What a day! I didn't travel 160 kilometers today, but I feel like today's work has made up for the three lost hours yesterday =D.
I called Peio last night before heading out for dinner. We arranged to meet this morning at 9 to talk about the English-language WIKI web site I made-- basically an English translation of the information on the AGN's web site. Other than an e-mail address change, he thought it looked awesome. Apparently none of my translations were so far off the mark that they required a correction. It was a pretty awesome affirmation.
At the end of our meeting, Peio gave me a copy of his latest book.
La Guerra de Navarra, 1512-1529: Crónica de la conquista espanola highlights the conquest and absorption of the Kingdom of Navarre (whose capital is Pamplona) into the Crown of Castile (the central kingdom which united with Aragón, Andalucía, Catalonia, and the other areas of the peninsula to form what we know as Spain. Peio said he thought the cover looked like a "beach book," despite it being a pretty serious (and politically charged) work of history. I assured him that I thought the cover was very emotional, as is appropriate for the topic. The cover art is a part of Manuel Picolo López's 19th-century painting La Batalla de Villalar, which was actually a battle in the Revolt of the Comuneros, but it conveys the same idea. I told him I thought the painting looked like Velásquez;s The Surrender of Breda except with conquerors who were much less gracious. Thinking back, maybe that was like saying "It's just like American Gothic except without the farmer and his daughter." Here's the Velásquez masterpiece:
In the center on the right, you have Ambrosio Spinola. Spinola was an Italian general in charge of the Spanish army who conquered Breda, an important fortified town in the southern Netherlands, after an 11-month siege. Spinola is graciously receiving the key to the city from Justin Nassau, the Dutch commander. While Velásquez definitely painted this to make Spinola look good, the terms of surrender at Breda are still regarded as extremely kind to the defeated Dutch. Spinola forbade the Spanish soldiers from mistreating or even jeering at the Dutch, and supposedly, he saluted Nassau as he received the key.
This painting is at the Prado, which I visited last Saturday; it's featured prominently on the first floor, opposite Las Meninas, another Velásquez masterpiece. Anyway, my point was: look at La Rendición de Breda, and then look at the painting on the cover of Peio's book. My first thought was, "I can tell who the defeated were in this painting."
But back to the book, and then back to my day. The book was first published last May, and it's already in its second edition. Apparently, it has been very well-received. I couldn't tell Peio enough how grateful I was to have a copy.
At the ADP, I worked on a few other trials. One was a pending trial that was quite short, and I got everything I needed from it (there wasn't much-- but the AGN will be able to fill in some of the holes). The trial involved Andres de Echeverria, a clockmaker who seemed to have trouble getting people to pay him for his work. In the 1660s, the town of Echarri-Aranaz refused to pay him for a clock, citing the low quality of the workmanship. The same town refused to pay him for various silver works he made for them in the late 1670s. Finally, the town of Piedramillera paid for some silver repairs (for the large cross and several chalices), only after being admonished to do so by the court. He sued Piedramillera in 1682 for not paying him for a clock. He brought that suit in the ecclesiastic court, and the case hadn't even reached the witness testimony stage when it suddenly terminates. But the full trial involving the silver works is at the AGN. Since the disputes overlap in their timeframe, there might be information about the clock in the AGN trial. I'm going to peruse it tomorrow morning.
I also was able to learn about all these Latin phrases that keep showing up in seemingly unrelated trials. It turns out that Spain still considered itself bound, in various ways, by Roman law, including the law "si convenerit de jurisdicione omnium judicum" ("the jurisdiction of all judges"). It seemed like, in almost all my trials, the parties renounce this law ("the jurisdiction of all judges"). I was just translating the phrase, not knowing it was an actual Roman law. It also seemed weird to me that it's like this law was written just so it could be renounced in so many cases.
It turns out that, according to the Justinian Code, no judge has the power to rule in a case outside his jurisdiction. Sounds reasonable enough. But, for instance, if a clockmaker from Estella signed a contract with the town of Echarri-Aranaz, and the town refused to pay, a judge in Echarri-Aranaz would have no power to adjudicate the case, because the clockmaker was from the jurisdiction of Estella. This basically meant that no judge ever had any power to make a ruling, since so many cases involved people from different jurisdictions. But, if the parties agreed to renounce this law (the law guaranteed that they could only be judged by a judge from their jurisdiction), then and ONLY then, the judge's ruling would have the force of a true judgment.
I found an explanation of this law in an instruction book for ecclesiastic scribe. It was in a list of renunciaciones. Again, the renouncement of this law was very common, so common that in this instruction book, the law is listed in the "Laws to Renounce" section.
At the AGN, I did a fair amount of transcribing and ordered my photocopies for tomorrow. I did some more work on my case involving the deprivation of a government office because the officeholder was reputed to be engaged in mechanical work. The officeholder's lawyer was very active. In fact, after the initial accusation, the trial record has no more entries by the plaintiffs. The defense lawyer enters a contradiction of the charges (saying that his client hasn't engaged in manual work since he was married, that he was a hidalgo, and everyone in the town knows what a diligent court official he is). I was able to read several of the witnesses testimony, and sure enough, most of them agreed that the man was an excellent official, and they had never known him to engage in the manual labor he had been accused of.
I also transcribed four or five other folios from another couple of trials, for which I was pretty proud of myself.
After the afternoon's work, Peio took me to Barasoain! The church was closed, but I got some good pictures, which I'll post later. No clock, unfortunately (I had suspected that it would be inside the church if it was even still there), but it was still awesome to see the beautiful town and to know I was walking where Don Antonio had walked. We even found a family coat of arms with the name "Rada" on the side of a house!
I feel like today's work was a good response to my unsureness of yesterday. I feel a lot better about what I've accomplished, and I think I'm in a good place with my defense TWO WEEKS AWAY!!! Wow, that just hit me! There won't be much time to rest once I return to the states =D.
Tomorrow I'll wrap up my work in the morning and meet Peio and his wife Maripat (a very nice Wisconsin expatriate) for cafe, head to the Renfe station and take the train back to Madrid.
I'll let y'all know when I get to Madrid safely!
¡Hasta luego!
-A
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