[3] In twentieth-century Spain, the army has been an active agent of political crisis and change. The explanation for this phenomenon lies as much with the weakness of civilian governments as with the inclination of the military to intervene. The pattern began at the turn of the century. Their confidence shaken by a humiliating defeat in the War of 1898 and by the loss of the remnants of the colonial empire, Spain's ruling elites were unable to respond positively to the national demand for political reform or to the rising strength of groups previously excluded from the Restoration settlement of 1875. Instead, they turned to the army to maintain the status quo. In this fashion, the army, as the tacit guarantor and privileged beneficiary of the Restoration system, was drawn into the struggle to reshape Spanish political life.
 
The Restoration Settlement
 
The emergence of the army as an independent political factor contrasted sharply with its quiescence during the last quarter of the nineteenth century. The architect of the Restoration system, Antonio Cánovas del Castillo, had been obsessed by the necessity of "returning the army to the barracks," especially since the restored Bourbon monarchy owed its existence to the military pronunciamiento of General Arsenio Martínez Campos in December 1874. Encouraged by the weakness of civil institutions and by the proclivity of civilian politicians to seek military support, the army had been the moderating power in Spain for most of a century. As a result, in 1875 the officer corps was heavily politicized, burdened with factionalism, and dangerously tolerant of insubordination. Cánovas correctly perceived that a successful [4] remedy must be at once political and military: the new political regime must be stable enough to function without military intervention, and military policy must encourage the development of a professional, politically neutral officer corps.
 
The first step was the creation of a political system that could function without the aid of military pronunciamientos. Under the Isabelline monarchy, the absence of an educated electorate and the refusal of the Crown to recognize the legitimacy of the Progressive opposition had robbed parliamentary government of its natural dynamics, making appeals to military force irresistible. Cánovas could not manufacture an educated public; he did, however, create a system that could function without the aid of the army by providing for the peaceful and automatic rotation of two parties in office--the turno pacífico. ⁽¹⁾ Replacing the army as the moderating power between the parties was the king, who was given the right to dissolve the Cortes and to appoint a new prime minister. Once in office, the prime minister called elections in order to construct a parliamentary majority.
 
There was no risk involved in the elections, which were "made" from Madrid by the Minister of the Interior with the aid of local notables and party bosses known as caciques. ⁽²⁾ In rural areas, voter apathy, along with the influence of the cacique, insured an uncontested victory; in the cities, where urban workers and lower-middle-class radicals were likely to be less manageable, bribes, falsifications, and violence provided majorities for the first twenty years of the regime. An admittedly cynical method for achieving rotation in office, it was nonetheless effective in a society in which political immaturity and illiteracy made a mockery of parliamentary democracy.
 
Moreover, Cánovas's system included the most important political, economic, and social forces in Spain in 1875. Suspicious as he was of liberalism, Cánovas recognized the need to open the system to all political groups willing to accept the dual sovereignty of king and Cortes. While his Conservative party appeased Neo-Catholics on the right, the Liberals of Práxedes Mateo Sagasta attracted the hostile forces on the left by incorporating the so-called liberal conquests into the constitution: universal suffrage, freedom of association, civil marriage, and trial by jury. By the 1890s, only the ultraconservative Carlists, the working classes and the regionalists remained outside the Restoration settlement.
 
Carlism was fighting a losing battle against history; organized labor and regionalism were still only embryonic movements. Cánovas claimed his system represented all the "live forces" in Spain, and in all fairness, it did. Critics complained that the Cortes favored the interests [5] of Andalusian landowners, Castilian wheat growers, and the civil and military bureaucracies, but this, while true, meant only that the Restoration system accurately reflected the dominant economic and social forces of a still underdeveloped agricultural and financier economy, whose feeble middle classes were dependent on the state for their position and income. In a largely traditional society, caciquismo and party rotation (the turno) provided stable government by eliminating internal conflict among the ruling elites. In a crude way, caciquismo also allowed for a measure of local control in an otherwise highly centralized regime.
 
This system largely removed the opportunities for military intervention in politics. But equally important to the success of the Canovite system was the curbing of the army's long-standing disposition to intervene. The army's inclination toward political activism sprang from two sources. One was the political ambitions of the senior generals, who had exploited civilian weakness to further their own careers. The other, and more important, source of praetorianism was the professional dissatisfaction within the lower ranks of the officer corps, where support for rebellious generals sprang from a desire for promotions and higher salaries. The inherent weakness of the Restoration civil-military settlement was that it removed the first, but not the second, of these potential sources of disruption.
 
Cánovas accommodated the political generals without violating the principle of civilian rule by incorporating them into the party system that controlled the parliamentary monarchy. The linchpin in the institutional framework that united the army, the government, and the Crown was the Minister of War. The appointment always followed the turno, each party placing its most trusted generals in this key position of patronage and power. The other politically sensitive military posts also reflected party politics, thus assuring domestic tranquility and a turnover in patronage spoils.
 
The Constitution of 1876 also provided for political participation by officers in both the Congreso de los Diputados and in the Senate. Army and navy officers of all ranks were eligible for election to the Congress, while membership in the Senate was restricted to senior officers. All officers with the rank of captain general (the highest rank in the army) or admiral (the corresponding rank in the navy) were members of the Senate by right; ⁽³⁾ lieutenant generals and vice-admirals were eligible for appointment to lifetime Senate seats or could run for election. A Senate seat represented the culmination of a political career often initiated by election to a safe seat in the Congress, the parties' reward for political loyalty.

Another institutional link between the king and the army was the Military Household, an official body of officers in personal service to the king. Created by royal decree on March 29, 1875, as an advisory body during the Carlist war, the Household soon became an honorific repository for the aristocracy, members of the military dynasties, and officers whose exploits in Morocco had caught the eye of the king. ⁽⁸⁾ Because he controlled military access to the king, the head of the Military Household (a captain general or lieutenant general) wielded considerable power within the court. Between 1915 and 1930, governments used the office to separate politically controversial officers from active commands without damaging their prestige or offending their dignity. ⁽⁹⁾ Like the Cortes, however, the Military Household did not provide representation for the anonymous bulk of the officer corps, who tended to view the palaciegos in the Household with envy and resentment.
 
The contacts between the Crown and the senior hierarchy were not merely institutional. Between 1875 and 1923, the leading political generals were granted titles of nobility, as part of the general consolidation of new and old elites that characterized the Restoration. ⁽¹⁰⁾ A lesser distinction conferred by the king was that of gentleman of the chamber, [8] a purely honorific title used to single out junior officers, sometimes of modest social origins, for special favor and attention. ⁽¹¹⁾ Above all, both Alfonso XII, the "soldier-king," and his son surrounded themselves with military companions, with whom they shared professional and personal interests. Both the institutional and the personal contacts between the king and the army were useful in binding the military to the parliamentary monarchy. They also encouraged the army to look to the throne rather than to the Cortes to further its interests and protect its privileges. In the peaceful years of the Restoration, the danger was not perceived; later, the alliance would prove fatal.
 
By the mid-1880s all the leading generals had been reconciled to the regime. The days of the pronunciamiento seemed over for good. In reality, however, political neutralization of the army depended not only upon the integration of the generals into the political system, but also upon the elimination of professional dissatisfaction among the lower ranks of the officer corps. Professionalization -- in particular, rationalization of the military bureaucracy and a guarantee of institutional autonomy over internal matters -- was the key to military respect for civilian authority. Yet Cánovas could not countenance the thoroughgoing professionalization of the officer corps. In the first place, radical reduction of the inflated military bureaucracy would have eliminated career opportunities for thousands of middle-class officers whose loyalty to the state ultimately rested on its reliability as an employer. ⁽¹²⁾ Even though modernization of the army's equipment and training was contingent upon personnel cutbacks, no serious reform was contemplated for fear of damaging vested interests. ⁽¹³⁾ In the second place, institutional autonomy was incompatible with the incorporation of the politicized senior hierarchy into the Restoration settlement. Promotions and appointments were determined by political, rather than professional, criteria because, like its political counterpart, the military turno was based on influence and patronage. Cánovas avoided professionalization of the new officer corps for fear of diminishing military loyalty to the new regime. Ironically, his policy only encouraged professional dissatisfaction and thus, a tendency toward insubordination among the officer corps as a whole.
 
First Signs of Praetorianisrn
 
Until the 1890s elite consensus and the weakness of the opposition guaranteed the stability of the Restoration settlement. But after the turn of the century, the system became increasingly dysfunctional. [9] The domestic tranquility of the Restoration years had encouraged the growth of industry and commerce, ironically enlarging the social and economic groups originally excluded from the Canovite system, whose political failure lay less in its initial disposition than in its inflexibility once conditions had changed. Jealous of their prerogatives and comfortably attached to the benefits of electoral manipulation, the agrarian and financial oligarchy was hostile to the legitimate claims of emerging economic interests, while at the same time disturbed by the growing ineffectiveness of caciquismo in the urban areas. The repercussions of the Spanish-American War of 1898 intensified their confusion, for the loss of the empire shocked the usually apathetic middle classes out of their indifference to political issues. After 1898, the parties tried to assume the leadership of the regenerationist movement. But there was no consensus, in the nation or within the parties, as to the direction reform should take. Their former self-confidence shattered by defeat and mounting criticism, the dynastic parties took refuge in their control over the instruments of political power. Instead of broadening the system to include the new politically significant groups, they responded to the challenge of regionalism and organized labor with repression. In this way the stage was set for a return to the pronunciamiento politics of the early nineteenth century, when the intransigence of the ruling elites had forced the opposition into revolution and the army into politics.
 
Political instability was enhanced by the collapse of the rotation system that had regulated Spanish politics since the 1880s. The assassination of the Conservative leader Cánovas in 1897, followed by the death of the Liberal party chief, Sagasta, in 1902, left both dynastic parties leaderless at a moment when public opinion was demanding regeneration and reform. Struggles over succession sapped already feeble party energies without producing uncontested leadership for either of them. They also fostered cabinet instability and the subordination of policy to politics. ⁽¹⁴⁾ Symptomatic of the breakdown of party discipline -- and ultimately of the disintegration of the political consensus resting on apathy and ignorance -- was the growing tendency of governments to govern by decree. When real leadership for both parties finally emerged -- Antonio Maura for the Conservatives and José Canalejas for the Liberals -- it was short-lived; Maura was destroyed by political intransigence (not only the opposition's, but his own), Canalejas was cut down by an assassin's bullet. By 1913 the regenerationist impulse had been dissipated, both parties were divided, demoralized, and discredited, and the alienation of much of the country from the political process was greater than ever.
 
[10] The failure to broaden the base of support for the parliamentary regime magnified the power of the army, which exercised its leverage to increase its privileges and to protect itself from military reform. The symbiotic relationship between the army and the dynastic politicians grew out of their common antagonism to social and economic modernization. Both the Conservative and the Liberal parties represented landowners in Andalusia and New Castile whose interests were opposed to those of the industrial and commercial bourgeoisie in the port cities in the north and east. In addition, they served as sources of patronage and employment for the underemployed urban middle class. The similar social base of the two great parties discouraged their adoption of social reforms; both parties remained unsympathetic to the demands of the urban and rural working classes. The officer corps was recruited largely from petty bourgeois and bureaucratic middle sectors whose survival was threatened by economic development. ⁽¹⁵⁾ As a result, officers tended to view demands for political democratization or social reform as destructive of a political and social system that guaranteed their own status and security.
 
If the military's violent response to the challenge of both regionalism and organized labor grew largely out of self-interest, it was also emotional and ideological. Deeply humiliated by the defeat of 1898, the officer corps entered the twentieth century with "the conviction that they would never be useful for anything." ⁽¹⁶⁾ Military literature of the day exalted war and martial values as the means by which nations and the human race eliminated "the weak or the poorly constituted," ⁽¹⁷⁾ but for Spanish officers there was little realistic hope of another war in which to earn individual or collective redemption. Eager to be of service to the nation, they increasingly saw themselves as the defenders of a nation endangered by the divisive effects of regionalism and class conflict. As the "guardian of all the values and historical constants of the people," the army was a national institution uniquely qualified to protect the unity of the Fatherland. ⁽¹⁸⁾ By extending this line of reasoning, an attack on the army became, ipso facto, an attack on the nation itself. The antimilitarism characteristic of both regionalistic and labor movements was thus evidence of lack of patriotism, if not treason. The army's extreme response to the protest of regionalism and labor limited the flexibility of the dynastic parties, which, when forced to choose between appeasing the army or the protesters, invariably chose the former. Thus an already rigid political system became even less capable of evolution.
 
From the War of 1898 to the pronunciamiento of General Primo de Rivera in 1923, the army displayed a growing tendency to take matters [11] into its own hands whenever the civilian politicians faltered in their determination to preserve the status quo. In the nineteenth century, military intervention in politics had been prompted by the personal and political ambitions of individual officers and their factions. In the twentieth century, the army would intervene as an injured institution, demanding redress for professional and political grievances while invoking a national ideal. The turbulent years of the new century exposed the flaw in the Canovite solution to the military problem -- its reliance on a political consensus to guarantee the neutrality of the army. As the appearance of political dissent after 1898 made the appeasement of military demands more difficult, the army showed its willingness to resort to force -- or the threat of it -- to retain its favored position in the state.
 
The Army, Regionalism, and the Law of Jurisdictions
 
Military antagonism to political decentralization contributed to the prolonged isolation of the Spanish bourgeoisie from the parliamentary monarchy. It also encouraged regionalists to focus their general animosity toward the Spanish state on the army. This mutual hostility mounted to a climax in 1906, when disgruntled junior officers successfully pressured the Liberal government into passage of the "Law of Jurisdictions," which gave the army the right of censorship over journalistic attacks on its collective honor. For twenty-five years, the law insulated the army from criticism and generally limited the free expression of political and social dissent. Its approval by the Cortes in 1906 reflected the lack of self-confidence among the political elites in Madrid and marked the first major intrusion of the army into civilian politics in the twentieth century.
 
Spanish liberalism had always been crippled by the lack of a large and vigorous industrial bourgeoisie. But by 1900 three significant commercial and industrial regions had arisen on the periphery of the nation -- in Catalonia, where textiles and light industry predominated; in the Basque provinces, home of the iron and steel industries; and in Asturias, a commercial and mining center. The industrial bourgeoisie might have attempted the creation of a third national party to challenge the hegemony of the predominantly agrarian Conservatives and Liberals of the center. But they were deflected by the seeming inviolability of the cacique system and by the emergence, in the 1890s, of local movements for regional autonomy, which had grown out of the romantic nationalism of the mid-nineteenth century. Regionalism, especially [12] Catalanism, received a boost when the loss of Cuba and the Philippines closed the protected markets for the essentially uncompetitive Catalan textiles. ⁽¹⁹⁾ The failure of the government and the army to defend Spain's colonial markets seemed to confirm what regionalists had argued all along: that union with the center hindered rather than furthered the development of Catalonia.
 
Extensive peripheral resentment of the political hegemony of the center did not necessarily guarantee effective opposition. The protest of the bourgeoisie was weakened rather than strengthened by regionalism, which obstructed a national political alliance. Basques and Catalans divided their allegiance and their energy, while the Asturian bourgeoisie began to gravitate toward moderate republicanism. Furthermore, regionalists were separated by political and economic goals. In Catalonia, for example, the bourgeoisie wanted administrative autonomy and a higher tariff, along with political hegemony at home and a share of power in Madrid. The lower middle class, however, was divided into a minority of left Republicans and a much more potent majority of antiregionalist Radical Republicans, whose leader, Alejandro Lerroux, combined democratic radicalism with a fundamental social conservatism. The urban working class, increasingly composed of peasants from outside Catalonia, was indifferent to regionalism altogether.
 
Perhaps because they had accurately gauged the weakness of the opposition, the dynastic politicians were prepared to tolerate, if not encourage, the manifestations of Catalan and Basque nationalism that followed the loss of the overseas empire. But the army found the rhetorical excesses of the more ardent regional patriots intolerable. In May 1902 irate officers attacked Basque demonstrators in Bilbao and arrested three civilians for insulting the flag in Barcelona. In November officers entered the University of Barcelona in pursuit of Catalan students protesting a recent decree on instruction in Castilian, wounding several students and one of the deans in the process. ⁽²⁰⁾ Although these confrontations clearly violated the civil rights of the protesters, the Liberal government took no action, preferring to offend the regionalists rather than the army. ⁽²¹⁾ This inhibition amounted to a license for military indiscipline, issued by a government unsure of the army's loyalty while at the same time dependent on it to maintain the status quo. The precedent was thus set for the ¡Cu-cut! affair of 1905 and the Juntas de Defensa of 1917.
 
Regionalist antimilitarism was most pronounced in Catalonia, where the Catalanist press delighted in heaping a steady stream of abuse on the army. When regionalist candidates triumphed in the [13] Barcelona municipal elections of November 1905, the friction between the local garrison and the more radical separatists began to threaten public order. In Madrid, antiregionalist and pro-military groups in the Cortes pressured the Liberal government of Eugenio Montero Ríos to declare martial law in the Catalan capital. When the government refused, El Ejército Español, a military newspaper with ties to the Liberal party, issued a warning: "The remedy against the separatist canaille is in the Army. The weakness of temporizing Governments must be opposed by the firm will of the military, which cannot and must not allow these outrages against Spain." ⁽²²⁾ Thus the army was poised for intervention. It was a small incident that provided an excuse. ⁽²³⁾
 
The provocation was a small cartoon in the Catalan humor weekly, ¡Cu-cut!, satirically contrasting the regionalist victory in the elections with the military defeat of 1898. ⁽²⁴⁾ On the evening of November 24, 1905, a group of some two hundred junior officers attacked the printing press of ¡Cu-cut! and the offices of La Veu de Catalunya, the principal Catalanist daily. ⁽²⁵⁾ As soon as the news became known, nearly the entire officer corps publicly united behind the Barcelona garrison. Outspoken support came from the highest military quarters, including the Captains General of Madrid, Barcelona, and Seville. The real focus of insubordination, however, was the junior officers. In Madrid and Barcelona, young extremists formed commissions to prepare an ultimatum for the king demanding suspension of the Cortes and the cabinet -- in short, of the constitution -- until action was taken against the separatists. ⁽²⁶⁾ On November 27 El Ejército Español equated the government's inaction with "complicity with the evildoers" and warned that the army was ready to act in its place. ⁽²⁷⁾
 
What the young officers wanted was the immediate suspension of constitutional guarantees in Barcelona and the introduction of legislation in the Cortes to curb separatist attacks on the army and the nation. Their chief demand, however, was for a law placing press attacks on the army under military jurisdiction.
 
The honor of the army was already well protected under Spanish law. The Code of Military Justice of 1890 prohibited all oral and written "injuries or offenses" to military authorities and institutions and granted military courts jurisdiction over all attacks on the army and its honor. ⁽²⁸⁾ But the Spanish Supreme Court had repeatedly ruled these provisions to be inapplicable to the constitutionally protected civilian press; in 1900 a special law had specifically excluded press offenses from the jurisdiction clauses of the Code. ⁽²⁹⁾ To placate the army, the same law had denied a jury trial to those attacking civil, military, or ecclesiastical authorities. But in the event, judges in the civil courts had [14]proved no more inclined to propitiate injured military sensibilities by finding against the army's critics. ⁽³⁰⁾ The rebellious officers in 1905 were thus demanding revision of the Code of Military Justice to give the army jurisdiction over its opponents in the press. But, of course, more than a minor revision of the Code was at issue: the military rebellion represented nothing less than an attempt to modify the Constitution of 1876 by force. ⁽³¹⁾
 
With so much at stake, the Liberal government agreed to resist the mounting military pressure, although it did order the declaration of martial law in Barcelona on November 29. But the cabinet's resolution was undermined by the fence-straddling of the War Minister, General Valeriano Weyler, who, like other senior generals, feared that opposition to the junior officers' demands might lead to an outright breach of military discipline. Once organized into commissions, the junior officers were displaying an alarming tendency to stray from the immediate issues into a general discussion of their professional grievances, many of which were directed against the privileged senior hierarchy. To forestall a further breakdown of military discipline, the generals had to assume leadership of the movement. ⁽³²⁾ At a cabinet meeting on November 30, the king also announced his intention of supporting the army's demands. ⁽³³⁾ This was tantamount to asking for the resignation of the prime minister, Montero Ríos, which was immediately forthcoming; it was also tantamount to an open invitation to further army rebellion, extended by the Crown itself.
 
Alfonso's decision has been characterized as a "strictly appeasing" attempt to ward off a military coup. ⁽³⁴⁾ In reality, his capitulation to the officer corps was the first major betrayal of the facade of civil supremacy that had been the crowning achievement of the Canovite system. To be sure, the regime had always been vulnerable to the threat of military insubordination. But its susceptibility had been minimized by the political stability of the Restoration years. In 1905 that stability was diminished, and Alfonso increasingly viewed himself and the army as the only permanent forces in a kaleidoscopic political situation. By abandoning the government of Montero Ríos, he guaranteed that the junior officers would have their way without having to make good on their threat of force.
 
The new government, headed by Segismundo Moret, an anti-Catalan Liberal, accepted office prepared to placate the army. To indicate his good intentions, Moret appointed General Agustín Luque y Coca, the Captain General of Seville who had seconded the Barcelona revolt, to the War Ministry. ⁽³⁵⁾ Luque's insubordination in 1905 was only the latest in a notorious career of republican conspiracy and political [15] intrigue; at one level, his appointment was representative of the traditional method of neutralizing the political ambitions of the senior hierarchy. ⁽³⁶⁾ But Luque also took office as the spokesman for the dissident young officers, who for the last time placed their confidence in the political system and the military elite. In 1917 they would bypass their superiors altogether, forming Juntas de Defensa to represent their interests directly, without intermediaries. The ¡Cu-Cut! rebellion of 1905 was the prelude to the total collapse of the civil-military settlement so carefully constructed by Cánovas in 1875.
 
Moret's declaration to the Senate on December 2, 1905, that the motto of the Liberal party was "always the supremacy of the civil power," ⁽³⁷⁾ did not disguise the real betrayal of that principle that was soon forthcoming. Neither did the elaborate parliamentary strategy devised to soothe the uneasy consciences of some of the cabinet members. ⁽³⁸⁾ When the bill for the "Repression of Crimes Against the Fatherland and the Army" arrived in the Congress from the Senate on February 15, ⁽³⁹⁾ the government supported its adoption, arguing that the bill was a temporary "compromise, ... a labor of peace." ⁽⁴⁰⁾ Not even its sponsors could argue that it was a progressive law; progress, one spokesman admitted, "ebbs and flows." ⁽⁴¹⁾ What convinced a majority of the dynastic politicians to vote the bill into law on March 20, 1906, was the argument, tentatively put forward by the Liberals, but given fullest expression by the Conservative leader, Antonio Maura, that the bill provided an immediate, albeit temporary, remedy to the disorder in Catalonia. ⁽⁴²⁾ Unable to find a peaceful resolution to the conflict between regionalist demands for autonomy and the army's exaggerated sense of honor, the deputies succumbed to the logic of superior force.
 
In so doing, of course, they ignored the military disorder and violence that the bill sanctioned and that itself comprised the chief obstacle to negotiation with the regionalists. Only the Republican deputies were bold enough to point directly at the military pressure that had made passage of the bill a "necessity." For Melquíades Álvarez, the bill was nothing less than "the bastard fruit of a bloodless revolution, of a revolution that has not shed blood because it triumphed easily, without encountering resistance in the public power, nor in the Parliament, nor in the political parties, nor even in the individual protest of any one of us." ⁽⁴³⁾
 
The Law of Jurisdictions, as it was commonly known, appeared in the Gaceta on April 24 prefaced by an emphatic statement by Moret that the law was in no way intended to prosecute regionalism, but only the specific offenses listed in Articles 1, 2, and 3. Reminding those [16] entrusted with implementation of the law that "our political system is based on freedom of the press and on respect for the rights of conscience," he also pointed out that the "habitual license of style and thought" characteristic of the Spanish press should not be confused with deliberate attacks on the Fatherland or on military discipline.
 
Despite these disclaimers, Moret and the Liberal party had sponsored a law that was used repeatedly in the next twenty-five years to stifle civilian criticism of the army, not only in Catalonia but wherever it occurred. Although the censorship rights of the army were limited to military affairs, it was a fundamental concession that abridged one of the freedoms essential to the successful functioning of representative government. To be sure, the law did not completely muzzle the press, partly because the War Ministry seems to have exercised its influence to discourage excessive use of the legislation by zealous local commanders. ⁽⁴⁴⁾ In addition, editors quickly learned that the Cortes would protect its members by invoking parliamentary immunity; thus, articles critical of the army often bore the signature of a deputy to the Congress. ⁽⁴⁵⁾
 
Nevertheless, in intent and often in practice, the Law of Jurisdictions functioned as a permanent exception clause to the guarantee of free speech in the Constitution of 1876. Like the Code of Military Justice of 1890, the Law of Jurisdictions gave witness to the inflexibility and fear of the ruling oligarchy, which was prepared to sacrifice civilian supremacy in order to protect its economic and social position. The army would play an increasingly central role in defending the regime from internal and external threats in the years to come, a role in which it would largely fail. Ironically, that failure would be at least partly due to the immunity from criticism provided by the Law of Jurisdictions.
 
Also ironically, the Liberals had created a symbol around which antimilitarist and antidynastic forces could rally. After 1906 repeal of the Law of Jurisdictions became a principal plank in opposition platforms. From 1908 on, to restore the luster to its tarnished image, the Liberal party advocated repealing the law while incorporating its main provisions into the military and civil codes; this cynical maneuver, employed three times between 1908 and 1914, did little to shore up the party's sagging liberal credentials. The true contents of the law were soon forgotten by the general public; it was thought that the law had given military courts jurisdiction over all "crimes against the Fatherland and the army," when, in fact, most of the military's broad judicial powers had been acquired long before 1906. Thus, the law designed to protect the army from criticism intensified that criticism by drawing attention to military privilege and power.
 
[17] Of course, the bill in no way resolved the Catalan question, as Maura had warned. The immediate response to the Law of Jurisdictions was the formation in February 1906 of Solidaritat Catalana, an electoral coalition composed of all the political forces in Catalonia except Alejandro Lerroux's Radical Republicans, who were courting the army. In the Cortes elections of April 1906, Solidaritat Catalana won forty-one of the forty-four Catalan seats, ending forever the grip of dynastic caciquismo on Catalonia. This demonstration of regionalist strength prepared the way for the eventual accommodation of the Catalan bourgeoisie within the regime (the Catalan provincial assembly, or Mancomunitat, was finally created by royal decree on March 26, 1914). The Catalan Republican left, however, only increased their attacks on the unitary state and its symbol, the army, which in turn continued to regard all forms of regionalism as the equivalent of treason.
 
The ¡Cu-Cut! incident and the passage of the Law of Jurisdictions are significant because they foreshadowed the relationship between the army and politics in the twentieth century. The early capitulation of the dynastic politicians measured the extent to which they had lost faith in their own capacity and right to rule. Unable to assert civilian supremacy by an appeal to popular opinion and abandoned by the other source of constitutional sovereignty -- the king -- they provided the army with an opportunity to impose its demands on the state. The Liberals probably underestimated the ability of the system to withstand a military challenge. Their response -- parliamentary approval of the army's bill and incorporation of General Luque into the turno -- restored military discipline, since the army still largely recognized the legitimacy of the political and military turno and of the parliamentary regime. But it also contributed heavily to the further alienation of the many Spaniards excluded from the political system. When, in 1917, disillusioned junior officers would once again intervene in the political process, the dynastic parties would find themselves even less able to resist the imposition.
 
It was surely no coincidence that only a few years separated the ¡Cu-Cut! crisis from the prolonged trauma of the Dreyfus affair in France. Contemporary observers in Spain were certainly aware of the parallel. ⁽⁴⁶⁾ Both episodes reflected the fears aroused by rapid political and social change in those most concerned with the maintenance of a strong state. Military sympathizers have denounced both incidents as unwarranted civilian intrusions into military autonomy. ⁽⁴⁷⁾ As the guarantor of national integrity, the army must be strong, free from debilitating criticism. On the other hand, for opponents of the status quo in France and Spain, the army's immunity from and hypersensitivity to [18] criticism were vivid reminders of the decadence of the state. In both cases, the role of the military in a liberal democracy was at the vital center of all discussions concerning political and social change; resolution of this constitutional issue was, quite justifiably, considered necessary before attention could be given to economic and social reforms. There was, however, one major difference in the two affairs. In France, the principle of civil supremacy emerged victorious from the struggle.
 
The Army and the Social Question
 
The dynastic politicians surrendered their freedom of action to the army because of fear of social revolution from below. The use of the army to suppress social unrest predated the Restoration settlement, but it had intensified as the Spanish working classes gradually acquired class consciousness through their contacts with doctrines and tactics imported from the advanced industrial societies of Western Europe. In the textile centers of Catalonia, in the mining regions of the north, and in the latifundia areas of southern Spain, labor organizers and revolutionaries took advantage of the right of association granted in 1881 to test both their own strength and that of their opponents. The result was the growing dependency of the regime on the army. By 1890 Cánovas was referring to the army as "the robust support of the social order and an invincible dike against the illegal attempts by the proletariat. . . " ⁽⁴⁸⁾
 
A series of confrontations during the 1880s and 1890s confirmed the popular image of workers fighting an implacable alliance of capitalists, politicians, and army. Urban general strikes and agrarian revolts alike were repressed by local garrisons or by Civil Guard units under army command; in severe cases, the declaration of martial law provided the captain general of the region with near-dictatorial powers and precedence over all civil authority. Under martial law, strike leaders could be prosecuted in military courts. In addition, the broad provisions of the Code of Military Justice gave military courts jurisdiction over civilian incitement to military rebellion and sedition as well as insults or attacks on military authority. ⁽⁴⁹⁾ Since most strikes and popular protests were accompanied by antimilitaristic sloganeering or appeals for troop defections, military tribunals regularly dealt with activities that might ordinarily have fallen under the jurisdiction of civil courts. Once they had acquired jurisdiction, military courts administered harsh sentences in summary fashion, which stood as a warning to potential [19] strikers. After 1906, the Law of Jurisdictions increased the power of military courts over the army's critics.
 
Undaunted, revolutionaries quickly concluded that the regime might be most effectively attacked through its army. Popular anti-militarism was a natural outgrowth of a conscription system that fell exclusively on the working classes; ⁽⁵⁰⁾ socialism and anarchism gave it doctrinaire expression. The army was both the symbol and the servant of the bourgeois state; deprived of its means of protection, the state, and the repressive social system, would collapse. In the 1890s, revolutionaries staged a variety of assaults on the army, ranging from antimilitaristic pamphleteering to the attempted subversion of conscripted troops. In 1893 a young Anarchist in Barcelona threw a bomb at the general most identified with the stability of the Restoration system, Martínez Campos. ⁽⁵¹⁾ Although the general was only slightly wounded, the terrorist was tortured and executed, and Martínez Campos's replacement as Captain General of Barcelona, Valeriano Weyler, implemented a harsh antilabor policy. ⁽⁵²⁾ Inexorably, the rift between the Barcelona working class and the army widened.
 
Recruited largely from the traditional middle class, Spanish officers did not always identify with the class interests of the ruling oligarchy. As it did elsewhere in Europe, the divorce between people and army worried conscientious officers, who recognized that a social order resting on bayonets would in the long run jeopardize national interests. They also worried that a popularly conscripted army would be crippled by the alienation of the troops from their officers. Out of their concern grew a new definition of the army as an instrument of social reconciliation. Responding both to the increase in class conflict and to the extension of democratic values, military authors argued that the army was a national institution transcending class interests. ⁽⁵³⁾ The duty of the officer was to promote social unity, not only by instilling patriotism, but also by recognizing the legitimacy of some working-class grievances. ⁽⁵⁴⁾ Implicit in much of the literature was an assumption of the essentially artificial character of class conflict. Social harmony depended on the unselfish reconciliation of both labor and capital.
 
A few officers stood out for their active interest in social reform. Probably the best known and respected by labor was José Marvá y Mayer, an Engineer appointed in 1905 to the Institute of Social Reforms, where he served as head of a section specializing in industrial safety. Both at the Institute and as president of the National Institute for Social Security after 1913, General Marvá advocated extensive government regulation of working conditions. ⁽⁵⁵⁾ But officers did not [20] need a finely tuned social conscience like Marvá's to perceive the wisdom of recognizing "legitimate" workers' demands, and on a number of occasions, commanding officers negotiated settlements favorable to strikers. ⁽⁵⁶⁾
 
Still, whatever misgivings some officers may have had about identifying the army too closely with the established social order, the army did in fact become the willing instrument of social repression. The trigger-happy governments that responded to every major strike or peasant rebellion with a declaration of martial law must bear most of the blame for this; the army was merely obeying orders. Yet as the army was thrown against workers and peasants in increasingly bloody confrontations, the patience of many officers wore dangerously thin. Their resentment was directed against both the people whom they were called on to repress and the governments that ordered them to do it. Similarly, the working classes made no distinction between those who gave the orders and those who carried them out.
 
The climax to this series of confrontations between the working classes and the army was the Tragic Week in Barcelona in 1909. ⁽⁵⁷⁾ The outbreak of violence in Spain's oldest industrial center was the immediate consequence of a renewal of military activity in Morocco. ⁽⁵⁸⁾ When fighting broke out in July 1909, the Conservative prime minister, Antonio Maura, ordered a call-up of reserve troops to be sent as reinforcements to Africa. The Minister of War, General Arsenio Linares, called up the Third Mixed Brigade of Chasseurs, composed of both active and reserve units in Catalonia, including 520 men who had completed active duty six years earlier and had not anticipated further service. ⁽⁵⁹⁾ Furthermore, there was no enthusiasm for a Moroccan war among the Barcelona working class, who had been coached in anti-militarism and anticolonialism by Anarchist-dominated labor organizations and by the Radical Republicans of Alejandro Lerroux. The result was the Tragic Week -- an antiwar protest that degenerated into riots, strikes, and convent burnings in the last week of July. By the end of a week of bloody street fighting, the army and the police had lost 8 dead and 124 wounded, while 104 civilians were reported killed. Not only the street violence, but the subsequent repression pitted the army against the working class. Over 1,700 individuals were indicted in military courts for "armed rebellion" in the wake of the Tragic Week. Although only 5 were sentenced to death and executed, 59 others received sentences of life imprisonment. ⁽⁶⁰⁾
 
The repression of the Tragic Week had repercussions long after the event. ⁽⁶¹⁾ Disagreement over the repression shattered the remnants of the elite consensus that had sustained the turno. The Liberals had [21] already violated the unstated terms of the turno by forming a "bloc" with the Republicans in 1908 in order to bring down the Maura government; the executions the following year provided the bloc with a vulnerable target. But Maura and his Interior Minister, Juan de la Cierva, refused to resign, convinced of the unmitigated evil that would come from capitulation to the "forces of anarchy," whether in Spain or abroad. Forced to exercise his constitutional function as the moderating power, the king returned the Liberals to office, but at the expense of the gentlemen's agreement that had maintained the Restoration turno. Henceforth, Maura intransigently refused to rotate in office with the party whose "sordid and troublesome collaboration" with an anti-dynastic party (the Republicans) had brought him down. ⁽⁶²⁾ The Conservative party thus lost the only man with enough personal prestige to hold the party together. The Liberals, on the other hand, were not able to develop an alternative to Maura's policy of repression. Their Republican allies quickly abandoned them in favor of an antidynastic alliance with the Socialists -- the Conjunción Republicana-Socialista. After the assassination of their leader Canalejas in 1912, the Liberal party disintegrated into a gaggle of rival personalist factions.
 
The bitterness generated by the Tragic Week affected the army as well. The mutual distrust of the military and the working classes was deepened by the draconian repression of the general strike in Barcelona and the subsequent military trials and executions. At the same time, officers were resentful of the Liberals' alliance with the left and their exploitation of Maura's role in the repression. Instead, they sympathized with Maura and La Cierva, whose no-nonsense attitude toward law and order had generated great hostility among the left-liberal elements in Spanish society. On the whole, the Tragic Week increased military impatience with the political system, convincing many officers that only they could be relied on to resist social disintegration.
 
Finally, the Tragic Week was a turning point for the Spanish labor movement, the last of the spontaneous, unstructured protests that had punctuated both rural and urban labor history in the nineteenth century. Henceforth, urban workers would be both better organized and more convinced than ever of the need for a radical alteration of the political and social order. The first fruits of this new determination were the formation of the Republican-Socialist Alliance of November 7, 1909, which led to the election of the first Socialist deputy, Pablo Iglesias, the following year, and the formation of the Anarchosyndicalist labor federation, the Confederación Nacional del Trabajo (the CNT) in 1911. The determination of labor was matched and encouraged by the reaction of the propertied classes, who braced themselves after the [22] Tragic Week to resist all attempts at revolution from below. Thus, as Gerald Meaker has observed, "the Tragic Week was the opening gun in the social war that would increasingly dominate Spanish life in the early twentieth century." ⁽⁶³⁾
 
The Renewal of the Moroccan War
 
Equally disruptive of the Restoration political system was the renewal of the Moroccan war. ⁽⁶⁴⁾ As we have seen, the immediate consequence was a major confrontation between the army and the Barcelona working class. The long-range consequences were even more devastating. The war soon became the special preserve of the military, consuming lives and funds without compensating the nation either politically or economically for the expense. Bitterly opposed by the working classes who were conscripted to fight and die for a cause in which they did not believe, the war was sustained by the apathy of the middle classes and the passivity of the dynastic parties, who lacked the power to act independently of the army or of the great European powers. In Morocco, the dynastic politicians irrevocably bound their fate to that of the army. In 1923 that alliance would destroy the parliamentary regime.
 
The Spanish army's domination of the colonial enterprise was the result of a general lack of civilian interest in the "new imperialism" that captured the European imagination from the 1880s on. In Spain, capitalism was too cautious and nationalism too weak to provide a stimulus for colonialism. In the early years, convinced imperialists were few in number: a handful of Republican "Europeanizers" led by Joaquín Costa, ⁽⁶⁵⁾ Staff officers with a taste for exploration and cartography, and a microscopic number of businessmen. This colonial party campaigned enthusiastically for two decades without finding an echo in the rest of the country; on the contrary, a brief but humiliating military confrontation in Morocco in 1893 and the painful and costly wars in Cuba and the Philippines conclusively dampened all enthusiasm for colonial adventures among the Spanish people.
 
Spanish involvement in Morocco came to depend instead on the resigned acceptance by both Conservatives and Liberals of Spain's interest in the Mediterranean balance of power. A conference of interested colonial powers called by Cánovas in Madrid in May 1880 defined Spain as an interested party in any alteration of the status quo in Morocco. After 1880, however, no Spanish government was inclined to act upon that interest. The military action of 1893 was a defense [23] of Spain's long-established garrison in Melilla, not an expansion of her sphere of influence. When the Moroccan question was finally reactivated, it was French expansionism, not Spanish imperialism, that triggered events. In fact, Spain was too underdeveloped, economically and politically, to undertake the successful colonization of North Africa. Her essentially static policy was designed to protect her interests and her reputation as a great power without effort or expense. While the other European powers expanded their empires elsewhere in Africa, this policy was possible; unfortunately, the dynastic politicians were lulled into believing they could continue it after the turn of the century, when the power vacuum in Morocco began to attract the attention of a France cut off from further expansion in East Africa. As a consequence, they allowed Spain's hitherto theoretical interest in the Sharifian Empire to be converted into a contractual obligation to protect the sultan and to maintain order in the mountainous and sparsely settled coastal areas of northern Morocco known as the Rif, the Ghumara, and the Jibala. Henceforth, Spain was committed to action not only by strategic and status considerations, but also by the "sacred obligations" contracted in the treaties of 1904, 1906, and 1907. ⁽⁶⁶⁾
 
Thus, through vanity and inertia, Spain was drawn into a colonial enterprise that aroused no enthusiasm in any sector of Spanish society and that promised few rewards for the investment required. To be sure, as Morocco became a primary source of international tension, it was difficult for Spain to withdraw from the area. Not only was this a public admission of national weakness, but Spanish diplomats were under pressure from Great Britain to forestall French domination of the area. Nevertheless, the immediate loss of international prestige would have been far less than the ultimate cost in prestige, lives, and wealth.
 
Although economic imperialism was never a strong motive for Spanish intervention in Morocco, protection of Spanish investments was the immediate cause of the military action of 1909. Spanish capital, never venturesome even in the peninsula, had shown no tendency to flow toward Africa, until rich iron ore and lead deposits were discovered in northern Morocco in 1906. ⁽⁶⁷⁾ But these could not be exploited until the benevolence of the hostile local tribes could be secured. The dilemma facing the mining consortium, and by extension, the government in Madrid, was whether to deal with the de facto power in the area -- a local strongman known to the Spanish as El Roghi (Abu Himara) -- or to recognize the entirely fictional sovereignty of the sultan in Marrakesh, as prescribed by Spain's treaty obligations. The consortium favored an agreement with El Roghi. The Conservative government of Antonio Maura, however, was aware that failure to observe

[24] the provisions of the 1906 treaty would give the French a pretext for intervention in the Spanish zone. In 1908 Maura ordered the Military Governor of Melilla, General José Marina, to eliminate the rebel leader and to prepare to defend the mining operations with force. ⁽⁶⁸⁾ The foreseen attack by xenophobic Riffian tribesmen came on July 9, 1909, the prelude to seventeen years of costly colonial warfare.
 
The immediate response in the peninsula was the Tragic Week. But despite this outburst of anticolonialism, military operations and expenses escalated rapidly in the next few years. The principal agent of this increased activity was not the government, but the Spanish officer corps, which was transformed by its dismal performance in July 1909 from a reluctant occupying force into a bellicose colonial party bent on avenging and maintaining Spain's honor against native rebellion or French ambition. "Depressed" by the policy of peaceful attraction favored by the government's Office of Native Affairs, ⁽⁶⁹⁾ indifferent to theories of colonial action, the African army demanded, and soon got, full-scale operations against the Moroccan "enemy." In 1911 the army began a campaign to expand the Spanish sphere of influence in the east beyond the Kert River; ⁽⁷⁰⁾ in the west, to forestall French expansion northward from Fez, they occupied Larache, a coastal city near the roughly defined frontier. A diplomatic rupture between the two powers was averted only by the unwelcome intrusion of Germany, whose presence at Agadir in July 1911 triggered the Second Moroccan Crisis.
 
In the feverish negotiations that followed this international crisis, Spain's interests were represented by a vigorous colonial party composed of the prime minister, José Canalejas, a regenerationist politician in the Costa mold, Alfonso XIII ("el Africano," as he was rashly dubbed by Eugenio Montero Ríos), and the Spanish army. In March 1912 the French forced the sultan to accept the Treaty of Fez, which established a French "Protectorate" over the Sharifian Empire with the exception of northern Morocco, which was assigned to Spain in an agreement signed on November 27, just two weeks after the assassination of its architect, Canalejas. ⁽⁷¹⁾ Within her zone, Spain was to keep the peace and, as the document stated with unintentional irony, "to lend her assistance to the Moroccan Government in introducing all the administrative, economic, financial, judicial, and military reforms that it needs." The authority of the sultan, theoretically unimpaired by the Protectorate, would be delegated to a khalif, a member of the royal family nominated and supervised by the Spanish, whose local representative, the High Commissioner, was entrusted with protecting and extending that authority throughout the zone. In short, Spain was [25] committed to a policy of tutelage and development that far exceeded both her resources and her strategic necessities.
 
With Canalejas no longer on hand to present the case for the Protectorate, the absence of a colonial commitment in the Spanish political community was immediately and obviously felt. Despite the government's assurance that it would "reconcile and harmonize [the] action in Africa with necessities in the Peninsula," ⁽⁷²⁾ debate in the Cortes over the ratification of the treaty produced serious reservations from both Conservatives and Liberals. Viewing the treaty as the "liquidation" of a decade of diplomacy, ⁽⁷³⁾ a huge majority ratified it unenthusiastically and hoped unrealistically for a return to the status quo. ⁽⁷⁴⁾ As a result, they effectively abandoned the field to the African army in Morocco and left themselves vulnerable to attacks from the left, which quite naturally seized upon the Moroccan adventure as the weakest point in the regime's defenses. As early as May 1914, Pablo Iglesias, the lone Socialist deputy in the Cortes, was expertly dissecting the contradictory and vacillating colonial policy of the dynastic parties, who lacked the courage to abandon Morocco and the conviction to pacify it effectively. ⁽⁷⁵⁾ Morocco symbolized the anemic political authority of the regime, which had been maneuvered by the great powers, the king, and the army into a project for which no one else had any enthusiasm and over which they seemingly had little control. Morocco was the prime justification for revolutionary politics.
 
Above all, it was military action in Morocco that drew fire, if only because there was little action of any other kind. To defend its colonial policy, the regime was forced to defend the army, which was increasingly intolerant, however, of civilian supervision of its affairs, whether in the peninsula or in Morocco. Either from lack of interest or out of fear of challenging the army, successive governments refrained from establishing civilian checks on unauthorized military actions and watched impassively as military expenditures consumed nearly all the funds allocated for Morocco. Civilian inhibition in Morocco, like civilian inhibition on military reform, provided the political opposition with a vulnerable target; by immunizing the army from criticism, it guaranteed that abuses would continue. By the time the dynastic politicians were able to perceive the link between the abuses and the criticism, it was too late to deny the army what it considered its due. The military rebellion of 1923 was the defensive response of an institution whose power and privileges were under attack.

1. Cánovas's system has been described, with more or less enthusiasm, in nearly all the general works on contemporary Spain. In my view, the most penetrating analyses are to be found in Luis Sánchez Agesta, Historia del constitucionalismo español, pp. 314 ff., and in Juan J. Linz, "The Party System of Spain," pp. 198-282.

2. On the cacique, see Joaquín Costa's classic indictment, Oligarquía y caciquismo como la forma actual de gobierno en España. Useful recent analyses include Raymond Carr, Spain, 1808-1939, pp. 366-79; Joaquín Romero Maura, "El caciquismo"; and Javier Tusell Gómez, Oligarquía y caciquismo en Andalucía (1890-1923).

3. The concession of permanent Senate membership to captains general was not as generous as it first appeared. Once the original group of Restoration generals had been honored, there were few such promotions, and none at all after those of Camilo García Polavieja and Valeriano Weyler in 1909.

4. See Modesto Sánchez de los Santos, Las Cortes españolas. Similar biographical collections are available only for 1910 and 1914. Analysis of military membership for those years reveals results similar to that for 1907.

5. In 1907 there were only 22 army and 9 naval officers in the Senate, out of a total of 360. Two-thirds of them held their seats by right or appointment; 10 of the 31 possessed titles of nobility, 5 of them acquired since the Restoration. Ten had served in the Congress before passing to the Senate, where slightly over half (16 out of 31) voted with the Conservatives. The remainder voted as Liberals or independents. Half of the military senators were over 66 years old; 7 were over the army retirement age of 72. Only 3 were under 50.

In the Congress, only 18 out of 397 deputies possessed a military rank in 1907. Seven of these were inactive and thus not dependent on their army careers for their income. Although 6 of the 18 deputies were generals, 4 of these were members of the support services, somewhat isolated from the regular army hierarchy. As in the Senate, most officers in the Congress voted with the Conservatives. But of the 4 Liberal deputies, 3 were generals, which gave them greater authority.

6. See Articles 6, 26, and 30 of the law of Nov. 29, 1878. All references to military legislation, decrees, and orders are from Ministerio de la Guerra, Colección legislativa del Ejército.

7. At his first cabinet meeting in 1902, Alfonso reminded the startled ministers of his prerogative. See Conde de Romanones, Obras completas, 3:149-50. In 1904 the king's insistence on exercising that prerogative brought down the government of Antonio Maura. The role of Alfonso X11I in the downfall of the parliamentary monarchy has recently been the subject of sympathetic revision. See Carlos Seco Serrano, Alfonso Xlll y la crisis de la restauración, and Vicente R. Pilapil, Alfonso XIII. The classic critical interpretation is Melchor Fernández Almagro, Historia del reinado de D. Alfonso XIII.

8. A royal decree of September 24, 1907, expanded the Military Household to 16 regular and an unlimited number of honorary members. An attempt was made to provide representation for all army corps in the Household.

9. This tactic was apparent in the appointments of Generals Manuel Fernández-Silvestre in 1915, Joaquín Milans del Bosch in 1920, José Cavalcanti in 1923, and Dámaso Berenguer in 1925.

10. Between 1875 and 1931, the number of titles in Spain more than doubled. Manuel Tuñón de Lara, Estudios sobre el siglo XIX español, p. 195.

11. In 1915 a royal decree allowed favored officers to bypass official channels in order to communicate directly with the king. See Fernández Almagro, Alfonso XIII, pp. 238-39, n. 1.

12. "Middle class" will be used here to denote a status or reference group rather than a social class with a well-defined relationship to the means of production. There is, in fact, no satisfactory label for the middle sectors of a traditional society in transition. See the discussion in Juan J. Linz and Amando de Miguel, "Within-Nation Differences and Comparisons," pp. 267-319.

13. Military reform is discussed in greater detail in chap. 2.

14. For a list of cabinets between 1900 and 1923, see app. A.

15. Access to the personal service records of twentieth-century army officers, located in the Archivo General Militar in the Alcázar de Segovia, has been generally denied to both civilian and military historians. Until these vital records can be examined, no serious prosopographical study of the Spanish officer corps can be made. Nevertheless, it is clear that by the end of the century, recruitment for all branches except the Artillery and to a lesser extent, the Cavalry, was mainly from the middle classes, especially the military middle class. Daniel Richard Headrick, "The Spanish Army, 1868-1898," pp. 122-23, estimates that by the last third of the century, one-third to one-half of the leading generals were from non-noble military families.

16. Emilio Mola Vidal, Obras completas, p. 976.

17. See especially Ricardo Burguete y Lana, Morbo nacional; Mi rebeldía; and La guerra y el hombre.

18. Alfredo Kindelán y Duany, Ejército y política, p. 148.

19. See Joseph Harrison, "Catalan Business and the Loss of Cuba, 1898-1914"; "Big Business and the Failure of Right-Wing Catalan Nationalism, 1901-1923"; and "Big Business and the Rise of Basque Nationalism."

20. For these incidents see Fernando Díaz-Plaja, La historia de España en sus documentos (nueva serie): El siglo XX, pp. 43-48.

21. See the Cortes debates in ibid., pp. 68, 72-73.

22. EE, Nov. 23, 1905, p. 1.

23. The following discussion of the ¡Cu-cut! incident is based primarily on Gabriel Maura Gamazo, duque de Maura, and Melchor Fernández Almagro, Por qué cayó Alfonso Xlll, pp. 91-95; Jesús Pabón, Cambó, 1:256-68; Maximiano García Venero, Melquíades Álvarez, pp. 160-61; Romanones, Obras, 3:189-92; Fernández Almagro, Alfonso Xlll, pp. 78-88; Joaquín Romero Maura, "The Spanish Army and Catalonia"; and a careful reading of the Law of Jurisdictions, the Code of Military Justice, the parliamentary debates, and the military press.

24. On this magazine, see Lluis Solá, "¡Cu-Cut!" (1902-1972) and Romero Maura, "Spanish Army," pp. 15-18.

25. See the two newspaper accounts in Díaz-Plaja, Siglo XX, pp. 100-101.

26. Romero Maura, "Spanish Army," p. 22; Maura and Fernández Almagro, Por qué cayó Alfonso XIII, pp. 91-92.

27. EE, Nov. 27, 1905, p. 1.

28. Article 258 provided: "Whoever by word, in writing, or in any other equivalent form, injures or offends clearly or covertly the Army, or institutions, corps, ranks, or certain bodies of the same, will incur a correctional prison sentence."

Case 7 of Article 7 gave the military jurisdiction over treason, desertion, military rebellion, and sedition, "insults to sentinels, escorts, and armed forces of the Army and of any Corps militarily organized and subject to military law. . ." (the latter, a reference to the Civil Guard and the provincial militias), and also over "attacks on or disrespect for military authorities, . . . injury or slander against them and against corporations and groups in the Army."

29. Supreme Court decisions of Sept. 19, 1891; Feb. 22, Mar. 15, and July 6, 1892. Law of Jan. 1, 1900.

30. According to Antonio Maura Montaner, "Debate en el Congreso sobre la derogación de la ley de jurisdicciones, los días 10, 11, 12 de junio de 1908."

31. In 1895 junior officers disgruntled by press criticism of their lack of enthusiasm for the Cuban campaign had unsuccessfully pressed a similar demand against the Liberal government of Sagasta. See Carmen García Nieto Paris, "La prensa de Barcelona ante la crisis militar de 1895."

32. Romero Maura, "Spanish Army," pp. 22-26.

33. Romanones, Obras, 3:190-92.

34. The phrase is originally in Maura and Fernández Almagro, Por qué cayó Alfonso XIII, p. 91, and is repeated with approval by Seco Serrano, Alfonso XIII, p. 73.

35. A brief biography of Luque and other prominent officers may be found in app. B.

36. The element of blackmail in Luque's republican posturing could not be ignored; as the Portuguese poet Guerra Junqueiro observed, "It's curious! Every time I come to Madrid, 1 find as Minister of War the general whom on my last journey 1 met at the house of [the Republican leader] Salmerón" (quoted in Pabón, Cambó, 1:266).

37. DSS (1905-06), 1:472.

38. To allow the dissenters (Manuel García Prieto, Victor Concas, and Amós Salvador) to remain in the cabinet, the government introduced a compromise measure in the Congress that retained civil jurisdiction over press offenses while speeding up trial procedures at the expense of due process. Meanwhile, a Senate committee was to prepare independently the bill the army wanted.

39. See app. C for the first five articles of the Law of Jurisdictions.

40. Alejandro Rosselló in DSC (1905-06), 7:2625.

41. Ibid.

42. Ibid. (Feb. 19, 1906), 7:2682-87.

43. Ibid. (Feb. 17, 1906), 7:2655.

44. See Romero Maura, "Spanish Army," p. 29, n. 30.

45. The Republican deputy, Marcelino Domingo, for example, was indicted under the Law of Jurisdictions 45 times in 1917-18, but the Congress denied each time the military prosecutor's petition for removal of his immunity.

46. See the comments of Melquíades Álvarez in DSC (Feb. 17, 1906), 7:2658-59.

47. For example, Jorge Vigón Suerodíaz, Milicia y política, p. 270.

48. Quoted in Stanley C. Payne, Politics and the Military in Modern Spain, p. 60.

49. Article 7, Cases 3, 4, and 7 of the Code of Military Justice.

50. For a discussion of conscription during the Restoration, see Pío Suárez Inclán, El problema del reclutamiento en España. See also Nuria Sales de Bohigas, "Sociedades de seguros contra las quintas (1865-1868)," pp. 109-25.

51. A helpful, although perhaps overly generous, summary of the role of Martínez Campos in the early years of the Restoration can be found in Miguel Alonso Baquer, El ejército en la sociedad española, pp. 173-80.

52. Two eulogistic biographies of Weyler are Julio Romano, Weyler, el hombre de hierro, and Valeriano Weyler y López de Puga, En el archivo de mi abuelo.

53. The most influential exposition of the army's social mission was published in the Revue des Deux Mondes in 1891 by the future French marshall, Hubert Lyautey. See "Du rôle social de 1'officier." Lyautey's article inspired similar essays in Spanish professional journals and an occasional book. See especially Enrique Ruíz Fornells, La educación moral del soldado, a textbook used in the Infantry Academy.

54. See, for example, Joaquín Fanjul y Goñi, Misión social del ejército, p. 6.

55. There is a brief biography of General Marvá in León Martín-Granizo, Biografías de sociólogos españoles.

56. Professor Joan Connelly Ullman has informed me of a case in 1903 when General Zappino threatened to remove his troops if mine owners in Bilbao did not negotiate with workers on strike.

57. For the Tragic Week, its background, and its aftermath, see Joan Connelly Ullman, La Semana Trágica.

58. The Moroccan involvement is described below, pp. 22-25.

59. Payne, Politics and the Military, p. 106.

60. Ullman, Semana Trágica, pp. 512-13, 508.

61. For the political consequences of the Tragic Week, see ibid., pp. 555-63.

62. Maura and Fernández Almagro, Por qué cayó Alfonso XIII, p. 264.

63. Gerald Meaker, The Revolutionary Left in Spain, 1914-1923, p. 7.

64. There is a vast bibliography on Spain's involvement in Morocco. For an introduction to the question, the reader may consult Carlos Hernández de Herrera and Tomás García Figueras, Acción de España en Marruecos; Víctor Ruíz Albéniz, España en el Rif; Estado Mayor Central, Servicio Histórico Militar, Acción de España en África; Pabón,Cambó, 2:233-375; J. A. Chandler, "Spanish Policy toward North Morocco, 1908 to 1923"; Shannon E. Fleming, "Primo de Rivera and Abd-el Krim," pp. 1-108; Payne, Politics and the Military, pp. 102-23, 152-87; David S. Woolman, Rebels in the Rif; and Victor Morales Lezcano, El colonialismo hispanofrancés en Marruecos (1898-1927). See also Edmund Burke 111, Prelude to Protectorate in Morocco.

65. For Costa, the Spanish colonization of Morocco represented the validation of Spain's credentials as a modern European nation as well as the repayment of an historic debt. See Angel Flores Morales, ed., Africa a través del pensamiento español, p. 165. This book contains selected passages from the principal apologists for Spanish intervention in Morocco.

66. The 1904 treaty is in Servicio Histórico Militar, Acción de España, 3:122-25.

67. See Morales Lezcano, Colonialismo, pp. 69-89.

68. See the Marina-Maura correspondence in Ruiz Albéniz, España en el Rif, pp. 93-106.

69. Testimony of Colonel José Riquelme before the Responsibilities Commission. Congreso de los Diputados, Comisión de responsabilidades políticas, La Comisión de responsabilidades, p. 113.

70. On the Kert campaign, see Gonzalo Calvo, España en Marruecos, 1910-1913.

71. The Franco-Spanish treaty of 1912 is in Servicio Histórico Militar, Acción de España, 3:115-18.

72. Manuel García Prieto, Minister of State, in DSC (Dec. 13, 1911), 17:5886. García Prieto was awarded the title of Marqués de Alhucemas in 1913 for his role in the treaty negotiations. For a summary of the ratification debates in December 1912, see Diego Sevilla Andrés, "Los partidos políticos y el Protectorado."

73. Alvaro López Mora in DSS (Dec. 20, 1912), 11:3034.

74. The final vote on December 17, 1912, was 216 to 22 in favor of ratification.

75. DSC (May 26 and 27, 1914), 4:887-97, 915-19.