Souls in Dispute. David L. Graizbord
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the latter half of the sixteenth century Spain1 was the undisputed superpower of Latin Europe. The rich overseas possessions of Philip II (1556–98) dwarfed those of other Christian monarchs, while his European territories, including the Netherlands, Sardinia, Sicily, and the Duchy of Milan, rendered the Spanish crown a formidable force in continental politics. Spanish primacy was nothing new. Much of western and central Europe had experienced it during the regime of the Habsburg emperor Charles V (Charles I of Castile, 1516–58). Toward the end of Philip’s reign, however, a series of political and military victories (notably the suppression of the Dutch revolt in 1567–70 and 1579, and the defeat of Ottoman forces at the immense battle of Lepanto in 1571) had made Spanish political preponderance especially palpable.2
From the point of view of this study, the most significant Spanish conquest of the late sixteenth century was the annexation of Portugal, which was completed in 1580. This crowning achievement of Spanish empire-building gave concrete political expression to an idea that had shaped the ambitions and institutional self-image of Ibero-Christian kings in the Middle Ages, during the long period of the reconquista. I am referring to the concept, more specifically the goal, of Hispania: a united peninsular kingdom ruled by Christians and rooted in a “pure” Visigothic heritage.3
The unrealistic fantasy of ethnic and cultural “purity” aside, there were several reasons that Spain’s annexation of Portugal could not achieve the politicocultural ideal that partially undergirded it, even if Philip II was the first Habsburg to use the official title “King of España” after the merging of the two countries. Chief among these reasons was that the political union had been triggered by a dynastic dispute, not by amicable agreement or by a natural, “Hispanic” affinity between the Spanish and Portuguese realms. Furthermore, the union had been forced: Two years after King Sebastian of Portugal was killed in a military expedition to northern Africa, his uncle Philip of Spain invaded Portugal with an army of 37,000 men. A brief war finally realized the Habsburgian claim to the empty throne.4
Spain did not assimilate Portugal completely. The culture of the western kingdom, for one, remained virtually independent. Far from trying to Castilianize his new domain, Philip even tried to learn the language of his Portuguese subjects.5 As for political autonomy, the Spanish state took over some functions of the Portuguese government but left many others in the hands of native elites. Brazil and lesser Portuguese colonies remained under Portuguese control, while Portugal itself experienced relatively little Spanish interference in the internal administration of the country. For example, the wide authority of the Spanish Inquisition never eclipsed that of the Portuguese Holy Office. The Portuguese tribunal enjoyed substantial autonomy throughout the years of Spanish rule, and thus was able to cultivate a notorious ferocity with relatively few constraints.
The annexation of Portugal demands our attention because it greatly accelerated a momentous shift in the geographic distribution of peninsular Judeoconversos. Although the precise dimensions of the shift are not clear, it is indisputable that hundreds and probably thousands of Lusitanian conversos crossed the Portuguese border into Castile, Aragon, and Navarre during the period of Spanish control (1580–1640). In Spain the immigrants became targets of persecution at various levels. Both the newcomers and their descendants fell within the purview of the Spanish Inquisition.
The migrations effectively revived anti-converso persecution in Spain at a time when such persecution was on the wane (trials against alleged crypto-Jews were still legion in Portugal during the middle to late sixteenth century, while in Spain such trials had become comparatively infrequent after the 1490s).6 Spanish Judeophobia now acquired a distinctly anti-“Portuguese” accent. Not surprisingly, many Lusitanian conversos and their Spanish descendants went into exile, the former for the second time in their lives. A great irony of these developments was that many of the newcomers had left Portugal in order to escape intense hostility and, in particular, to avoid inquisitorial scrutiny.
Given the prosecutorial zeal of Lusitanian inquisitors, it is no coincidence that the steady movement of Portuguese New Christians to Spain commenced in the 1540s, just as the newly created Portuguese Holy Office (established in 1536) gathered momentum.7 John (João) III and his successor, the ill-fated Sebastian (Sebastião), issued several bans against New Christian emigration. Yet a number of conversos were able to sidestep such restrictions and establish firm roots in Castile prior to 1580.8 After the Spanish annexation the flow of Lusitanian conversos to Spain increased considerably. A new freedom of movement between the previously separate countries afforded members of Portugal’s New Christian minority a sterling opportunity to build new lives as residents of Castile, Aragon, Navarre, and other Spanish domains. Philip III gave cristãos-novos an added incentive to move eastward when he granted them formal permission to leave their native soil in 1601. In exchange, he exacted a collective payment of 200,000 cruzados.9 Later, he negotiated with the pope to obtain a general pardon for those whom the Portuguese Inquisition had accused of Judaizing.10 Pope Clement VIII issued the exculpatory brief in 1604, prompting the release of 410 inquisitorial prisoners in Lisbon, Braganza, and Coimbra.11 The cost to Lusitanian conversos in this case was between 1,700,000 and 1,800,000 cruzados, a sum intended to compensate the crown for its loss of inquisitorial confiscations.12
Philip’s policies did not mean that he was friendly to Judeoconversos as such, but rather that his government looked upon Portuguese New Christians as eminently exploitable resources. To understand the royal approach, it is instructive to remember that Philip’s liberality came at a high price. What is more, the king’s relative generosity did not apply to Spanish conversos. Neither did it curb the activities of the Spanish Holy Office against Portuguese or any other defendants.
Royal favor made for good policy in a purely strategic sense. At the turn of the sixteenth century, Lusitanian conversos were reputed to possess considerable wealth, while the Spanish crown was experiencing financial difficulties. Although a majority of Portuguese conversos were far from affluent, their total assets, including the fortunes of a few powerful families, may have totaled up to 75 million ducats.13 In favoring religious amnesty and encouraging immigration, then, Philip sought to draw wealthy conversos toward the Habsburg court so that their economic activities and sheer assets would provide a healthy stimulus to the Spanish economy. Whether the stimulus proved healthy or not, Philip was entirely successful in catalyzing it.
Especially during the middle decades of the seventeenth century the crown tapped the fortunes of Portuguese conversos as a matter of course in order to replenish the coffers of the Spanish state. For some royal officers, bartering governmental concessions for ready cash became a matter of naked self-interest as much as a matter of national economic strategy. Thus, for example, Philip’s prime minister, the Duke of Lerma, received an unofficial gift of fifty thousand cruzados from moneyed conversos for his role in the negotiations that paved the way for the papal pardon of 1604. For their part, each of the members of the Royal Council for Portugal received sixty thousand cruzados.14
There is ample evidence that wealthy Judeoconversos took advantage of the royal aperture to Spain, especially after the coronation of Philip IV (1621–65), whose first prime minister, the Count-Duke Olivares, inserted a number of them into the monarchy’s financial and administrative machinery.15 These prominent hombres de negocios (businessmen) were very few, however, compared to the multitude of ordinary Portuguese conversos who flocked to Castile and Aragon upon the Spanish annexation. What drew the less affluent cristãos-novos to Spain?
As Yosef H. Yerushalmi has observed, Castile-Aragon was wealthier than Portugal, so the lure of economic opportunity must have been substantial to rich and poor cristãos-novos alike.16 From a legal and political standpoint, Spain was most attractive to Portuguese Judeoconversos because the Spanish Inquisition did not punish any crimes committed in Portugal against the Catholic faith—even if Spanish inquisitors did make use of evidence collected by their Portuguese colleagues when prosecuting the immigrants for religious crimes allegedly committed in Spain. Also, Spanish authorities seldom extradited Inquisitorial prisoners to Portugal.17 Finally, in Yerushalmi’s words, “relative to the fury of Inquisitorial persecution