Stories from the Military History Museum of Menorca: Plausible

Clio—from the Greek “She who bestows fame”—is, in addition to being the name of a car, the muse of history, one of the nine muses, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory—so essential to her daughter. She is always depicted as a young woman of extraordinary beauty, carrying the elements that characterize her: parchment and quill for recording, and a trumpet with which to proclaim epic feats, for she records heroic deeds rather than history itself. Most importantly, she looks back over her shoulder, gazing at the past—there is a magnificent sculpture representing her in the Army Museum in Toledo, right at the top of the escalator. We assume Clio is always truthful, but are her followers always truthful, or merely plausible?

Contrary to an unwritten rule, I will refer by name to a living person—fortunately. Those who have taken the guided tour of the impressive ruins of San Felipe Castle will know who I’m talking about; those who haven’t yet—and they’re missing out—will recognize him immediately. The above-ground and underground remains of what was once the largest fortress tell an impressive story, well worth discovering and sure to leave no one indifferent. This guided tour is made even more enchanting by the work of the guide, Fernando Serrano. He recounts the history with such passion that visitors feel transported back in time. The sounds and even the smells present in his narrative become palpable. Fernando is undoubtedly the greatest asset and the best architect of the tour. His imagination embellishes and fills in the gaps of the narrative, which, lacking human details, would come across as cold and passionless. His story may not always be entirely truthful, but it is certainly believable.

“In dubio pro reo” is the legal principle by which, in case of doubt, the accused should be judged in favor of the accused. Must the accused prove their innocence? No, it is the accuser who must prove their guilt. The events of the past are not as they occurred, but as we remember them. Reading the statements of different witnesses about the same events, one can see that there are serious discrepancies between them. Are they lying? No, they all tell the truth, albeit “their truth.” They recount what they remember, what has been etched in their memory. It is the judge’s task—and skill—to weave together the different accounts to construct the fabric of history.

Every castle has its ghost; in San Felipe, we have Kane’s, whose spirit wanders among its ruins demanding some missing bones, if only to give purpose to the impressive mausoleum bearing his name that remains empty in London. Likewise, every nation has its heroes, protagonists of often improbable stories. Many stories are told about Nelson, not only by the British—which is to their credit—but also by the Spanish, most of whom probably don’t know who Churruca, Gravina, or Alcalá Galiano were—that explains the state of things. Nelson was a sailor with many virtues, but beauty wasn’t one of them. He was prematurely aged, missing an arm, most of his teeth, and sight in one eye. Amy Lyons—as she was known when married, Lady Hamilton—must have seen other qualities in him; I suppose it helped that her husband, at sixty-seven, was more interested in plundering and trading antiquities from Pompeii than in his wife. A beautiful woman with a checkered past, she won Hamilton over by dancing nude for him and his guests. The governor willingly shared her with Nelson, whom he himself admired and professed to be his friend. Together, the three of them fled Naples shortly before it fell to the French, and together they returned to England. At the end of 1798, with the French advancing, the Hamiltons—and their permanent guest, Nelson—settled in Sicily. From there, Nelson—without his mistress—traveled to Menorca, recently captured by the British, to meet with the Governor. He anchored in Mahón harbor and disembarked at Georgetown (Es Castell). After a few hours, he returned to his ship intending to sail to Sicily and be with his beloved. However, a strong tramontana wind prevented him from doing so for the following week, during which time he did not go ashore again—it is said that he suffered from seasickness. Not only is the house on display, but they even show you the window from which Lady Hamilton bid farewell to Nelson. Even with its romantic undertones, the improbable will never be true.

The Menorca Military History Museum receives messages, congratulations (which we appreciate), and inquiries (which we strive to answer satisfactorily) via email. One of those queries said: It is said in the family, and passed down from generation to generation, that one of our ancestors was a butcher in the Arraval Vell of the Castle of San Felipe at the beginning of the 17th century, – and it provided the name of the “Ancestor in question—could you confirm it? Thank you.” “My dear sir,” I replied, “we can barely document the names of the wardens, let alone know the name of the village butcher—impossible!” However, confirming a name is just as impossible as denying its existence. In the future, and pass this on to your children, don’t tell the story speculating and thereby ultimately casting doubt on its veracity. State it outright, because even if it isn’t true, it’s plausible. Don’t let the lack of evidence spoil a beautiful story. I congratulate you on finding your ancestor.” “I will,” he replied. “It’s given me a real boost, thank you.” It was my good deed for the day.

Former Director of the Military History Museum of Menorca

Source: Diario Menorca