1. Although they appeared to accomplish little, the spring demonstrations of 1951 marked a major turning point in Franco's regime. Hitherto his policy had been to run the state as a regimented economy and to hold a lid on all opposition by police methods. He had made changes in his government usually in response to outside events, seeking the favor of the foreign powers most likely to help his regime become legitimate in the eyes of Spain and the world. He had achieved a limited success abroad, but the spring of 1951 showed the bankruptcy of his domestic policy, for the economy was in crisis and his unpopularity was great, even among one-time supporters. Franco realized he would have to pay more attention to the image of his government held by Spaniards.

In Western democracies, including Spain under the Republic, political crises have led to changes in the cabinet in response to shifting alignments of political parties and their strength in the legislature, determined ultimately by the electorate. In Spain under Franco the ministry has changed at the will of the Head of State, almost as absolute kings once changed their councilors. The composition of the ministry has reflected his current appreciation of the groups supporting him and the policies for which they stand. After the spring troubles of 1951 he decided to use more carrot and less stick on his subjects--although he always kept the stick handy in case of need--and he embodied the decision in a new ministry in July 1951.

Franco's choice of ministers indicated that he now favored a revival of the early socially oriented doctrines of the Falange and a relaxation [238] of religious authoritarianism. By replacing conservative monarchists and Catholics, he hoped to pacify the workers and also the university students and faculties angered by the growing power of Opus Dei. The relatively liberal Catholic Martin Artajo, who could claim credit for ending Spain's international ostracism, remained foreign minister. Raimundo Fernandez Cuesta, Jose Antonio's right-hand man before the war, had entered the ministry in 1948 as secretary general of the Movimiento (that is, the Falange), filling a position that Franco had left vacant since 1945. Franco also kept him on, but he changed most other ministers. A newly created ministry of information and tourism took over censorship of the press. It went to another Falangist, Gabriel Arias Salgado. Ibanez Martin disappeared after twelve years as minister of education, and in his place Franco appointed Joaquín Ruiz Giménez, like Martin Artajo a member of Catholic Action. Ruiz Giménez promptly obtained a law making oposiciones for university professorships more impartial, thereby serving notice to Opus Dei that the universities were not all theirs. Two Falangist old shirts, both now more social democratic than national syndicalist in outlook, Pedro Lain Entralgo and Antonio Tovar, became rectors of the universities of Madrid and Salamanca. Nothing could properly be done, however, to deprive members of Opus of their achieved positions on the faculties.

With diplomatic recognition and an American loan, Franco was in a position to relax some of his controls. The best wheat crop since the war and the purchase of grain abroad enabled the government to end rationing of foodstuffs in the summer of 1952. For the first time since the war Spaniards were free to buy the food they could afford. Continuing inflation meant, however, that most families of the lower classes could afford little more than bread, potatoes, soup, and occasional sardines and fruit. The price index in 1952 was seven times higher than before the war, almost 50 percent higher than in 1948. The great advantage derived from the end of rationing was the disappearance of the black market in food items, with all the corruption it involved. The government also made an attempt to placate the workers by providing for direct election of the employees' representatives, the enlaces, on the national syndicates. The move was largely window dressing, for candidates received official approval in advance. Nonetheless it was a step in the direction of letting the syndicates express the grievances of labor instead of being merely an instrument to keep the workers in line. In the countryside the Civil Guard began to withdraw from obvious public sight into newly built barracks, although it continued to patrol in out-of-the-way places. The change in climate was slow, but it meant that Spain seemed less a dictatorship, at least to the casual observer. The large number of prisoners still serving sentences for political crimes prior to 1951 could testify that it was a police state, nevertheless. Courts martial [239] continued to try those accused of political crimes, where the legal rights guaranteed by the Fuero de los Españoles did not apply.

While Franco sought to quiet the opposition by modest concessions, he continued to win influential friends abroad. The first was in Rome. The Republic had abrogated the Concordat of 1851, and since the war the Vatican and Spanish government had been working out a replacement for it. A covenant of 1941 gave Franco the right formerly held by the king to nominate candidates for bishoprics, and the Fuero de los Españoles of 1945 responded with explicit recognition of the Catholic basis of the Spanish state. Now Franco pushed for the conclusion of a formal treaty that would seal these agreements. Such a concordat was signed on August 21, 1953. It proclaimed, "The Catholic religion continues to be the only religion of the Spanish nation,"⁽¹⁾ confirmed the church's supervision of education, and provided for state financial support of the clergy. The Vatican in return restated Franco's right to nominate to bishoprics. None of these stipulations were innovations; the importance of the concordat was that it gave papal sanction to the regime and provided Franco with a weapon to use against conservative clerics who claimed that his new ministry was threatening Spain's Catholicism.

What particularly troubled conservative Catholics like Cardinal Segura, who was now almost as violent a critic of Franco as he had been of the Republic, was the likelihood of an alliance with the United States. Since July 1951 the United States had been negotiating for military bases in Spain in return for military and economic aid. The Spanish press publicized the talks, but few people in Spain or abroad welcomed them. Arch-Catholics feared the effect of Protestant soldiers among the Spanish populace; Cardinal Segura accused Franco of trading Spain's "Catholic conscience" for "heretical dollars."⁽²⁾ Falangists and other nationalists objected to the appearance of foreign troops on Spanish soil--they warned of new Gibraltars--while opponents of the regime felt betrayed once again by the leading democratic power. Outside Spain, the liberal and left-wing parties of Western Europe raised cries of dismay, and American liberals and Protestants also protested. Nevertheless negotiations continued, pushed by American strategists eager to strengthen the United States hold over the Mediterranean Sea. They culminated in the Pact of Madrid of September 26, 1953, a ten-year military and economic agreement for the two powers to build and maintain joint naval and air bases in Spain and for the United States to supply Spain with dollars and armaments. With the United States behind him, Franco became virtually unassailable at home and abroad. [240] Coming one month after the concordat, the pact guaranteed the continuation of the regime, which appeared shaky indeed in 1951.

Two years later, in 1955, the United Nations voted to admit Spain to membership along with various other nations. Thanks to his keen reading of the world pulse and his sense of the possible, Franco had ceased to be a pariah. Only the blocking of Spain's entry into the North Atlantic Treaty Organization by its European members, the refusal of some well-known hispanists to set foot in Spain, and the periodical publications of various groups of Spanish exiles preserved the memory of the anti-Franco crusade of the thirties.

2. In the more relaxed atmosphere of the fifties, a new generation of writers and painters showed that the artistic spirit of Spain was still alive. The Civil War had occupied the efforts and emotions of writers and artists as well as of ordinary men, and they had had little time for creativity. After the war, the memory of its passions and the suffering, hope, and hatreds of the postwar years offered obvious themes for novelists; but fear and discouragement silenced most of those who could have risen to the occasion. They hid what they wrote or destroyed their manuscripts to avoid detection.

Even in the forties, however, the seeds of previous decades sprouted; but they did so in relatively safe fields like poetry and painting. The poetic flowering of the thirties never died completely, even in the war. Garcia Lorca had been assassinated, but most of his contemporaries lived on. Some, like Salinas, Guillen, Cernuda, and Alberti, had emigrated; others remained in Spain, notably Vicente Aleixandre, who became the inspiration of young poets after 1940. A landmark was the publication in 1944 of a collection of poems called Hijos de la ira (Children of Wrath) by Dámaso Alonso, a poet of the twenties who was driven by the sorrow of his country to take up the pen again. His work depicted the personal anguish of an intellectual who had chosen to stay in Spain. By then new voices had joined those of the older poets. They included Miguel Hernandez, who died in a Franco prison in 1942, Blas de Otero, and Leon Felipe in Mexico. Despite their physical separation, the poets in exile and those in Spain remained spiritually united. Given Franco's strict censorship and police surveillance, poetry could be a stronger bond than politics, for exiles could communicate with Spaniards more safely in this medium than through underground political movements. In 1946 Enrique Canito and Jose Luis Cano, the latter a young friend of the poets of the thirties, inaugurated in Madrid a monthly literary review called Insula, dedicated to keeping Spanish men of letters at home and abroad informed of each other's activities. In the more encouraging atmosphere of the next decade emigres began to [241] return for visits and meet their new colleagues, spurring artistic production.

Inside and outside Spain, the war had the effect on poets of turning their writing to current issues. Rather than evoking eternal passions and problems of man, they now portrayed the suffering of their contemporaries and of themselves as individuals. A common theme to run through the poetry of the forties and fifties was an invocation of Spain by her sons who loved her deeply and wept for her suffering. Blas de Otero wrote:

Madre y maestra mía, triste, espaciosa España. He aquí a tu hijo. Úngenos, madre. Haz habitable tu ámbito. Respirable tu extraña paz. Para el hombre. Paz. Para el aire. Madre, paz.⁽³⁾

Even more than poets, painters could work in relative freedom from attack, or at least chose to do so by abandoning representational art almost entirely. In the first third of the century the Catalans Picasso, Dalí, and Miro and the Castilian Juan Gris figured at the head of the cubist and surrealist movements, but they left Spain for France and became part of a wider art world. In the fifties their heirs made the art salons of Barcelona and Madrid among the most exciting anywhere, and established Spanish painters as leaders in abstract art. The new movement can be dated from 1948, when Antoni Tapies, Joan Josep Tharrats, [242] and Modest Cuixart founded a group in Barcelona calling itself the Dau al Set (the Seventh Side of the Die, a surrealist concept). Ten years later another group appeared in Madrid with the name El Paso (The Step), headed by Luis Feito, Manuel Millares, and Rafael Canogar. All were members of a new generation of artists (the oldest, Tharrats, was born in 1918; the youngest, Canogar, in 1935). They experimented radically with unorthodox materials that were attracting artists elsewhere in the Western world--sand, burlap, wood, metal. Although they were part of an international movement that looked back to nonrepre-sentational painters like Kandinsky and Mondrian, they created a peculiarly Spanish art. They used strong but not garish color contrasts that seemed to revive the palettes of El Greco and Goya, who had in their day responded to the hues of the Spanish landscape. In 1959 the Spanish government, long sensitive to the charge of stultifying intellect, gathered their work together in an exhibit that toured the galleries of Europe and America. Its reception abroad established the international reputation of Spaniards in the realm of abstract art.

3. More than the easing restrictions on public expression, the first stages of a profound social transformation showed that the fifties were the beginning of a new era. The economy, sick since the depression and the Civil War, at last began to mend. The fifties was an age of economic expansion in all Western Europe. Since 1948 the Marshall Plan had dispensed United States aid to its European allies and facilitated their recovery from the ravages of the Second World War. Although American help to Spain after 1951 was modest by comparison, it had much the same effect on the Spanish economy. It provided the margin to purchase needed imports and finance long-term projects.

During the decade Spanish industrial potential expanded rapidly. Between 1950 and 1958 the index of total industrial production almost doubled, but it rose even faster in certain basic industries.⁽⁴⁾ Steel output went from 815,000 tons to 1,480,000 (in 1913 it was 392,000). Encouraged by the Instituto Nacional de Industria (INI), the production of chemicals more than tripled, and factories for the first time turned out Spanish automobiles and trucks. Following fifteen years of slow growth, the completion of new dams after 1954 dramatically increased the country's water storage capacity. By 1960 it was 18.4 billion cubic meters, nearly three times the 1954 level. The production of electricity went from 6.9 billion kilowatt hours in 1950 to 18.6 ten years later.

The government also paid attention to communications. During the forties the national railroad network, the RENFE, was able to do little [243] but keep the trains running with ancient, exhausted equipment. In 1950, amid much publicity, it introduced a rapid lightweight passenger train, known as the Talgo, between Madrid and the French border. Conceived and built on radical principles, very low slung to compensate for the poor state of the roadbeds, it almost halved travel time and was ' a tourist attraction. In 1958 the RENFE initiated a ten-year program to modernize its system, helped by a fifteen-million-dollar loan from the United States. The plan included replacing worn track, substituting diesel and electric engines for steam locomotives, and introducing Talgos on all main lines. The RENFE also completed a direct line from Madrid to Burgos which had been under construction for decades and cut over one hundred kilometers from the distance by rail to France. Despite the new automobile age, the RENFE managed to keep the railways a going concern.

In the fifties the state at last began to extend the highway network beyond the stage where Primo de Rivera had left it. The official statistics do not tell the whole story. They list 110,000 kilometers of highways in 1950, of which 84,000 were paved, and 130,000 in 1962 of which 85,000 were paved. However, any traveler could see improvement in the quality of pavement and ease of communication in rural areas, where the 20,000 kilometers of new unimproved roads opened many small towns for the first time to trucks and cars. Accompanying this improvement--indeed, making it peremptory--was a rapid increase in motorized vehicles. In 1950 there were about 9000 interurban buses and 60,000 trucks, largely of prewar vintage. Ten years later the figures were 12,000 and 150,000, and most of these were of recent manufacture. Passenger cars multiplied from less than 90,000 to over 300,000.

Industrial expansion and better communications were to have a major impact on society. They went a long way to explain the acceleration in the growth of cities, which was described in the opening chapter.⁽⁵⁾ They also laid the basis for the revolution in consumer production that began at the end of the decade. But the cost of this expansion was high. By putting its impetus behind the development of basic industries, the government upset the normal balance of the economy without taking proper precautions to prevent the harm that might occur. It took the paths of least resistance and by the end of the decade found itself in almost as serious a crisis as at the beginning. The immediate difficulty arose from a shortage of foreign exchange. To proceed with industrial-ization, Spain needed to import machinery and raw materials like steel, petroleum, and high-grade coal. The hydroelectric installations required advanced equipment, and so did the INI's steel plant at Aviles, planned to be among the most modern in the world. Until the latter began to produce steel at the end of the decade, it represented a heavy [244] drain on state resources. Spain had few manufactured goods to sell abroad. Despite its agricultural and mineral exports, the country had a continually unfavorable balance of payments. Running between 100 ,and 200 million dollars per year from 1952 to 1955, the deficit in for-eign exchange jumped to almost 400 million in the next three years. Only American economic aid enabled the government to continue such a spendthrift policy; during the decade the United States furnished almost one billion dollars in nonmilitary loans and aid and another 400 million in military aid.

Industrial expansion affected the social classes and geographic areas of the country very unevenly. To finance its projects, the government issued credits through its agencies, like the INI. Since this spending was not backed by corresponding government income, it multiplied the currency in circulation and led to a rapid inflation. Control of imports and high tariffs to protect the nascent industries also raised consumer prices. The government maintained restrictions on wages and salaries, however, so that the middle and lower classes were forced to suffer to make possible the expansion. In their case, the cause was partly lack of official foresight. More deliberate was the decision to hold back the industrial areas traditionally opposed to the regime: Catalonia and the Basque Provinces. The Aviles plant was located in Asturias, although it competed directly with the older Basque steel furnaces. The building of dams was concentrated in central and western Spain, and new power lines did not at once reach Catalonia, retarding the expansion of its industries. Barcelona continued to suffer from shortages of electricity throughout the fifties.⁽⁶⁾ The emphasis on basic industries also placed the older consumer goods industries of Catalonia at a disadvantage. The relative stagnation of Barcelona was evident from the census. It had been even with Madrid in 1940 with just over a million people each. By 1960 Barcelona had one and a half million, whereas Madrid, where the government had concentrated much of the automotive and other new industries, had risen to two and a quarter million.

On the other hand certain sectors of society benefited inordinately. Because the government controlled the distribution of scarce resources and imports, its favor meant the difference between rapid expansion and austerity for an enterprise. As in the forties, bribery and corruption continued to mark the relations between official agencies and entrepreneurs. Permission to import materials and machinery was given in return for gratuities; one quarter of Spain's imports was contraband, and this would not have been possible without official conniving.⁽⁷⁾ The situation was geared to encouraging subterfuge and double dealing. Those [245] who succeeded were rewarded with high profits, which they were free to invest or spend on conspicuous extravagance: foreign cars, luxury apartments, summer houses in the mountains or at the seaside.

Rising above the expanding economy were the large private banks, which dated from previous eras. From the outset Franco showed great concern for them, and they responded with their support. From 1936 to 1962 the founding of new banks was prohibited, and during this period the "five great banks" of the early century absorbed seventy-three smaller institutions, over one third of those in existence.⁽⁸⁾ The power of the large banks, la banca, as Spaniards called them collectively, became highly concentrated; the eight largest handled almost two thirds of the banking business.⁽⁹⁾ The periodical reports on the state of the economy of the Banco Hispano-Americano, the Banco de Bilbao, and others were influential with the authorities. A Superior Banking Council established in 1946 brought together representatives of the private banks, the Bank of Spain, and the government to formulate credit policies. The large banks thus collaborated with the ministry and the INI in directing the economic expansion.

But the banks, since the founding of the first ones in the nineteenth century, represented private capital. Because they were the main agents for floating stock, they had always pushed the development of corporate industry. Their search for influence and profits led them to encourage the multiplication of corporations under Franco. In 1950 there were about eight thousand corporations with 55 billion pesetas in stock; by 1960 there were twelve thousand, with 184 billion pesetas in stock. Using their authority to borrow from the government-controlled Bank of Spain, the private banks bought up stock in rapidly expanding corporations in fields like the metallurgical and electrical industries, and what they did not take they distributed to the public. Like the INI, which also acquired stock of private corporations, they held the power to make or break business enterprises. At the beginning of the century family firms had dominated Spanish manufacturing everywhere except in the Basque Provinces. Corporate enterprise had grown steadily during the century, but never so fast as under Franco. Private firms withered beside corporations, sociedades anónimas as they are aptly called in Spanish, with anagrammatic names like UNESA (Unidad Eléctrica, S.A.) and CEISA (Construcciones e Inmuebles, S.A.).

Since the beginning of the century Madrid had been the financial center of the nation, but under Franco its power increased markedly. In 1940 the capital investments of businesses incorporated in Madrid represented 42 percent of the national total. By 1966 it had risen to 50 [246] percent. During this same period Barcelona's share declined from 24 to 21 percent, much of it in small family concerns of a previous era, and Bilbao's from 13 to 11 percent. The same pattern held true in banking. In 1965 Madrid banks had 60 percent of the national total of capital and reserves, Bilbao banks followed with 20 percent, and Barcelona's were a poor third with 4 percent. So attractive was Madrid as a financial capital that many businesses had their headquarters there whose productive activities were carried on elsewhere in the country.⁽¹⁰⁾ Even though the Basque Provinces and Catalonia remained the most highly industrialized regions of Spain, the evolution of the financial structure was centralizing control of the national economy in Madrid.

During the fifties the investment of capital turned from the public to the private sectors of the economy. Of 4 billion pesetas of obligations issued in 1950, 69 percent represented government bonds, 10 percent the bonds of private companies, and 21 percent private stocks. By 1959 there was a revolution in the pattern. The obligations issued that year reached 25 billion pesetas, of which government obligations took only 12 percent while 34 percent went into private bonds and 58 percent into stocks.⁽¹¹⁾ Part of this stock was bought by the INI, part by the banks, but when the banks floated the issues they gratified their preferred clients with inside information and distribution of stock in ventures that were guaranteed handsome profits by the favor of the government.

In this way the development of corporate industry was bringing about a profund change in the pattern of private savings. Since early modern times Spaniards had been suspicious of investment in business. In the nineteenth century real property in land and buildings was the ideal place to put one's savings, and the disentail of church and public lands catered to this penchant. The middle class also invested in family businesses, usually their own. Already before the war the stocks and bonds of corporations were attracting some investors, but under Franco they became generally accepted as a source of security and income for the family with savings. The practice began with the upper layers of society who were close to the banks, many of them descendants of the old Moderado oligarchy. In the sixties the fashion spread downward, and ordinary middle-class people who had never dreamed of owning stock, acciones, used their savings to become accionistas in sociedades anónimas. Thus the regime through its investment policies spread the acceptance of a corporate capitalist economy through the influential sectors of society.

The entire process was also creating a more centralized and unified [247] national economy, transforming the structure inherited from the Moder-ado period. In place of several diverse ruling groups--landowners, Basque steel industrialists, Asturian mining interests, and Catalan cloth manufacturers--a more modern, more concentrated, and less personal ruling elite was appearing. The Moderado oligarchy was not despoiled, it was simply deposed from its ruling position. Many individual members, including landed aristocrats and army generals, found places in the new elite, often on the governing boards of banks and corporations.⁽¹²⁾ Just as roads, telephones, and electric power lines were welding the separate geographic regions into one interconnected economic unit, and migrations were filling the cities with workers from all parts of the country, government agencies, banks, and corporations were producing a single interlocking elite of state officials, bankers, and corporation executives, highly concentrated in Madrid. In a very real, sense the regionalism which had marked Spain since medieval times was under mortal attack.

4. In Spain today three types of manmade structure break the horizon of the countryside and indicate to the traveler that he is approaching a settlement. Two, centuries old, represent an artistic inheritance from the Middle Ages and the absolute monarchy--castles and church towers. Beside them in the grain-bearing regions now rise square windowless tan and white concrete buildings. They are modern grain elevators, silos in Spanish, standing near railway sidings or highways. The National Wheat Service has erected them to store the wheat it purchases from the farmers. The first large silo was inaugurated in Cordoba in 1951, and by 1964 there were 262 in all Spain. The tall silos are a superficial manifestation of a profound transformation going on in the countryside since 1950. Government action has accounted for much of it, but its full depth has been the outgrowth of the myriad changes, planned and unplanned, in process in all areas of Spanish life.

As to other sectors of the economy, the military agreement with the United States gave an impetus to agricultural reform. The two countries exchanged agricultural experts, and the United States furnished farm machinery and gave grants and loans to the Spanish agencies furthering agricultural improvement. By 1963 Spain had received 90 million dollars for this purpose. The sum was not large, but it offered the marginal outlay the country needed. With greater resources at its disposal the government could bring to fruition some of the ambitious plans of the forties.

[248] The Institute of Colonization was the primary agency for reform. It had achieved little since its founding, but a law of 1949 drawn up after a decade of indecision gave it clear objectives. With authority to expropriate large landholdings for improvement and redistribution in small parcels, it now undertook to populate and irrigate major regions of arid Spain. The most important were in the upper Guadalquivir basin in eastern Andalusia, the Guadiana valley near Badajoz, and the northern tributaries of the Ebro River in Aragon. The construction of dams was arranged to provide for irrigation as well as hydroelectric power. By 1958 300,000 hectares (1200 square miles) had been placed under irrigation. Ten years later the offical figure was 800,00 hectares (over 3000 square miles).

Irrigation involved the resettlement of farmers. Those living in the valleys flooded by dams had to be indemnified and relocated, while people had to be brought in to cultivate newly irrigated areas. By 1962 the Institute of Colonization had built two hundred new towns with 17,500 dwelling units. Half were in Extremadura and Andalusia. The institute claimed to have resettled 50,000 families, of which 8000 had acquired full title to their fields. Another 20,000 families had benefited through irrigation of lands they already owned.

The most publicized of the projects was the Badajoz Plan. The valley of the Guadiana above this city on the Portuguese frontier was flat and fertile but virtually barren for lack of water. Development plans went back to the twenties. The new undertaking called for the eventual irrigation of 130,000 hectares (500 square miles). The institute would take over the lands, leaving former owners a maximum of 125 hectares and distributing the rest in family plots of four to five hectares. It planned new towns to house 9500 families. To the INI was assigned the task of developing processing industries for the crops. By 1964 five dams were completed, 50,000 hectares already under irrigation, and 4000 families of colonists established. Smaller but similar undertakings were meanwhile taking shape in many other places.

An integral part of the program of water conservation and use involved reforestation. The planting of trees had also made little progress in the years after the war, and in 1951 the forestry service drew up an overall plan. It was directed largely at replanting the watersheds of the dams to stop erosion and slow down water runoff. By the sixties small evergreens could be seen growing in regular rows on the hillsides of arid Spain, promising to transform the landscape within a few decades from the barren appearance it had had for centuries.

Irrigation and colonization were only one way to increase the output of individuals engaged in agriculture and thereby to raise their standard of living. It could never affect more than a minority of Spanish farmers. There was no single solution to the ill-rewarded primitive toil of the other millions of small peasants, but in these years a number of [249] developments joined together to bring a profound change to their lot as well. One of the achievements of the fifties was the introduction of countless peasants to the use of artificial fertilizers. Before the Civil War the use of chemical fertilizers was a practice of large landowners, but it had declined drastically during the war for lack of supplies. It rose again between 1940 and 1962 from less than one million tons per year to almost four million. The INI made possible this advance by developing the domestic manufacture of fertilizers, for Spain could not afford the foreign exchange needed to import them as it had done before the war. Small farmers who learned the economic benefits of fertilizers accounted for much of the increased use.

The cooperative movement that had gotten under way in the forties also contributed to the well-being and effectiveness of peasant farmers. Marketing cooperatives were the most successful, especially for crops that needed elaboration. Hitherto the small producer of grapes or olives had to deliver his harvest to private wine cellars and oil mills, where he had no choice but to accept the prices offered him for his highly perishable crops. Only the larger producers had the economic strength to build their own mills or demand a fair price. By the end of the fifties, and more especially in the sixties, in the grape and olive regions new wine and oil mills proudly labeled "cooperatives" arose beside aging private mills. Farmers would discuss with the visitor the success of "their" cooperatives, exuding a new dignity at being able to stand off their former exploiters.

Agricultural credit became more accessible in these years. The number of cajas rurales of the National Union of Rural Cooperatives doubled between 1948 and 1964, offering loans to finance improvements and the purchase of machinery. The state also intervened directly to offer credit to peasants through the National Service of Agricultural Credit, set up in 1946 and rebaptized the National Bank of Agricultural Credit in 1962. Its outstanding loans rose from 400 million pesetas in 1952 to 4.6 billion in 1963.

The cooperative movement, easier credit, domestic industry, and American aid all contributed to the mechanization of the countryside. Farm machinery began to appear in places that had never known it. To cite only the most common type of machine, Spain had 4000 agricultural tractors in 1940, 114,000 in 1963. No doubt the majority of farm machines were purchased by farmers whose lands were extensive enough to justify the investment. Less well-to-do peasants could rent the tractors and threshers of their wealthier neighbors or pay to have their lands plowed and harvested. The cooperative movement offered a more dignified solution adopted by many. Groups of small farmers associated to buy and share machinery, using the credit offered by the cajas rurales and the National Bank.

One of the greatest hindrances to improving and mechanizing [250] agriculture was the large number of tiny plots of land dating back for centuries, the result of dividing inheritances without concern for the unproductive labor such division entailed. Throughout most of Spain individual peasants had to work many minuscule fields in different parts of the town limits. Before 1950 in ten provinces located in the central plateau and Galicia, the average number of plots per owner was over ten, and in Soria it reached twenty-six! Reformers had long worried about the problem, but they had achieved virtually nothing. The minister of agriculture in the 1951 cabinet, Rafael Cavestany, took up the challenge with determination. In 1952 he obtained the creation of a technical staff known as the Service of Parcelary Concentration. It received the authority, on petition of a majority of the landowners of a town, to survey and reallocate the land so that each owner would get as few tracts as possible while preserving the quality and extent of his former holdings. The activities of the service began slowly, since it had to train teams of experts, but it gained momentum at the end of the fifties and continued to accelerate in the sixties. The peasants needed little encouragement to undertake the change. As one told me, "We can all see the advantage, but we could never carry it out by ourselves. It has to be the state who does it." Petitions for "concentration" poured in from towns faster than the service could deal with them. By 1963 145,000 hectares had been concentrated; nearly 500,000 plots had been reduced to 60,000.

That all these campaigns were having an effect was evident in production figures. Perhaps the most significant was the growth of the wheat crop. From 1939 to 1954 there had been little change in it, averaging about 33 million quintals per year. In the next decade it rose sharply and in the early sixties averaged nearly 45 million, more than before the war. Spain was able to reduce its imports of grain despite a growing population, a vital saving in foreign exchange. Furthermore, the growth in grain output occurred while land was being taken out of wheat and put into more specialized crops like olives, cotton, and sugar beets. The production of olive oil increased by a third from the late forties to the early sixties. Much of the land put under irrigation went into sugar beets and cotton, especially in Andalusia. Sugar beet output rose 60 percent from the early fifties to the early sixties; while the cotton crop multiplied twenty-five times from 1944 to 1963, from 20,000 bales to 500,000. Again these figures meant fewer purchases abroad.

Besides being initiated to modern agricultural methods, peasant life was changing in more indirect ways. The effect of the improvement of communications was more noticeable than in the cities. The telephone network spread deeper and deeper into remote areas, and so did electricity. There had been a limited number of radios in the small towns before the war, but not until their price declined and electricity reached throughout the rural areas could they become commonplace. [251] This occurred after the war, and especially in the fifties. The radio brought news of the outside world, even if censored, sporting events, and advertisements of the latest in cosmetics and household appliances. Although most of the increase in automotive transportation involved interurban freight and passengers, it also invaded the small towns. Trucks began to circulate along minor roads that had hardly been passable before, while the alcaldes of the smallest pueblos petitioned for bus service and often obtained it. Peasants could now ship out their produce by truck, and they could take their families for the day to the provincial capital on the coche de linea and return with the latest style printed cottons and ready-made clothes. The young men and women of the pueblos on the traditional Sunday promenade along the main street now looked no different from those who were parading at the same hour in the avenues of the cities. Only middle-aged and older persons hung on to the dark clothes they had always worn.

Schooling was another innovative force. From the outset, universal education had been one of the objectives of the regime. Since illiteracy was a greater plague in rural areas than in the cities, the campaign had to be directed primarily at the small towns. The forties had seen vast plans but little achievement. The decade of the fifties began to see the projects materialize. In 1953 the government approved a general plan for school construction, and after 1956 building began in earnest. It was estimated that 18,000 new elementary school rooms were needed (about a third again as many as those in existence) and another 7000 had to be rebuilt. By 1964 the government claimed to have completed almost all of these, and however inexact these figures might be, the achievement was no vain boast. By the mid-sixties new elementary schools were visible throughout the pueblos, one for boys and one for girls, or else a common building carefully divided to separate the sexes. Often there was also a new house for the maestro to attract him from the city. Slowly illiteracy was receding. The Republic had found 32 percent of Spaniards illiterate and left 23 percent. By 1960 the figure was down to 12 percent, mostly of an older generation.

The ideal of the rulers was to open all levels of education to the lower classes, both urban and rural, aware that a technological society needs more trained persons than Spain's traditional elitist education could provide. A law of 1957 established a new plan for technical education, projecting a larger number of schools and reducing the entrance requirements. To make university education more accessible, the government pushed the building of colegios mayores. By 1963 there were 124 in the twelve universities, 38 of them in Madrid. In 1956 the state began to offer scholarships for secondary and technical education, giving to a limited number of working class and peasant youths the opportunity to pursue schooling beyond the elementary level. The scholarship program became one of the central concerns of the ministry of education. [252] In 1966 150,000 students received state aid; a relatively small number, but it meant that the son of a peasant no longer needed to enter the clergy to get an education.

The government tended to lag in the field of secondary education, however. It continued to allow private schools to do the job, and this meant above all those of the religious orders. The number of students at the secondary level per 10,000 population rose from 60 in 1940 to 150 in 1960, but less than one fifth of these were in state institutos. Rather than build new institutos, the government licensed private schools under a law of 1938 to give official secondary degrees, the bachillerato, provided they had properly qualified teachers and met other standards.

The picture had other dark sides. More attention had been paid to extending education than to improving its quality. At all levels schools suffered from backward pedagogical methods. Textbooks had to be approved by the state, and those that got by were dismally dull and uninspiring. Even at the university students were expected to memorize rather than question, and teachers remained distant and infallible. Nevertheless, specialized training was ceasing to be the monopoly of the middle classes. For the first time laboring class and peasant families could encourage their children to study with the expectation of social and economic rewards. The spread of education, like so many other changes, was working to end the division of the country into alien rural and urban worlds.

Rural life had never stood completely still, although the visitor from the city might feel that peasants were living and working as they had under the Romans. In the fifties, however, it began to change so rapidly that it transformed the mentality of the peasants, especially the young ones. Parcelary concentration and mechanized farming destroyed the monopoly of mules, burros, Roman plows, and the town threshing field. Roads, buses, and trucks brought the city nearer to the village, while telephones, radios, and new schools made the villagers feel that they were really part of a larger world. The drab backbreaking labor of all members of the family that had been the lot of their ancestors from time immemorial no longer seemed the preordained way of life for those born to till the land. Even small farmers and agricultural laborers who could not afford the improvements or who lived in towns not yet touched by the changes determined at least that their children, if not they, would enjoy easier lives.⁽¹³⁾

For thousands and thousands of men and women under forty the easiest and fastest way to throw off the old life was to abandon the pueblos and go to the cities, where unskilled labor was in demand. [253] Since the nineteenth century young people had left the countryside for the cities or for Spanish America, but restrictions had reduced the flow to America since the First World War. Those who continued to go there came from the Canary Islands, Galicia, and other places near the sea. The interior rural areas sent their excess people to Madrid, Barcelona, and other Spanish cities in the north and east. This was still the pattern after the Civil War, but after 1955 the flow increased; a quarter of a million people went to Madrid in the second half of the decade, twice as many as in the first half. By and large the migrants were adult males from rural areas where the number of landless laborers was high, Andalusia and New Castile.⁽¹⁴⁾

The rural exodus became a flood about 1960 and its pattern changed. Over two hundred thousand workers moved their residence within Spain that year, nearly one fiftieth of the total active population. They went from the agricultural areas to Madrid and the industrial centers of the north and east, as before, but now many also began to go to north European countries which needed cheap labor, above all to France, Germany, and Switzerland. Seven hundred thousand people from all parts of Spain were to cross the Pyrenees seeking jobs between 1959 and 1963--half again as many as fled at the end of the Civil War. Eighty-five percent were adult males, and of these perhaps nine tenths were from the countryside, although some had gone first to Madrid or Barcelona before leaving the country.⁽¹⁵⁾ No longer were they all landless emigrants, for peasants who owned land or expected to inherit it began to leave their homes. Tired of eking out barren lives on too small farms, they began to sell their fields, or when there were no buyers simply abandon them, and move to the city. Married couples left their children with their grandparents, hoping to be reunited with them in the near future. Most of the migrants to the cities ended up in slums or in temporary hovels on the outskirts, but they could find unskilled jobs in construction or the services and had the satisfaction of being where the action was.⁽¹⁶⁾

Thus began, without advance planning, what one Spaniard has called "the most singular agrarian reform of all time."⁽¹⁷⁾ Emigration [254] was the most effective, indeed the indispensable, way to raise the standard of living of rural Spaniards. So long as masses of peasants weighed down the rural economy, forcing the use of inefficient, outdated forms of production to keep them all busy, they were condemned to poverty. Even with new methods agricultural production could never rise fast enough to bring up to modern standards the level of income of all the people in the countryside. In 1940 4.8 million Spaniards were actively engaged in agriculture. In 1960 the number was the same, although the proportion of the total population had declined from 52 to 41 percent. Only large scale emigration could reduce the absolute number of agricultural workers and make possible a solution to the centuries old agrarian problem. The changes of the fifties laid the groundwork, both material and psychological, for this to begin in the sixties.

5. Spain might be changing, but Spaniards were far from happy. During most of the fifties the transformation did not benefit the ordinary city dweller, while inflation, shortages, corruption, favoritism, and police rule were not calculated to endear the rulers to him. After the first demonstration of labor solidarity in the spring of 1951, however intangible its success, the regime was unable to stifle further opposition. Spanish workers seemed to realize that they had to take their fate in their own hands, since all hope had vanished of the regime being toppled from abroad; while Franco, fearful of paralyzing the economy and needing American and western European friends, could no longer resort to the same mass brutality that he had used after the war. In October 1952 the police discovered plans of anarchists acting in the name of the former CNT to organize a general strike in Barcelona protesting government corruption and rising prices. Junior army officers were reported to be sympathetic. While the government arrested the leaders, it sought to pacify the workers by decreeing an extraordinary bonus of one month's salary for state and industrial employees. Labor unrest continued. In December 1953 several thousand workers in Bilbao went on strike to protest insufficient wages, organized by Socialists and Basque nationalists. And in March 1954 workers rioted in Seville.

After a decade of smouldering, the unrest in the universities also flamed into open revolt. In January 1954 police broke up a student rally in Madrid ostensibly organized to denounce British occupation of Gibraltar. The next day three thousand university students demonstrated against police brutality in the Puerta del Sol and stormed the nearby Madrid radio station. The students were not the only aggrieved group. On the other side the members of Opus Dei were not happy with their fall from grace in 1951. The Consejo Superior de [255] Investigaciones Científicas, which Opus dominated, in December 1955 released the results of a poll taken among students at the University of Madrid which revealed overwhelming opposition to the regime. Seventy-five percent believed the government to be incompetent. Even more accused it of immorality and said Spain was rent by class hatred brought on by its capitalistic economic system. In his annual New Year's Day speech, Franco denounced what he called the "venom of materialism" infiltrating the universities. Students responded by chal-lenging official control of higher learning. On February 1, 1956 students of the University of Madrid, led by Dionisio Ridruejo, a radical Falange leader of the thirties, petitioned for changes in the SEU. They stated that the Falange's control of the SEU prevented it from ! voicing student grievances, and asked to have it run democratically. ' Several days later the law students challenged the rules by electing non-Falangist delegates to the SEU. Fighting ensued between radical students and loyal members of the Falange that mushroomed into mass demonstrations and clashes with the police in central Madrid. Rioting spread to Seville and other university cities, and the crisis became so serious that the government gave the police arbitrary powers of arrest.

In April the government brought to trial four young intellectuals, two of them university students, accused of inciting the disturbances. To everyone's amazement they obtained as their defense attorney Jose Maria Gil Robles. Gil had hardly been heard of since his brilliant political career under the Republic as leader of the rightist CEDA. About 1954 he returned from Portugal, where he had been an adviser to the pretender Don Juan. Now he stepped forward as champion of the opponents of the regime. His eloquent defense pilloried the government for denying the right of free expression promised in the Fuero de los Españoles. Witnesses for the accused included Ridruejo and Lain Entralgo, the liberal Falangist rector of the University of Madrid. The Spanish intellectual world followed the trial eagerly, and when the judges decreed token sentences of six to twelve months in jail for the accused young men, it rejoiced at what it felt was a moral victory.

In the next years Gil Robles was to remain in public sight, at times defending others accused by the regime. Around him he built a movement called the Christian Democrats, a name taken from left-wing Catholic parties in other countries. Lain Entralgo was in the same " camp. Ridruejo, on the other hand, remained aloof from the church and founded a group called the Social Party of Democratic Action.⁽¹⁸⁾ Neither of these or other similar groups that appeared could be more than informal associations, for the law prohibited all parties except [256] the Falange; yet the willingness of university students to challenge Franco's rule had incited respected figures within Spain for the first time to oppose the regime openly. Those who did so had all fought the Popular Front in 1936. In speaking out now against the government, they declared that the Civil War was a thing of the past and new issues were at stake, giving the lie to official statements that the student disturbances were the work of Communists and other agents of the defeated Republicans. Because of their respected names and impeccable backgrounds, they offered relatively safe rallying points for dissatisfied middle-class persons and intellectuals. Political opposition was still illegal, but it was no longer all clandestine or led only by the former Popular Front parties.

The workers, loyal to the memories of the war, were hardly attracted by Gil Robles and Ridruejo, but they used the student agitation to urge their own grievances. Trying to head off labor disturbances, the government decreed a 20 percent wage increase in March 1956. The workers again rejected what they considered token satisfaction, and in April they conducted strikes in Barcelona and other Catalan cities, in Bilbao, San Sebastian, and even conservative Pamplona. They protested worsening economic conditions as well as the dictatorial nature of the regime. The government granted further across-the-board wage increases of 40 to 50 percent in November, but agitation continued. In the winter of 1956-57 activity centered in Barcelona, where both students and workers staged public protests. Henceforth Franco could not face opposition from one of these sources without anticipating trouble from the other.

Thanks to his hold on the police and army, Franco rode out the unrest, but he decided to entrust his government in the future to harder headed men than the Falangist old shirts and liberal Catholics. The crisis opened the door for the enemies of both groups who had been biding their time since 1951: the Opus Dei.

The leaders of Opus Dei had not been idle since their setback. With their conquest of the universities stimied, they decided to establish one of their own. In 1952 Opus founded a private school of higher studies at Pamplona, in the heart of the most Catholic part of Spain. Known as the General Studies of Navarre, it was similar to existing institutions of the Jesuits at Deusto and the Augustinians in the Escorial. By long tradition none but state universities could grant higher degrees. (Primo de Rivera's concession of the right to the Jesuits in 1928 was instrumental in his downfall.) Opus worked to end this monopoly, citing an article in the recent concordat giving the church the right to found schools at all levels of instruction. The General Studies of Navarre was at last empowered to grant university degrees in 1962, but not until long after the fortunes of Opus Dei had revived.

[257] Meanwhile Opus was extending its interest in other directions. In 1947 it founded a publishing house which devoted itself to works on philosophical and contemporary topics presented at a popular level. Opus also gained control of three newspapers in Madrid and others in Barcelona, Valladolid, and Leon. It acquired a strong interest in the Banco Popular, one of the major banks of Madrid.⁽¹⁹⁾ All of these undertakings began on a modest scale and did not rival the leaders in their fields, but they gave Opus a foothold in the banking, publishing, and other business worlds where it could taste the spirit of Spain's new capitalism.

In the fifties certain of its members turned to politics to achieve their ends. The leader of this group was Calvo Serer, already recognized as the spokesman for the order. He published an open attack on the ministry in 1953 in the French periodical Ecrits de Paris. In it he denounced both the Falangists and the liberal Catholics, scornfully calling the latter Christian democrats, the name that they later took up. He accused the two groups of being totalitarian and at the same time opening Spain to the leftists and anticlericals defeated in the Civil War. In their stead he called for a "Third Force" which would loosen economic regimentation and political centralization under a popular monarchy--the last item an appeal for the support of the monarchists disappointed at the failure of Franco to name the next king.

Although Calvo Serer presumably spoke only for himself, his article turned Opus into a political force. The ministry reacted energetically. Calvo Serer lost his editorship of the Consejo Superior's journal Arbor, but he remained a professor at the University of Madrid. A muted war developed in the next years between the politically inclined members of Opus and the minister of education Ruiz Giménez. Student troubles provided ammunition for the former, who blamed them on the dictatorial methods of the government and urged more emphasis on religious education. "The dilemma is this," Calvo Serer wrote, "either catechism and culture or the Civil Guard."⁽²⁰⁾ Thus the spokesmen of Opus Dei offered its philosophy as an alternative to the increasingly discredited policies of the ministry.

The student uprising in the spring of 1956 and continuing unrest gave the political leaders of Opus Dei their opportunity. Franco at once eliminated the men who represented the liberalization of 1951. Ruiz Giménez lost his job as minister of education, Fernandez Cuesta his as secretary general of the Movimiento, while Lain Entralgo stepped down as rector of the University of Madrid. A year later, in February [258] 1957, Franco announced the appointment of a new ministry. Martin Artajo, moderate Catholic foreign minister since 1945, also disappeared. The men to enter the ministry stood for maintaining order while reducing economic regimentation. Franco placed a general at the head of gobernación who could be counted on to crush opposition. His new foreign minister was Fernando Maria Castiella, a loyal servant of the regime who had fought in Russia in the Blue Division, had negotiated the Concordat of 1953 in Rome, and now favored rapprochement with Western Europe. But the most significant appointments brought known members of Opus Dei for the first time into the government. The new minister of commerce, Alberto Ullastres, was an Opus numerary, and the minister of finance, Mariano Navarro Rubio, a supernumerary. Admiral Carrero Blanco, one of the closest advisers of Franco, who remained in the cabinet as subsecretary to him, took on as his technical secretary another member of Opus, Laureano Lopez Rodo.

Whether Opus Dei had a concrete political policy, as its enemies claimed, or only religious objectives, as its spokesmen maintained, Franco had decided to turn to its men to fill the most sensitive positions in his ministry. Ever since the forties the belief had grown in the mysterious and irresistible power of Opus Dei. To the enemies of both Franco and the order, the appearance of two of its members in the cabinet and rumors of its influence with others like Carrero Blanco confirmed the reality of its occult power. They tended to forget that Franco had never let himself become ensnared by any group.

The economic doctrines of the Opus Dei ministers were to have more impact on the future of Spain than their religious connections, however. More than anyone else Navarro Rubio, Ullastres, and Lopez Rodo were to determine the course of Spain's economy in the next decade. Navarro Rubio had been a director of Opus's Banco Popular, Ullastres was a professor of economics and vice-governor of another bank, and Lopez Rodo, only thirty-seven, was a professor of administrative law. The three represented Opus Dei's infiltration of the university and business worlds. In spirit and associations they belonged to the circle of the large banks and corporate entrepreneurs, and as such they would throw their weight in favor of fewer economic restrictions and Spain's integration with the rest of Europe.

The new government faced a difficult economic situation. Wage increases granted in 1956 to curtail strikes only accelerated the inflationary spiral. By 1958 the price index was nearly eleven times the prewar level, 56 percent higher than in 1952, wiping out the workers' recent gains, and inflation seemed out of control. Imports were running farther ahead of exports than ever. One reason was that the government kept the peseta pegged so high (42 to the dollar) that Spanish goods were pricing themselves out of the export market. The unrealistic rate of exchange also discouraged tourists and fostered a [259] flourishing black market in foreign currencies. American aid no longer could match the balance of payments deficit. Between 1956 and the end of 1958 Spain's gold and dollar reserves dropped from 220 million dollars to 65 million, 3 million less than its foreign liabilities.

During 1958, the government, inspired by Castiella, Ullastres, and Navarro Rubio, moved to end Spain's economic isolation. It became an associate member of the Organization for European Economic Cooperation, originally made up of the countries receiving Marshall Plan aid. It also entered the International Monetary Fund and the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (World Bank), bodies established by the Allies in 1944-45 to stabilize world currencies and help war-torn and underdeveloped countries.

In the winter of 1958-59 the public discovered that highly placed Spaniards had been illegally sending their capital to Swiss banks to protect themselves in case of a crash. The scandal forced the government to take vigorous action to save Spain's credit. Experts from the United States and the International Monetary Fund visited the country to analyze its economic condition. Desperately needing further foreign aid, Franco had no alternative but to agree to the terms imposed by the United States and the International Monetary Fund, although they meant dismantling the cherished state-regulated economy created at the end of the Civil War to implement a corporate autarky. On the whole the recommendations agreed with the ideas of Ullastres, Navarro Rubio, and the leading bankers. Spain must devalue the peseta and it must curtail government spending. It must abandon its economic controls and free foreign trade, especially with European countries. It must attract private capital from abroad to share in the development of industry. It should aim toward eventual association with the European Common Market, which had just been established by six Western European countries.

The Stabilization Plan, as these measures were called, was published in July 1959. The plan ended many domestic economic controls ' --eighteen government agencies disappeared, but not the INI, which was too well entrenched--and it tightened domestic credit. It devalued the peseta to sixty to the dollar, abolished import licenses for the most common items, and raised to 50 percent the share of stock in Spanish corporations that could be owned by foreigners. In return the United States, the International Monetary Fund, and private banks promised Spain 420 million dollars to support it through a period of readjustment to the new conditions. Spain also became a full-fledged member of the Organization for European Economic Cooperation, seen as a step toward its eventual inclusion in the Western European economic community. The pill was hard for Franco to swallow, since it reversed the accepted economic doctrines of the regime and meant outside supervision of his administration, but it was the price he had to pay [260] for continuing support by the United States. Once again he showed that he was a tough unsentimental pragmatist rather than a doctrinaire. After years of reckless government spending and soaring inflation, the Stabilization Plan committed Spain to enforced austerity. The immediate effect of devaluation was further price increases. Those who suffered most were the urban workers, for austerity measures deprived them of overtime pay while the credit squeeze on business almost doubled unemployment. The year 1960 was a hard one for the lower classes. In the countryside a disastrous harvest raised rural unemployment and encouraged peasants to abandon the land. It was no accident that this year saw a sudden increase in internal migration and the beginning of large-scale emigration to north Europe. On the other hand, the plan saved Spain's international economic position. By the end of 1959 its gold reserves had risen for the first time in years and stood at 100 million dollars. After the initial period of readjustment, the economy quickened in all areas. The Stabilization Plan laid the basis for the remarkable economic transformation of the next decade, with which we began our story, far more rapid even than that of the fifties.

The Moderado order had at last expired, after a long-drawn-out agony that began with the collapse of caciquismo in the second decade of the century. Despite the defeat of its opponents in the Civil War, it never regained control of the country. Like Primo de Rivera, Franco protected the entrenched groups, but he did not give them authority. Both dictators preferred to rely on the army and the church rather than the old wealthy classes. By 1950 Franco discovered that he must relax his punitive rule and revive the economy if he were not to strangle the country. For him and his advisers economic revival meant first of all industrialization. Though his enemies criticized him for neglecting agriculture, it was the proper choice, for agricultural reform could never by itself raise Spain's standard of living to European levels. Industrialization was carried out by large corporations sponsored by the state through the Instituto Nacional de Industria and through the larger banks. The result was the appearance of a new elite, made up of high government officials, bankers, technocrats, and corporation managers, similar to that of Germany, France, and other industrial countries. Franco had not attacked the old Moderado oligarchy in frontal assault, he had simply reduced its importance. Large landowners and industrialists merged with the new elite in a subordinate role, just as more than a century before the former owners of mayo-razgos and señoríos, which the liberals abolished, had joined the Moderado oligarchy. Franco's early laws had also placed foreign investors in a secondary role, but the Stabilization Plan, which both Spanish bankers and foreign lenders demanded, reopened the door to them as partners with the new Spanish elite.

Under Franco the forces of the twentieth century which had [261] opposed the Moderado order demonstrated that they were indispensable. The country could not industrialize and treat its workers like convicts, or the university students, who would be its future professionals, technocrats, and scientists, like children. Tacitly if not legally, Franco recognized their right to press their demands, and this meant giving their due to the forces he had defeated in the war. Indeed, he had no alternative. The rural half of Spain that had furnished votes for the Moderados and soldiers for Franco's army was joining the cities, either physically by migration or spiritually by imitation. Moreover, the dominant foreign powers, which had made possible his victory, now condemned a vindictive attitude toward workers and intellectuals. The Moderado order had welcomed Franco as its savior. In twenty years of rule he had had to forsake it in order to survive himself.

1. Quoted in Elena de la Souchere, An Explanation of Spain, p. 275.

2. Arthur P. Whitaker, Spain and the Defense of the West, p. 41.

3. Mother and teacher mine, my sad and spacious Spain. Behold your son. Anoint us, Mother. Grant surcease of anguish in your bounds. Make breathable again your strange peace. For man. Peace. For the air. Mother, peace.

4. See table in Whitaker, p. 225.

5. See pp. 20-22.

6. Souchere, p. 323.

7. Whitaker, op. cit., p. 237.

8. Ramon Tamames, Estructura económica de España (3rd ed., Madrid: Sociedad de Estudios y Publicaciones, 1965), p. 664.

9. Whitaker, p. 230.

10. Jose L. Garcia Delgado and Arturo Lopez Muñoz, "Análisis de la banca privada española," Cuadernos para el dialogo, VIII extraordinario (April 1968), 35-38.

11. Anuario financiero y de sociedades económicas, 1964-1965, p. xxxix.

12. Whitaker, pp. 140-41, 146-47; Garcia Delgado and Lopez Muñoz, "Análisis de la banca privada española," pp. 39-47.

13. See Victor Perez Diaz, Estructura social del campo y éxodo rural (Madrid: Editorial Tecnos, 1966), a sociological study of a town in Guadalajara province.

14. Angel Cabo Alonso, "Valor de la inmigración madrileña," Estudios geográficos, XXII (1961), 353-74, and Jesus Garcia Fernandez, "El movimiento migratorio de trabajadores en España," ibid., XXV (1964), 139-74.

15. Jesus Garcia Fernandez, La emigration exterior de España (Barcelona: Ediciones Ariel, 1965), pp. 76, 100, 228-32, 269.

16. See Juan Anllo, Estructura y problemas del campo español (Madrid: Editorial Cuadernos para le Dialogo, 1967), pp. 96-103, and the moving article by Julio Caro Baroja, "La despoblación de los campos," Revista de Occidente, No. 40 (July 1966), pp. 19-36.

17. Quoted by Angel Martinez Bosque, Colonization agricola (Ministerio de Agricultura, Instituto Nacional de Colonization, Estudios, Vol. VI, No. 30), 13. The author of the phrase is not named.

18. Benjamin Welles, Spain, the Gentle Anarchy (New York: Frederick A. Praeger, Inc., 1965), pp. 190, 204.

19. Whitaker, pp. 275-77, and Artigues, pp. 131-32 and 157-58.

20. Rafael Calvo Serer, España después de log tratados (1954), quoted in Artigues, p. 153.