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Historicus nascitur, non fit. I am painfully aware that neither my calling nor election in this matter are the least sure. Certain it is that in youth, when alone the historian or the horseman may be formed, I did little to fit myself for writing history. Wandering about the countries of which now I treat, I had almost as little object in my travels as a Gaucho of the outside `camps'. I never took a note on any subject under heaven, nor kept a diary, by means of which, my youth departed and the countries I once knew so well transmogrified, I could, sitting beside the fire, read and enjoy the sadness of revisiting, in my mind's eye, scenes that I now remember indistinctly as in a dream. I take it that he who keeps a journal of his doings, setting down day by day all that he does, with dates and names of places, their longitude and latitude duly recorded, makes for himself a meal of bitter-sweet; and that your truest dulcamara is to read with glasses the faded notes jotted down hurriedly in rain, in sun, in wind, in camps, by flooded rivers, and in the long and listless hours of heat — in fact, to see again your life, as it were, acted for you in some camera obscura, with the chief actor changed. But diaries, unless they be mere records of bare facts, must of necessity, as in their nature they are autobiographical, be false guides; so that, perhaps, I in my carelessness was not quite so unwise as I have often thought myself. Although I made no notes of anything, caring most chiefly for the condition of my horse, yet when I think on them, pampa and cordillera, virgin forest, the `passes' of the rivers, approached by sandy paths, bordered by flowering and sweet-smelling trees, and most of all the deserted Jesuit Missions, half buried by the vigorous vegetation, and peopled but by a few white-clad Indians, rise up so clearly that, without the smallest faculty for dealing with that which I have undertaken, I am forced to write. Flowers, scents, the herds of horses, the ostriches, and the whole charm of that New World which those who saw it even a quarter of a century ago saw little altered from the remotest times, have remained clear and sharp, and will remain so with me to the end. So to the readers (if I chance to have them) of this short attempt to give some faint idea of the great Christian Commonwealth of the Jesuit Missions between the Paraná and Uruguay, I now address myself. He who attacks a subject quite fallen out of date, and still not old enough to give a man authority to speak upon it without the fear of contradiction, runs grave risk.
Gentle, indulgent reader, if so be that you exist in these the days of universal knowledge and self-sufficient criticism, I do not ask for your indulgence for the many errors which no doubt have slipped into this work. These, if you care to take the trouble, you can verify, and hold me up to shame. What I do crave is that you will approach the subject with an open mind. Your Jesuit is, as we know, the most tremendous wild-fowl that the world has known. `La guardia nera' of the Pope, the order which has wrought so much destruction, the inventors of `Ciencia media',[1] cradle from which has issued forth Molina, Suarez, and all those villains who, in the days in which the doctrine was unfashionable, decried mere faith, and took their stand on works — who in this land of preconceived opinion can spare it a good word? But, notwithstanding, even a Jansenist, if such be left, must yet admit the claim of Francis Xavier as a true, humble saint, and if the sour-faced sectary of Port Royale should refuse, all men of letters must perforce revere the writer of the hymn.
But into the whole question of the Jesuits I cannot enter, as it entails command of far more foot and half-foot words than I can muster up. Still, in America, and most of all in Paraguay, I hope to show the Order did much good, and worked amongst the Indians like apostles, receiving an apostle's true reward of calumny, of stripes, of blows, and journeying hungry, athirst, on foot, in perils oft, from the great cataract of the Paraná to the recesses of the Tarumensian woods. Little enough I personally care for the political aspect of their commonwealth, or how it acted on the Spanish settlements; of whether or not it turned out profitable to the Court of Spain, or if the crimes and charges of ambition laid to the Jesuits' account were false or true. My only interest in the matter is how the Jesuits' rule acted upon the Indians themselves, and if it made them happy — more happy or less happy than those Indians who were directly ruled from Spain, or through the Spanish Governors of the viceroyalties. For theories of advancement, and as to whether certain arbitrary ideas of the rights of man, evolved in general by those who in their persons and their lives are the negation of all rights, I give a fico — yes, your fig of Spain — caring as little as did ancient Pistol for `palabras', and holding that the best right that a man can have is to be happy after the way that pleases him the most. And that the Jesuits rendered the Indians happy is certain, though to those men who fudge a theory of mankind, thinking that everyone is forged upon their anvil, or run out of their own mould, after the fashion of a tallow dip (a theory which, indeed, the sameness of mankind renders at times not quite untenable), it seems absurd because the progress of the world has gone on other lines — lines which prolonged indefinitely would never meet those which the Jesuits drew. All that I know is I myself, in the deserted missions, five-and-twenty years ago often have met old men who spoke regretfully of Jesuit times, who cherished all the customs left by the company, and though they spoke at secondhand, repeating but the stories they had heard in youth, kept the illusion that the missions in the Jesuits' time had been a paradise. Into the matter of the Jesuits' motives I do not propose to enter, holding that the origin of motives is too deeply seated to be worth inquiry until one has more information about the human mind than even modern `scientists' seem able to impart. Yet it is certain the Jesuits in Paraguay had faith fit to remove all mountains, as the brief stories of their lives, so often ending with a rude field-cross by the corner of some forest, and the inscription `hic occissus est' survive to show. Some men — such is the complexity of human nature — have undergone trials and persecutions for base motives, and it is open for anyone to say the Jesuits, as they were Jesuits, could do nothing good. Still, I believe that Father Ruiz Montoya — whose story I have told, how falteringly, and with how little justice to his greatness, none knows better than myself — was a good man — that is, a man without ulterior motives, and actuated but by his love to the poor Indians with whom he passed his life. To-day, when no one can see good in anything or anybody outside the somewhat beefy pale of the Anglo-Saxon race, I do not hope that such a mere dabbler in the great mystery of history as I am myself will for an instant change one preconceived opinion; for I am well aware that speeches based on facts are impotent in popular assemblies to change a single vote.
It is an article of Anglo-Saxon faith that all the Spanish colonies were mal-administered, and all the Spanish conquerors bloodthirsty butchers, whose sole delight was blood. This, too, from the members of a race who . . .; but `In the multitude of the greyhounds is the undoing of the hare.' Therefore, I ask those who imagine that all Spaniards at the conquest of America were ruffians, to consider the career of Alvar Nuñez, who also struts through his brief chapter in the pages of my most imperfect book. Still, I admit men of the stamp of Alvar Nuñez are most rare, and were still rarer in the sixteenth century; and to find many of the Ruiz Montoya brand, Diogenes would have needed a lantern fitted with electric light. In the great controversy which engaged the pens of many of the best writers of the world last century, after the Jesuits were expelled from Spain and her colonial possessions (then almost half the world), it will be found that amongst all the mud so freely flung about, the insults given and received, hardly anyone but a few ex-Jesuits had any harm to say of the doings of the Order during its long rule in Paraguay. None of the Jesuits were ever tried; no crimes were charged against them; even the reasons for their expulsion were never given to the world at large. Certain it is that but a few years after their final exit from the missions between the Uruguay and Paraná all was confusion. In twenty years most of the missions were deserted, and before thirty years had passed no vestige of their old prosperity remained.
The semi-communism which the Jesuits had introduced was swept away, and the keen light of free and vivifying competition (which beats so fiercely upon the bagman's paradise of the economists) reigned in its stead. The revenues declined,[2] all was corruption, and, as the Governor, Don Juan José Vertiz, writes to the Viceroy,[3] the secular priests sent by the Government were brawlers, drunkards, and strikers, carrying arms beneath their cloaks; that robbery was rife; and that the Indians daily deserted and returned by hundreds to the woods.
All the reports of riches amassed in Paraguay by the Jesuits, after the expulsion of their order proved to be untrue; nothing of any consequence was found in any of the towns, although the Jesuits had had no warning of their expulsion, and had no time for preparation or for concealment of their gold. Although they stood to the Indians almost in the light of gods, and had control of an armed force larger by far than any which the temporal power could have disposed of, they did not resist, but silently departed from the rich territories which their care and industry had formed.
Rightly or wrongly, but according to their lights, they strove to teach the Indian population all the best part of the European progress of the times in which they lived, shielding them sedulously from all contact with commercialism, and standing between them and the Spanish settlers, who would have treated them as slaves. These were their crimes. For their ambitions, who shall search the human heart, or say what their superiors in Europe may, or perhaps may not, have had in view? When all is said and done, and now their work is over, and all they worked for lost (as happens usually with the efforts of disinterested men), what crime so terrible can men commit as to stand up for near upon two centuries against that slavery which disgraced every American possession of the Spanish[4] crown? Nothing is bad enough for those who dare to speak the truth, and those who put their theories into practice are a disgrace to progressive and adequately taxed communities. Nearly two hundred years they strove, and now their territories, once so populous and so well cultivated, remain, if not a desert, yet delivered up to that fierce-growing, subtropical American plant life which seems as if it fights with man for the possession of the land in which it grows. For a brief period those Guaranís gathered together in the missions, ruled over by their priests, treated like grown-up children, yet with a kindness which attached them to their rulers, enjoyed a half-Arcadian, half-monastic life, reaching to just so much of what the world calls civilization as they could profit by and use with pleasure to themselves. A commonwealth where money was unknown to the majority of the citizens, a curious experiment by self-devoted men, a sort of dropping down a diving-bell in the flood of progress to keep alive a population which would otherwise soon have been suffocated in its muddy waves, was doomed to failure by the very nature of mankind. Foredoomed to failure, it has disappeared, leaving nothing of a like nature now upon the earth. The Indians, too, have vanished, gone to that limbo which no doubt is fitted for them. Gentle, indulgent reader, if you read this book, doubt not an instant that everything that happens happens for the best; doubt not, for in so doing you would doubt of all you see — our life, our progress, and your own infallibility, which at all hazards must be kept inviolate. Therefore in my imperfect sketch I have not dwelt entirely on the strict concatenation (after the Bradshaw fashion) of the hard facts of the history of the Jesuits. I have not set down too many dates, for the setting down of dates in much profusion is, after all, an ad captandum appeal to the suffrages of those soft-headed creatures who are styled serious men.
Wandering along the by-paths of the forests which fringe the mission towns, and set them, so to speak, in the hard tropical enamel of green foliage, on which time has no lien, and but the arts of all-destroying man are able to deface, I may have chanced upon some petty detail which may serve to pass an hour away.
A treatise of a forgotten subject by a labourer unskilled, and who, moreover, by his very task challenges competition with those who have written on the theme, with better knowledge, and perhaps less sympathy; a pother about some few discredited and unremembered priests; details about half-savages, who `quoi! ne portaient pas des haults de chausses'; the recollections of long silent rides through forest paths, ablaze with flowers, and across which the tropic birds darted like atoms cut adrift from the apocalypse; a hotch-potch, salmagundi, olla podrida, or sea-pie of sweet and bitter, with perhaps the bitter ruling most, as is the way when we unpack our reminiscences — yes, gentle and indulgent reader, that's the humour of it.
R. B. Cunninghame Graham.
Gartmore,
March 30, 1900.
Early history — State of the country — Indian races — Characteristics of the different tribes — Dobrizhoffer's book — Various expeditions — Sebastian Cabot — Don Pedro de Mendoza — Alvar Nuñez — His expedition and its results — Other leaders and preachers — Founding of the first mission of the Society of Jesus
Early days of the missions — New settlements founded — Relations of Jesuits with Indians and Spanish colonists — Destruction of missions by the Mamelucos — Father Maceta — Padre Antonio Ruiz de Montoya — His work and influence — Retreat of the Jesuits down the Paraná
Spain and Portugal in South America — Enmity between Brazilians and Argentines — Expulsion of Jesuits from Paraguay — Struggles with the natives — Father Mendoza killed — Death of Father Montoya
Don Bernardino de Cardenas, Bishop of Paraguay — His labours as apostolic missionary — His ambitions and cunning — Pretensions to saintliness — His attempts to acquire supreme power — Quarrels between Cardenas and Don Gregorio, the temporal Governor
Renewal of the feud between the Bishop and Don Gregorio — Wholesale excommunications in Asuncion — Cardenas in 1644 formulates his celebrated charges against the Jesuits — The Governor, after long negotiations and much display of force, ultimately succeeds in driving out the Bishop — For three years Cardenas is in desperate straits — In 1648 Don Gregorio is suddenly dismissed, Cardenas elects himself Governor, and for a short time becomes supreme in Asuncion — The Jesuits are forced to leave the town and to flee to Corrientes — A new Governor is appointed in Asuncion — He defeats Cardenas on the field of battle — The latter is deprived of his power, and dies soon after as Bishop of La Paz
Description of the mission territory and towns founded by the Jesuits — Their endeavours to attract the Indians — Religious feasts and processions — Agricultural and commercial organizations
Causes of the Jesuits' unpopularity — Description of the lives and habits of the priests — Testimony in favour of the missions — Their opposition to slavery — Their system of administration
Don José de Antequera — Appoints himself Governor of Asuncion — Unsettled state of affairs in the town — He is commanded to relinquish his illegal power — He refuses, and resorts to arms — After some success he is defeated and condemned to be executed — He is shot on his way to the scaffold — Renewed hatred against the Jesuits — Their labours among the Indians of the Chaco
The Spanish and Portuguese attempt to force new laws on the Indians — The Indians revolt against them — The hopeless struggle goes on for eight years — Ruin of the missions
Position of the Jesuits in 1761 — Decree for their expulsion sent from Spain — Bucareli sent to suppress the colleges and drive out the Jesuits — They submit without resistance — After two hundred years they are expelled from Paraguay — The country under the new rule — The system of government practically unchanged
Conclusion
Early history — State of the country — Indian races — Characteristics of the different tribes — Dobrizhoffer's book — Various expeditions — Sebastian Cabot — Don Pedro de Mendoza — Alvar Nuñez — His expedition and its results — Other leaders and preachers — Founding of the first mission of the Society of Jesus
With the exception of the French Revolution, perhaps no event caused so much general controversy at the end of the eighteenth century as the expulsion of the Jesuits from Spain and Portugal and their colonial possessions. As no definite charges were ever brought, at least in Spain, against the members of the Company of Jesus (King Charles III. having kept the reasons ocultas y reservadas and the proofs privilegiados), curiosity is to some extent not satisfied as to the real reason of their expulsion from the Spanish possessions in America.
It is almost impossible to understand nowadays the feelings which possessed the average man in regard to the Jesuits from the middle of the last century till a relatively short time ago. All the really great work done by the Society of Jesus seemed to have been forgotten, and every vulgar fable which it was possible to invent to their prejudice found ready acceptance upon every side. Nothing was too absurd to be believed. From the calumnies of the Jansenists to the follies of Eugène Sue the mass of accusation, invective, and innuendo kept on increasing in intensity. Indiscriminate abuse and unreasoning hatred, mixed with fear, seem to have possessed all minds. Even Pascal confesses (in a postscript to the ninth Provincial Letter) that `after having written my letter I read the works of Fathers Barry and Binet.' If such a man as Pascal could be so grossly unfair as to write a criticism on works which he had not read, what can be expected from the non-judicial and uncritical public which takes all upon trust?
From Japan to the interior of Bolivia there is scarcely a country in which the Jesuits have not laboured assiduously, and in which they have not shed their blood freely without hope of reward, yet it would require much time and a lengthy catalogue to enumerate the list of satirical and calumnious works which have appeared against them in almost every language in Europe. Of these, perhaps the most celebrated is the well-known `Monarquia de los Solipsos',[5] by Padre Melchior Inshoffer, an ex-Jesuit, who describes the company in the worst possible terms. It is interesting chiefly on account of the portraits of well-known people of the time (1615 to 1648), as Pope Clement VIII., Francisco Suarez, Claudio Aquaviva, and others, veiled under easily distinguishable pseudonyms. The object of the writer, as the title indicates, is to show that the Jesuits endeavoured to turn all to their own profit. In this, if it was the case, they do not seem to have been greatly different from every other associated body of men, whether lay or clerical. The celebrated Spanish proverb, `Jesuita y se ahorca, cuenta le hace', meaning, Even if a Jesuit is hung he gets some good out of it, may just as well be applied to members of other learned professions as to the Jesuits.
The world has rarely persecuted any body of men conspicuous by its poverty, or if it has done so has rarely persecuted them for long. The Inquisition of Spain, violent against the wealthy Jews and comfortable Moriscos, took little notice of the Gipsies; but, then, `Pobre como cuerpo de Gitano' was and is a common saying in Spain.
As in the case of the Templars, persecution only began against the Jesuits when it became worth while to persecute them. Ignatius Loyola, Francisco Xavier, and Diego Lainez, as long as they confined themselves to preaching and to teaching, were safe enough. Even the annals of theological strife, bloodthirsty and discreditable to humanity as they are, contain few examples of persecutors such as Calvin or Torquemada, to whom, ruthless as they were in their savage and narrow malignity and zeal for what they thought the truth, no suspicion of venal motives is attributed.
Of the Jesuits' intrigues, adventures, rise and fall in Europe, much may be said in attack or in extenuation; but it is not the intention of the present work to deal with this aspect of the question. It was in Spanish America, and especially in Paraguay and Bolivia, where the policy of the Company in regard to savage nations was most fully developed, as it was only the Jesuits who ever succeeded in reclaiming any large number of the nomad or semi-nomad tribes of those countries.
Many excellent works in French, and the celebrated `Christianismo Felice nel Paraguay' of the Abbate Muratori in Italian, certainly exist. But neither Father Charlevoix, the French historian of the missions, nor Muratori was ever in Paraguay, and both their books contain the faults and mistakes of men, however excellent and well intentioned, writing of countries of which they were personally ignorant. Both give a good account of the customs and regimen of the missions, but both seem to have believed too readily fabulous accounts of the flora and fauna of Paraguay.[6] The fact of having listened too readily to a fable about an unknown animal in no way detracts from the general veracity of an author of the beginning of the eighteenth century, for in all other respects except natural history Charlevoix keeps within the bounds of probability, though of course as a Jesuit he holds a brief for the doings of the Company in Paraguay. Muratori is more rarely led into extravagances, but is concerned in the main with the religious side of the Jesuits, as the title of his book indicates.
Many other French writers, as Raynal, Montesquieu, and Voltaire, have treated of Paraguay under Jesuit rule, but their writings are founded on hearsay evidence. A German, Father Dobrizhoffer, stands alone.[7] His delightful `History of the Abipones, an Equestrian People of Paraguay', is perhaps the most charming book dealing with the subject. A simple and easy style, a keen habit of observation, long acquaintance with the country, a zeal for the conversion of the infidel, not only to Christianity, but to a more comfortable mode of life, to which he adds a faith sufficient to move the Cordillera of the Andes, but at the same time restricted by a common-sense and veracity not always observable in religious writers, render Dobrizhoffer a personal friend after the perusal of his writings.
English is singularly barren in regard to the Jesuits in Paraguay. Father Falconer, an English Jesuit, has left a curious and interesting book (printed at Hereford in 1774), but he treats exclusively of what is now the province of Buenos Ayres, the Falkland Islands, and of Patagonia. As an Englishman and a Jesuit (a somewhat rare combination in the eighteenth century), and as one who doubtless knew many of the Paraguayan priests, his testimony would have been most important, especially as he was a man of great information, much education, an intrepid traveller, and, moreover, only entered the Company of Jesus at a comparatively advanced age.
It is in Spanish, or in Latin by Spanish authors, that the greater portion of the contemporary histories and accounts are to be found.[8] Literatures, like other things, have their times of fashion. At one time a knowledge of Spanish was as requisite as some tincture of French is at present, and almost as universal. Men from Germany, England, and Holland who met in a foreign country communicated in that language. In the early portion of the century Ticknor, Prescott, and Washington Irving rendered Spanish literature fashionable to some degree.
Later the historical researches of Sir William Stirling Maxwell drew some attention to it. To-day hardly any literature of Europe is so little studied in England. Still leaving apart the purely literary treasures of the language, it is in Spanish, and almost alone in Spanish, that the early history of America is to be found.
When first Sebastian Cabot and Solis ascended the Paraná, they found that the Guaranís of Paraguay had extended in no instance to the western shore of either of those rivers. The western banks were inhabited then, as now, by the wandering Indians of the still not entirely explored territory of the Gran Chaco. Chaco[9] is a Quichua Indian word meaning `hunting' or `hunting-ground', and it is said that after the conquest of Peru the Indian tribes which had been recently subjugated by the Incas took refuge in this huge domain of forest and of swamp.
Be that as it may, the Chaco Indians of to-day, comprising the remnants of the Lulis, Tobas, Lenguas, Mocobiós, and others, are almost as savage as when first we hear of them in the pages of Alvar Nuñez and Hulderico Schmidel. These tribes the Jesuits on many occasions attempted to civilize, but almost entirely without success, as the long record of the martyrdom of Jesuit missionaries in the Chaco proves, as well as the gradual abandonment of their missions there, towards the second half of the eighteenth century.
Certain it is that at various places in the Chaco, in the quaint old maps the Jesuits have left us, one reads `Mission de Santa Cruz de los Vilelas', `Mission de la Concepcion de los Frontones', and others; but much more frequently their maps are studded with crosses, and some such legend as `Hic occisi sunt PP. Antonius Salinus et Petrus Ortiz Zarate'.[10] It was only when the Jesuits encountered the more peaceful Guaranís that they met with real success.
What was the nature of their success, how durable it was, what were the reasons which caused the expulsion of the order from America, and especially from Paraguay, and what has been the result upon the remainder of the Indians, it is my object to endeavour to explain.
A long residence in the river Plate, together with two visits to Paraguay, in one of which I saw almost all the remnants of the Paraguayan missions and a few of those situated in the province of Corrientes, and in the Brazilian province of Rio Grande do Sul, have given me some personal acquaintance with the subject.[11]
The actual condition of the rich district of Misiones (Paraguay) at the time I visited it, shortly after the conclusion of the great war between Paraguay and Brazil in 1870, does not enable me to speak with authority on the condition of communities, the guiding spirits of which were expelled as far back as the year 1767. The actual buildings of the missions, the churches in a dismantled state, have indeed survived; in many instances the tall date-palms the Jesuits planted still wave over them. Generally the college was occupied by the Indian Alcalde, who came out to meet the visitor on a horse if he possessed one, with as much silver about the bridle and stirrups as he could afford, clothed in white, with a cloak of red baize, a large jipi-japa hat, and silver spurs buckled on his naked feet. If he had never left the mission, he talked with wonder and respect of the times of the Jesuits, and at the oracion knelt down to pray wherever the sound of the angelus might catch him. His children before bedtime knelt all in a row to ask his blessing. If he had been to Asuncion, he probably remarked that the people under those accursed priests were naught but animals and slaves, and launched into some disquisition he had heard in the solitary café which Asuncion then boasted. In the latter case, after much of the rights of man and the duties of hospitality, he generally presented you with a heavy bill for Indian corn and pindo[12] which your horse had eaten. In the former, usually he bade you go with God, and, if you spoke of payment, said: `Well, send me a book of Hours when you get to Asuncion.'
Of Indians, hardly any were left to judge of, for in the villages in which, according to the reports furnished to Bucareli, the Viceroy of Buenos Ayres at the time of the expulsion of the Jesuits, the population numbered in the thirty towns of the missions one hundred and twenty thousand,[13] a population of at most twenty thousand was to be found. On every side the powerful vegetation had covered up the fields. On ruined church and chapel, and on broken tower, the lianas climbed as if on trees, creeping up the belfries, and throwing great masses of scarlet and purple flowers out of the apertures where once were hung the bells. In the thick jungles a few half-wild cattle still were to be found. The vast estancias, where once the Jesuits branded two and three thousand calves a year, and from whence thousands of mules went forth to Chile and Bolivia, were all neglected. Horses were scarce and poor, crops few and indifferent, and the plantations made by the Jesuits of the tree (Ilex Paraguayensis) from which is made the yerba maté, were all destroyed.
In the vast forests, stretching to the Salto de Guayrá, a few scattered tribes, known as Caaguas, roamed through the thickets, or encamped upon the streams. In the thirty towns, once full of life and stir, in every one of which there was a church, finer, as an old Spanish writer says, than any in Buenos Ayres, there was naught but desolation and despair. The Indians either had returned into the woods, been killed in the ceaseless revolutionary wars, or had been absorbed into the Gaucho populations of Corrientes, Rio Grande, Entre Rios, and of Santa Fé.
It may be that all Indian races are destined to disappear if they come into contact with Europeans; certainly, experience would seem to confirm the supposition. The policy of the Jesuits, however, was based on isolation of their missions, and how this might have worked is matter at least for speculation. It was on account of the isolation which they practised that it was possible for the extravagant calumnies which were circulated as to their rule and riches to gain belief. It was on account of isolation that the first conflicts arose betwixt them and the authorities, both clerical and lay. That the Jesuits were more highly esteemed than the other religious orders in Spanish America in the seventeenth century, the saying current in those days, `Los demas van á uña, los Jesuitas á una' — i.e., The others get all they can, but the Jesuits have one aim (the conversion of the Indians) — seems to show.
It is not my purpose to deal with the probable reasons which induced their expulsion in Europe. Suffice it to say that, whatever crimes or misdemeanours they were guilty of, they were never called on to answer before any tribunals, and that in many instances they were treated, especially in Portugal, with great cruelty and injustice.
The burning, at the age of eighty, of the unfortunate Malagrida in Lisbon under the auspices of Pombal, for a book which it seems improbable he could have written in prison at so great an age, and which, moreover, was never brought into court, only supposed extracts from it being read, may serve as an example. In order clearly to understand the position of the Jesuits in America, and especially in Paraguay and Bolivia, it is necessary to glance briefly at the history of the first conquest of the river Plate.
Now, missionaries and conquerors are men, on the whole, more imbued with their own importance and sanctity, and less disposed to consider consequences, than almost any other classes of mankind. The conjunction of the two in one disposed the conquistadores of America to imagine that, no matter how cruel or outrageous their treatment of the Indians was, they atoned for all by the introduction of what they considered the blessing of the knowledge of the true faith. It will be seen at once that, if one can determine with accuracy which of the many `faiths' preached about the world is actually the true faith, a man who is in possession of it is acting properly in endeavouring to diffuse it. The meanest soldier in the various armies which left Spain to conquer America seems to have had no doubt about the matter.
Bernal Diaz del Castillo, who, as he himself relates, came to America at the age of eighteen, and therefore could have had little previous opportunity of studying theology, and who, moreover, was unfitted to do so by the want of knowledge of Latin, to which he himself confesses, yet at the end of his history of the conquest of Mexico, one of the most interesting books ever written, has the following passage:
`And I will leave the matter, and tell the other benefits which, after God, by our agency, came to the natives of New Spain.'[14]
One would imagine, on reading the above extract, Bernal Diaz had never killed an Indian in his life, and that he had sacrificed his prospects in coming to Mexico solely to introduce `a Christian polity and justice' amongst the inhabitants. Yet he was no hypocrite, but a stout sagacious soldier, even kindly, according to his lights, and with a love of animals uncommon in a Spaniard, for he has preserved the names and qualities of all the horses and mares which came over in the fleet from the Havana with Cortes.[15] The phrase, despues de Dios (after God) occurs repeatedly in the writings of almost all the conquistadores of America. Having, after God, conquered America, the first action of the conquerors was to set about making their fortunes. In those countries which produced gold and silver, as Mexico and Peru, they worked the mines by the labour of the Indians, the cruelties and hardships being so great that, in a letter of Philip II. to the Come de Chinchon, the Viceroy of Peru, dated Madrid, April 30, 1639, written fifty years after the discovery, he says: `These Indians flee, become ill, and die, and have begun to diminish greatly in number, and they will be finished soon unless an efficient remedy is provided shortly.'
In Paraguay there were no mines, but there were other methods of extracting money from the Indians. At the first conquest Paraguay was not the little country bounded on the west by the Paraguay, on the south by the Paraná, on the north by the Aquidaban, and on the east by Sierra of Mbaracavu, as it is at present. On the contrary, it embraced almost all that immense territory known to-day as the Argentine Confederation, some of the Republic of Uruguay, and a great portion of Brazil, embracing much of the provinces of Misiones, Rio Grande do Sul, Paraná, and Matto Grosso, as well as Paraguay itself. How the little country, twelve hundred miles from the sea, came to give its name to such an enormous territory, and to have the seat of government at Asuncion, demands some explanation. Peru and Chile were discovered and occupied some time before the eastern side of South America. Their riches naturally drew great attention to them; but the voyage, first to Cartagena de Indias, and then across the isthmus, and the re-embarkation again on the Pacific, were both costly and arduous. It had been the ambition of all explorers to discover some river which would lead from the Atlantic to the mines of Peru and what is now Bolivia, then known as Alta Peru. Of course, this might have been achieved by ascending the Amazon, especially after the adventurous descent of it by Orellana, of which Fray Gaspar de Carbajal has left so curious a description; but, whether on account of the distance or for some other reason, it never seems to have been attempted.
In 1526 Sebastian Cabot left Spain with three small vessels and a caravel for the object of reaching the Moluccas or Spice Islands. It was his purpose to reach them through the Straits of Magellan. Being compelled by want of supplies to abandon his route, he entered a broad estuary, and ascended it under the impression that he had discovered another channel to the Pacific. He soon found his mistake, and began to explore the surrounding country. Fifteen years before, with the same object, Juan de Solis had entered the same estuary. On the island of Martin Garcia he was killed by a Chana Indian, and his expedition returned home. Hearing that there was much silver at the head-waters, he had called it the Rio de la Plata. If we take the head-waters of the river Plate to be situated in Bolivia, there certainly was much silver there; but Cabot was unaware that the head-waters were above two thousand miles from the estuary, and he was not destined to come near them. He did go as far as a point on the river Caracara, in what is now the province of Santa Fé, and there he built a fort which he named Espiritu Santo, the first Spanish settlement in that part of America. Whilst at Espiritu Santo, several exploring parties were sent to scour the country. One of them, under a soldier of the name of Cesar, never returned. Tradition, always eager to make up to history for its want of interest, asserted that after marching for years they reached a city. Perhaps it was the mystic Trapalanda of which the Gauchos used to discourse at night when seated round a fire of bones upon the pampa. Perhaps some other, for enchanted cities and Eldorados were plentiful in those days in America, alternating with occasional empires, as that of Puytita, near the Laguna de los Xarayes, Manoa, and the Ciudad de los Cesares, supposed to be situated near Arauco in the Chilian Andes. However, one of the party actually returned after years, and related his adventures to Ruy Diaz de Guzman,[16] the first historian of Paraguay. Thus it was that the stream of adventurers was ever seeking for a channel to the mines of Peru from the Atlantic coast. Cabot appears to have ascended the Paraná to the island of Apipé, and then, returning, entered the river Paraguay. Having ascended past what is now Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, Cabot encountered Indians from the north who told him of the mines in Peru and in Bolivia, probably unaware that Cabot knew of them already. At this point, encouraged by what he heard, he gave the name of Rio de la Plata to what had previously been known either as La Mar Dulce or El Rio de Solis. Like most names which are wrongly given, it remained to testify to the want of knowledge of the giver. Four years after, Cabot returned to Spain, having failed to attract attention to his discoveries. In the face of the wealth which was pouring in from the Peruvian mines, another expedition started for the river Plate. Its General — for in Spain the title was used indifferently by land and sea — was Don Pedro de Mendoza, a gentleman of Guadix in Almeria, and a member of the household of Charles V.
Don Pedro had seen service in the Italian wars, and seems to have been a man of character and bravery, but wanting in the discretion and the necessary tact essential in the founder of a colony. In 1534 the expedition started, unfortunate almost from the first. In a `certain island', as the historian of the expedition, Hulderico Schmidel, a German or Flemish soldier, calls Rio Janeiro, a dispute occurred between Don Pedro and his second in command, Juan de Osorio. At a court-martial held upon Osorio, Don Pedro appears to have let fall some remarks which Juan de Ayolas, the Alguazil Mayor (Chief Constable), seems to have taken up as an order for instant execution. This he performed upon the spot, plunging his dagger repeatedly into Osorio, or, as Hulderico Schmidel has it, `sewing him up with cuts' (cosiendole à puñaladas). This murder or execution — for who shall tell when murder finishes and its legal counterpart begins? — rendered Don Pedro very unpopular with all the fleet; for, as Schmidel has it in his history,[17] `the soldiers loved Osorio.' To be loved by the soldiers was the only chance a Spanish officer had in those times of holding his own. Both Schmidel and Bernal Diaz del Castillo, who had both been common soldiers, and who, curiously, both wrote histories, lose no occasion of vilifying officers who used the soldiers hardly. It is true that Bernal Diaz (who, unlike Schmidel, was a man of genius) does so with some discretion, and always apparently with reason. Schmidel, on the other hand, seems to have considered that any officer who interfered between the soldiers and the Indians was a tyrant, and hence his denunciation of Alvar Nuñez, under whom he served.
In 1535 the expedition entered the river Plate. Here Mendoza, with his usual want of judgment, pitched upon what is now the site of Buenos Ayres as the spot on which to found his colony. It would be difficult to select a more inconvenient place in which to found a town. The site of Buenos Ayres is almost level with the waters of the river Plate, which there are shallow — so shallow that large vessels could not approach nearer than ten to fifteen miles. Without a harbour, the anchorage was exposed to the full fury of the south-west gales, known as `pamperos'. However, if the site was bad the air was good; at least, it seems so, for a captain of the expedition exclaimed on landing, `Que buenos aires son estos!' and hence the name. Here every sort of evil chance came on the newborn colony. The Pampa Indians, whom the historian Schmidel seems to have only known by their Guaraní name of Querandis, at first were friendly. After a little while they ceased to bring provisions, and the General sent out an expedition to compel them under his brother, Don Diego de Mendoza. It does not seem to have occurred to Don Pedro de Mendoza that, had the cacique of the Querandis landed in Spain, no one would have brought him provisions for a single day without receiving payment. However, Don Pedro[18] had come to America to introduce civilization and Christianity, and therefore, knowing, like Bernal Diaz and the other conquerors, his own moral worth, was justly indignant that after a day or two the Indians refused him more supplies. In the encounter which took place between the Spaniards and the Indians, Don Diego de Mendoza was slain, and with him several others. Here for the first time we hear of the bolas, or three stones united, like a Manxman's legs, with strips of hide, with which, as Hulderico Schmidel tells us, the Indians caught the horses by the legs and threw them down. After this foretaste of European justice, the Indians besieged the newly-built town and brought it to great straits, so much so that, after three men had been hung for stealing a horse, in the morning it was discovered they had been cut down and eaten. In this desperate state Don Pedro despatched Juan de Ayolas to get supplies. He, having obtained some maize from the Timbu Indians, returned, leaving a hundred of his men in a little fort, called Corpus Christi, close to Espiritu Santo, the fort which Cabot had constructed. The friendliness of the Timbus induced Don Pedro to abandon Buenos Ayres and move to Corpus Christi. There he repaired with about five hundred men, all who remained of the two thousand six hundred and thirty with which he sailed from Cadiz. The horses he abandoned on the pampa; there they became the ancestors of the innumerable herds which at one time overspread the Argentine Republic from the Chaco to Patagonia, and whose descendants to this day stock the estancias of that country.[19]
From Corpus Christi Juan de Ayolas was sent out to explore the river, and try to find the long-sought-for waterway to the Peruvian mines. He never reached Peru, and Corpus Christi never saw him return. Mendoza waited a year, and then returned to Spain, leaving his garrison with provisions for a year, the bread[20] `at the rate of (á razon de) a pound a day, and if they wanted more to get it for themselves.' On the passage home he died insane. The pious were of opinion that it was a judgment on him for the murder of Don Juan Osorio. Before he embarked, Don Pedro had despatched a relative, Gonzalo de Mendoza, to Spain to bring provisions and recruits. Gonzalo, having obtained provisions in Brazil, returned to Corpus Christi; thence in company with Salazar de Espinosa he headed an expedition up the river in search of Juan de Ayolas, who had been appointed successor to Don Pedro. With them went Domingo Martinez de Irala, a man destined to play a great part in the conquest of Paraguay.
The expedition went up the Paraguay to a place near Fort Olimpo (21° long., 58° lat.) about a hundred leagues above Asuncion. Here they sent out exploring parties in all directions to seek Ayolas, but without success. Irala remained with one hundred men at Fort Olimpo. Gonzalo de Mendoza on his return, being attracted by the sight of a fine site for a town, landed, and on the fifteenth day of August, 1537, founded Asuncion. Here the Spaniards first met the Guaranís, who were destined in after-years to be the converts of the Jesuits, and be assembled by them in their famous missions.
`At the discovery of America,' says Felix de Azara in his `Descripcion y Historia del Paraguay', `the Guaranís were spread from the Guianas to the shores of the river Plate, and occupied all the islands of the Paraná extending up to latitude 20° on the Paraguay, but without crossing either that river or the river Plate.' They had also a few towns in the province of Chiquitos, and the nation of the Chiriguanás was an offshoot from them. In Brazil they were soon all either rendered slaves or so crossed with the African negro that the pure race has been almost entirely lost, though the language remains under the name of the Lingoa Geral, and many words from it have been introduced into Portuguese spoken by the Brazilians, as capim, grass; caipira, half-caste, etc. In fact, so great is the number of these words, idioms, phrases, and terms of speech derived from Guaraní, that Dr. Baptista de Almeida, in his preface to his grammar published at Rio Janeiro (1879), computes that there are more words derived from Guaraní than even from Arabic in the Portuguese spoken in Brazil.[21] The Guaranís in Brazil were known either as Tupis, from the word tupy,[22] savage, or Tupinambás, from tupynambá, literally, the savage or indigenous men.
Jean de Lery, the well-known Huguenot pastor and friend of Calvin, passed a year on the coast of Brazil about 1558, having accompanied the expedition of the famous Villegagnau. In his book (`Histoire d'un Voyage faict en la Terre du Brezil') he always refers to the Indians as Toupinaubaoults, and has preserved many curious details of them before they had had much contact with Europeans. He appears to have had a considerable acquaintance with the language, and has left some curious conversations en langage sauvage et Français, in which he gives some grammatical rules. The language of conversation is almost identical with that of Paraguay, though some words are used which are either peculiar to the Tupis or obsolete in Paraguay to-day. His account of their customs tallies with that of the various Spanish writers and explorers who have written on the subject. Tobacco, which seems to have been known under the name of `nicotiane' to Lery, he finds in Brazil under the name of `petun', the same name by which it is called in Paraguay at present. He believed that `petun' and `nicotiane' were two different plants, but the only reason he adduces for his belief is that `nicotiane' was brought in his time from Florida, which, as he observes, is more than a thousand leagues from `Nostre Terre du Brezil'. His experience of savages was the same as that of Azara, and almost all early travellers, for he says: `Nos Toupinambaoults reçoivent fort humainement les estrangers amis qui les vont visiter.'[23] Lery, however, seemed to think that, in spite of their pacific inclination, it was not prudent to put too much power in their hands, for he remarks: `Au reste parcequ'ils chargeyent, et remplisseyent leurs mousquets jusques au bout . . . nous leurs baillions moitié (i.e., la poudre) de charbon broyé.' This may have been a wise precaution, but he omits to state if the charbon broyé was bailli at the same price as good powder. According to Azara, who takes his facts partly from the contemporary writers — Schmidel, Alvar Nuñez, Ruy Diaz de Guzman, and Barco de la Centenera — the Guaranís were divided into numerous tribes, as Imbeguas, Caracaras, Tembues, Colistines, and many others. These tribes, though apparently of a common origin, never united, but each lived separately under its own chief. Their towns were generally either close to or in the middle of forests, or at the edge of rivers where there is wood. They all cultivated pumpkins, beans, maize, mani (ground nuts), sweet potatoes, and mandioca; but they lived largely by the chase, and ate much wild honey. Diaz in his `Argentina' (lib. i., chap. i.) makes them cannibals. Azara believes this to have been untrue, as no traditions of cannibalism were current amongst the Guaranís in his time, i.e., in 1789-1801. Liberal as Azara was, and careful observer of what he saw himself, I am disposed to believe the testimony of so many eye-witnesses of the customs of the primitive Guaranís, though none of them had the advantage enjoyed by Azara of living three hundred years after the conquest. It may be, of course, that the powers of observation were not so well developed in mankind in the beginning of the sixteenth as at the end of the eighteenth century, but this point I leave to those whose business it is to prove that the human mind is in a progressive state. However, Father Montoya, in his `Conquista Espiritual del Paraguay', affirms most positively that they used to eat their prisoners taken in war.'[24]
Their general characteristics seem to have been much the same as those of other Indians of America. For instance, they kept their hair and teeth to an extreme old age, their sight was keen, they seldom looked you in the face whilst speaking, and their disposition was cold and reserved. The tone of their voices was low, so low that, as Azara says: `La voz nunca es gruesa ni sonora, y hablan siempre muy bajo, sin gritar aun para quejarse si los matan; de manera que, si camina uno diez pasos delante, no le llama el que le necesita, sino que va á alcanzarle.' This I have myself observed when travelling with Indians, even on horseback.
There was one characteristic of the Guaranís in which they differed greatly from most of the Indian tribes in their vicinity, as the Indians of the Chaco and the Pampas, for all historians alike agree that they were most unwarlike. It is from this characteristic that the Jesuits were able to make such a complete conquest of them, for, notwithstanding all their efforts, they never really succeeded in permanently establishing themselves amongst any of the tribes in the Chaco or upon the Pampas.
The name Guaraní is variously derived. Pedro de Angelis, in his `Coleccion de Obras y Documentos', derives it from gua, paint, and ni, sign of the plural, making the signification of the word `painted ones' or `painted men'. Demersay, in his `Histoire du Paraguay',[25] thinks it probable that the word is an alteration of the word guaranai, i.e., numerous. Barco de la Centenera[26] (`Argentina', book i., canto i.) says the word means `hornet', and was applied on account of their savageness. Be that as it may, it is certain that the Guaranís did not at the time of the conquest, and do not now, apply the word to themselves, except when talking Spanish or to a foreigner. The word abá, Indian or man, is how they speak of their people, and to the language they apply the word Abanêe.
In the same way the word `Paraguay' is variously derived from a corruption of the word `Payaguá' (the name of an Indian tribe), and y, the Guaraní word for water, meaning river of the Payaguas. Others, again, derive it from a Guaraní word meaning `crown', and y, water, and make it the crowned river, either from the palm-trees which crown its banks or the feather crowns which the Indians wore at the first conquest. Others, again, derive it from a bird called paraquá (Ortolida paraqua). Again, Angelis, in his work `Serie de los Señores Gobernadores del Paraguay' (lib. ii., p. 187), derives it from Paraguá, the name of a celebrated Indian chief at the time of the conquest. What is certain is that y is the Guaraní for water, and this is something in a derivation. Y is perhaps as hard to pronounce as the Gaelic luogh, a calf, the nasal gh in Arabic, or the Kaffir clicks, having both a guttural and a nasal aspiration.[27] It is rarely attempted with success by foreigners, even when long resident in the country. Though Paraguay was so completely the country of the Jesuits in after-times, they were not the first religious Order to go there. Almost in every instance the ecclesiastics who accompanied the first conquerors of America were Franciscans. The Jesuits are said to have sent two priests to Bahia in Brazil ten years after their Order was founded, but both in Brazil and Paraguay the Franciscans were before them in point of time.
San Francisco Solano, the first ecclesiastic who rose to much note as a missionary, and who made his celebrated journey through the Chaco in 1588-89 from Peru to Paraguay, was a Franciscan.[28] Thus, the Franciscans had the honour of having the first American saint in their ranks. It is noteworthy, though, that he was recalled from Paraguay by his superiors, who seem to have had no very exalted opinion of him.
Charlevoix remarks (`History of Paraguay') `that it seems as if Providence, in granting him miraculous powers, had forgotten the other necessary steps to make them effective.' That he really had these powers seems strange, but San Francisco Solano narrates of himself that, in passing through the Chaco, he learned the languages of several of the tribes, and `preached to them in their own tongues of the birth, death, and transfiguration of Christ, the mysteries of the Trinity, Transubstantiation, and Atonement; that he explained to them the symbols of the Church, the Papal succession from St. Peter downwards, and that he catechized the Indians by thousands, tens and hundreds of thousands, and that they came in tears and penitence to acknowledge their belief.'
Of course, to-day it is difficult to controvert these statements, even if inclined to do so; but the languages spoken by the Chaco Indians are amongst the most difficult to learn of any spoken by the human race, so much so that Father Dobrizhoffer, in his `History of the Abipones', says `that the sounds produced by the Indians of the Chaco resembled nothing human, so do they sneeze, and stutter, and cough.' In such a language the Athanasian Creed itself would be puzzling to a neophyte.
He also says that several of the Jesuits who had laboured for years amongst the Indians could never master their dialects, and when they preached the Indians received their words with shouts of laughter. This the good priest attributed to the presence of a `mocking devil' who possessed them. It may be that the mocking devil was but a sense of humour, the possession of which, even amongst good Christians, has been known to give offence.
But be this as it may, San Francisco de Solano remained two years at Asuncion, though whilst he lived there his powers of speech (according to the Jesuits) seem to have been diminished, and he held no communication with the Indians in their own languages. It may be that, like St. Paul, he preferred to speak, when not with Indians, five words with his understanding rather than ten thousand in an unknown tongue.
At the time of the first conquest Paraguay was almost entirely peopled by the Guaraní race.[29] It does not appear that their number was ever very great, perhaps not exceeding a million in the whole country. From the writings of Montoya, Guevara, Lozano, and the other missionaries of the time, it is certain that they had attained to no very high degree of civilization, though they were certainly more advanced than their neighbours in the Gran Chaco. It is most probable that they had not a single stone-built town, or even a house, or that such a thing existed south of New Granada, to the eastward of the Andes, for we may take the description in Schmidel's `History of the Casa del Gran Moxo'[30] either as a mistake or as a story which he had heard from some Peruvian Indian of the palaces of the Incas. At any rate, no remains of stone-built houses, still less of palaces, are known to have been found in Brazil or Paraguay.
To-day all the Guaranís who are still unconquered live in the impenetrable forests of the North of Paraguay or in the Brazilian province of Matto Grosso. Their limits to the south extend to near the ruined missions of Jesus and Trinidad. By preference, they seem to dwell about the sources of the Igatimí, an affluent of the Paraná, and in the chain of mountains known either as San Jose or Mbaracayú. The Paraguayans generally refer to them as Monteses (dwellers in the woods), and sometimes as Caaguás. They present almost the same characteristics as they did at the discovery of the country, and wander in the woods as the Jesuits describe them as doing three hundred years ago. Olive in colour, rather thickly set, of medium height, thin beards, and generally little hair upon the body, their type has remained unchanged. The difference in stature amongst the Guaranís is less noticeable than amongst Europeans. Their language is poorer than the Guaraní spoken by the Paraguayans, and the pronunciation both more nasal and guttural. Their numerals only extend to four, as was the case at the time of the discovery.[31]
In Brazil they are confined to the southern portion of the province of San Paulo, and are called by the Brazilians Bugres — that is, slaves. A more unfitting name it would have been impossible to hit upon, as all efforts to civilize them have proved abortive, and to-day they still range the forests, attacking small parties of travellers, and burning isolated farm-houses. The Brazilians assert that they are cannibals, but little is known positively as to this. What has altered them so entirely from the original Guaranís of the time of the conquest, who were so easily subdued, it is hard to conjecture. One thing is certain: that the example given them by the Christian settlers has evidently not been such as to induce them to leave their wild life and enter into the bonds of civilization.
Diaz, in the `Argentina', thinks the Caribs of the West Indies were Guaranís, and the Jesuits often refer to them under that name.[32] This point would be easily set at rest by examining if any Guaraní words remain in the dialect of the Caribs of the Mosquito coast. As to their relative numbers at the time of the foundation of the missions, it is most difficult to judge. At no one time does the population of the thirty towns seem to have exceeded one hundred and thirty thousand.
D'Orbigny in his `L'Homme Américain', estimates the Guaranís of Brazil at one hundred and fifty thousand.
Humboldt cites two hundred and sixty-nine thousand as the probable number of Indians of every kind in the Brazilian Empire.
The Viscount de Itabayana (a Brazilian writer) fixes the number at two hundred and fifty thousand to three hundred thousand.
Veloso de Oliveira puts it at eight hundred thousand; and later statisticians range between one million five hundred thousand and seven to eight hundred thousand.
The numbers given of Indians by the Spanish conquerors are almost always grossly overstated, from the wish they not unnaturally had to magnify the importance of their conquests and to enhance their exploits in the eyes of those for whom they wrote.
Struck by the tractable character of the Guaranís, Mendoza began to build a fort on August 15, 1537 (which is the day of the Assumption), and the name he gave to his fort was Asuncion, which afterwards became the capital of Paraguay.
Espinosa returned to Corpus Christi, and afterwards to Buenos Ayres, where a small force had still remained. This force, tired of the ceaseless battles with the Querandis, or Pampa Indians, embarked for Asuncion.
Irala, after waiting for many months at Fort Olimpo, returned to Asuncion, where he found Ruiz de Galan acting as Governor. A dispute at once arose between them, and Irala, after having been imprisoned, was allowed to return to Fort Olimpo. Here he found the Payaguá Indians in rebellion, and in the battle which ensued he is reported to have slain seven of them with his own hand.[33] He still maintained a fitful search for Juan de Ayolas, but without success.
Galan returned to Buenos Ayres, and, stopping at Corpus Christi, took occasion to fall upon the friendly and unsuspecting Timbú Indians and massacre a quantity of them. Why he did so is quite uncertain, for the Timbues had been in the habit of supplying the fort of Corpus Christi with provisions; it may be that the quality of the provisions was inferior, but neither Ruiz Diaz nor Schmidel informs us on the point. Galan, after his `victory', re-embarked for Buenos Ayres, leaving Antonio de Mendoza in command with a hundred men.
One day, when about the half of the force was hunting, the Indians fell upon it and cut it off to the last man; but for the opportune arrival of two vessels the fort would have been destroyed. However, many Spaniards were slain, and Antonio de Mendoza amongst them.
After this battle, in which Santiago[34] is said to have appeared on the top of the principal tower of the fort dressed in white with a drawn sword in his hand, Galan and Espinosa returned to Asuncion, taking with them the remainder of the inhabitants of Buenos Ayres. At Asuncion they found that Irala had again returned without having discovered traces of Ayolas. Irala was elected Governor under a clause in the royal letters patent which provided for the case of Ayolas not returning. His first act was to order the complete evacuation of Buenos Ayres. An Italian vessel, which was going to Peru with colonists, having been driven into the river Plate, united with the remains of the colonists at Buenos Ayres and proceeded to Asuncion.
Curiously enough, the remnants of several expeditions thus joined to found the first permanent city in the territories of the river Plate; not at Buenos Ayres, but a thousand miles away in the interior of the country, where it seemed little probable that their attempt would prove successful.
To preside over the heterogeneous elements of which Asuncion was composed, Domingo Martinez de Irala was chosen. He was a Biscayan, a member of that ancient race which neither Romans nor Moors were ever able to subdue. Nothing is known about his antecedents. Not improbably he was a son of one of the innumerable small gentlemen with whom the Basque provinces used to swarm. Almost every house in the little towns even to-day has its coat of arms over the door. Every inhabitant claimed to be a nobleman, and in the reign of Charles V. they furnished many soldiers of repute in the wars of Europe and America.
The system of Irala was to conciliate rather than subdue the natives. Isolated from help of every kind, the length of the voyage from Spain precluding all idea of speedy succour in a rebellion, it was the only course he could pursue.
From the very first he encouraged the soldiers to marry women of the country, thus creating ties which bound them to the land.
Two Franciscan friars[35] set about at once to learn the language and preach to the people. They also seem to have endeavoured to reduce the Guaraní language to writing. So, from several circumstances, the early history of Paraguay was very different from that of every other Spanish possession in America. To all the others Spanish women seem to have gone in greater or in smaller numbers. To Paraguay, at the foundation of Asuncion, it seems that hardly any women went.
So there a different state of society arose to that, for example, in Chile or in Mexico. In both those countries few Spaniards ever married native women. Those who did so were either members of the highest class — who sometimes, but rarely, married Indian women of position from motives of policy — or else the lowest class of Spaniards; in this case, after a generation, their children became practically Indians. In Paraguay it was quite the contrary, and the grandchildren of Indian mothers and Spanish fathers were almost reckoned Spaniards, and the next generation always so.
Washburne, in his `History of Paraguay' (p. 32, cap. i., vol. i.), points out the contrast between the effects of the treatment meted out by Penn to the Indians in Pennsylvania and that by Irala in Paraguay. Where, he asks, are the Indian tribes with whom the celebrated Quaker treated? In Paraguay, on the other hand, at least in the time when Washburne was Minister from the United States to Lopez (from 1861 to 1868), the few remaining Paraguayans of the upper class were almost all descended from the intermarriages of the followers of Irala with the natives.
The tyranny of Lopez, and the effects of the disastrous war with Brazil and the Argentine Republic, have almost extirpated every Paraguayan (of the old stock) with the least pretensions to white descent.
Ruiz Diaz de Guzman, speaking of the mixed race in Paraguay and Buenos Ayres, says:
`The women generally are virtuous, beautiful, and of a gentle disposition.'
If the inhabitants of Paraguay and the river Plate of those days were good marksmen, it is more than can be said of the Gauchos of the Argentine provinces and the Paraguayans of twenty years ago. Without military training, so far from being able to bring down a pigeon on the wing, few could hit the trunk of a tree at fifty paces. The usual method of shooting used to be to cram as much ammunition into the gun as the hand would contain, and then, looking carefully away from the object aimed at, to close both eyes and pull the trigger. Accuracy of aim was not so much considered as loudness of report. As regards their powers of riding, they are still unchanged; and as to the virtue of their women, virtue is so largely a matter of convention that it is generally wisest to leave such matters uncommented on, as it is so easy not to understand the conventions of the people of whom one writes.
Whilst Irala was conciliating the Guaranís in Paraguay, Charles V. had not forgotten that the new settlement of Buenos Ayres had been abandoned. After much search, he selected Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca to be the new Governor; and, as Alvar Nuñez was perhaps the most remarkable of all the Spanish conquistadores of the New World, it may not be out of place to give some facts of his career, as his policy in regard to the Indians was almost that of the Jesuits in after-times.
As he himself informs us in his Commentaries,[36] his `father was that Pedro de Vera who won Canaria,' and his mother `Doña Teresa Cabeza de Vaca, a noble lady of Jerez de la Frontera.' After the Spanish fashion of the time, he used the names of both his parents.
In 1529 he sailed with the ill-fated expedition of Panfilo de Narvaez to Apalache in Florida, was shipwrecked, tried to regain the Spanish settlements in boats, and then cast by a storm absolutely naked, and with only three companions, upon an unknown land. Taken by the Indians, he was made a slave, then rose to be a pedlar, then a doctor, and finally a chief, held sacred for his mysterious powers. At last he made his way on foot into the territory of New Spain, not as a captive, but as the leader of several hundred Indians, who followed him and did his bidding as if he had been born their chief. Rambling about for months, but always followed by his Indians, he at length encountered a Spanish horse-soldier, and, accosting him, found he had almost forgotten Spanish during his ten years' sojourn with the Indians. His first entreaty, when he found Spanish gradually returning to him, was to the Spaniards not to harass his Indian following. Then he besought the Indians themselves to cease their nomad life and cultivate the soil. In neither case was he successful, as the Spaniards, like all other Europeans, held Indians little removed from dogs. And for the Indians, the few remaining are as much attached to their old wandering life as in the days of the discovery of the New World. In all that Alvar Nuñez writes, he shows a grandeur of soul and spirit far different from the writings, not only of the conquerors of the New World, but of the conquerors of Africa of to-day. For him no bragging of his exploits.[37] All that he says he sets down modestly and with excuses (as every now and then, `Me pesa hablar de mis trabajos'), and as befits a gentleman. Lastly, he leaves the reader (when describing his captivity in Florida), by telling him quite quietly and without comment that God was pleased to save from all these perils himself, Alonso del Castillo Maldonado, Andres Dorantes, and that the fourth was a negro called Estevanico, a native of Azimur. But, not contented with his ten years' captivity, after three years at home he entered into a certain asiento[38] and capitulacion[39] with the King to sail at his own charges with an expedition to succour Don Pedro de Mendoza, who was hard pressed by famine and the Indians at Buenos Ayres. He agreed to furnish eight thousand ducats, horses, arms, men, and provisions at his own expense, upon condition that he was made Governor and Adelantado of the Rio de la Plata, and General both of its armies and its fleets.
Upon November 2, 1537, he embarked at Cadiz with his fleet, consisting of a caravel and two full-rigged ships. All went well up to the Cape de Verdes. On nearing the equator, it occurred to the `Maestro del Agua' to examine his stock of water, and, out of one hundred pipes which had been put aboard, he found but three remaining, and from these the thirty horses and four hundred men who were on board all had to drink. Seeing the greatness of the necessity, the Governor — for Alvar Nuñez almost always speaks of himself in the third person — gave orders that the fleet should make for land. `Three days,' he says in his Commentaries, `we sailed in search of it'; and on the fourth, just before sunrise, occurred a very notable affair, and, as it is not altogether fuera de proposito, I set it down, and it is this — `that, going towards the land, the ships had almost touched on some sharp rocks we had not seen.' Then, as now, I take it, vigilance was not a noticeable quality in Spanish sailors. Just as the vessels were almost on the rocks, `a cricket commenced to sing, which cricket a sick soldier had put into the ship at Cadiz, being anxious to hear its music, and for the two months which our navigation had endured no one had heard it, whereat the soldier was much enraged; and as on that morning it felt the land [sintio la tierra], it commenced to sing, and its music wakened all the people of the ship, who saw the cliffs, which were distant almost a crossbow-shot from where we were, so we cast out anchors and saved the ship, and it is certain that if the cricket had not sung all of us, four hundred soldiers and thirty horses, had been lost.' Some of the crew accepted the occurrence as a miracle from God; but Nuñez himself is silent on that head, being a better observer of natural history than a theologian. But `from there, and sailing more than a hundred leagues along the coast, the cricket every evening gave us his music, and thus with it we arrived at a little port beyond Cape Frio, where the Adelantado landed and unfurled his flag, and took possession for His Majesty.' The expedition disembarked at Santa Catalina in Brazil. `There the Governor landed his men and twenty-six of the horses which had escaped the sea, all that remained of forty-six embarked in Spain.' The odium theologicum gave the Governor some work at once. Two friars — Fray Bernardo de Armenta and Fray Alonso Lebron, Franciscans — had burnt the houses of some Indians, who had retaliated in the heathen fashion by slaughtering two Christians. The `people being scandalized', the Governor sent for the friars, admonished them, and told them to restrain their zeal. This was the first false step he made, and set all friars and priests throughout America against him. Hearing at Santa Catalina that Buenos Ayres was almost abandoned, and that the inhabitants had founded the town of Asuncion del Paraguay, Alvar determined to march thither by land, and send his ship into the river Plate and up the Paraguay. The two Franciscan friars he told to remain and `indoctrinate' the Indians. This they refused to do, saying they wished to reside amongst the Spaniards in Asuncion. Had they been Jesuits, it is ten to one they had remained and spent their lives `indoctrinating', for the Jesuits alone of all the religious Orders were ever ready to take every risk.
Upon his march the Governor, contrary to all good policy and precedent, ordered that nothing should be taken from the Indians without due payment being made. To insure this being done, he paid for all provisions himself, and served them out to the soldiery. This made him as unpopular with his soldiers as his dealings with the two Franciscans had made him amongst the friars. Surely he might have known that Pizarro, Cortes, Almagro, and the rest, were men who never paid for anything. Still, he persisted in his conduct to the end, and so brought ruin on himself. The Indians seemed to appreciate his method, for he says that `when the news was spread abroad of the good treatment the Governor gave to all, they came to meet the army decked with flowers and bringing provisions in great abundance.' It was, he also says, `a thing to see how frightened the Indians were of the horses, and how they brought them food, chickens and honey to keep them quiet and in good humour, and they asked the Governor to tell the horses not to hurt them.'
After passing the river Iguazú, he sent the two friars ahead to collect provisions, and `when the Governor arrived the Indians had no more to give.'[40]
So having started from the coast upon November 2, 1541, he arrived at Asuncion on March 2, 1542, having accomplished a march of more than two thousand miles with but the loss of a single man and without the slaughter of a single Indian. Hardly had he arrived at Asuncion before he found himself embroiled on every side. The Indians were in full rebellion, the settlement of Buenos Ayres almost in ruins, and the officers appointed by the King to collect the royal dues all hostile to him to a man.
After having consulted with the clergy to find if they thought it lawful to attack the Guaycurús who had assailed the newly-founded town, he received the opinion `that it was not only lawful, but expedient.' Therefore he sent off an expedition against them, to which was joined a priest to require the Guaycurús to become Christians and to acknowledge the King of Spain. The propositions, not unnaturally, did not seem reasonable to the Indians, who most likely were unaware of the benefits which Christianity confers, and probably heard for the first time of the King of Spain. The Governor, who seems to have doubted of the humanity of the clergy, called another council, which confirmed the previous opinion. Strangely enough, this seems to have surprised him, for he probably did not reflect that the clergy would not have to fight themselves, and that the first blood ever spilt on earth was on account of a religious difference.
Just before the expedition started it was found that the two Franciscan friars who had come with him from Santa Catalina could not be found. It then appeared they had started back to the coast accompanied by a bevy of Indian damsels, thirty-five in all. They were followed and brought back, and then explained that they were on their way to Spain to complain against the Governor. The five-and-thirty dusky catechumens remained without an explanation, and the people were once more `scandalized'. The Governor then started out against the Guaycurús. Only those who know the Chaco, or western bank of the river Paraguay, can form the least idea of what such an expedition must have been. Even to-day in the Chaco the change since the beginning of the world can be but slight. As a steamer slips along the bank, nothing for miles and miles is seen but swamp, intersected with backwaters,[41] in which lie alligators, electric eels, and stinging rays. Far as the eye can reach are swamps, swamps, and more swamps, a sea of waving pampa-grass. After the swamps thickets of tacuaras (canes), forests of thorny trees, chañares, ñandubay, jacarandas, urundey, talas, and quebrachos, each one hard enough to split an axe, some, like the black canela, almost like iron; the inhabitants ferocious and intractable as when the Governor himself first saw them; the climate heavy and humid, the air dank with vinchucas[42] and mosquitoes and the little black infernal midget called the jejen; no roads, no paths, no landmarks, but here and there at intervals of many leagues a clearing in the forest where some straggling settlement exists, more rarely still the walls of a deserted Jesuit mission-house or church. Ostriches and deer, tigers,[43] capibaras and tapirs, and now and then a herd of cattle as wild as buffaloes, are seen. Sometimes an Indian with his lance sits motionless upon his horse to watch the vessel pass — a sentinel to guard the wilderness from encroachments from without. So Alvar Nuñez, as he tells us in his Commentaries, started with four hundred men and with one thousand friendly Indians, all well armed and painted, and with plates of metal on their heads to reflect the sun, and so strike terror to their enemies. To save the horses they were put on board,[44] whilst the Indians marched along the bank, keeping up with the ships. Horses at that time in Paraguay and in Peru often were worth one thousand crowns of gold, though Azara tells us that in the last century in Buenos Ayres you could often buy a good horse for two needles, so cheap had they become. Then, as at present, time was of no account in Paraguay, so almost every day they landed the horses to keep them in condition and to chase the ostriches and deer.
Just the kind of army that a thinking man would like to march with; not too much to eat, but, still, a pleasant feeling of marching to spread religion and to make one's fortune, with but the solitary unpleasant feature to the soldier — the system of payment for provisions which the Governor prescribed. All was new and strange; the world was relatively young. Each night the Governor religiously wrote up his diary, now chronicling the death of some good horse, or of an Indian, or commenting upon the fruits, the fish, the animals, the trees, and `all the other things of God which differ from those in the Castiles.' Occasionally a fight took place with Guasarapos or with Pagayuás, but nothing of much account (de mucha monta); always the tales of gold-mines to be met with further on. Eventually the expedition came to a point not far from where is now the town of Corumbá. There Alvar Nuñez founded a town to which he gave the name of Reyes, which has long fallen into decay. He also sent two captains to explore and search for gold, waiting two or three months for their return, and suffering from a quartan ague which confined him to his bed; then, having failed to find the talked-of gold-mines, he set his face again towards Asuncion. Just before starting he gave the final blow to his waning popularity. Some of his followers, having taken Indian girls, had hidden them on board the ships; this, when he knew it, Nuñez at once forbade, and, sending for the fathers of the girls, restored their children to them. `With this,' he says, `the natives were much pleased, but the Spaniards rendered angry and desperate, and for this cause they hated me.' Nothing more natural, and for the same cause the Spanish Paraguayans hated the Jesuits who carried out the policy which the wise Governor began.
On April 8, 1543, the Governor returned to Asuncion, worn out and ill with ague. There he found all confusion. Domingo de Irala, a clever, ambitious Biscayan soldier who had been interim Governor before Nuñez had arrived, had worked upon the people, saying that Nuñez wished to take away their property. As their chief property was in Indians whom they had enslaved, this rendered Nuñez most unpopular, and the same kind of allegations were laid against him as were laid against the Jesuits when in their turn they denounced slavery in Paraguay. All the complaints were in the name of liberty, as generally is the case when tyranny or villainy of any sort is to be done.
So Alvar Nuñez[45] tells us in his Commentaries that at the hour of the Ave Maria ten or twelve of the `factious' entered his house where he lay ill in bed, all shouting `Liberty!' and to prove they were all good patriots one Jaime Resquin put a bent crossbow to his side, and forced him to get out of bed, and took him off to prison amid a crowd all shouting `Liberty!' The friends of liberty (upon the other side) attempted a rescue, but the patriots[46] were too strong. So the unpatriotic Governor was thrown, heavily ironed, into a cell, out of which to make room they let a murderer who was awaiting death. `He' (Alvar Nuñez grimly remarks) `made haste to take my cloak, and then set off down the street at once, calling out "Liberty!"' That everything should be in order, the patriots confiscated all the Governor's goods and took his papers, publishing a proclamation that they did so because he was a tyrant. Unluckily, the Indians have not left us any commentaries, or it would be curious to learn what they thought as to the tyranny of Alvar Nuñez. Most probably they thought as the Indians of the Jesuit missions thought at the expulsion of the Jesuits from Paraguay, as is set forth in the curious memorial addressed in 1768 by the people of the Mission of San Luis to the Governor of Buenos Ayres, praying that the Jesuits might be suffered to remain instead of the friars, who had been sent to replace them against the people's will.[47] Having got the Governor into prison, the patriots had to elect another chief, and the choice naturally `fell' upon Domingo de Irala, who, having been interim Governor, had never ceased intriguing from the first. He promptly put his friends in office, after the fashion of all Governors, whether they enter office to the cry of `Liberty' or not. The friends of Alvar Nuñez, in the usual Spanish fashion (long sanctified by use and wont), declared themselves in opposition — that is, they roamed about the land, proving by theft and murder that their love of liberty was just as strong as that of those in power. Things shortly came to such a pass that no one could leave his house by night. The marauding Guaycurús burnt all the suburbs, and threatened to attack the town. Nuñez himself was guarded day and night by four men armed with daggers in a close prison. As he says himself, his prison was not `fitting for his health,' for day and night he had to keep a candle burning to see to read, and the grass grew underneath his bed, whilst for the sake of `health' he had a pair of first-rate fetters on his feet. For his chief gaoler they procured one Hernando de Sosa, whom Nuñez had put in gaol for striking an Indian chief. A guard watched constantly at the prison gate, but, still, in spite of this he managed to communicate almost uninterruptedly with his friends outside. His method was certainly ingenious. His food was brought to him by an Indian girl, whom, so great was the fear of the patriots that he should write to the King, they made walk naked into the prison, carrying the dishes, and with her head shaved. Notwithstanding this, she managed to bring a piece of paper hidden between her toes. The party of Liberty, suspecting that Nuñez was communicating with his friends, procured an Indian youth to make love to the girl and learn the secret. This he failed to do, owing, perhaps, to his love-making being wanting in conviction on account of her shaved head. At last Irala and his friends determined to send the Governor a prisoner to Spain, taking care, of course, to despatch a messenger beforehand to distort the facts and prejudice the King. The friends of Nuñez, however, managed to secrete a box of papers, stating the true facts, on board the ship. At dead of night a band of harquebusiers dragged him from his bed (after a captivity of eleven months), as he says, `almost with the candle in his hand' — i.e., in a dying state. As he left the prison, he fell upon his knees and thanked God for having let him once more feel the air of heaven, and then in a loud voice exclaimed: `I name as my successor Captain Juan de Salazar de Espinosa.' At this one Garci Vargas rushed at him with a knife, and told him to recall his words or he would kill him instantly. This he was stopped from doing, and Nuñez was hurried to the ship and chained securely to a beam. On board the vessel, he says, they tried to poison him; but this seems doubtful, as there was nothing on earth to prevent their doing so had they been so inclined. Still, as a prudent man he took the precaution to provide some oil and a piece of unicorn (pedazo de unicornio), with which he tried the food. Unicorns he could not have seen in Paraguay, nor yet in Florida, and he does not explain how he became so luckily equipped.
None the less, of all the discoverers of America he is the man of least imaginative power — that is, in matters appertaining to natural history — so one must conclude he had his piece of unicorn from Spain, where he most probably had bought it from some dealer in necessaries for travellers to the New World.
After a stormy voyage he arrived in Spain to find his accusers just before him. With truly Eastern justice, both accusers and accused were put in gaol, a custom worthy of adoption in other lands. Nuñez was soon released on bail, and, his accusers having all died, in eight years' time he was triumphantly acquitted of all the charges brought against him. To prove, however, that Justice is and always has been blind, the King never restored him to his government in Paraguay, and, as Nuñez says, forgot to repay him what he had expended in his service.[48] With Alvar Nuñez was lost the only chance of liberal treatment to the Indians, for from his time the governors, instead of being men of the world above the petty spite of party differences, were chosen either from officers who, having served in the frontier wars, quite naturally looked on the Indians as enemies, or were appointed by intriguing Ministers at Court. From the death of Alvar Nuñez to the inauguration of the missions by the Jesuits, no one arose to take the Indians' side, and it may be that had his policy prevailed there would have been an Indian population left in the mission territory of Paraguay; for had the civil governors co-operated with the Jesuits, the dispersion of the Indians, which took place at the expulsion of the Jesuits, had not occurred.
Thus was Domingo Martinez de Irala left in sole command in Paraguay. He naturally had all to gain by not communicating with Spain. Had he done so, the part he played in reference to Alvar Nuñez must have been known. He had, however, certain good qualities, courage in abundance, Herculean strength and great endurance, and the power of making himself obeyed. But he had to justify himself to Spain for his position, and the surest way to do so was to discover gold-mines. So, naming Francisco de Mendoza his lieutenant, he started up the Paraguay, taking with him three hundred and fifty soldiers and two thousand Guaranís. After many hardships, he reached the frontiers of Peru, only to find the country already conquered from the Pacific side, and to be met by the messengers of the wise President, La Gasca, who told him to return, and named one Diego Centeno Governor of Paraguay instead of him. Centeno died before he could assume the governorship, so it seemed that fate determined that Irala was to continue in command.
After a year and a half he returned to Paraguay, having found no gold or riches, but bringing many thousand Indians as slaves. It is important to remember that Irala, who was remarkable for his relatively kind treatment of the Indians, on this occasion led so many of them captive. On arriving at Asuncion he found a rebellion going on, as not infrequently occurred when a Spanish Governor left his domains. His lieutenant, Mendoza, had been killed by one Diego de Abreu. After quieting matters in Asuncion, he despatched Nuflo de Chaves (one of his captains) to found a town on the higher waters of the Paraguay.
Irala died at the little village of Itá in 1557, and was buried in the cathedral at Asuncion, which he was building at the time. With him expired the generation of the conquering soldiers of fortune, who, schooled in the wars of Italy, brought to America some of the virtues and all the vices of the Old World. After him began the reign of the half-caste Spaniards who were the progenitors of the modern occupants of the Spanish-American republics. At Irala's death the usual feuds, which have for the last three hundred years disgraced every part of Spanish America, began. Into them it is unnecessary to enter, for with Irala died almost the only Governor of Paraguay who showed the smallest capacity to make himself obeyed.
True indeed that Arias de Saavedra, a native of Paraguay and Lieutenant-Governor under Ramirez de Velasco, the Governor of Tucuman, displayed some traces of ability and of intelligence. He it was who first appealed to Spain for missionaries to convert the Indians.
Whilst Alvar Nuñez and Irala, with Nuflo de Chaves and the other captains, had been conquering and building towns, the Jesuits had been preaching in the wilderness and gathering together the Indian tribes. Not ten years after the foundation of their Order,[49] or about 1550, they had landed at San Salvador de Bahia in Brazil.
In 1554, in the district of Guayrá, on the upper waters of the Paraná, and above the cataract, the towns of Ontiveros, Ciudad Real, and Villa Rica, had been founded by Don Ruy Diaz de Melgarejo.
In 1586 Fathers Alfonso Barcena and Angulo left the town of Santa Maria de las Charcas (Bolivia) at the request of Francisco Vitoria, Bishop of Santiago, who had appealed for missionaries to the Society of Jesus. They reached the province of Guayrá, and began their labours. Shortly afterwards they were joined by Fathers Estezan Grao, Juan Solano, and Thomas Fields; Solano and Fields had already visited some of the wandering tribes upon the Rio Vermejo in the Chaco.
In 1593 others arrived, as Juan Romero, Gaspar de Monroy, and Marcelino Lorenzana. Shortly after this they founded the college in Asuncion. Then Fathers Ortega and Vellarnao penetrated into the mountains of the Chiriguanás, and began to preach the Gospel to the Indians.
In 1602 Acquaviva, seeing the necessity of common action, called all the scattered Jesuits of Paraguay and the river Plate to a conference at Salta to deliberate as to their future policy.[50] In 1605 Father Diego Torres was named Provincial of the Jesuits of Paraguay and Chile, thus proving both the paucity of Jesuits in South America at the time, and the little idea the General in Rome had of the immensity of the countries he was dealing with.
Torres arrived in Lima with fifteen priests, and almost at the same time some others arrived at Buenos Ayres; both parties proceeded to Paraguay. Already the Jesuits found themselves a prey to calumny.
Both in Tucuman and Paraguay they were expected to lend themselves to the enslavement of the Indians. In Chile Father Valdivia was expelled from Santiago, and took refuge at Tucuman. There he found the condition of affairs so intolerable that he went to Madrid to solicit the protection of the King, Philip III., for his Indian subjects.
In 1608 Philip issued his royal letters patent to the Society of Jesus for the conversion of the Indians in the province of Guayrá.
The Bishop and the Governor, Arias de Saavedra (himself a Paraguayan by birth), offered no objection, and the scheme of colonization was agreed upon at once.
Thus the Jesuits obtained their first official status in America.
Fathers Simon Maceta and José Cataldino (both Italians) left Asuncion on October 10, 1609, and arrived in February, 1610, on the banks of the river Paranapané.[51]
There they met the Indians amongst whom Fields and Ortega had begun to labour, and there they founded the Reduction[52] of Loreto, the first permanent establishment instituted by the Jesuits amongst the Guaranís. Thus, in the woods of Paraguay, upon a tributary of the Paraná but little known even to-day, did the Society of Jesus lay the first foundation of their famous missions. But little more than fifty years from the foundation of their Order, thus had they penetrated to what was then, and is perchance to-day, after their missions all are ruined, one of the remotest corners of the world.
There they built up the system with which their name is linked for ever — the system which for two hundred years was able to hold together wandering Indian tribes, restless as Arabs, suspicious above every other race of men — and which to-day has disappeared, leaving nothing of a like nature in all the world.
Early days of the missions — New settlements founded — Relations of Jesuits with Indians and Spanish colonists — Destruction of missions by the Mamelucos — Father Maceta — Padre Antonio Ruiz de Montoya — His work and influence — Retreat of the Jesuits down the Paraná
It does not seem doubtful but that the work done by Fathers Ortega and Filds[53] had borne some fruit. Perhaps not quite after the fashion that the Jesuits believed; but when Maceta and Cataldino arrived at Guayrá and founded the Reduction of Loreto, their success at first was of a nature that almost justified the epithet `miraculous', an epithet which indeed all men apply to any enterprise of theirs which meets success. Almost from the first inception of the missions, the Jesuits found themselves in the strange position of, though being hated by the Spanish settlers, yet recurred to as mediators when any of the wild tribes proved too powerful for the Spanish arms. Thus, far from cities, far from even such elementary civilization as Paraguay should show, almost upon the edge of the great cataract of the Paraná, the Jesuits founded their first reduction; to which the Indians flocked in such numbers that a second was soon necessary, to which they gave the name of San Ignacio, in memory of the founder of their rule.
For the first few years all went well with the Jesuits. The Indians, happy to escape the persecutions of the Spaniards on the one hand, and the incursions of the Paulistas[54] on the other, flocked to the reductions, mission after mission was soon formed, and the wild Indians gathered up into townships and taught the arts of peace. But though the Guaranís at first entered into the Jesuit reductions as a refuge against their persecutors, the Portuguese and Spaniards, soon, as was only natural to men accustomed to a wild forest life, they found the Jesuit discipline too irksome, and often fled back to the woods. Then the poor priest, left without his flock, had to take up the trail of the flying neophytes, follow them to the recesses of the forests, and persuade them to come back.
As a means to secure the confidence of the Indians, the Jesuits found themselves obliged to communicate as rarely as possible with the Spanish settlements. Thus, from the first the policy of isolation, which was one of the chief charges brought against the Order in later years, was of necessity begun.[55] Voltaire, no lover of religious Orders, says of the Jesuits:[56] `When in 1768 the missions of Paraguay left the hands of the Jesuits, they had arrived at perhaps the highest degree of civilization to which it is possible to conduct a young people, and certainly at a far superior state than that which existed in the rest of the new hemisphere. The laws were respected there, morals were pure, a happy brotherhood united every heart, all the useful arts were in a flourishing state, and even some of the more agreeable sciences; plenty was universal.'
It is, however, to be remembered that Voltaire wrote as a philosopher, and not as an economist, and that his statement most probably would be traversed by those who see advancement rather in material improvement than in moral happiness, for without doubt, in Lima and in Mexico upon the whole, society must have made amongst the Spanish and Spanish-descended citizens greater advances than in the Jesuit reductions of Paraguay. In some respects their almost inaccessible situation close to the cataract of the Paraná was favourable to the early Jesuits, and in quick succession the villages of Loreto, San Francisco Xavier, San José, San Ignacio, San Pedro, and others of less importance, were founded, containing in all about forty thousand souls.[57]
So in the Jesuit reductions of the province of Guayrá was first begun the system of treating the Indians kindly, and standing between them and the Spanish settlers, which made the Company of Jesus so hated afterwards in Paraguay. Little by little their influence grew, so that when, in 1614, Padre Antonio Ruiz de Montoya arrived, he found that there were already one hundred and nineteen Jesuits in Guayrá and in Paraguay. Of all the Jesuits who, during the long period of their labours, appeared in Paraguay, he was the most remarkable; one of the most learned men of the age in which he lived, he yet united in himself the qualities of a man of action to those of scholar and of missionary. Without his presence most likely not a tenth part of the Indians would have escaped after the destruction of the missions of Guayrá in 1630 and 1631 at the hands of the half-civilized hordes known as Paulistas or Mamalucos, who from the city of San Paulo carried fire and sword amongst the Guaranís.
It is easy to understand that the Spanish colonists, who had looked on all the Indians as slaves, were rendered furious by the advent of the Jesuits, who treated them as men.
To-day the European colonist in Africa labours less to enslave than to exterminate the natives; but if a body of clergy of any sect having the abnegation and disregard of consequences of the Jesuits of old should arise, fancy the fury that would be evoked if they insisted that it were as truly murder to slay a black man as it is to kill a man whose skin is white. Most fortunately, our clergy of to-day, especially those of the various churches militant in Uganda, think otherwise, and hold that Christ was the first inventor of the `colour-line'.
At the first settlement of South America great semi-feudal fiefs called encomiendas were granted to the conquerors. One of the conditions of their tenure was that the encomenderos (the owners of the fiefs) `should see to the religious education of the Indians'. Much the same kind of thing as to enjoin kindness and Christian forbearance upon the directors of a modern Chartered Company. But, in addition to the encomiendas, two other systems were in vogue called yanaconas and mitayos, which were in fact designed to reduce the Indians to the condition of mere slaves.
Herrera[58] says that the `yanaconas were men destined from birth to perpetual slavery and captivity, and in their clothing, treatment, and the conditions of their toil, were differently treated from free men.'
Herrera[59] describes the Indians under the mitayo system by the name of mitayos tindarunas, explaining that the word tindaruna signifies `forced labour'. The chiefs had to provide a certain number of them every year to work in mines and manufactories, and so well was the labour in the mines known to be fatal, that the Indians upon being drawn for service disposed of all their property, and not infrequently divorced their wives. The mitayos were at the beginning Indians who had not fought against the Spaniards, but had submitted to their rule. They were grouped in townships composed of portions of a tribe under a chief to whom the Spaniards gave the position of Alcalde. In the towns thus formed only the men between eighteen and fifty were liable to be drawn for service in the mines; originally their term of service was for only two months in the year, and for the remaining ten months they were in theory as free as were the Spanish settlers. By 1612 the abuses of their system had so diminished the number of the Indians that Don Francisco de Alfaro was named by the Spanish Government to report upon it, and to reform abuses where he found it possible. His report declared that the Guaranís and Guaycurús should not be made slaves of, and it abolished in their favour the forced labour which they had previously endured. The European settlers in Asuncion thought that this was owing to the influence of the Jesuits, and therefore they expelled them from the town. Recalled to Santiago, they founded there a college, and those who remained in Paraguay pushed on the mission-work. Brabo[60] points out that the first twenty reductions founded by the Company of Jesus were settled in the first twenty years from their first appearance in the land,[61] and that from the foundation of the Mission of St. George (the last established of the first twenty towns) to that of San Joaquim, in the wild forests of the Tarumá, they employed a hundred and twelve years. In the interval they chiefly occupied themselves in the consolidation of their first settlements, and in various unsuccessful attempts to institute similar reductions amongst the Indians of the Chaco across the Paraguay.
But whilst the Jesuits were settling their reductions in the province of Guayrá and those upon the Paraná and Uruguay, a nest of hawks looked at their neophytes as pigeons ready fattening for their use. Almost eight hundred miles away, at the city of San Paulo de Piritinanga, in Brazil, a strange society had come into existence by degrees. Peopled at first by Portuguese and Dutch adventurers and malefactors, it had become a nest of pirates and a home for all the desperadoes of Brazil and Paraguay. This engaging population, being in want of wives whereby to propagate their virtues, took to themselves Indians and negresses, and bred a race worse ten times than were themselves, as often happens both in the cases of Mulattos and Mestizos in America. Under the name of Mamelucos[62] (given to them no one knows why) they soon became the terror of the land. Equally at home on horseback, in canoes upon the rivers, or in schooners on the sea, excellent marksmen and courageous fighters, they subsisted chiefly by procuring Indians as slaves for the plantations in Brazil. In a short time they exhausted all the Indians near San Paulo, and were forced to search far in the depths of the unknown interior. Little by little, following the course of the great rivers in their canoes, they reached the Jesuit settlements upon the upper waters of the Paraná, where they burned the towns and the churches, made captives of the converts, and killed the priests. Montoya relates that a Jesuit, having clasped an Indian in his arms to save him, was deluged with his blood, a Mameluco having crept up behind him and plunged his lance into the Indian behind the Jesuit's back. The Mameluco, on being, as Montoya says, `reprehended' by the Jesuit, dogmatically remarked, `I shall be saved in spite of God, for to be saved a man has only to believe,'[63] a remark which showed him clearly an honest opponent of the Jesuits, as they insisted greatly on the doctrine of good works.
Ruiz Montoya and others tell us that the plan of action of the Paulistas was either to attack the Jesuit reductions on Sunday, when the sheep were gathered in the fold listening to Mass, surround