany, where the monk Martin Luther had been causing trouble. When the more weighty concerns of Church doctrine had been setded, the professors turned their attention to a curious letter that had been sent from Antwerp, then as preeminent in trade as Salamanca was in learning. It had been submitted by a group of merchants who were perplexed by a matter of business morals and who sought guidance from the professors. The letter read, in part:

What confuses us in Antwerp is this. If the broker Gregorio fears God and wishes to live within His law, but if he also makes his living as a broker and wishes to prosper, how must he deal with the merchant Klaus who comes to him one day and says, "Broker Gregorio, next week begins the Fair of Mid-Lent here in Antwerp and to conduct my business I require one thousand ducats which I don't have. Do you give them to me in cash and I will repay them three months later at the May Fair at Medina del Campo in Spain." To this request of the merchant, the broker Gregorio replies, "I will give you the thousand ducats here in Antwerp but when you repay them three months hence in Medina del Campo you must pay me not only the thousand ducats which you owe me but one hundred more to cover my expense in transferring the money, my risk of loss, and my salaries to my assistants."

We desire to know, learned doctors, whether the action of the broker Gregorio in supplying the money and charging for the risks he is taking falls under the category of usury, which is forbidden by Holy Writ, or whether it is not, as we merchants hold, a necessary and permissible exercise of business and thus excused from the condemnation which is properly placed on lending money at interest, which we admit is forbidden by the Bible.

The issue posed by the merchants of Antwerp was clear-cut, and one that would worry the Church for centuries, but the professors at Salamanca could find no logical reason for abandoning traditional interpretations of the laws against usury. They therefore easily decided that the broker Gregorio was transgressing God's law if he gave the merchant Klaus one thousand ducats in March and took back eleven hundred--or any other amount above one thousand--in May. Accordingly, the convocation composed a reply which read in part that "the transaction is usury and is forbidden on pain of death," and that in the transaction described, "the broker Gregorio does nothing to make his money increase, therefore such increas
e m
ust be held to be illegal and against the will of God." But before the document was signed one of the professors from Salamanca who for some years had been weighing this perplexing problem of interest charged for the use of money rose to offer a further consideration that he felt his colleagues had overlooked. He said, "Have we spent enough time inspecting all aspects of this matter? We are answering it, I fear, in terms of Antwerp and Medina del Campo when what we ought to weigh is its effect upon Mexico."

A whisper of consternation passed among the doctors, and the chairman of the meeting, one Maestro Mateo, a fierce Dominican who had begun to suspect the orthodoxy of the protesting savant, replied brusquely, "Professor Palafox, the law of God is immutable and applies now and forever both to Medina del Campo here at home and to Mexico far overseas. Usury is usury and must be forever forbidden."

"I grant that, Maestro Mateo," the professor replied humbly, for as a mere professor he was of the laity, whereas the man to whom he spoke was an ordained clergyman. "I am sure that usury as such will always be outlawed in respectable nations, but I suspect that with the opening up of vast and rich lands overseas we are going to have to develop new concepts of trade, for if the trader Klaus, whom we have been discussing, wants to operate in Mexico, he will have to borrow funds from some broker, and if Gregorio risks sending his wealth so far abroad, he will be entitled to some kind of substantial reward, and it will not be usurious."

"Professor Palafox," the maestro thundered, "usury is usury and we must allow the merchants of Antwerp no Mexican loophole through which they can defile the law of the church."

Professor Palafox believed that he had a new concept of the unfolding world, one that merited--nay, even demanded-- attention: "You ask, revered sir, what new fact has emerged that might force us to alter our previous dictates? Distance. In the hypothetical transaction we've been pondering, the broker Gregorio resides in Antwerp. The merchant Klaus offers to repay him later in Medina del Campo in Spain. A great distance apart, but not insurmountable, so the risk in making the loan is not preposterous." Since it was obvious that young Palafox was about to make an important point, his listeners leaned forward to catch his words: "But for a merchant to charter a ship that will sail to Darien, then hire a mule caravan to cross tha
t i
sthmus and charter another ship to take him down the coast to Peru to fetch his precious metal, and then double back along the same perilous route--that constitutes a risk that justifies a special reward."

Some of his listeners were impressed by this modern reasoning, but not Maestro Mateo: "Do you argue that mere distance and added risk excuse a lender from the sin of usury?"

"No, reverend Professor. What I argue is that there is a universe of difference between a commercial journey from Antwerp to Medina requiring a few weeks, and one from Seville to Peru and back, which will require more than a year and unimagined risks. Such a risk requires a new definition."

"But never a new morality."

"What I'm trying to point out," Palafox said, forging ahead, "is that with the discovery of Mexico and Peru new patterns of business life must be worked out, and I believe that we would be well advised to send some other kind of answer to the merchants of Antwerp. Let us think this matter--"

"Palafox!" Maestro Mateo thundered.

"Yes, reverend Maestro."

"Be silent!" And the reply was sent as planned, which meant merely that the merchant Klaus still had to have his thousand ducats, that he still had to borrow them from the broker Gregorio, that interest was charged as always, that borrower and lender incurred mortal sin, and that honest business had to be conducted outside the purview of the Church. One unforeseen result did occur, however, for one of the professors from Oxford was so impressed by the statements of Palafox that when he returned to England he launched his own investigation of these matters, and although he never brought himself to break with Church rule on this question, one of his students did, and in time England devised a new interpretation of lending money, and upon this new understanding of sharing risk the industrial greatness of England was built, while Spain, refusing to reconsider the matter, crushed those incipient industrial developments that might have strengthened the nation.

When the convocation ended, Professor Palafox lingered for some time in the beautiful plaza that faced the university, and as he stood there waiting he could catch a promise of spring in the breeze that blew up from the river. On one of the walls his name was carved, in honor of the high degree he had won many years before at the university, and through that small arch leading to the cloisters he had marched on the day he had been chosen professor of civil law. This was his spiritual home, and he was distressed when Maestro Mateo bristled by without speaking. Professors from Bologna and the Sorbonne, who would soon be leaving on their dangerous journeys homeward, stopped to argue with Palafox and it was apparent that none had appreciated his stance.

"Do you honestly believe," a Frenchman asked in crisp Latin, "that one of these days lending money at interest will be held to be different from usury and that the Church will permit it?"

"Let's not argue about it," Palafox said quietly. "It's obvious that I failed to make myself clear."

"You were very clear," the French professor corrected. "But you were also very wrong. Let's go to my rooms to argue this matter further."

"I can't, much as I would like to, because I'm waiting for my sons."

"Are they at the university?" the Frenchman inquired.

'The older is. A month ago he was ordained a priest. Right here."

"How fortunate you are, Palafox. Will he become a professor, too?"

Palafox smiled and said, "In secrecy, I'm waiting to tell him that the university has invited him to become instructor in Church law."

"How excellent!" the Frenchman cried with real enthusiasm. "May I wait with you to meet the lucky young man?"

The two professors stood near the center of the plaza and the Frenchman said, "At the Sorbonne we look to Salamanca as the rugged, permanent defense of the faith. I think the preeminence of your university stems from its dedication to permanent truths. That was why this afternoon we were somewhat shocked to hear a professor from Salamanca raise the questions you did."

"On one point you're wrong," Palafox replied. "The preeminence of this university comes from its powerful dedication to the truth, and I'm trying to discover the changes our nations must make if they are to accommodate themselves to the discovery of the New World. Believe me, Europe will never again be as it was."

Even the hint of change was distasteful to the Frenchman and he dropped the subject, asking idly, "How many students do you teach at Salamanca now?"

"This year we shall have seven thousand," Palafox replied. "Hernan Cortes, as you probably know, attended our university and his fame has made us popular."

"Are these your sons?" the Frenchman asked as two young Spaniards, the older tall, austere and slim, the younger a robust fellow with an infectious smile, approached with the eagerness of young men who had so far experienced no major disappointments.

"Antonio! Timoteo!" Palafox called, and from their father's enthusiasm the Frenchman could see that the professor took unusual pride in his sons.

"The older boy's the priest?"

"Of course."

"And the younger one's to be a soldier?"

"In Spanish families that's the rule."

"Your father must be proud of you," the Frenchman said to the young men, and Palafox replied, "That I am. Are they not two fine fellows?"

The French scholar did not reply, for he was comparing the older son, Antonio, with the many young Frenchmen he had helped enter the ministry of Jesus Christ, and he quickly saw that Antonio Palafox was not cast in the predictable mold. But the young man would undoubtedly make an exceptional priest; he would never be a devout mystic dealing with the ultimate problems of his religion, nor a patient rural agent of the Church bringing his religion to peasants. More likely he would be a churchly administrator or a general-extraordinary of the Church's political wing. The Frenchman reflected: He's beginning as a professor. He'll end as either the emperor's adviser or the pope. After all, Borgia was pope, and he was from Spain.

When the introductions were completed, the French professor took Timoteo, the soldier-son, by the arm and said conspiratorially, "Your father has news of interest for your brother. Guide me to your home and we'll wait for them there."

As they departed, Professor Palafox suggested to Antonio, "Let us go to the plaza for some wine," and his son replied: "How unusual for you to suggest that. You've spent years advising us to steer clear of wine. Your news must be spectacular."

"It is," his father said as he led the way through Salamanca's ancient and narrow streets, down which had marched Roman soldiers and Carthaginians and Vandals and Moors. Finally Professor Palafox could keep his secret no longer and blurted out, 'Today it happened!"

"What did?"

"At a formal meeting, before convocation, you were chosen our next professor of Church law." To the older man's surprise, his son showed no excitement at the news, and there followed an embarrassing pause, which the professor tried to fill by repeating lamely, "... of Church law."

The two men were now in one of the narrowest alleys leading to the vast central plaza of the city, and the young priest stopped abruptly so that he blocked his father's progress, saying, "I can't take the professorship. I'm joining Cortes in Mexico."

Professor Palafox was stunned by the announcement. He tried to speak but felt himself choked not only by the oppressive alley walls and his son's blocking of the way but also by the upheavals of the age. He looked at his tall son and imagined the brilliant future the boy could win here at home: a professorship; association with scholars throughout Europe; a cardinal's cap; perhaps a preferment offered by the king. "Antonio," he cried, "your world is here. Let your brother go to Mexico."