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5. Death


"All men are flesh," wrote Catalina Hurtando in the village of Baguena in 1571, as she drew up her last will and testament, "and thus are unable to escape bodily death." 1 Death—the demise of the body—was part of everyday life in Baguena and Burbaguena, and as evidence we have not only the written records of individual deaths, kept by the parish priests, but also the testaments of a number of villagers from both Baguena and Burbaguena. These records indicate that, even in death, residents of the villages remained a part of the larger community; they also reveal that the dead and dying in the Jiloca valley, whether old Christian or "newly converted," were mourned and buried in similar fashion.


Last Wills And Testaments


Part of preparing for death was making a written will, often with the help of the local notary, and filing it with him for safekeeping. 2 Why did villagers prepare a will? Some historians have suggested that, in this time period, the concept of stewardship was the primary reason for making a will: if the material goods of the world were a gift, or rather a loan, from God, then the will could return these goods to be used for a spiritual purpose. It was not until the late seventeenth century that concern for one's survivors entered the picture, with the proper disposition of goods among one's heirs coming to be understood as a moral obligation only by the eighteenth century. Philippe Aries cites a 1736 example of the ars moriendi genre, Méthode chrétienne pour finir saintement sa vie, as evidence of this newly understood moral obligation: "What does a sick man do when he sees that he is in danger of dying? He sends for a confessor and a notary." 3 It is true that earlier examples of the genre, printed in Aragon in the late 1400s, do not mention explicitly the necessity of making a will. Yet we see clear evidence, in the wills written in the following century in Baguena and Burbaguena, that making a will and setting one's affairs in order for one's heirs was considered a moral duty. The Art of Dying Well, published in Saragossa in 1493, lists prudence as the "first cardinal virtue," 4 and prudent villagers were expected to leave a will that would not only provide for the distribution of one's estate, but also would provide for the care of one's body and soul after death. It was, then, the action of a responsible community member of any substance to make a will and file it. If the deceased had not made a will it was worthy of comment in the parish registers, and the parish priest generally offered an explanation for this oversight on the part of one of his parishioners.


Poverty, Death and Financial Responsibility


Poverty is the explanation mentioned most frequently for dying intestate. In 1541, Miguel Salvador of Burbaguena made no provision for his burial or for masses for his soul because, as the priest noted in the record of his death, "he was poor." 5 Gomero, the new Christian shoemaker, who died almost twenty years later in Burbaguena, died intestate for the same reason; in this case, the priest himself donated twelve sueldos for burial and prayers. 6 In Baguena, Quiteria Abad, who died without a will in 1580, was buried as a pauper because, as the priest reported, "she was poor according to everyone." 7 In 1602 in the same town, the reason Maria Fabian had neglected to make a will was equally plain to the priest: "She made no will because she had nothing." 8 That the priest felt obligated to explain why no will was found in these cases tells us that making a will was indeed considered an important part of the process of dying.


One function of the will was to provide funds for one's burial and for masses and other prayers for one's soul. Wills in Baguena and Burbaguena rarely approached the extravagance of a will from fourteenth-century Teruel, which allotted payment to each person attending the funeral mass, 9 but most made provisions for payments for masses and prayers. At times, if the deceased, by neglecting to make a will, had not made provisions for these costs of death, someone related to him or her might be expected to pay for the costs of burial and masses. Thus, during the episcopal inspection, or visita, of 1550, the family of Maria Cortes and the wife of Juan Bravo were ordered to pay for the burial of their respective relatives. 10 When Juana Diaz died in Baguena in 1580 without a will, the priest authorized an expenditure of twenty sueldos, and obligated her husband Gabriel Molina to pay. 11 It was not always necessary to order the payment of funeral expenses. Sometimes, funds were given freely, as when the parish priest provided twelve sueldos for the burial of Gomero the shoemaker, a new Christian, or when Ana, a nursemaid from Castile, died and her employer financed the burial "for the love of God." 12 In 1570, Juan Roldan of Burbaguena covered the burial expenses of another new Christian, Blasco Azeytero, a laborer from Belchite. 13 Given what we know of the history of Al-Andalous, we might be tempted to see Roldan's actions as typical of an alfalqui of a century or so earlier, but then how would we explain the priest's actions in the burial of Gomero the "newly converted" shoemaker?


Occasionally, the funeral expenses of one of the poor were borne by the entire community instead of by one individual. In 1565 in Burbaguena, Gracia Agredenyo, a new Christian, lost her son; since Gracia was a widow with few resources, funeral expenses were borne by "the neighborhood." 14 This neighborhood, or barrio, was in all likelihood the old morerķa. The Muslim tradition of caring for widows and orphans is one possible explanation for this community burial, particularly since the neighborhood assumed the expense; but it seems to follow a pattern of community involvement for which there is ample evidence in both villages, on the part of old as well as new Christians. Consider, for example, the burial of a pauper from Cedrillas. The young man was buried on the left side of the chapel in the Baguena cemetery, at the town's expense, because, as the priest pointed out, he was the son of a widow. 15 He was also a stranger in Baguena, but care for the dead even extended to those who were not, strictly speaking, a part of the community. In Burbaguena, the village buried an indigent patient who died in the hospital, "for the love of God," with a contribution of five sueldos, and two masses were said for the repose of his soul. The priest left hopeful blanks in the parish register for the deceased's name and town, should they ever be learned; these remain blank, and the entry concludes with an out-of-the ordinary "Requiescat in pace." 16 In 1570, a poor man who died in Baguena was buried at the town's expense: "The people did what was their custom for the sake of his soul." 17 This custom continued. Later in the 1570s, Baguena buried Ramon de Inbier, a poor stranger, in the cemetery, gratis, 18 and in 1605 the town interred the aforementioned pauper from Cedrillas in the same cemetery. 19 Burial of the dead—residents and strangers, old Christians and the newly converted, those who had left wills and those who were too poor to provide for their own funeral—was a community obligation within Baguena and Burbaguena.


Provisions for Death and Burial


Of course, there were other reasons besides poverty for neglecting to leave a will, but in considering them we begin to see just how involved the larger community was in provisions for death and burial. When Maria Rillo of Baguena died, she left no will because she had died "far from her pueblo," distant not only from the town of Baguena, but also from the people who would have helped her with such an important activity. 20 Juan Gil de Castillo also died intestate, but was neither poor nor far from Baguena when he died. Rather than waiting until death to bequeath his property to his heirs, he had already given everything to his daughter Isabel and her husband, on the condition of their providing funds for his burial and for prayers after his death. 21


Those who did make a will before death followed a pattern standard in Aragon and throughout Europe, with provision for burial and masses to be said for one's soul appearing fairly early in the document. Wills were usually drawn up by notaries, 22 and in the Jiloca region typically began with a formulaic preamble, explaining why the will had been written and asserting that the maker was competent. Thus, Juana de Palencuela of Burbaguena, who made her will in 1570, began in a fairly straightforward fashion: "I am unwell in my person of a grave infirmity of which I fear I will die, but, thanks be to God, of sound mind, with solid memory and clear words...." 23 Catalina Hurtando, whose will was mentioned earlier, was quite direct about her reasons for making a will, 24 while the testament of Maria Perez Andres, the daughter of a notary, was somewhat more philosophical:


Since often human frailty, troubled by the thought of death, is less able to set out prudently to take care of things, it is commendable in the middle of one's life to dispose of and order one's belongings and affairs so that the judgment of reason can provide enlightenment—for all of these reasons let it be known that I, Maria.... 25

Maria thought it unnecessary to state that she was of sound mind, the will being proof ipso facto. In 1602, Domingo Sebastian even included St. Paul's comments on the doctrine of original sin as part of his will: "Because all of us will be judged at death for the sin of our first parents, or as the Apostle Saint Paul says statuta est omnibus hominibus...." 26


While the soul was typically left to the care of God 27 —who, one presumes, needed no further instructions—the care of the body after death was generally specified. Burial in a chapel or in the parish church might be requested. The custom of burying the dead within a space frequented by the living was of long standing in Mediterranean Europe. 28 In the second half of the sixteenth century, though, the church acted to restrict access to burial inside the church. The Council of Rouen, in 1581, permitted such burial only under limited circumstances. Those who could be buried within the church building included men who had dedicated their lives to God, such as priests and monks; anyone who had lived a distinguished life, including, surprisingly, those who had achieved worldly honors, since they were "ministers of God and the instrument of the Holy Spirit"; and those who were thought to have served the common good. All of these were entitled to burial within the church, according to the Council's ruling. 29 These categories appear to be fairly restrictive. In practice, however, at least in the Jiloca valley region, the wish for burial indoors could be granted easily if one's family was fortunate or wealthy enough to have its own chapel. Diego Andres and his wife Maria Villalba were both buried in their chapel. 30 "El Captain" Agustin Alberto de Cuevas had his own chapel, too, where he was buried in 1606. 31 All three of these burials took place in the early 1600s, after the Council of Rouen; it is possible that the church's action encouraged those who were able to do so to construct and maintain private chapels for burial.


Being a priest clearly warranted indoor burial, but being related to a priest was also helpful in securing a permanent resting place indoors. The body of Mossen Juan de Valencuela, a cleric in Teruel's cathedral, was returned to Burbaguena after his death for burial in the parish church. 32 In Baguena, Catalina Sanchez, whose son was Mossen Miguel Garcia, was buried at his side within the church. 33


It was also possible for anyone to request burial inside the church, especially if there were a precedent. Although Martin Molina of Baguena was not related to a priest, he asked, in his will, to be interred within the church near the altar of Santa Catalina, since his own father had been buried there. 34 But without your own chapel, and with no clerical connections, actually dying in the church—or being found there after death—might have been a more certain route to sheltered burial than a request expressed in a will. Antonia Royo died "suddenly in the church, standing in front of the altar with the crucifix." She was buried within the church. 35 In Baguena two years later, the body of Teresa del Villar, Domingo Ximeno's wife, was found under mysterious circumstances—mysterious enough, if fact, to warrant an inquest. The body, dressed in a Franciscan habit with a white veil over her face and a crucifix in her hand, was found in the chapel of Saint Brigid, part of the parish church. The priest buried her directly beneath the pew where she was found. 36


The explanation for a continuing desire to be buried within the church might be a desire for posthumous prestige, but I suspect that this wish for burial within the church has another explanation. Late sixteenth-century burial in Aragon, if it were not done inside a church, was not done, as it might have been in England or France, in a cemetery adjoining the church; instead, it was done in a cemetery at some distance from the church building. This was true in Burbaguena, as we shall see later; it was also true in the larger town of Teruel, to the south, where Santa Maria de Mediavilla became a cathedral church in the second half of the sixteenth century. Teruel's cemetery, on a hill above the town, was some distance from the cathedral, and legend had it that the ghosts of the dead made their way from the cemetery to the cathedral each morning, in order to be present as the community prayed. In both small and large communities of southern Aragon, the church was seen as a central meeting place for all members of the community, a community that was thought to include not only the living but also the dead. While communal prayer was one church activity, we must remember that the church building was used not just for church services, but also for civic functions like town meetings and, informally and much to the dismay of church authorities, for social or sporting events. If the dead were still seen as part of the community, then their desire to be laid to rest at the center of community activity, where they would be remembered and, in a sense, included in the continuing life of the village, becomes more easily understandable. We know that to be buried in one's own village, whether one was a villager by birth or by choice, was important. We have seen this with the return of Juan de Valencuela's body to Burbaguena from Teruel; 37 we also see it in the desire expressed in the will of the schoolmaster Rodrigo de Altamirando, to be buried "here in the place where I live." 38


Death as Unpredictable


Ideally, having made arrangements in advance for one's burial and for prayers for one's soul, and having provided for the division of one's property so that grieving relatives would not have the further distress of disputes over worldly goods, 39 one could confess on one's deathbed, receive the other sacraments, and die reconciled with God and with one's family. 40 But death sometimes had other plans. If the parishioners of Baguena and Burbaguena did not receive the sacraments before dying, it was most often because death had come quickly and unexpectedly. Thus Gil Gallen, who died quite suddenly 41; Francis de Aguerri the tile-maker, whose body was found beside a vent-shaft 42; Luis de Agreda, who fell to his death 43; and Pedro Fuentes, who was killed with one blow 44 —all died without confessing. Sometimes the deceased was found already dead, as were Hernando el Cartero, 45 Francis the tile-maker, 46 and Martin Millan. 47 Miguel Castillo woke in the middle of the night and fell; by morning it was too late. 48 The priest was sent for in order to hear the deathbed confessions of Pedro Vernon 49 and of young Miguel, a new Christian from Valle de Arador 50; in both cases he arrived after they died.


Death was, after all, unpredictable, although this fact was not always acknowledged. For those who were able to look ahead and anticipate their deaths, manuals on the art of dying were plentiful in sixteenth-century Europe. These books consider "the four last things"—death, judgment, heaven, and hell 51—and instruct a good Christian in how to spend his last moments. One example, Arte de bien morir, 52 published in Saragossa in the late 1400s, begins with a reflection comparing bodily death to the death of the soul. Citing the Philosopher, as Aristotle was known, as well as Saint Augustine and Saint Bernard, the author explains that the death of the soul is much more terrible than corporal death. It is the soul that these works are concerned with; the body of the dying individual is usually portrayed resting in his bed. This is not to say that death was seen as a peaceful experience. It was, in fact, a time of profound spiritual danger for the dying person, whose body became, in effect, a battleground in the war between good and evil, angels and demons, fought for the sake of the soul. In his or her last moments, a Christian could expect the devil to offer temptations against faith and towards despair, impatience, vainglory, greed, and other vices. The support of angels would allow a dying man to resist these temptations, according to the manuals. Various prayers were suggested as appropriate for the dying individual; if he could not speak, someone present could pray or recite devotional stories.


We have no evidence that the residents of the Jiloca valley were familiar with these manuals for how to die. Although a number of residents appear to have been literate, books are not listed among the treasured possessions bequeathed as a special gift, or gracia especial, to special friends or to children. While they might not have been familiar with the ars moriendi literature, these villagers knew from experience that not everyone died as depicted in Arte de bien morir, resting in bed. In Baguena or Burbaguena, one could also die suddenly and violently, like Pedro Fuentes, or alone in the fields, like the good Christian Martin Millan. Or, most troubling of all, one could die far too early, as an infant or a young child. Did the deaths of children matter in these villages? If the parish records are any indication, they did. Death was oppressively and unavoidably present in the summer of 1611 in Baguena, when the parish priest, pausing after recording the deaths of another ten children, added wearily, "That makes forty-eight children dead so far this year." 53 One might acknowledge the risk of death by prudently assuming that it was possible that none of your children would survive, as Francisca Jofre de Heredia did. Francisca left her property to her husband and to her daughters. If all of these died, the daughters' husbands would inherit, and if they, too, were deceased, Francisca assigned her brother, Miguel, to distribute her goods among whatever family was left. 54 That Francisca would consider this possibility tells us that villagers were conscious of the fragility of life. Prudence and foresight only went so far—the hour of one's own death was unknown, and the good death in one's bed, with children and friends in the room, was far from certain.


Aggregate Patterns of Death


This pattern—death as arbitrary, unpredictable, and ultimately uncontrollable—is mirrored by the figures for aggregate deaths in the Jiloca valley in the second half of the sixteenth century. Far from being uniform, they vary widely, showing the effects of the unpredictable and uncontrollable. For Baguena there were clearly two real crises: one in 1580, when 52 people died in one year, at least 8 of whom were children; and another, far more severe, in 1611, when 74 individuals died, 63 of whom were children. In Burbaguena, with a larger population than that of Baguena, there were a larger number of small crises, and one, early in the 1570s, significant enough to cause the parish priest to comment on the number of deaths in writing.


While the record of deaths alone clearly shows crisis points, both minor and major, which impacted each town, it is only when we consider the effects of these deaths on the towns' ability to grow that the seriousness of the problem becomes clear.


In modern times, we expect a healthy economy to show a sustained growth rate. In pre-modern times, with work being labor-intensive and cities net consumers of population, 55 small villages like Baguena and Burbaguena "grew" people as well as wheat and wine for the cities. In the absence of an indigenous source for labor, immigration might contribute, 56 but in most of Western Europe economic growth went hand in hand with population growth. In fact, according to the early political economists, without sufficient population a country would be incapable of producing wealth: as Jean Bodin wrote at this time, "There are neither riches nor power without men." 57 This was as true for Spain as it was for Bodin's France. For Baguena and Burbaguena—and Aragon—to prosper, the villages needed to produce a population surplus.


In Baguena and Burbaguena in the sixteenth century, birth rates were low, but this is not a surprise; in fact, birth rates were low for most of pre-modern Europe. But, when we look at the figures for births together with those for deaths, we begin to understand what was happening demographically in these villages.


If each village was isolated and self-sufficient—that is to say, a demographer's dream—then the low net production implied by the birth and death rates might be sufficient. But we know that there was migration out of the villages. At times, a couple married and then vanished; occasionally, an individual abandoned his town citizenship and moved to another location. Certainly, students left to study elsewhere.


The villages themselves compensated for this out-migration, at least in part, by reaching out to marriage partners in even more distant locations, and thus creating a counter-flow of migration into the village. Were these new spouses from outside the village enough to compensate for out-migration losses? We may never know, because the results of migration, both from "settlers" in the village and from temporary residents, complicate all of these measurements. For example, consider the case of Ana, the nursemaid. Ana, mentioned earlier in this chapter, was from Castile, which was another country according to the Aragonese in the sixteenth century. Thus far, we have not even discussed migration into these villages for occasional labor and trade, although there are indications that such casual migration was substantial. On the other hand, we know about Ana because her death was recorded, and so was included in the count of deaths for Baguena in 1607, even though we might not have included her in a population count for the village that year.


While the difficulty of measuring migration accurately limits what we can say about the populations of Baguena and Burbaguena, we can conclude, with a fair amount of certainty, that the combination of low birthrates and periodic crises of mortality did not result in a sustained and steady population growth of the type considered necessary, even by early political economists, for economic development. While Baguena and Burbaguena were small villages, the importance of population growth in such villages to the history of Aragon, and to Spain, is unmistakable. It was at the village level that Jean Bodin's human wealth needed to be produced if Spain was to continue to be powerful.


The Archbishop's Recommendations


But this dimension of death was not one that we see reflected in the records of the villages. Death was surrounded with ceremony and ritual, and thus far we have considered how villagers, in their wills, arranged for the performance of these rituals—the burial, the prayers, the distribution of assets—and thus provided for both body and soul after death. But the villagers were not the only ones interested in the rites of death.


The Archbishop of Saragossa focused upon certain aspects of death and burial during his periodic site reviews, or visitas, within the Jiloca valley. Death for the church was a solemn moment, marking the entry of the soul into eternity, and these two villages seemed far too matter-of-fact about death to these visitors from the city. There was, for example, the problem of the cemetery in Burbaguena. Built above the town, it must have been on the route to pastures. In his written recommendations, the archbishop suggested that Burbaguena "close off the cemetery, the front part with walls and the back part with gates or pieces of wood in the ground ... so that the animals can't pass through the said cemetery and profane it...." 58


Apparently not only livestock had been walking among the graves of Burbaguena's dead, because, during this same visita, children were strictly forbidden to play in the cemetery. 59 The living and the dead resided comfortably together in Burbaguena, but the metropolitan church frowned upon this. The body might return to dust according to church teaching, but the cemetery, the resting place of these bodies, 60 was to be accorded a measure of respect.


Although walling the cemetery, and declaring it off-limits to animals and children, might be seen as an attempt to impose city customs upon the villages, some of the other suggestions from the hierarchy in Saragossa merit closer examination. The most significant "ordering" of the villages occurred within the parish registers, where new Christian parishioners were almost invariably classified as "nuevo convertido" when the notation of their death was entered. 61 The parish registers, maintained by the parish priest, were ultimately the responsibility of the diocese, and the metropolitan church, at least at the moment of death, saw old and new Christians as two distinct groups within the villages. Inquisition officials in Daroca went even further, requiring that the parish priest keep separate accounts for the Easter duty for old Christian and new Christian parishioners. 62 That the Inquisition and the metropolitan church in Saragossa had to make specific orders in this regard tells us that such segregation, in life or in death, was not normal or customary in Baguena or Burbaguena.


More could be done by the Saragossa visitors in terms of "ordering" the bodies of the dead resting in the cemeteries of Baguena and Burbaguena (which were in no position to protest, in any case) than could be done to regulate the souls of the dying. If some of the parishioners, whether old Christian, like Martin Millan, or newly converted, like Miguel de Valle de Arador, died without the sacraments, one could ignore the unpredictable conditions of their deaths, and lay the blame at the feet of the parish priest. He was, after all, on the front lines in the battle for the dying man's soul. Thus, pointing out in writing to Baguena's parish priest that the moment of death was most critical for his parishioners, and indicating that the rumor in the village was that the priest had been less than helpful in this regard, 63 the archbishop ordered that anyone who was ill confess at least once a day, and that the priest administer the sacrament of the dying to him at this time. Further, he was to instruct the other priest to do the same. The church could at least provide the City of God with a steadily growing population.


So, on the one hand, the people of the towns along the Jiloca went about their lives, burying their dead—children, young people, and the aged; praying together for their souls; and grazing the sheep or playing among their physical remains. And, on the other hand, the archbishop and his representatives—from the city of Saragossa, prosperous and urbane in the second half of the sixteenth century 64—mandated that the people of the Jiloca valley order their cemeteries, their dying, and their view of one another in accordance with Saragossa's categories. Where our villagers saw one community, Saragossa and the Inquisition saw two: one old Christian, one "newly converted." Like the angels and demons in the early illustrations from the Art de bien morir, the parishes and the metropolis stood on opposite sides of this issue, viewing the body politic of Baguena and Burbaguena—and of Aragon—in profoundly different ways.



Note 1: "... todo persona en carne pues la demurre corporal escapar no pueda...." AMC, PN Baguena, 59, December 4, 1571.  Back.

Note 2: The notarial protocols of Baguena remain under the direct supervision of the present town notary of Calamocha. In some of Baguena's notarial protocols, I encountered wills from the sixteenth century with the seal intact.  Back.

Note 3: Philippe Aries, The Hour of our Death (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981), 196.  Back.

Note 4: Arte de bien morir y breve confesionario (Saragossa: Pablo Hurus, c.1479-84, reprint edition Barcelona: Media Maravedi, 1999).  Back.

Note 5: "... era pobre." AHDT, Burbaguena, 1541.  Back.

Note 6: AHDT, Burbaguena, 1560.  Back.

Note 7: "... era pobre segun la relacion de todas." AHDT, Baguena, December 6, 1580.  Back.

Note 8: "... no hizo testamento por no tener de que..." AHDT, Baguena, November 30, 1602.  Back.

Note 9: AIC Teruel, pergaminos.  Back.

Note 10: AHDT, Burbaguena, visita 1550.  Back.

Note 11: AHDT, Baguena, March 15, 1580.  Back.

Note 12: "... por amor de Dios." AHDT, Baguena (May 2, 1607).  Back.

Note 13: AHDT, Burbaguena (June 1, 1570).  Back.

Note 14: "... viuda y de poca." AHDT, Burbaguena (February 24, 1565).  Back.

Note 15: AHDT, Baguena (December 28, 1605).  Back.

Note 16: AHDT, Burbaguena (April 14, 1585).  Back.

Note 17: "... hizo el pueblo por su anima como es costumbre." AHDT, Baguena (April 28, 1570).  Back.

Note 18: AHDT, Baguena, 1574.  Back.

Note 19: AHDT, Baguena (December 28, 1605).  Back.

Note 20: "... fuera del pueblo." AHDT, Baguena, 1557.  Back.

Note 21: AHDT, Baguena (October 15, 1569).  Back.

Note 22: There are exceptions. In 1611, for example, Geronimo Felipe wrote a holographic will and filed it with the notary. AMC, PN Baguena, 147.  Back.

Note 23: "... estando enferma de mi persona de grave enferma de la qual temo morir pero dios gracias en bien seso firme memoria y palabra manifesta...."AMC, PN Baguena, 92 (June 1, 1570).  Back.

Note 24: AMC, PN Baguena (December 4, 1571).  Back.

Note 25: "Como la humana fragilidad muchas veces con el pensamiento de la muerte turbada menos prudencia pueda alcanzar en las cosas hazer levase sea saludable de medio acaldeno disponer y ordenar de sus bienes y hazienda en el entie tanto que el juycio de la razon se alumbra—por tanto sea manifesto que yo, Maria...." AMC, PN Baguena, 93 (August 20, 1571).  Back.

Note 26: "Como por el pecado de nos primeros padres todo seamos jugetos a la muerte como lo dize el Apostol San Paulo statuta est omnibus hominibus...." AMC, PN Baguena, 123.  Back.

Note 27: For example, the will written by Geronimo Felipe of Baguena: "Encomiendo a dios mi alma y a la virge Sancta Maria madre suio, y a todos los santos de la corte celestial...." AMC, PN Burbaguena, 147 (September 2, 1611). My soul I commend to God and to his mother the holy virgin Mary and to all the saints of the celestial court...  Back.

Note 28: Aries (1981), 29.  Back.

Note 29: Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, vol. 34, col. 648, in Aries (1981), 109.  Back.

Note 30: AHDT, Burbaguena (June 5, 1601), 341; (January 28, 1608), 362v.  Back.

Note 31: AHDT, Burbaguena (June 4, 1606), 354.  Back.

Note 32: AHDT, Burbaguena (December 10, 1607), 362  Back.

Note 33: AHDT, Baguena (December 29, 1593).  Back.

Note 34: AMC, PN Baguena, 71.  Back.

Note 35: "Repentina en la eglesia estando delante el altar del crucifixo." AHDT, Burbaguena (November 20, 1594), 327.  Back.

Note 36: AMC, PN Baguena, 72 (November 4, 1596). It was not unusual for a layperson to specify burial in religious dress; for a discussion of this tradition in early modern Spain, see Carlos Eire, From Madrid to Purgatory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 105-113.  Back.

Note 37: AHDT, Burbaguena (December 10, 1607), 362.  Back.

Note 38: AMC, PN Baguena 136.  Back.

Note 39: That the desire to avoid such disputes was the principal reason for written orders concerning the division of property is stated explicitly in most wills. Property was generally left to the spouse or the children. See, for example, the will of Francisca Jofre de Heredia of Baguena, AMC, PN Baguena, 69 (January 9, 1588). Francisca left all of her goods to her two daughters and to her husband: if all were to die, and the daughters had no surviving husbands, Miguel Jofre was to distribute everything among their brothers and sisters.  Back.

Note 40: For one example of such an ordered and peaceful death, see the conclusion of the second book of Don Quixote.  Back.

Note 41: AHDT, Burbaguena (October 26, 1599).  Back.

Note 42: AHDT, Burbaguena I, 240v (March 9, 1572).  Back.

Note 43: AHDT, Burbaguena (July 8, 1606).  Back.

Note 44: AHDT, Baguena (November 23, 1596).  Back.

Note 45: AHDT, Burbaguena (May 25, 1609).  Back.

Note 46: AHDT, Burbaguena (March 9, 1572).  Back.

Note 47: AHDT, Burbaguena I (November 16, 1565). Martin was found dead in the fields (los prados). His godmother testified that he had a reputation as a good Christian.  Back.

Note 48: AHDT, Burbaguena (December 26, 1604).  Back.

Note 49: AHDT, Burbaguena (January 29, 1620).  Back.

Note 50: AHDT, Burbaguena (July 7, 1561).  Back.

Note 51: These four last things are illustrated in Breughel's painting of the seven deadly sins, now in the Prado Museum in Madrid. The sins are shown in a circle in the center of the painting, with the four last things at the four corners of the work. Note that, in this work, Breughel shows the dying individual in bed.  Back.

Note 52: Arte de bien morir y breve confesionario, op. cit.  Back.

Note 53: AHDT, Baguena (July 16, 1611).  Back.

Note 54: AMC, PN Baguena, 69 (January 9, 1588).  Back.

Note 55: Michael W Flinn, The European Demographic System (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981)  Back.

Note 56: See Jordi Nadal, La Poblacion espanola (siglos XVI a XX) (Barcelona: Ariel, 1984).  Back.

Note 57: "Il n'y a richesse ni force que d'hommes," De la Republique (Paris, 1578), in Mols, Introduction a la demographie historique des villes d'Europe de XVI au XVII siècle. (Louvain 1955.)  Back.

Note 58: "... cerrar el cimetario por parte de arriba de tapias y por parte baxa de puerta/o/piecas de Madera en tierra ... por q[ue] no pueda[n] passar las bestias por el dicho cemetario y profanerlo...."AHDT, Burbaguena I, 206.  Back.

Note 59: AHDT, Burbaguena I, 206v.  Back.

Note 601: As discussed above, not all of the villagers were buried in the cemetery; some were interred within the parish church, or in private chapels.  Back.

Note 61: This notation did not appear on most records of marriage. See the section on marriage.  Back.

Note 62: Accounting for the Easter duty became a point of disagreement between parish priests in Burbaguena and other authorities. See the section on outsiders for local attempts to reframe the old Christian-Morisco division imposed upon the villages.  Back.

Note 63: AHDT, Baguena I, 242.  Back.

Note 64: By the early 1600s, visitors were noting in their remarks in the parish registers that they came from the "metropolitan" church in Saragossa.  Back.


Like Wheat to the Miller: Community, Convivencia, and the
Construction of Morisco Identity in Sixteenth-Century Aragon