A Vanished Arcadia

Being Some Account of the Jesuits in Paraguay
1607 to 1767

By R. B. Cunninghame Graham

Author of “Mogreb-El-Acksa”, etc.

With a [Map]

I DEDICATE
THIS SHORT ACCOUNT OF

A VANISHED ARCADIA

TO THE AUTHOR OF

‘SANTA TERESA, HER LIFE AND TIMES’,

BEING CERTAIN THAT
THE LIFE OF ALL SAINTS IS TO THEM AND US AN ARCADIA;
UNKNOWN TO THEM AND TO US VANISHED WITH THEIR LIVES,
YET STILL REMEMBERED, FITFULLY AS ARE THE JESUITS
IN PARAGUAY, BY A FEW FAITHFUL,
WHEN THE ANGELUS WAKES RECOLLECTION IN THE INDIANS’ HEARTS.
BUT, THEN, THE ANGELUS (EVEN OF MEMORY)
IS TO THE MOST PART OF MANKIND ONLY
A JANGLING OF AN ANTIQUATED BELL.

Preface

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.

Contents

[Chapter I]
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

[Chapter II]
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

[Chapter III]
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

[Chapter IV]
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

[Chapter V]
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

[Chapter VI]
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

[Chapter VII]
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

[Chapter VIII]
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

[Chapter IX]
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

[Chapter X]
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

[Chapter XI]
Conclusion

A Vanished Arcadia

Being Some Account of the Jesuits in Paraguay
1607 to 1767

Chapter I

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.

After the struggle for independence which finished about 1825, some interest was excited in the Spanish-American countries, stimulated by the writings of Humboldt; but when it became apparent that on the whole those countries could never be occupied by Northern Europeans, interest in them died out except for purposes connected with the Stock Exchange. Yet there is a charm which attaches to them which attaches to no other countries in the world. It was there that one of the greatest dramas, and certainly the greatest adventure in which the human race has engaged, took place. What Africa has been for the last twenty years, Spanish America was three hundred years ago, the difference being that, whereas modern adventure in Africa goes on under full observation, and deals in the main with absolutely uncivilized peoples, the conquest of South America was invested with all the charm of novelty, and brought the conquerors into contact with at least two peoples almost as advanced in most of the arts of civilization as they were themselves.

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.

The discovery of America opened up to Europe, and especially to Spain, opportunities for expansion of national territory and individual advancement which no epoch, either before or since, has equalled. From a cluster of small States, struggling for existence against a powerful enemy on their own soil, in a few years Spain became the greatest empire of the world. The result was that a spirit of adventure and a desire to grow rich speedily possessed all classes. In addition to this, every Spaniard in America during the first few years of the conquest seemed to consider himself, to some extent, not only as a conqueror, but also as a missionary.

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:

‘But it is to be noted that, after God, it was we, the real conquerors, who discovered them [the Indians] and conquered them; and from the first we took away their idols, and taught them our holy doctrine, and to us is due the reward and credit of it all, before any other people, even though they be churchmen: for when the beginning is good, the middle and ending is good, which the curious [i.e., attentive] reader may see in the Christian polity and justice which we showed them in New Spain.

‘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]

Like their forefathers, they seldom unite in large numbers, and pay little honour or obedience to their chiefs, who differ in no respect, either in arms, dress, or position, from the ordinary tribesmen.

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:

‘They are generally good soldiers, of great spirit and valour, expert in the use of arms, especially in that of the musquet, so much so that, when they go on long journeys, they are accustomed to live on the game which they kill with it. It is common for them to kill birds on the wing, and he is accounted unfit for a soldier who cannot bring down a pigeon. They are such excellent horsemen that there is no one who is not able to tame and ride an unbroken colt.

‘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.

Like many other captains of those days, the idea of Chaves was to make himself quite independent of authority; so, striking into the interior, he founded the town of Santa Cruz de la Sierra in Bolivia. After many adventures he was killed by an Indian, who struck him with a club whilst he was sitting eating without his helmet.

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.

Chapter II

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.’

In Paraguay these yanaconas were known as ‘Indios Originarios’, and generally were descendants of Indians conquered in war; they, too, were in a condition of serfdom. They lived in the house of the encomendero, and could not be sold, and the encomendero was (in theory) obliged not only to feed and clothe them, but to instruct them in religious truths. In order to see that these conditions were duly carried out, visitors were sent each year to hear what mutually the encomenderos and the Indians had to say.

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 the church, murder the priest, and carry off the neophytes as slaves; or else, disguised as Jesuits, enter a mission, gain the confidence of the Indians, and then communicate with their soldiers, who were waiting in the woods. But not content with this, it seems, so often did they practise singing Mass to pass as Jesuits, that on returning to San Paulo, in their orgies, their great diversion was to masquerade as priests. So that the rascals not only profited by their villainy, but extracted much amusement from their wicked deeds.[64] This, in Montoya’s opinion, was even more damnable than the actual crime. And so no doubt it was, and we in England, by having made our vice as dull as virtue is in other lands, have gone some way towards morality, for vice and virtue, both deprived of humour, become not so far separated as some virtuous dull folk may think.

Quite naturally, these redoubtable land and river pirates saw in the Jesuit reductions upon the Paranapané, and generally throughout the district of Guayrá, merely an opportunity of capturing more Indians than usual at a haul. In 1629 they first appeared before the Mission of San Antonio and destroyed it utterly, burning the church and houses, and driving off the Indians to sell as slaves. San Miguel and Jesus-Maria shortly suffered the same fate. In Concepcion Padre Salazar was regularly besieged, and he and all the people reduced to eating dogs, cats, rats, mice, and even snakes. At the last moment, when about to surrender, Father Cataldino, hastily arming some Indians with any rude weapons at his command, marched on the place and raised the siege. A worthy member of the Church militant this exploring, fighting, intrepid Italian priest, and one the Company of Jesus should honour, for to him, perhaps as much as to any of these first explorers of the Upper Paraná, is credit due.

But still the Mamelucos ran their course, destroying town after town, so that in the short space of a year (1630-31) they destroyed partially the reductions of San Francisco Xavier, San José, San Pedro, and La Concepcion; and the two first founded, San Ignacio and Loreto, were ruined utterly. The wretched Indians, to whom by law the Jesuits were forbidden to serve out firearms, stood no chance against the well-trained Paulistas, with their horses, guns, and bloodhounds, assisted as they were by troops of savage Indians who discharged poisoned arrows from blowpipes and from bows. Small wonder that, as Montoya, Charlevoix, Lahier,[65] and Filiberto Monero[66] all agree, despair took hold of them, so that in many instances they cursed the Jesuits and fled back to the woods. When one reflects that many of the Indian tribes looked upon baptism as a poison,[67] it is not strange that they should have associated effect with cause, and set down all their sufferings to the influence of the malignant rite to which the Jesuits had subjected them. The isolated Jesuits ran considerable risk from their own sheep, and Padre Mola, after the ruin of San Antonio, was suspected by them of being in league with the Paulistas, and had to flee for safety to another town; and as a touch of comedy is seldom wanting to make things bitterer to those in misfortune, a troop of savage Indians, having arrived to attack the Reduction of San Antonio, and finding it already burning, instantly thought poor Padre Mola had been the instigator, and, starting on his trail, almost surprised him before he reached a refuge from their patriotic rage.

Thus in the greater world reformers of all sorts have not infrequently in times of scarcity and danger been taken by their protégés for the authors of their trials and stoned, whilst the smug Government which caused the ruin, well bolstered up in the affection of its ‘taxables’, chuckled, serenely confident in the unending folly of mankind. Most certainly the Jesuits struggled to do their duty to their neophytes in what they thought they saw was right. On foot and unattended Fathers Maceta and Mansilla followed the fifteen thousand captives to Brazil, confessing those who fell upon the road before they died, and instant in supplication to the Paulistas for the prisoners’ release. Father Maceta especially behaved heroically, carrying the chains of those who could hardly drag themselves along, himself half dead with hunger and his constant toil. Especially he strove to effect the release of a captive chief called Guiravera, who had been one of his bitterest enemies, and strove so hard that a Paulista captain, either touched by his zeal or wearied with his pleading, released the chief, his wife and family, and six of the Indians of his tribe. The chief returned to become the Jesuits’ best friend, and the two priests on foot followed the captives’ train. What they endured on foot without provisions, tortured by insects, and in danger from wild beasts, as well as constant perils from the Paulistas, who now and then pricked them with lances or fired pistols over their heads to frighten them away, none but those who have journeyed in the forests of that forgotten corner of the world can estimate. I see them in their torn and sun-browned cassocks struggling through the esteros[68] in water to the knees, falling and rising oft, after the fashion of the supposititious Christian on life’s way; pushing along through forest paths across which darted humming-birds, now coming on a dying man and kneeling by his side, now gathering the berries of the guavirami[69] to eat upon the road, and then again catching sight of a jaguar as it slunk beside the trail, and all the time convinced that all their efforts, like the efforts of most of those who strive, would be in vain. So stumbling through the woods, crossing the rivers on inflated ox-skins, baked by the sun upon the open plains, at length the Jesuits reached San Paulo, where they had a college, and without resting set at once to work. In season (and what in cases of the kind is ten times more important), out of season, they besought, pleaded, and preached, and finding as little grace from the Paulista chiefs as a transgressor against some fiery dogma would find from a sour-faced North British dogmatist, they started for Rio de Janeiro to see the Council-General of Brazil. There they were told that the right person to address was the Captain-General of the colony, who had his residence in Bahia, five or six hundred miles away. Not the least daunted, they set out, and found Don Diego Luis Oliveira more or less friendly, but as usual fearful of giving offence to those who had a vested interest in the trade. Then the two Jesuits, hearing that another invasion of the Paulistas was expected in Guayrá, started back on their long journey through the woods, over the plains, across the mountain ranges, and through the dank esteros which lay between them and their missions on the Paraná. The Captain-General seems to have been roused to a sense of the position by their words, for on his annual visitation at San Paulo he spoke in public to the colonists against their slave raids, when a shot fired from the meeting ended his speech.[70] The inhabitants then signified to him that, sooner than give up what seemed to them a justifiable and honest means of life, they would be debaptized. How they proposed to debaptize themselves is not related, but perhaps after the fashion of the Guaranís—by sand, hot water, and scraping with a shell; though why the tongue should be thus scarified seems doubtful, for no sect of Christians that is known exacts that people at that sacrament should put out their tongues, and even baptism does little or nothing to increase the power of scandal inherent both in those who have been and those who never were baptized.

About this time (1630) the poor Jesuits were much tormented by the return to paganism of their Indians, and most especially by a hideous dwarf who set himself up as a god, and found a host of worshippers. Good Father Charlevoix thinks that ce petit-monstre,[71] despairing of being thought a man, had no resource but to give out he was a god, and remarks that, as even more hideous gods have been adored, it is not surprising that the Indians took him at his word. When stripped of the somewhat strange phraseology of the simple Jesuit, there is nothing really shocking in the incident. People in general, in making gods, endue them with their own least admirable attributes, and logically these poor Indians but followed out the general scheme.

But in the midst of heresies and dwarf-gods, with the Paulistas almost always in the field, a man arose who was to lead the Jesuits and their neophytes out of Guayrá and settle them securely below the cataract in the Misiones of Paraguay. Born probably late in the sixteenth century in Spain, Antonio Ruiz de Montoya was amongst the first of the Jesuit Fathers who came to Paraguay. In 1612 we find him recently arrived from Spain;[72] sent up to the province of Guayrá to the assistance of Fathers Maceta and Cataldino. For thirty years,[73] as he himself informs us in his book, he remained in Paraguay, and in his own pathetic words he tells us how most of his life was spent. ‘I have lived,’ he says, ‘all through the period of thirty years in Paraguay, as in the desert searching for wild beasts—that is, for savage Indians—crossing wild countries, traversing mountain chains, in order to find Indians and bring them to the true sheepfold of the Holy Church and to the service of His Majesty.[74] With my companions I established thirteen reductions or townships in the wilds, and this I did with great anxiety, in hunger, nakedness, and frequent peril of my life. And all these years I passed far from my brother Spaniards have made me almost a rustic and ignorant of the polished language of the Court.’ Travelling as he did continually, few knew the country from Guayrá to Yapeyu[75] so well as he; he tells us that for ‘all travelling equipment’ he took a hammock, and a little mandioca flour, that he usually travelled on foot with either sandals or bare feet, and that for eight or nine years he never once tasted bread.

About the year 1611-12 we find him charged with a mission to the Provincial at Asuncion to disabuse him of a report which had been carried there that the Jesuits of Guayrá were garnering in no fruit from all their labours in the wilds. The rumour had been so much repeated that the superiors in Asuncion were on the point of calling back the missionaries and giving up all hope. Montoya, accompanied by six Indians, set out upon the journey, which by land to-day is enough to appal the boldest traveller. Walking along, he found himself about the middle of his way alone, his Indians having loitered in the rear. Night caught him in the forests, and a storm came on. He passed the night at the foot of a large tree, hungry and wet, and, waking in the morning, found himself so crippled with arthritic pains as to be obliged to continue his journey on his hands and knees. Alone and helpless, he dragged himself to a place called Maracayu, and, failing to obtain a canoe, went on another league, and there lay down to die, his leg being swelled enormously with the rheumatic pains. Then, as he says himself, he prayed to San Ignacio, telling him that from a sentiment of obedience he had set out upon the journey through the waste. Nothing could have been better, for the saint (who must have seen him all the time), flattered, perhaps, that his own chief virtue had been the cause of so much pain, promptly healed him and restored his leg to its usual size, and Montoya went on his way rejoicing to Asuncion. The Provincial heard and was disabused, but was unable to send a single man to help, and poor Montoya set off again back to Guayrá alone, having gained nothing but his sufferings on the road.

Again, in 1614, we find him in Asuncion combating calumnies spread by the Spanish settlers against the Jesuits. In the same year (as he informs us[76]) he was witness in the Reduction of Loreto of a strange circumstance. ‘An Indian,’ he says, ‘of intelligence and pious conduct called me to administer the last Sacraments, and to confess him before he died, and this I did. As there seemed little hope of his recovery, and pressing business called me away, I quitted him after having given orders for his burial. He died in a short time—at least, all those who were with him had no doubt of this; on my return I found the man whom I had charged to stay beside the Indian till his death preparing for his funeral. Toward mid-day they came to tell me that the dead man had come to life, and wished to speak to me. I ran there, and found him with a cheerful face in the middle of a crowd of Indians. I asked him what had happened since I last saw him, and he answered me that the instant that I quitted him his soul had taken its departure from his body; then, at a point which he thought near to his hammock, a devil had appeared, who said to him, “You are my prey,” and that he answered it could not be, for he had confessed himself to the best of his ability, and had received the holy Viaticum before his death; that the devil had sustained that his confession had been incomplete, and that he had forgotten to confess that twice he had been drunk, to which he answered that it was an oversight, and he hoped that God would not remember it. Then, on the devil sustaining that he had committed a sacrilege, St. Peter had appeared, followed by angels, and driven off the fiend. I asked him how he had known St. Peter, and he replied by describing him, though he had never seen an image of the saint. “The saint,” he said, “covered me with his mantle, and I felt myself instantly carried through the air. First I perceived a lovely landscape, and further on a great city, from which a shining light appeared. Then the Apostle and the angels stopped, and the first said to me, ‘This is the city of the Lord; we live here with Him, but the time of your entry is not yet. It is written that your soul shall once more join your body, and in three days you must appear in church.’ Then all was dark, and in an instant I woke up alive and well.”

‘I,’ says Montoya, ‘understood by the last words of St. Peter that the man had to die in three days, and I asked what he thought himself. “I think,” said he, “that next Sunday they will carry my body to the church, and I am certain that I only returned to life in order to exhort my relatives and my friends to listen to your instructions.” . . . When Sunday came he made his general confession,[77] admitted the two sins the devil had reproached him with, exhorted all to live a Christian life, and a few moments afterwards quietly gave up the ghost.’

This is the sole occasion on which Padre Ruiz Montoya even remotely touches the field of miracles, as he in general relies upon himself, his knowledge of the world, and on his patience, which must have been almost North British in its quality, if he acted up to his own favourite maxim of ‘by returning thanks for injuries is how wise men conduct their business.’[78]

In 1623 we find him praying Father Cataldino to let him accompany the expedition to Itiranbaru, a mountain wooded to the summit, in which lived several wild tribes. There he so worked upon the Indians as to establish them in a reduction under the title of St. Francis Xavier,[79] and left the mountain, which had been a haunt of savages, as Padre del Techo says in his curious work on Paraguay, ‘all at the service of the Lord.’

In 1623, whilst preaching, he was suddenly assailed by hostile Indians, and seven of his Indians pierced with arrows at his feet. Undoubtedly, he must have been killed had not an Indian taken his hat and cloak, and run into the middle of the enemy to distract the fire. In the confusion both the heroic Indian and Montoya managed to escape, the latter getting into a canoe which, fortunately, was ready at the river-side. But in the midst of all his occupations he had time to study natural history in the spirit of the time, as the following description clearly shows: ‘Amongst the other rarities of the land is an amphibious animal. . . . It is like a sheep, with but the difference that its teeth and nails are like a tiger’s, which animal it equals in ferocity. The Indians never look on it without terror, and when it sallies from the marshes where it lives (which it does ordinarily in troops), they have no other chance of escape but to climb up a tree, and even then sometimes are not in safety, for this terrible creature sometimes uproots the tree, or sometimes stays on guard until the Indian falls into its jaws.’ Thus far Montoya; but Charlevoix informs us that, en langue Guaranie, it is known as the ‘ao’, and rather tamely adds, ‘When one of these animals is slain, the people make a jacket of its skin.’

Again, Montoya tells us of the horse on which the venerable Padre Roque used to ride, which, when he died, refused all food, and wept perpetually, two streams of water running from its eyes. It never allowed an Indian to mount it after its master’s death, and finally expired, close to his grave, of grief. A kindly, scholarly, intrepid priest, well skilled in knowledge of the world, and not without some tincture of studies in science, as the above-related anecdotes reveal to us. No doubt the Indians loved him far and wide, and his superiors stood in some little awe of him, as those in office often do of their subordinates when they show that capacity for action which is a sure bar to advancement either in Church or State.

In 1627 Montoya was made head of the missions in Guayrá, which opened up to him the opportunity of showing what kind of man he was. In this year the Spaniards of Villa Rica, the nearest town in Paraguay to the reductions in Guayrá, sent out an expedition to chastize some Indians who had insulted a chief called Tayaoba, whom Montoya had baptized. This was the pretext for the expedition, but Montoya knew well that the real object was to hunt for slaves. He brought before the Governor the edict of the King of Spain forbidding any war to be made upon the Indians without sufficient cause. All was in vain, and the expedition left Villa Rica and plunged into the wilds. Montoya, sore against the Governor’s desire, went with the expedition, taking with him Padre Salazar and some well-armed Indians. It was lucky for the Spaniards that he was there, for on the second day a flight of arrows burst from a wood and wounded many of them. The captain of the expedition ordered a retreat, which, situated as they were, exposed on all sides to the fire of an enemy whom they could not see, must have proved fatal. Montoya counselled throwing up earthworks before some huts which stood upon the edge of the woods in which the Indians were; this done, he sent a messenger to Villa Rica for reinforcements. Even behind the earthworks the Spaniards were hard pressed; no one could show himself without being pierced by an arrow. The number of the Indians daily increased, till on the third day they numbered about four thousand, and seemed likely to advance upon the huts. The Spanish captain ordered a rally, and the neophytes wished to decamp, taking Montoya with them, and then gain the shelter of the woods. This he would not allow, and, charging with the soldiers, put the Indians to flight. The Spaniards, far from being grateful for their lives, seeing their hopes of making prisoners had vanished, wished to lay hands upon the Indians whom Montoya had brought, and who had fought beside them in the recent fray. Hearing that in the morning the Spanish soldiers would attack his neophytes, Montoya sent them off by night, and in the morning, when the Spanish captain found him and the other priest alone, he said, ‘Thinking you had no other use for the Indians, I advised them to return.’ The captain had the grace to say nothing but, ‘Then, you gave them good advice, my father.’ The two priests waited patiently till the soldiers had retired, and then sent for their Indians and quietly went home. Thus it appears that at necessity Padre Montoya was a true son of San Ignacio.

In 1628 Montoya seems to have met for the first time Padre Diaz Taño, who afterwards was his companion both in the retreat from Guayrá down the Paraná and in his mission to the King. No matter whether a man make his career with Indians in the wilds of Paraguay or amongst the so-called reasoning people in more sophisticated lands, if he once show himself superior to the ordinary run of men, there is something of an invidious character certain to be attributed to him by those who think that genius is the worst attribute that man can have. This, Montoya did not escape from amongst the Spaniards, but the Indians, at least, were less envious, being perhaps less educated, for they believed that the soul of one of their caciques,[80] known in his life as Quaratici, had entered into him. The rumour reached at last a chief called Guiravera, known to the Spaniards as the ‘Exterminator’ from his cruelty, who, hearing that the soul of his late rival had entered into Montoya, came to see him at the head of a large retinue of people of his tribe. Montoya and Maceta were at Villa Rica, and on the chief’s approach they happened to be seated in the plaza of the town. As he approached them, followed by his men, and with a threatening air, they remained seated, merely motioning him to take a seat upon a bench. This he did, after making one of his men cover the seat with a tiger-skin and stand behind on guard. What passed between them, most unluckily, Montoya has not set down. What he has told us only makes us wish for more, for it appears that after the usual salutations Guiravera refused to speak, and getting up walked about the town, silently looking at everything. But, as it ever happens, even Montoya was no exception to the general run of history-writers, who usually are occupied alone with facts which seem to them important at the time, forgetting that posterity (for whom they write) can judge of the result as well as they themselves, but thirst for details to complete the chain betwixt them and their predecessors. One thing is set down in extenso—not by Montoya, but by another Jesuit—that is, the sermon which Montoya preached to bring the chief into the fold. Considered as a sermon it does not seem out of the common way, and judged by its results was futile at the time, for the chief answered coldly that he would think the matter over, and then retired into the woods. But the seed thus sown in Villa Rica was to bear fruit, for in a year the chief, either tired of his ancestral gods or having pondered on the sermon, came into the fold and was baptized as Paul.

An irruption[81] of the Mamelucos called Father Montoya from baptizing Indians and recovering their souls to the more prosaic, if as useful, task of saving their bodies, which he did at the immediate peril of his own. The Mamelucos had appeared (1628) before the Reduction of Encarnacion, and many of the Indians had already taken refuge in the woods. Those who remained were like a flock of sheep without a shepherd, and knew not what to do. Padre Montoya hastened to the spot, and called on every Christian to take up arms. Under the circumstances he undoubtedly was right; still, in reading history one is puzzled to observe how often and in how many different countries Christians have to resort to arms. But before proceeding to extremities, Montoya sent out Fathers Mendoza and Domenecchi with some of the principal inhabitants of the reduction to parley with the Mamelucos, who, under their celebrated leader Antonio Raposo, were encamped outside the place. Upon arriving within range of the Paulista camp they were greeted with a shower of balls and arrows, which killed several of the Indians and wounded Father Mendoza in the foot. But when, in spite of his wound, the Jesuit advanced towards the camp and insisted on speaking with the leader, the Mamelucos were so struck with his courage that they gave up to him several of the Indians whom they had taken prisoners upon the previous day. Next day Father Montoya, encouraged by the unhoped-for success of Father Mendoza, went out himself, and, facing the Paulistas, somewhat imprudently threatened them with the wrath of Heaven and the King if they did not retire. The wrath of Heaven is often somewhat capricious in its action, and the King of Spain, although as wrathful as he had been an Emperor, was too far away to inspire much terror in his subjects on the Paraná. So that the Paulista treated the wrath of both their Majesties as qualities which he could well neglect, and for sole answer ordered his men to march upon the town. But, whether owing to their hard hearts having been touched by the good Father’s eloquence, or the fact that the neophytes were under arms, when the Paulistas arrived close to the town they altered their intentions and filed off into the woods. Profiting by the respite from hostilities, Montoya, in conjunction with Padre Diaz Taño and a Father bearing the somewhat curious name of Padre Justo Vansurk Mansilla,[82] devoted all his attention for the time to the Mission of Santa Maria la Mayor, which was the most flourishing of all the missions of the time, and which to-day still shows the greatest remnants of the Jesuits’ work, both in regard to architecture and the remains of Indian population still settled on the old mission lands. But even there the Jesuits did not escape without their trials, for it appears[83] that a quantity of new proselytes arrived with women, whom the good Fathers stigmatized as ‘concubines’, and whom the ignorant Indians in the innocence of their hearts looked on as wives. The order being given to dismiss these concubines (or wives), a few submitted; but the rest, leaving the mission, started cultivating a tract of land in the vicinity.

Then the good Fathers, with Montoya at their head, hit on a stroke of genius. Taking the opportunity when the seceding Indians were away gathering their crops, they set fire to their houses and carried off the children and the women,[84] back to the mission. The recalcitrants appeared next day at Santa Maria la Mayor, and were received again into the bosom of the Church. Heresy, also, now and then made its appearance, for two rascals, having built two temples upon two hills, transported to them the skeletons of two magicians long since dead, and the fickle people left the churches empty, and went to worship at the magicians’ shrines. But in this season of sorrow and of care, and whilst the churches in the Mission of Encarnacion were left deserted, Montoya once again showed his determination, and put things right. Not being able to cope alone with the heathen, Father Diaz Taño went to Guayrá, and induced Montoya (still the superior of the reductions in that province) to give his aid. He came, and, having armed some of the faithful, at dead of night attacked the temples and razed them to the ground.

In 1631 Montoya and others came in the forests of Guayrá upon the wild Caaguas. These they strove hard to civilize, but, after labouring long, with all their eloquence were able to induce only eighteen to return with them to the Encarnacion. It was ‘with difficulty that they were able to give them a sufficient knowledge of the mysteries of our faith to be able to bestow the rite of baptism.’ It may be that the Caaguas, not having much to occupy their minds, approached the mysteries of our faith in more receptive attitudes than is attained by those whose minds are full. But, anyhow, Montoya, with true prudence, deferred their baptism till just before their death, for a few months of life outside the forests proved fatal to them all. Faith is a wondrous thing, and able to move most things, even common-sense. One wonders, though, why, when the Jesuits learned from experience that the poor Indians invariably died when exposed to the burning sun upon the plains, they continued in their fatal efforts to inflict baptism on the unoffending people of the woods. If it were necessary, it surely might have taken place in their own homes, and the patients then might have been left to chance, to see how the reception of the holy rite acted upon their lives.

In 1631 the Mamelucos broke into the province of Guayrá. All was confusion, and Montoya sent Father Diaz Taño to Asuncion to beg the Governor, Don Luis de Cespedes, to send them help. He answered that he could do nothing, and thus by leaving the whole territory of Guayrá without defence lost a rich province to the Crown of Spain. Though at the time (1631) Portugal and Spain were united, yet in the Indies their subjects were at war, and though in Europe Spain was the stronger of the two, in America the Portuguese conquered about that time rich provinces, which to-day form part of the quondam Empire of Brazil.

Upon the failure of Don Luis de Cespedes to render help, Padre Diaz Taño was despatched to Charcas[85] to lay the matter before the Audiencia Real (the High Court of the Indies). The frequent journeys and diplomatic negotiations in which the Jesuits of Paraguay were engaged rendered them far more apt to manage business than members of the other Orders in America. Whilst in Guayrá all was confusion, and the Paulistas swept through the land ruining everything, upon the Uruguay things prospered, and Padre Romero founded two new reductions (1631), known as San Carlos and Apostoles; he also laid the foundation of that territory in which the persecuted neophytes of Guayrá were soon to find a safe retreat. Father Diaz Taño by this time had returned from Charcas with a decree of the High Court, declaring the action of Don Luis de Cespedes in failing to protect Guayrá against the Mamelucos prejudicial to the interests of the King; but as neither he nor the High Court of Charcas possessed any power by means of which to stimulate the Governor to greater zeal, the decree was useless, and Taño and Ruiz Montoya found themselves summoned hastily to meet a new attack. But before they arrived the missions, both of San Francisco Xavier and of San José, had been destroyed. As there were still three reductions undestroyed, Montoya, as Provincial of Guayrá, called all the Jesuits of the province to deliberate as to their chance of making a defence. The debate ran high; some of the priests wished that the neophytes should fight to the end; others, more sensible, pointed out that the ill-armed and quite untrained militia of the missions could do nothing with their bows and arrows against the well-led and well-disciplined Paulistas all armed with guns.[86] Padre Truxillo gave it as his opinion that it would be more prudent to transport the Indians to a place of safety, and pointed out that near the cataract of Guayrá they would be able to cross the river and place it between themselves and the Paulistas in case of an attack. This advice seemed prudent to the rest, and Father Truxillo set out to make his preparation for the march. Few European travellers even to-day have visited the great cataract known as El Salto de Guayrá, or in Portuguese As sete Quedas. Bourgade la Dardye[87] has described it in his book on Paraguay. Situated as it is in the midst of almost impenetrable forests, it has not even now been properly placed upon the map. Bourgade la Dardye inclines to think he was the first to visit it since the expedition sent by the elder Lopez, President of Paraguay, under Lieutenant Patiño in 1861. Before that time it had been left unvisited since 1788, when the Boundary Commissioners sent to determine the dividing line between the Spanish and Portuguese possessions camped near it for a week. Felix de Azara writes about it in his ‘Historia del Paraguay’,[88] but he does little more than reproduce the account given by the Boundary Commissioners. He places it in 24° 4′ 27″ lat., and refers to it as ‘a tremendous precipice of water[89] worthy of Homer or of Virgil’s pen.’ He says the waters do not fall vertically as from a balcony or window (como por un balcon ó ventana), but by an inclined plane at an inclination of about fifty degrees. The river close to the top of the falls is about four thousand nine hundred Castilian yards in breadth, and suddenly narrows to about seventy yards, and rushes over the fall with such terrific violence as if it wished to ‘displace the centre of the earth, and cause thus the nutation which astronomers have observed in the earth’s axis.’ The dew or vapour which rises from the fall is seen in the shape of a column from many miles away, and on it hangs a perpetual rainbow, which trembles as the earth seems to tremble under one’s feet. ‘The noise,’ he says, ‘is heard full six leagues off, and in the neighbourhood neither bird nor beast is found.’ In Azara’s time the journey was not too pleasant, for he says: ‘He who wishes to see this fall must cross the desert for thirty leagues from the town of Curuguaty to the river Guatimi. There he must choose trees to construct canoes. In these he must embark all those who go with him, arms and provisions, and besides, where he embarks, leave an armed escort to secure his base of supplies from the wild Indians’ attack. In the canoes he then must navigate the Guatimi for thirty leagues until it joins the Paraná, and always with much care, for in the woods upon its banks are Indians who give no quarter.[90] . . . Then there remain three leagues to sail upon the Paraná, then one can reach the falls either in the canoes or struggling along the woods which fringe the river’s bank.’

Azara was, perhaps, of all the travellers of the last century, the man who above all things shines in accuracy, and in point of fact his description of the cataract is the best we have up to the present time. Bourgade la Dardye tells us that not far above the cataract the Paraná expands into a lake almost five miles in breadth, and from the lake the river issues in two great arms, which have forced their way through the mountains known as the Sierra de Mbaracyu.

Dr. Bourgade la Dardye seems to think the circular eddies found in the whirls are the most curious features of the falls. He describes them thus: ‘They flow in falls varying from fifty to sixty feet in depth; these circular eddies, which are quite independent of one another, range along an arc of about two miles in its stretch. They are detached like giant caldrons yawning unexpectedly at one’s feet, in which the flood seethes with incredible fury; every one of these has opened for itself a narrow orifice in the rock, through which like a stone from a sling the water is hurled into the central whirlpool. The width of these outlets rarely exceeds fifteen yards, but their depth cannot be estimated. They all empty themselves into one immense central chamber about two hundred feet wide, rushing into it with astounding velocity. . . . A more imposing spectacle can scarcely be conceived, and I doubt whether abysses such as these exist elsewhere in the world.’ He places the falls in latitude 24° 2′ 59″, but corrects the longitude given by Azara as 56° 55′ west of Paris to 58° 18′ 8″—that is, 53° 57′ 53″ west from Greenwich, which certainly has some importance in fixing the breadth of the territory of Paraguay.

But neither Azara nor the French traveller, with their yards and feet, their longitude and latitude, and the rest, give an idea of the grandeur of the place. Buried in the primeval forests, forgotten by the world, known to the wandering Indians who give no quarter (any more to-day than in Azara’s time), the giant cataract is a lost wonder of the world. In the ruined missions on the Paraná, two hundred miles away, I have heard the Indians talk of it with awe. They told how through the woods tangled with undergrowth, matted together with lianas, they had hewed a path. Monkeys and parrots chattered at them, and a white miasmatic vapour hung over trees and lakes, burying the clearings in its wreaths, and lifting only at mid-day, to close again upon the woods at night. They talked of alligators, jaguars, the giant ant-eater, and the mysterious bird known to them as the ‘ipetatá’, which in its tail carries a burning fire. In the recesses of the thickets demons lurked, and wild Caaguas, who with a blowpipe and a poisoned arrow slew you and your horse, themselves unseen. Pools covered with Victoria regia; masses of red and yellow flowers upon the trees, the trees themselves gigantic, and the moss which floated from their branches long as a spear; the voyage in canoes, whirled like a cork upon the rapids; lastly the falls themselves, and how they, awestricken at the sight, fell prostrate and promised many candles to the Virgin and the saints on their return, they talked of into the watches of the night.

Somehow, I like those countries which, as the province of Guayrá and Paraguay, appear to have no future, and of which the charm is in the past. It pleases me to think that the sharp business men of times gone by, patting their stomachs (the prison of their brain), predicted great advancement, and were all deceived. For then it seems as if the prognostications of to-day’s schemes may also fail, and countries which they have doomed to progress still remain as is Guayrá, their towns deserted, with but the broken spire of some old church emerging from the verdure of the tropics, as the St. Paul’s Rocks rise sheer out of the sea. If there is charm in the unknown, there is at least as great a charm in the forgotten, and the Salto de Guayrá is one of the most forgotten corners of the earth. To this wild place Father Mendoza proposed to lead the Indians from the Reductions of San José and San Francisco Xavier, and then unite with them any of the fugitives he could assemble from those reductions which had been destroyed. But even the doglike patience of the Indians was at an end, and they preferred to die or be led captives rather than run the chances of escape in such a solitary place. In their despair, and placed between the Paulistas and the fear of emigration, the neophytes turned, as even more civilized people than themselves will turn, on their best friends, and held the Jesuits responsible for all their woes. Two Indian women, wives of caciques, having been taken by the Paulistas, the Indians broke into the church where a Jesuit (Padre Salazar) was officiating, and interrupted him during the Mass with the most bitter insults. One of the Indians menaced him with a lance, another with an arrow, whilst a third tried to snatch the chalice from his hands. He escaped, and ran, holding the chalice, out into the woods, followed by two little Indian boys. Wandering about, he fell in with the other Jesuits, all like himself outcasts, without a church, and almost deserted by the Indians. Padre Ruiz Montoya alone possessed a shadow of authority, and he advised the outcasts with the remnant of their flocks to retire into the woods, and sow a crop of maize for food, whilst he endeavoured to get help from Paraguay. Hardly was this done, when news was brought him which made him alter all his plans. Two messengers came to inform him that an army of Paulistas was marching on Villa Rica, and that a strong detachment of them was advancing from the south. Then Padre Montoya took a supreme resolve, and ordered the evacuation of the two principal reductions (San Ignacio and Loreto) which yet remained intact. They were the first which had been founded in Guayrá, and were as important as any of the Spanish towns in Paraguay. The churches, all the Jesuit writers, as Montoya, Charlevoix, Mastrilli, and Lozano, are agreed, were finer than any in the land. The Indians were, according to Montoya, far better Christians than the inhabitants of the Spanish settlements, and their faith and innocence were above all praise. They cultivated cotton and had large herds of cattle, so that the most bitter enemies of the Jesuits must allow that much had been accomplished in the short space of two-and-twenty years. In 1609 the Jesuits came to Guayrá, and found it absolutely untouched; and when in 1631 they left it, it was upon the road to become one of the most flourishing American provinces of the Spanish throne. The other missionaries imagined that nothing would persuade the Indians to depart from their homes, where for so many years they had been happy; but after Montoya explained to them his plans, they all assented to them as with a single voice.

The plan by means of which the Jesuit Moses led his sheep out of the wilderness of Guayrá was most remarkable. The river Paraná forms a great artery between Brazil and Paraguay; upon each side of it a network of rivers disembogue. The Paranapané, on which most of the missions of Guayrá were situated, flows from the east, and falls into the Paraná, not much more than fifty miles above the cataract. After the last of the once-flourishing six Jesuit reductions had been evacuated at the orders of Montoya, he collected all the boats, rafts, and canoes, and after much persuasion got all the Indians persuaded to follow him to seek for safer habitations lower down the Paraná. The population of the six reductions has been estimated at about one hundred thousand souls; but of these, during the years of 1629 and 1630, thousands had been led captive to San Paulo, and thousands had dispersed into the woods. Still, assembled on the banks of the Paranapané, there was a multitude of Indians of every sex and age. Fortunately or unfortunately, no record by an eye-witness exists,[91] except that written by Montoya, and he is modest to a fault about all details, and absolutely silent as to the part he played himself. He tells us that at the starting-point were gathered two thousand five hundred families, and this in spite of the dispersions and the efforts made by the Spanish settlers in the town of Ciudad Real,[92] who feared, with cause, to be exposed to the full fury of the Paulistas without allies. It appears the Indians were in a state of spiritual exaltation, for some young men having remarked the Jesuits were packing up a Christ and an image of the Blessed Virgin, which in happier times had been miraculous, they declared that to affront exile, and even death, in such good company was a foretaste of heaven.

Montoya, in opposition to the modern style, tries to shift the burden of the praise on to the shoulders of the Provincial, Padre Francisco Lopez Truxillo,[93] but with indifferent success. This matter of bearing your own praise will require regulation in the future, when an advance of civilization has opened people’s eyes to the perception that praise is just as disagreeable to the sufferer as is blame. The sentinel whom they had placed to warn them of the enemy’s approach gave the alarm. Montoya sent at once to Ciudad Real for help, but the Spanish settlers were too hard pressed themselves to give assistance. Nothing remained but to make a portage of all their rafts, boats, and canoes, and then to re-embark and sail down the Paraná out of the reach of the Paulistas. Montoya passed in review his boats, and found he had seven hundred, and that twelve thousand people had embarked with him on leaving the Paranapané. When the Paulistas found the Jesuits had evacuated all their towns, they burnt the churches, on the principle, perhaps, that, the nests once pulled down, the rooks would not return. They turned the Jesuit cells into barracks for themselves, taking, as Montoya says with horror, ‘infamous women’ into those chaste abodes, where never woman had passed through the doors. The Paulistas then entered into a rigorous examination[94] of the Jesuits’ private lives, hoping to find some scandal to bring against them. Especially they questioned the Indian women, giving them presents to discover everything they knew. All was in vain, the discipline of the Order, or the strict conscientiousness of the individual members of it, not having given scandal any hold.[95] The most difficult part of the great exodus was now to come. The rapids and the cataracts of the Paraná extend to nearly ninety miles, and the whole country is a maze of tangled forest interspersed with rocks. No paths exist, the place is desert, and over the dank mass of vegetation the moisture from the clouds of vapour thrown up by the falling water descends in never-ending rain.[96] In order to endeavour to save the trouble of reconstructing new rafts and canoes at the bottom of the cataract, Montoya launched three hundred empty boats (sending an Indian in advance) to see if any of them would arrive safely at the bottom of the falls. Not one escaped; and so the pilgrimage began, almost without provisions and without arms, in the middle of a country quite uncultivated, and where game was scarce.[97] To make things worse, intelligence was brought that, a few miles below the beginning of the falls, the Spaniards of Guayrá had built a wooden fort, surrounded with a strong stockade, hoping to intercept the retreating Indians, and make slaves of any who might fall into their hands. Montoya himself, dressed as an Indian, went out to observe the enemy, and on his return the whole immense assemblage silently plunged into the woods, leaving so little traces of its passage that the Spaniards in the fort were still expecting them when they were far beyond their reach.

Each Indian had to take his bundle on his back; even the children carried bundles in proportion to their strength. The missionaries carried what was held most sacred, as altar-plate and images of saints. In front a band of men armed with machétes (cane-knives) opened the way through the dense woods and pathless jungle of the bank; and as they marched along, Montoya says they sang hymns which the Jesuits had taught them, and at the sound of them fugitives who had been hiding in the woods came out and joined their march. Especially those from the out-station of Tayaoba joined them; their priest, Pedro de Espinosa, had met his death ‘with a good chance of his eternal welfare,’ as Montoya says.[98] But after the second day the hymns no longer sounded through the woods, nor did they play upon the harps and other instruments, whose strings being all broken and the wood unglued, ‘they left them on the rocks, being too sad to look at them.’ All through the weary journey Montoya seems never once to have despaired, and sets down in his book the adventures of each separate day, never forgetting to chronicle anything strange or pathetic as it occurred to him. On the fourth day he sent off Fathers Diego, Nicolas Hennerio, and Mansilla into the province of Itatines to found a mission there, acting upon orders which had just reached him from the Provincial of the Order shortly before he had started from Guayrá. They took with them ‘bells, images, and everything suitable for the foundation of a mission’; but the first two were martyred by the wild Indians, and the third just fled in time to save his life. It took the fugitive Indians eight weary days of marching to reach the lower end of the cataract, where once again the Paraná was navigable. On their arrival they hoped to find provisions and more boats; but none were there, their own stores were almost done, and the people too exhausted to march on. Fever broke out, and many of them died; and others, lost in the forests, without a guide, wandered about till death released them from their march. A weaker man than Padre Montoya might have despaired of ever issuing from the woods. However, he set the Indians to work to make canoes, and others[99] to cultivate patches of maize for food, working himself alternately with axe and hoe to give example to the neophytes. Others, again, cut down the enormous canes, which in that region grew to fifty feet in height, to make them into rafts.

So, after a considerable time, all was in readiness for a new start, and luckily provisions from the reductions on the Paraná arrived. So they embarked again, and on the journey a raft in which a woman and two children were sitting upset, to Montoya’s agony, as he knew that ‘in that river there are fish that the people call culebras,[100] which have been seen to swallow men entire, and throw them out again with all their bones broken as if it had been done with stones.’ He says: ‘I confess I suffered infinitely, and, turning my eyes to heaven, I blamed my sins as having been the cause of so much misery, and said, “O Lord, is it possible that for this Thou hast brought these people out of their country, that my eyes should endure the spectacle of so much misery, and my heart break at so much suffering, and then to let them die devoured by savage fish!”’ As the good man was praying, the Indian woman’s head appeared above the water, and Montoya himself, aided by Indians, drew her and the children in safety to the land. But his trials were not at an end, for many of the hastily constructed rafts and canoes sank before his eyes, and the mortality of Indians was great. Eventually they found a temporary refuge in the Reduction of the Nativity upon the Acaray, and at Santa Maria la Mayor upon the Iguazú. Then famine raged, and the arrival of so many people increased the scarcity, so that six hundred of the new arrivals died in one reduction, and five hundred in the next. At last the scarcity became so great that the poor Indians had to roam about the forests to gather fruit, and many of them died in the recesses of the woods.

Seeing no hopes of saving the remainder, Montoya led them further on to the banks of a little river called the Jubaburrús,[101] and there he once again founded two reductions, which he named Loreto and San Ignacio, after the two the Mamelucos had destroyed. He bought ten thousand head of cattle out of the money the King allowed to the Jesuits of Guayrá, and from the sale of some few objects saved from the general destruction of the towns, and settled down his Indians, who in Guayrá had been all agriculturists, to a pastoral life. Thus did he bring successfully nearly twelve thousand people a distance of about five hundred miles through desert country, and down a river broken in all its course by rapids, landing them far from their enemies in a safe haven at the last. Most commonly the world forgets or never knows its greatest men, while its lard-headed fools, who in their lives perhaps have been the toys of fortune, sleep in their honoured graves, their memory living in the page of history, preserved like grapes in aspic by writers suet-headed as themselves. But though this Hegira was the most stirring episode of Montoya’s life, he yet had work to do, and in the province of diplomacy rendered as great, or even greater, services to the Indians, whom he loved better than himself, as in the memorable journey when he led them down the Paraná.

Chapter III

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

In the province of Guayrá the Spaniards who had looked with disfavour on the Jesuits, and had enslaved the Indians when they were able, were in sore straits. The Mamelucos, finding no more Indians to enslave, fell on the two towns of Villa Rica and Ciudad Real, destroyed them utterly, and forced the inhabitants to flee for refuge into Paraguay. Thus Guayrá went the way of Matto Grosso and several other provinces of Spain, and became Portuguese. Strangely enough, most of these losses happened when Spain and Portugal were joined under one crown. At home the Spaniards and the Portuguese, however much they detested one another, were forced to keep the peace. In America they were always at war, which ended invariably to the detriment of Spain.[102] The strife begun by the Papal Bull of 1493, in which Pope Alexander VI. divided the territories discovered and to be discovered between Portugal and Spain, went on, till bit by bit Spain was stripped of the provinces of Matto Grosso, Rio Grande, and Guayrá, and found herself drawn into the numerous disputes about the Colonia del Sacramento, which cost so much blood to both contending Powers. Perhaps the most curious and interesting incident of the long struggle was the Three Years’ War, which began in 1750, after the marriage of Ferdinand VI. of Spain with Doña Barbara of Portugal. By the treaty entered into at this marriage, seven of the most flourishing of the missions situated on the left bank of the Uruguay were ceded to Portugal in exchange for La Colonia del Sacramento on the river Plate. The towns resisted change of sovereignty, as Portugal to them was typified by the Paulistas, their most inveterate enemies. The Marquis de Valdelirios in his curious despatches touches much upon this war, but perhaps the best account is to be found in the curious memoir of the Irish Jesuit Father, Tadeo Hennis,[103] who was the backbone of the resisting Guaranís.

The ancient enmity of the two nations has been continued in their descendants, the Brazilians and the Argentines and Uruguayans, and little by little Brazil is absorbing all the northern portion of the Republic of Uruguay. After the retreat under Montoya down the Paraná, the Jesuit missions, especially in Paraguay and what is now the province of Corrientes, for some time enjoyed a period of peace and of repose, and the strange policy of the Jesuits was developed, and township after township arose amongst the Guaranís (1630-31). But there was still no rest for Ruiz Montoya, who was of those who rest but in the grave. In 1632, at the instance of the Governor and magistrates of the township of Jerez, Montoya sent Fathers Jean Rançonier and Mansilla to the north of Paraguay to found a mission amongst the Itatines, a forest-dwelling tribe. Their territory was marshy and the climate bad, and woods of indiarubber-trees covered all the land. Fathers del Techo and Charlevoix both speak of the ‘rebounding balls’ with which they played, which, thrown upon the ground, start up again as if they were filled with air. This is, perhaps, one of the first times that indiarubber is mentioned, though in some places Jean de Léry[104] seems to indicate he was acquainted with its use.

The Jesuits found that to make progress was not easy with these Indians, who willingly enough listened to their preaching, but refused to alter their social habits, to which the Jesuits ascribe the fact that even then their numbers were diminishing. Like most of the Indians of America, they were polygamists, which custom in their race operates differently to polygamy amongst the negroes: for whereas they seem to increase and thrive, the Indians even at the conquest often tended to become extinct. When a headman amongst the Itatines died, a number of his followers jumped down precipices to accompany him upon his journey to a better world. This custom and polygamy gave much trouble to the Jesuits, but their most admirable patience and knowledge of mankind helped them to overcome them by degrees. All was about to flourish in the mission, when one Acosta, a Brazilian priest, appeared. Perhaps he was in league with the Paulistas, or perhaps was jealous of the Jesuits, for he tried hard to lead a number of the Indians to San Paulo to show them (as he said) how they should follow the true law of God.[105]

The Itatines, either suspecting that Acosta’s true law was false, or tired of his preaching, rose and killed him; but the effect was bad, and there grew up amongst those infidels a coldness even towards the Jesuits themselves. Had it not been for two miraculous events which happened opportunely, as such things should happen if they are to be turned to good account, much harm might have been done. A chief, having cursed a priest, was seized at once with a malignant ulcer in the throat, which shortly killed him. The Itatines did not apparently think anything of the influence of the unhealthy climate in which they lived, and set the occurrence down to the act of God.

But more was still to come. Another chief having so far forgotten himself as to jeer at a priest, a thunderbolt fell so close to him that he was knocked senseless, and lay as dead. These two events confirmed the Jesuits’ power, and things began to flourish in their four new missions. But the Great Power, so careful of the individual effort of His priests, seems to have been most unaccountably remiss of their success considered as a whole. In the same year (1632) the Mamelucos appeared and ruined all the four missions, so that the efforts of the Jesuits and the miracles were lost.

In 1633 the first skirmish took place between the Bishop of Paraguay and the Jesuits. This skirmish little by little grew into a war, kept up for more than a hundred years, and ended finally in the expulsion of the Jesuits from Paraguay. The Governor, Don Luis de Cespedes, having called upon the Indians of the Jesuit missions for personal service, a proceeding quite against both the King’s orders and the Papal Bulls, the Bishop thought the moment opportune to press for tithes. This, too, was equally forbidden both by a Bull and by an order of the Council of the Indies. Padre Romero went to Asuncion and displayed his Bulls and his orders of the Council, and the Governor withdrew his claims. The Bishop, after some opposition, withdrew likewise, and the Provincial of the Order arrived at Asuncion, bringing with him an order from the King signifying that the Indians of the reductions were to be left entirely to the Jesuits. So for the present the Jesuits scored a victory, though in the future it was to cost them dear. But the Governor of Paraguay having returned apparently to his design of exacting personal service from the Indians of the missions, the Provincial checkmated him with a royal order from Philip IV. The order was addressed to the Viceroy of Peru, the fourth Count of Chinchon. The missive, dated at Madrid in 1633, condemned in the strongest terms all personal service (that is, forced labour) amongst the Indians, not only of the Jesuit missions, but of Peru and Mexico. With a touching confidence in his own powers, and absolute right Divine, the well-meaning King added to his orders a paragraph commanding all to be done as he had ordered within six months. Strange to find Philip IV., whom Velasquez has immortalized and shown us as he sat upon his horse ineffable, so far away from the Museo del Prado, where alone he ever seems really to have lived. But foolish Governors and Bishops were not the Jesuits’ worst enemies in Paraguay. In 1634 the Provincial, Father Boroa, was shipwrecked in a voyage up the Uruguay, and only saved by the devotion of his neophytes.

Sometimes the cruel treatment of the natives by the Spanish settlers was avenged upon the Jesuits. This was the case with a band of Guapalaches, who, coming on Father Espinosa in a wood, attacked and massacred him and all his Indians, and, having cut his body into pieces, left it for the wild beasts to eat. Upon another occasion Father Mendoza fell into an ambuscade, from which he might have escaped had not his horse sunk in a miry stream. Long he defended himself with an Indian shield, but at length was stretched upon the ground and left for dead. During the night he revived, and dragged himself up to some rocks; but the Indians in the morning, following up his trail, came on him praying in a loud voice. They told him that he served a blind God, or at best a powerless God, as He did nothing to defend His servant; then, after torturing him cruelly, they despatched him, and, taking out his heart, said: ‘Let us see if his soul will take the road to heaven.’ These savages do not seem to have been genuinely interested in finding out what became of the soul after the dissolution of the body, for they sat down and made a hearty meal of two young Indians who accompanied the unlucky priest. But they had heard their victim say that when he baptized them it purified their souls, and the last words of Father Mendoza had been to recommend his soul to God. I often wonder if the Christians of to-day, their creed so firmly fixed by the martyrdoms of simple folk, who held their faith without perhaps much reasoning on it, know what they owe to men like Father Christopher Mendoza, slain by the Indians in the Paraguayan woods. Your ancient martyr, fallen out of fashion and forgotten by the Christians of to-day, should have his homage done to him, if only by the chance writer, who in his studies for some subject of no interest to the general world comes on his trail of blood; for martyrdom, no matter how obscure, forgotten by the people of the faith for which the martyr suffered, is a slur not only on the faithful, but on the faith itself. In 1636 occurred the second invasion of the Paulistas, which induced Father Montoya, accompanied by Father Diaz Taño, to go to Europe to seek protection for the Indians both from the King of Spain and from the Pope.

The Mamelucos burst into the province of Tapé,[106] and, as the mission of Jesus-Maria (one of the few left undestroyed at the former invasion) was most exposed, Father Romero asked permission of the Governor of the River Plate[107] to make some trenches to defend the place. The Governor consented, but the storm burst on the mission before the defences were in a fit state to defend. The mission priests Antonio Bernal and Juan Cardenas were in the front ranks encouraging the Indians, and both were badly wounded. Fathers Mola and Romero went about ministering to the wounded, but escaped themselves. At last, the Mamelucos having set fire to the church, capitulation became inevitable, and the chief part of the Indians were led away in chains. The same fate would have overtaken the mission of San Cristobal, where father Romero had retreated with some fugitives from Jesus-Maria, had not the people and their priest retreated hastily upon the mission of Santa Ana. But even there they were not long in safety, and had to undertake another perilous journey down the river Iguai. Here a party of passing Mamelucos fell into an ambuscade, and were hewn in pieces, presumably before the Lord. The Mamelucos pushed their advance so far that Father Montoya had given orders that all the missions of that province should be burned. The inhabitants, who trusted him quite blindly, were just about to begin to burn their houses, when an order from the Provincial stopped them from doing so till he himself appeared upon the scene. He arrived, and, gathering up the scattered Indians as far as he was able, left them for safety in some of the missions which had not been destroyed, and set off himself to ask for help from the Governor of Paraguay.

Finding no help either from him or from the Governor of the River Plate, he went to Corrientes, and was received almost with contumely. Then, desperate, he equipped an army of the mission Indians, and advanced to fight the Mamelucos; but they had retreated into Brazil, and were beyond his reach. Seeing that nothing was to be hoped from the Spanish Governors, he sent a box of papers in a ship going to Portugal, and laid his case before the Council of the Indies. Montoya and Charlevoix relate that the box was thrown into the sea near Lisbon by some enemy of the Jesuits, but providentially was washed up by the tide, and, being found miraculously, was taken to the King of Spain. Whether this happened as it is written, who shall say? But, in distress, when have good men (before the time of the encyclopædists) been without a miracle to sustain their cause? In the next year (1637) Father Montoya and Taño started upon their mission to Europe, and a new field was opened to Montoya in which to show his talents on the Indians’ behalf.

Whilst Father Montoya was in Spain, the Provincial appointed Father Alfaro to take his place. He fell on troublous times, for the Mamelucos were preparing to attack the three remaining missions in the province of Guayrá.[108] As they were not defensible, it was agreed to evacuate them, and to retreat into the provinces upon the Uruguay. When they were just about to start from Santa Teresa, where the inhabitants of the other missions had been collected, the Mamelucos appeared just before Christmas. The Indians were driven off as slaves, and the Mamelucos, with their usual sense of humour, attended Mass as penitents on Christmas Day, with candles in their hands, and listened to the sermon in an edifying way. The priest reproached them for their cruelty, and they, after listening devoutly, gave him the liberty of two choir boys, and quietly left the church.

At length the Jesuits, rendered desperate by the perils to which the mission Indians were exposed, armed several bands of Indians and attacked the Mamelucos. But, as was to be expected, the half-armed Indians were always worsted by the well-armed and disciplined Paulista bands, and then the Jesuits took the supreme resolve to evacuate Guayrá entirely, and place the Indians in safety between the rivers Paraná and Uruguay.

Formed into three great companies, the Indians started on their second exodus. Although the difficulties were less than in the voyage down the Paraná, still, to march several thousand Indians just emerged from savagery, accompanied by their women and children, and charged with all their possessions, through a wild country, where they were exposed to the attack of a well-armed enemy upon the way, was not an easy task. Father Christobal Arenas formed them into three divisions, leading the first himself; but the Provincial seems to have done most of the organizing, for Charlevoix says that ‘to his courage, prudence, and inalterable kindness,’ the success was due.[109]

Courage and prudence and inalterable kindness are the three virtues which have most moved the world; perhaps the last has been most efficacious, and one would hope that in the future it would be the only one of the whole three required.

Twelve thousand Indians, not counting women and children, were thus led into a territory[110] between the rivers Uruguay and Paraná, rich, fertile, and, as the distance between the rivers is not above some five-and-twenty miles, defended in some measure, and easily rendered almost impregnable.

No one can see the heart of man, and, even if God sees it, He never tells us what is there, so that we are obliged to judge of actions as we find them, and leave the search for motives to omniscients. On the face of it, the Jesuits, both those who led the Indians down the Paraná and those who headed them in this migration to the Mesopotamia between the Uruguay and Paraná, were not impelled by thought of gain; and if a Jesuit must of necessity have some dark scheme behind the smallest action of his life, these men concealed it so deep down within their souls that all the researches of their keenest enemies have not been able to throw light on it. But, even settled in their new homes, the Indians were defenceless against the Mamelucos, as it was a state maxim of the Spanish court that the Indians should never be allowed the use of guns. This was a wise enough precaution, without doubt, for the Indians of the Encomiendas, who lived amongst the Spaniards and owed them personal services; but arms for the Indians of the missions were a necessity of life. Therefore, before he started for Madrid, the Provincial impressed upon Montoya to approach the Council of the Indies and the King, and represent to them that it was impossible to guarantee the existence of the reductions against the Mamelucos unless the Indians were allowed to provide themselves with arms. So Father Montoya, though he was charged to press for various reforms, was most especially impressed upon this point. He was to tell the King that the Indians were not to be allowed to keep their arms themselves, but that they would be kept by the Jesuits, and served out to the Indians in case of an attack; then, that the arms would not cost a penny to the treasury, but be all paid out of the alms collected for the purpose by the Company; lastly, and this was a true stroke of Jesuit policy, that, to instruct the Indians how to shoot, they would bring from Chile certain Jesuits who in the world had served as soldiers. One sees them brought from the frontiers of Araucania, and from the outposts of the trans-Andean towns, half sacristan, half sergeant, instant in prayer, and yet with a look about them like a serious bull terrier—a fitting kind of priest for a frontier town, and such as could alone be found amongst the Jesuits.

About this time (1639) the third invasion of the Mamelucos took place, and Father Alfaro, who had been left in charge of the missions on the Uruguay and Paraná, was shot by a Mameluco with a crossbow, and fell dead from his horse. The Governor of Paraguay, on hearing of it, marched with an army, and, having killed two or three hundred of the Mamelucos, took the rest prisoners, and carried them back to Asuncion. There, to the disgust of all the Jesuit historians, he menaced them with the wrath of Heaven and let them go. The feelings of a churchman, when his own privilege is thus usurped, may be compared to those of a strict game-preserver who sees his coverts poached. It is not so much the damage that is done as the personal insult and the humiliation which he suffers in his pride.

In this year, too, the Indians of the missions rendered their first armed service to the State which afterwards so often drew on them in its necessity and treated them so ill.

The Governor of Buenos Ayres, Don Pedro Estevan Davila, was setting out upon an expedition against a tribe of Indians who had taken refuge in the islands of the Lake Yberá. Eighty of the Indians were sent, and, being well led and armed, contributed considerably towards success. Next year a second contingent was required by the Governor of Tucuman, and duly sent to his assistance. History seems to repeat itself, and foolish soldiers and others never to gain experience; for the Governor (Padre del Techo in his ‘Historia Paraquaiæ’ tells us), having made war in Flanders, could never be dissuaded that the same system was not suitable for warfare in America. Accordingly, he set out in good order, but neglected to send out scouts, and consequently fell into the middle of the Calchaquis strongly entrenched within a marsh, attacked them with a rush, lost heavily, and had to retire to Tucuman. But all this time Father Montoya and Diaz Taño were striving in Rome and at Madrid with the Pope and with the King.

Urban VIII., at that time God’s vicegerent for the Christian portion of the world, received Diaz Taño kindly, listened to all he had to say with interest, promised him his help, and gave him a Papal letter menacing the Mamelucos with the wrath of God. From Rome Father Taño went to Madrid, and thence to Lisbon, whence he sailed armed with the protection of the Pope and accompanied by a fresh band of zealous priests. Arrived in Rio de Janeiro, he published the Papal letter, and fixed it on the doors of the Jesuit College and on those of their church. He seems on this occasion to have been wanting in the chief Jesuit virtue, prudence, or at the least he seems to have mistaken the character of the people amongst whom he was. Most of the colonists having relations with the Mamelucos were indignant, and a mob broke in the doors both of the college and of the church. The riot grew so serious that the Governor convoked a council, and cited Father Taño to appear. He came and spoke, and in the eyes of the chief people of the place made out his case; but the multitude, caring not much for reason (and nothing for philanthropy), became more furious, but was appeased at last by a petition being sent in protest to the Pope.

But if these things passed in Rio de Janeiro (which Del Techo refers to as oppido sanctorum), what was the fury of the people in San Paulo, the very centre of the Mamelucos, when the Vicar-General published the brief by order of Don Pedro Albornoz! The people rose immediately, and menaced the Vicar-General with instant death unless he instantly withdrew the brief. This he refused to do, although forced on his knees and with a naked sword held at his throat. His courage quieted them, and they drew up an appeal which they tried hard to make him sign, but he again refused. The mob, having demanded the brief, was told it was in the college of the Jesuits. Thither they went post-haste, and were met upon the steps by the Superior, dressed in canonicals and holding the holy wafer in his hand. He spoke, and most of them fell prostrate on the ground before the Body of our Lord. Others stood upright, and said that, whilst they adored the Holy Sacrament with their whole souls, they would not suffer that their slaves, who were their chiefest property, should be set free. An atheist (or some kind of Protestant) cried out to fire upon the priest, but he had no support. The Superior then gave them a copy of the brief, and they returned to the Vicar-General to ask for absolution for any censure of the Church they might have incurred; but he for the third time was obdurate, and let them welter in their sin.

The news of the revolution which liberated Portugal from Spain having just reached the town, the Jesuits had to retreat from it, leaving the inhabitants enraged against them and more determined than before to push their forays into Paraguay. But the time was past for their incursions, for Father Ruiz Montoya had prospered at Madrid, and secured even more than he had hoped for when he started on his quest. On arriving at Madrid, which he did after a prosperous journey of four months, he waited on the King (Philip IV.), and laid before him and commissaries chosen from the Indies and Castile the following points:

1. That the law of 1611, which provided that no Indians, unless taken in a just war, should be reduced to slavery, should be put into effect.

2. That the Pope should be approached to confirm the briefs of Paul III. and Clement VIII., which contained the same provisions.

3. That those who did not conform to these instructions should be handed over to the Inquisition to be judged.

4. That the Indians who had been enslaved by the Paulistas should be at once set free and the aggressors punished.

The King after deliberation granted every point, and, further, regulated the tribute which the Indians were to pay.[111] All this was easy to enact, but, like most other laws, not quite so easy to put into effect. Moreover, as the revolution which separated Portugal from Spain had just occurred, all Spanish thunder against the Mamelucos was of but small account. Montoya then pressed the demand for license to use firearms in self-defence against the Mamelucos. The King after deliberation granted this last point, and from that time the incursions of the Mamelucos ceased in Paraguay and generally throughout the mission territory. Then also there was set on foot that Jesuit militia which rendered such good service to the crown, but was the cause of so much murmuring, as it protected the mission Indians both from the Paulistas and from the inroads of the Spanish colonists.

Father Montoya never returned to Paraguay, where he had fought so long and done so much for the poor Indians. Apparently it was not written that he should see the results of all his efforts, for, having embarked at Seville for Peru, he was detained at Lima on business of the Order. From thence he went to Tucuman, and, having returned to Lima, died aged seventy. The Viceroy and the chief members of the Audiencia (with whom he had struggled all his life) accompanied his body to the grave, and it is said that several miracles showed forth the glory he enjoyed in heaven.

That may be so, and if they happened (as they well may have done, for, after all, a miracle[112] really exists for those who credit it), if Heaven has honoured him, ’tis more than man has done: for even in Paraguay his name is not remembered, though it remains enshrined in the neglected pages of many a dusty Latin or a Spanish book.

But all the time that Fathers Montoya and Diaz Taño were in Europe a serious danger to the Jesuits was growing up. At the discovery of the New World, the Franciscans had been the first of all the Orders to go out. Some had accompanied Columbus, some were with Cortes in Mexico. Almagro and Pizarro’s hosts had their Franciscan chaplains. In his commentaries, Alvar Nuñez relates how he met some of the Order in Brazil. Lastly, the first of all the saints of the New World was a Franciscan.

In 1638 the Franciscans in the province of Jujuy[113] disputed with the Jesuits the right to certain missions, accusing them, as Padre del Techo says, ‘of putting their sickle into their ripening corn.’[114] What could be more annoying if it were true? As if a Wesleyan mission in the Paumotus Group should, after having shed its Bibles and its blankets like dry leaves, suddenly find an emissary from Babylon itself arrive and mark the sheep!

But from Jujuy the dissensions spread to Paraguay, where the Franciscans had several missions extending from Yuti to Cazapá, thus being almost within touch of the Jesuit Gospellers in Santa Maria, upon the eastern bank of the Tebicuari, which bounds their territory. These jealousies might have gone smouldering on, and never burst out into fire, had not the appointment of a Franciscan to the see of Paraguay caused the flames to flare out fiercely.

Had a firebrand been wanted to stir up strife, none better could have been found than Don Bernardino de Cardenas, who was just then appointed to the bishopric of Paraguay.

Chapter IV

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

Don Bernardino de Cardenas first saw the light in the town of La Plata,[115] capital of the province of Charcas in Bolivia, or, as it was then called, Alta Peru. The date of his birth is uncertain, but it would appear to have been in the early years of the seventeenth century. At an early age he entered the Franciscan Order.

As the Franciscans had had the honour of having furnished to the calendar the first saint canonized in the New World, it seems to have been the dream of Cardenas from his earliest youth to emulate him. In this desire he seems to have acted in good faith, and all his life the dream of saintship haunted him. Charlevoix[116] says ‘he made a rather superficial study of theology, and then engaged in preaching, in which, with memory, assurance, and facility, he found it easy to succeed in a country where brilliant gifts are more esteemed than solid learning.’ Certainly a preacher without assurance, memory, and facility would scarcely have succeeded in any country; and in what country in the world is brilliancy not far esteemed above the deepest scholarship? Besides, ‘he was a man of visions (homme à visions) and revelations, which he took good care to publish.’ Visions are generally, in the case of saints, confined to the soul’s eye, and revelation to the inward ear; if, therefore, the recipient of them does not make them known, they run the risk of being lost. In a word, according to Charlevoix,[117] he was ‘one of the most complete and dangerous ecstatics that ever lived.’ ‘His first successes’ (whether as preacher or ecstatic are not specified) caused his superiors to name him guardian of their college of La Plata. They soon repented of their choice. No sooner was he named Superior than he sought to qualify himself for saintship by a sort of royal road. Saints are of several classes, and, in looking through the calendars, it strikes one how different seem to have been the methods by which they severally attained their goal.

Prince Juan Manuel, in the preface to his ‘Fifty Pleasant Stories of Patronio’, says that, ‘amongst the many strange things our Lord God made, He thought good to make one marvellous in special—that is, that, of the numberless men who are on earth, not one entirely resembles any other in his face.’ He might have said the same of saints and of their ways. One, like St. Francis of Assisi, treats his father (as it seems to me) but scurvily, and yet to every other created man and all the animals he is a brother. The saint of Avila founds convents, mingles with men of business, and has visions in the intervals of her journeying through Spain upon an ass. Again, another preaches to the Indians or the Japanese, gives up his substance, begs his bread from door to door, and leaves the devil’s advocate scarcely a quillet or a quiddity against him. Lastly, you find against the names of some merely the docket ‘virgin’ or ‘martyr’, as their case or sex may serve.

Don Bernardino adopted none of these methods of procedure. Carrying a heavy cross, with ashes on his head and shoulders bared, followed by all his priests, he sallied out one day to discipline himself in public. This plan did not succeed with all the world, for his superiors ordered him to remain inside his convent gates. There he remained, and, as his Life informs us, profited by his retreat to study Holy Scriptures, and to such good effect that, the next time he preached, he charmed his hearers by his eloquence. Soon after this the Archbishop of La Plata held a provincial council, with the object of reforming the morals of the Indians in his diocese. Cardenas, being a fluent speaker, was chosen for the post of Apostolic Missionary. From this time dates the beginning of his fame.

In those days all the Indians of the Charcas, and generally of all Peru, were sunk in misery, but little removed from slaves, and their religion was a mixture of Christianity and paganism—just the kind of folk a fluent preacher of the style of Cardenas could work upon. All through the province he made his apostolic progress, preaching, converting, and confessing, everywhere preceded by his fame as seer of visions, miracle-worker, and recipient of celestial light. He took his way, dressed like a pilgrim, on foot, carrying a wooden cross, and followed by a multitude of Indians from town to town.

Religion in America (Catholic or Protestant) has always tended to revert to the original Eastern form, from which, no doubt, it sprung. The influence of the vast plains and forests, and the great distances to travel, have introduced the system of camp meetings amongst the Protestants, whereas the Catholics have often held a sort of ambulatory mission, the people of one village following the preacher to the next, and so on, in the same fashion as in Palestine the people seem to have followed John the Baptist.

Soon the news was spread about that the Indians who followed Cardenas had told him of rich mines, on the condition that he would not divulge the secret to the Spaniards. At that time the search for mines was carried almost to madness in Peru. Even to-day, in almost every mining town, a mysterious, poverty-stricken man sometimes approaches you with great precaution, and, drawing from his pocket an object wrapped in greasy paper, declares with oaths that it is rosicler (red silver ore), and that he knows where there are tons and tons of it. In Mexico the curious class of miners known as gambusinos rove through the valleys of the Sierra Madre armed with pick and pan, passing their lives in hunting mines, as pigs hunt truffles. If they come upon a mine, they never try to work it, but sell the secret for a trifling sum, and, drinking out the money, start on again to find the mines worked by the Aztecs, till an Apache bullet or arrow stops them, their El Dorado still ahead, or they are found beside their pick and shovel dead of thirst.

Neither in Mexico nor in Peru do things grow less in telling, and we may well suppose the stories of the mines the Indians told to Cardenas became colossal; for at last the Alcalde of Cochabamba wrote on the subject to the Count of Salvatierra, the Viceroy of Peru.

As Charlevoix says, ‘it seemed as if it all worked to the advantage of the holy missionary, who, not content with saving souls, did not forget the interests of his native land.’ In the middle of his triumphs, being recalled to Lima, no one doubted that it was in order to confer with the Viceroy about the supposititious mines. Others, again, imagined that a mitre was destined for the successful evangelist, and therefore many, even quite poor people, pressed forward to offer funds to help him on his way. With quite apostolic assurance, he took all that was offered to him, being certain, as some think, that, the mines being real, he could some day repay with usury all he had borrowed, or, as others said, being indifferent about the matter, and trusting to repay in that better country where no usury exists and where no gold corrupts.

The Viceroy, being a man of little faith, sent to investigate the supposititious mines, but found them non-existent.

The superiors of Cardenas, as judicious as the higher officers of the Franciscan Order often proved themselves throughout America, informed him that he had given offence to many by his public scourgings and processions carrying a cross, and, most of all, that in his sermons propositions had escaped him of a nature likely to bring him under the censure of the Holy Office. A convent in Lima was assigned to him as a retreat and place of meditation on the virtues of submission and obedience.

As we may well believe, no man who felt he had the stuff within himself to make a saint ever cared much for obedience or submission, except in others; so in his convent, instead of meditating on his faults, he passed his time in writing a memorial to the Council of the Indies, setting forth his views on the way in which to spread the gospel amongst the Indians. Nothing was better calculated to win him favour. Every Indian baptized was so much yearly gain to the Spanish Government.

Conversion and taxation always went hand-in-hand, and therefore Indians who, unbaptized, brought nothing to the treasury, having received the Gospel truths, were taxed so much a head to show them that from thenceforth they were Christians. Thus, we find that in the Paraguayan missions each Indian paid a dollar every year as a sort of poll-tax, and most of the disputes between the Viceroys of Paraguay and the Jesuits arose from the number of the Indians taxable. The Viceroys always alleged that the population of the missions never increased, on account of the Jesuits returning false numbers to avoid the tax.

Cardenas specially inculcated, in his memorial to the Council of the Indies, that it was not expedient to place the Indians under the regular clergy, a theory of which he himself was destined to become a great antagonist. Promotion, as we know, cometh neither from the east nor from the west; so it fell out that during his retreat, through the influence of his friend Don Juan de Solorzano, a celebrated lawyer, who had heard him preach when Governor of Guancavelico, he found himself named Bishop of Asuncion del Paraguay. This piece of luck opened the doors of his convent to him, and he repaired at once to Potosi to wait the arrival of the Papal Bull authorizing him to take possession of his bishopric. There he appeared in the habit of his Order, a little wooden cross upon his breast, and a green hat upon his head, a costume which, if not quite fitting to his new dignity, was at least suited to the Indian taste.

His biographer informs us that, without a word to anyone, he began to preach and hear confessions. Being absolutely without resources, he was reduced to distribute indulgences and little objects of piety, and at the end of every sermon to send his green hat round the audience. His talent for preaching stood him in good stead, and after every sermon gifts were showered upon him, and a crowd accompanied him home.

The priest of Potosi being just dead, Don Bernardino took his place without permission, and set himself up in the double character of parish priest and Bishop to hold a visitation throughout the diocese.

Some people took this conduct as evidence of his saint-like humility in condescending, though a Bishop, to officiate as a mere priest. The Archbishop had a different opinion, but, as Don Bernardino had a great following, he thought it best to dissemble his resentment. Cardenas himself, by his imprudence, furnished the Archbishop with an excuse to get him out of the bishopric.

A rich Indian, whom Cardenas confessed upon his death-bed, left him ten thousand crowns. Not content with that, he influenced one Diego Vargas to change his will and leave him money. On this the Archbishop wrote to him, requesting that he would go and govern his own see. He had to go, but left the town, which he had entered without a farthing, with a long train of mules carrying his money, plate, and furniture. Why he did not instantly go to Asuncion is not quite clear, for in America it was the custom, owing to the great distance from Rome, that Bishops, on receipt of the royal order of appointment, got themselves chosen by the chapter of their diocese to govern provisionally. Instead of doing that, he went to Tucuman, and thence to Salta, where he arrived in 1641.

In Salta, his first visit was to the Jesuit college, where he laid his case before the Jesuit fathers, and showed them several letters, one from the Cardinal Antonio Barberini dated in 1638, and another from the King without a date, naming him Bishop of Asuncion. On the strength of these two letters he asked the Jesuits if he could get himself consecrated without the Papal Bulls. Charlevoix alleges that they dared not refuse to answer in the way he wished. Why this was so is not so easy to make out, as, even with his green hat and wooden cross, he could not at that time have been a formidable personage. Their written opinion he sent at once to the rector of the Jesuit college at Cordova, asking for his opinion and that of the doctors of the university. The answer reached him in Santiago del Estero, and was unfavourable. On reading the letter, Cardenas fell into a most unsaint-like fury, and tore it up without communicating it to anyone, not even to the Bishop of Tucuman, Don Melchior Maldonado. This was not strange, as he had counted on this Bishop to consecrate him.

Notwithstanding what was at stake, he went on in the diocese of Tucuman just as he had done in that of Charcas, preaching, confessing, and celebrating Mass. Don Melchior Maldonado, a quiet man of no pretensions, wrote him a letter in which he said: ‘You came into my diocese like a St. Bernard; such is the reputation you have for holiness and preaching that my people pay me no respect, and only look on me as a man of common virtue and mediocre talents. Although I hope I am not jealous, still, I must remind you that you act as if you were St. Paul.’

A Bishop of common virtue and of mediocre talents is, of course, a Bishop lost, and one can well conceive that poor Don Melchior Maldonado was placed in an unpleasant position during the stay of Cardenas in his diocese. Such were Don Bernardino’s powers of persuasion that at last the Bishop consecrated him. The ceremony was hardly over, when a letter arrived from the Rector of the University of Cordova advising Bishop Maldonado against the consecration. Unluckily for Paraguay, it was too late to undo the action, and Cardenas was now in a position to take possession of his see. Poor Melchior Maldonado, Bishop of Tucuman, had, as it happened, laid hands a little hastily upon the candidate. The Council of Trent pronounced upon the case, and found ‘that the consecration of the Bishop of Paraguay had been a valid one as touching the sacrament (ordination), and the impression of the character, but that it had been void as regards the power of discharging the functions attaching to the dignity, and that the Bishop and his consecrator had need of absolution, which the same holy congregation thinks ought to be accorded with the good pleasure of the Pope.’ As the same holy congregation had previously declared the taking possession of the diocese by Cardenas had been illegal, it is difficult for ordinary minds to grasp their real opinion of the case.

Finding that he had failed with the University of Cordova, Don Bernardino took his way to Santa Fé, from whence he wrote an insulting letter to the poor rector. The letter was conceived in such outrageous terms that the Bishop of Tucuman wrote in expostulation, saying he expected to see something extraordinary happen in Paraguay if he gave way to such excess of passion.

Don Bernardino’s usual luck attended him in Santa Fé. This town then formed part of the diocese of Buenos Ayres, though situated about four hundred miles from the metropolis. It happened that the see of Buenos Ayres was vacant, and the chapter of the cathedral invited Cardenas to visit that portion of the diocese through which he had to pass. Cardenas was, of course, delighted to show his talents for preaching, as he had done before in Charcas and in Potosi. When he arrived at Corrientes the enthusiasm for his holiness and talents was extraordinary. In Corrientes, Don Bernardino seems to have felt, for the first time, his calling and election really sure. At the time he landed (1642) the land was sunk in ignorance and superstition. Even to-day in Corrientes (the city of the seven currents), situated just at the junction of the rivers Paraná and Paraguay, close to the celebrated missions of the Jesuits, the inhabitants, living in a country almost tropical, are half Indians in type.

What Corrientes looked like in Don Bernardino’s time is matter of conjecture. Perhaps it was not greatly different from some remote Spanish-American frontier towns some five-and-twenty years ago, save for the groups of Spanish soldiery, with their steel morions, trunk hose and heavy arquebuses lounging about, and in the matter of the scarcity of horses in the streets. No doubt the self-same listless air hung over everything, and in the place of the modern blue and white barred flags with a rising sun or cap of liberty stuck like a trade-mark in the corner, the blood and orange Spanish colours with the quarterings of castles and of lions flapped heavily against the flagstaff of the fort. The Indian women dressed all in white, their hair cut square across the forehead and hanging down their backs, sat with their baskets of fruit and flowers in the market-place. The town, as now, built chiefly of adobes, with a few wooden huts dotted about, was semi-oriental in design. On every church were cupolas after the eastern fashion, flat roofs on every house, and everything shone dazzling white against the dark, metallic-looking foliage of the trees. The streets, as now, were sandy water-courses, crossed here and there with traverses of rough-hewn stone to break the force of the water in the season of the rains.

At night the fireflies glistened amongst the heavy leaves of the mamayes and the orange-trees, whilst from the Chaco rose the mysterious voices of the desert night, and from the outskirts of the town the wailing Indian Jarabis and Cielitos sung in a high falsetto key to the tinkling of a cracked guitar, but broken now and then by the sharp warning cry ‘Alerta centinela!’ of the soldiers on the walls. Could one have landed there, one would have felt much as a sailor feels, dropped on the beach of Eromango or on some yet unbemissionaried island of the Paumotus Group.

Embarking from Corrientes up the river Paraguay, the Bishop met two vessels sent from Asuncion to do him honour. When night approached he put in practice one of the manœuvres which in Peru had stood him in good stead. On every side a swarm of launches and canoes accompanied the ship to see the Bishop, whom already many believed a saint. He asked them all to retire a little from his ship. All did so but the guard of honour sent from Asuncion. Towards the middle of the night the sound of scourging wakened them. It was their Bishop trying to prepare himself for the duties that awaited him. Every succeeding night the same thing happened. During the day he celebrated Mass pontifically upon the deck. Voyages upon the river Paraguay before the days of steamers took a considerable time, especially as every night the custom was to anchor or to make fast the vessel to a tree. Soon the rumour reached Asuncion that a second St. Thomas was on his way to visit them. St. Thomas, as is said, once visited Paraguay, and a cave in the vicinity of a town called Paraguari, where he once lived, exists to-day to prove the passage of the saint.

Fate seemed determined that the Bishop should always meet the Jesuits, no matter where he went.

Becoming weary of the slow progress of the ships, he disembarked four leagues below Asuncion, at a farm belonging to the Company. He managed to dissemble his resentment so perfectly that no one knew he had a grudge against them. Arrived at the capital, he went at once to the church of San Blas, then to the Cathedral, where he celebrated Mass and preached, his mitre on his head. After service he dismissed the people to their homes to dine, saying, however, that he himself was nourished by an invisible food and by a beverage which men could not perceive. ‘My food’ (he said) ‘is but to do the work and will of Him who sent me.’ Therefore he remained in prayer and meditation until vespers, and that office finished, he retired to the palace accompanied by a shouting crowd.

In his position his conduct was most adroit, for, as his Bulls had not arrived, he must have known he had no legal status, and that, in default of that, he had to conquer public sympathy. The chapter never doubted that Don Bernardino would place himself entirely in their hands as his Bulls had not arrived. He, however, seems to have thought that the act of celebrating Mass pontifically in the Cathedral had put him in possession of his powers. So he named one Cristobal Sanchez as his Vicar-General. Two of the members of the chapter, Don Diego Ponce de Leon and Don Fernando Sanchez, remonstrated, but a considerable portion of the chapter sided with Cardenas. The stronger party left the Cathedral and celebrated Mass in the church belonging to the Jesuits, thus giving Cardenas a second cause of offence against the Company.

The Bishop, not being secure of his position, had recourse to every art[118] to catch the public eye: fasting and scourging, prayers before the altar, two Masses every day, barefoot processions—himself the central figure, carrying a cross—each had their turn. Along the deep red roads between the orange-gardens which lead from Asuncion towards the Recoleta and the Campo Grande, he used to take his way accompanied by Indians crowned with flowers, giving his benediction as he passed, to turn away (according to himself) the plague and to insure a fertile harvest. Not being content with the opportunities which life afforded, he instituted an evening service in a church in order to prepare for death.

Soon, as was to be expected in such a country, this service proved the occasion of much scandal, and, instead of showing people how to leave the world, became the means of introducing many into life in a clandestine way. The rector of the Jesuit college thought it his duty to inform the Bishop; but he, like all good men, thought nothing bad could spring from anything that he himself originated. No doubt he put it down to malice, as good people will when worldlings put the finger on the weak spot of a religious institution; but anyhow, regardless of the scandals, he continued his nocturnal rites.

The Governor of Paraguay at that time was one Gregorio de Hinostrosa, an officer born in Chile, an honest, pious, wooden-headed man, and much beloved by the inhabitants of Paraguay. On his arrival Don Bernardino tried to conciliate him. Unluckily, a friendship with the Bishop was impossible without a blind submission to his will. In the beginning all was flattery; when Don Gregorio attended Mass, the Bishop used to meet him at the church door. Not to be outdone, the Governor returned the Bishop’s politeness in a similar way, but went so far in his complaisance that Don Bernardino ceased to respect him. Soon there arose bickerings and jealousies, and at length they hated one another fervently.

Nor was the Bishop more successful with his clergy. Some of them laughed at his pretensions to be a saint, and called him an ambitious schemer. Again, amongst the laity, many did not quite understand his habit of celebrating two Masses every day. He answered that he never celebrated without releasing a soul from purgatory, and that there had been saints who celebrated nine Masses every day, and, moreover, that he was Pope in his own diocese. This cut the ground from under the feet of his detractors, for in a town of the calibre of Asuncion the people looked on a service in a church as a welcome means of getting through the day, and had he celebrated a dozen masses they would but have been more delighted with their new Bishop.

Under the pretext that there were not enough priests to serve the churches, he, by degrees, took several parishes into his own hands, and went from church to church to celebrate his Mass in each, whilst not forgetting to draw the various stipends for his work. But, not content with this, he began to ordain young men who knew no Latin, and even criminals, setting forth the view that ordination was a sort of second baptism, which purged all crimes—a most convenient theory, and one which is not half enough insisted on in these degenerate days.

The position of Asuncion gave him an opportunity of an almost unique kind to show his talents in another sphere. Across the river Paraguay, there about one mile broad, extends the country called the Chaco, a vast domain of swamp and forest, inhabited in those days, as at present, by tribes of wandering Indians. From the city walls, whilst listening to the church-bells, one can see the smoke of Indian encampments across the river only a mile away.

Of all the Indian tribes in the time of Cardenas, the most ferocious were the Guaycurús. The Jesuits had laboured almost in vain amongst them. Missions had been founded, and all gone well for months, and even years, when on a sudden, and without reason, the Guaycurús had burned the houses, killed the priests, and gone back to the wilds. From Santa Fé up to the province of Matto Grosso they kept the frontier in a turmoil, crossing the river and feeding like locusts on the settlements in Paraguay.

Not long before his arrival the Guaycurús had intimated their intention of holding a conference with Don Gregorio Hinostrosa. Don Bernardino thought the chance too good to lose, and at once declared that, as a Bishop, it was his place to carry on negotiations with the barbarians. Dressed in his robes and with an escort furnished by the Governor, he met the chiefs—who no doubt looked on him as a new kind of medicine-man—preached to them through an interpreter, curiously being without the gift of tongues, but notwithstanding that a reasonable number of them were baptized. On his return, he wrote to the King that by his efforts he had appeased the most ferocious Indians within his Majesty’s domains.

Within a week the Guaycurús surprised and burned a settlement a little higher up the stream. Not content with this Caligulesque apostolate to the Guaycurús, the Bishop longed for serious occupation, and caused it to be rumoured about the city that he did nothing except by the direct authority of the Holy Ghost, an allegation hard to confute, and if allowed, likely to lead to difficulties even in Paraguay.

Some years before the advent of Don Bernardino the Dominicans had built a convent in Asuncion. As they had no license to build, they were in the position of religious squatters on the domain of God. The citizens had applied to the Audiencia of Charcas, the supreme court on all such matters in South America, situated, with true Spanish unpracticality, in one of the most secluded districts of the continent. The Audiencia had refused the license, but had taken the matter ad advisandum for ten years. To take a matter into consideration for ten years, even in Spain or South America, where the law’s delay is generally more mortal than in any other country, was as good as giving a permission. So the Dominicans construed it, and no one dreamed of now molesting them.

One day the Bishop, dressed in his robes, proceeded from his palace to the convent, informing the Governor that he wanted him to meet him there. Entering the convent church, he took the sacrament from off the altar and stripped the church of all its ornaments, setting a gang of workmen to demolish both the convent and the church. When the work was over, he went to a neighbouring church, and then and there, without confession, celebrated Mass, remarking to the faithful that there was no need for him to make confession, as he was satisfied of the condition of his conscience. Some murmured; but the greater portion of the people, always ready to take a saint at his own valuation, were delighted with his act. Doubts must have crossed his mind, as shortly afterwards he wrote to Don Melchior Maldonado, Bishop of Tucuman, for his opinion. That Bishop answered rather tartly that his zeal appeared to him to savour more of the zeal of Elias than of Jesus Christ, and that in a country where churches were so few it seemed imprudent to pull down rather than to build. ‘However,’ he added, ‘my light is not so brilliant as the light your lordship is illumined by.’

When once a man is well convinced that all he does comes from the Holy Ghost, there is but little that he cannot do with satisfaction to himself. Self-murderers, according to the custom of those times, were not allowed admission into holy ground, as if the fact of having found their life unbearable debarred them from the right to be considered men. Such a man a few years previously had been buried at a cross-road. It now occurred to Cardenas to have a special revelation on the subject; and, curiously enough, this special revelation was on the side of common-sense. ‘This body,’ said the Bishop, ‘is that of a Christian, and I feel pretty sure his soul is now in bliss.’ He gave no reason for his opinion, as is the way of most religious folk, but, as he had special means of communication with heaven, most people were contented. Incontinently he had the corpse dug up and buried in the church of the Incarnation, himself performing all the funeral rites.

Although a miracle or two would have shocked nobody, still, in the matter of the suicide he had gone too far for the simple people of the place. They murmured, and for a moment the Bishop’s prestige was in jeopardy; but in the nick of time his Bulls arrived, brought by his nephew, Pedro de Cardenas, who, like himself, was a Franciscan friar. This saved him, and gave the people something new to think of, though at the same time he incurred a new anxiety.

In the Bulls there was a passage to the effect that, if at his consecration any irregularity had been incurred, he was liable to suspension from all his functions. This the Jesuit who translated the documents into Spanish for the purpose of publication drew his attention to. However, Cardenas was not a man to be intimidated by so small a matter, but read the translation to the people in the Cathedral, and intimated to them that the Pope had given him unlimited power in Paraguay, both in matters spiritual and temporal.

Though Don Gregorio, the Governor, was present at the ceremony, he made no protest at the assumption of temporal power by Cardenas. He had remarked it, though, and secretly determined to show him that his pretensions were unfounded. His nephew, Don Pedro de Cardenas, furnished the occasion. This young man had been despatched to Spain to get the Bulls. Upon the voyage he seems to have conducted himself with scant propriety. On his return, when passing Corrientes, he took on board a lady whom Charlevoix, quite in the spirit of the author of the Book of Proverbs, describes as ‘une jeune femme bien faite’. Having some qualms of conscience, he put on a secular dress, and on nearing Asuncion put his religious habit over it. In such a climate this double costume must have been inconvenient, and why he should have worn one dress above the other does not appear. His uncle, in his delight at the forthcoming of the Bulls, most probably paid little attention to his appearance. He lodged him in the palace, and assigned him a prebendary which was vacant. Where the ‘jeune femme bien faite’ was lodged is not set down, and the people of Asuncion no doubt looked leniently on such affairs, as does society to-day in England. After his usual fashion, the Bishop set all down to calumny.

About this time the Governor had put in prison one Ambrosio Morales, a sub-official of the Inquisition, who had had a quarrel with an officer. Cardenas, being informed of this, could not lose so good a chance of exercising the power he arrogated in temporal affairs. Holding a monstrance in his hands, he went to the prison and asked for the prisoner, placing the monstrance on a table at the prison gate. The rector of the Jesuit college came and expostulated with him, saying that it was not fitting to expose the body of Jesus Christ in such a place, and that it was not decent that the Bishop himself should stay there. Considering his position, and the times in which he lived, it seems the rector was judicious in his expostulation. Cardenas replied that he would stay there till the prisoner was released. The rector, knowing him to be as obstinate as a male mule, went and begged the Governor to let Morales out. This he did at once, and then the Bishop, cross in hand, returned in triumph to the palace with the rescued Inquisitor following amongst his train. The people, whose lives were dull, snatched at the opportunity for some amusement, and said that it was good luck the Governor and Bishop were not always of one mind, for that their agreement had caused the demolition of a church and convent, and their quarrel the setting of a prisoner free.

This little triumph emboldened the Bishop to go further. He admitted Morales into minor orders, gave him the tonsure, and thus, having placed him above the temporal power, enabled him to brave the Governor openly. The Bishop’s nephew, taking the Governor’s kindness for weakness, broke publicly into insulting terms about him. The Governor’s brother, Father Hinostrosa, pressed him to vindicate his dignity, but he refused, saying he wanted peace at any price. This policy the Bishop did not understand, for all concessions he set down as weakness, and they encouraged him to fresh exactions and more violence.

Dining with the Governor, the Bishop chanced to see upon the table a fine pair of silver candlesticks. To see and to desire with Cardenas was to ask, and so he intimated to the Governor his wish to have them. The Governor, thinking, perhaps, to wipe out the remembrance of the difficulty about Morales, sent them to the palace with his compliments. The Bishop took the present, and, turning to the man who brought them, said, ‘I should now be quite content if I only had the silver ewer and flagon which I noticed in your master’s house.’ The Governor, we may suppose, on hearing this made what the Spaniards call ‘la risa del conejo’; but sent the plate and a message, saying all his house contained was at the Bishop’s service. Don Bernardino, who, though he may have been a saint, as his friends proclaimed, was certainly far from a gentleman, sent for the flagon and the ewer, which he received at once, together with a friendly message from the Governor.

But even this free-will offering brought no quiet, for a new quarrel soon arose between the Bishop and the unlucky wielder of the temporal power. The Society of the Holy Sacrament enjoyed an encomienda at or near Asuncion. The Bishop, no doubt thinking he was most fitted to indoctrinate the Indians, endeavoured to persuade the Governor to get the Society of the Holy Sacrament to make their Indians over to himself. The Governor, who knew his fellow-countrymen, flatly refused, and upon this Don Bernardino fell into a fury, and reproached him with such bitterness that Don Gregorio, too, overstepped the bounds of prudence, and threw the conduct of his nephew with the ‘jeune femme bien faite’ into the Bishop’s teeth.

Hell has been said to have no fury equal to a woman scorned, but a Bishop thwarted makes a very tolerable show. Don Bernardino was one of those who think an insult to themselves carries with it a challenge to God, an outrage on religion, and generally conceive the honour of Heaven is attacked by any contradiction of themselves. To animadvert upon the actions of a Bishop’s nephew is as bad as heresy—far worse than simony—and the man who does it cannot but be a heretic at heart. So, at least, Don Bernardino thought; for, with candle, bell, and book, and what was requisite, he excommunicated the poor Governor, and declared him incompetent to bear the royal standard in a religious festival which was shortly to take place. Excommunication was at least as serious then as bankruptcy is now, though in Spanish America it did not carry with it such direful consequences as in European States.

Not wishing to use force, the Governor yielded the point, and did not trouble the procession. His moderate conduct gained him many partisans, and put many people against the Cardenas. The nephew, Pedro de Cardenas, thought it a good occasion to insult the Governor in public; so one day in the street he followed him, casting reflections on his mother and his female relatives. Don Gregorio, who was a man of tried courage, having served for years against the Indians of Arauco, the bravest race of all the Indians of America, controlled his temper, and, turning to the young Franciscan, said, ‘Go with God, my father; but do not try me any more.’ It was not to be expected that in those times and such a place a man like Don Gregorio de Hinostrosa, who had passed his life upon the frontiers, and who held supreme authority, would quietly submit to such a public insult; so one night he appeared at the Bishop’s palace, accompanied by soldiers, to arrest Don Pedro. Out came Cardenas, and excommunicated the Governor and all his soldiers on the spot, and Don Pedro pointed a pistol at his head. He, seeing himself obliged either to make a public scandal or retire, being for peace at any price, retired, and the triumphant Bishop published his edict of excommunication, which he extended with a fine of fifty crowns to every soldier who had been present at the scene. On reflection, thinking, perhaps, it was unwise to excommunicate so many soldiers, who might be needed to repel an Indian attack, he sent and told the Governor he was ready to absolve him upon easy terms. The Governor, who had made light of the first excommunication, was rather staggered when he found the second posted at the Cathedral door. And now a comedy ensued; for Don Gregorio went to the Bishop, and on his knees asked for forgiveness. He, taken unawares, also knelt down, and, when the Governor kissed his hand, wished to return the compliment, and would have done so had the rector of the Jesuit college not prevented him.

As Charlevoix says, ‘to see them on their knees, no one could have imagined which one it was who asked the other’s grace.’ The Bishop granted absolution to the Governor; but the soldiers’ action had been flat sacrilege at least, for every one of them was forced to pay the fine.

Two excommunications in a week were almost, one would think, enough to satisfy a Pope; but having nominated one Diego Hernandez, a Portuguese, to the post of Alguacil Mayor of the Inquisition, and given him the right to wear a sword in virtue of his office, the Governor, meeting the man in the street wearing a sword against his regulations, made him a prisoner. At once Don Bernardino launched another excommunication. But this time he had gone too far; the Governor laughed at his thunder, and condemned the prisoner to be hanged. At his wits’ end, the Bishop sent a servant to the man, and told him to fear nothing, for that, if he suffered death, he was a martyr, and that he himself would preach his funeral sermon. The Governor, who was perhaps a humorist, laughed at the message, which, he said, was not consoling, and then himself let Hernandez out of prison under heavy bail. The excommunication was then taken off, and peace once more reigned in Asuncion.

As well as being not given to wine, it is essential that a Bishop shall know how to keep his own counsel—as Lorenzo Gracian expresses it,[119] ‘not to lie, but not for that to speak out always the whole truth.’ Everyone who knew the Bishop and his hasty temper was astonished at his behaviour to the Jesuits. No one imagined he had forgotten the attitude the rector of the University of Cordova had assumed towards his consecration, and still the Bishop seemed to show more favour to the Jesuits in Asuncion than to the members of the other religious communities. Perhaps he felt the want of partisans amongst the educated classes, for his quarrel with the Governor had lost him many friends. Certainly in Asuncion it was of great importance that the Jesuits should not declare against him openly.

He praised them fulsomely both in the pulpit and in conversation, went in procession to their church, and treated them in public with marked consideration. As a contemporaneous Jesuit has left a record, they were not his dupes, but still endeavoured to live up to the praises he dispensed to them. He went so far as in a letter to the King, Philip IV., to say that the Jesuits only in all Paraguay were really fitted to have the care of Indians, and he advised the King to transfer the Indians who were under other religious bodies, as well as those under the secular clergy, to the care and guidance of that Order. No doubt in this the Bishop was right, even if not sincere. One of the qualifications the Jesuits had for the care of Indians was that the Indians did not look on them as Spaniards.

As in the same way that in Matabeleland, perhaps, a German, Frenchman, or Italian is less hateful to the natives than an Englishman, so in Paraguay the Indians liked the Jesuits better than the other Orders, for there were many foreigners amongst their ranks. The Jesuits soon comprehended that the Bishop wished to make them odious to the public by overpraise. To set to work in such a manner almost requires an early training in a seminary, and that such tactics should have been put in force against such skilled diplomatists as were the Jesuits argues no ordinary capacity for diplomatic work in Cardenas. With him, however, the Spanish proverb, ‘Betwixt the word and deed the space is great’, had little application. The vicar of a place called Arecayá, close to Asuncion, had fallen into disgrace; the Bishop removed him from his parish, and asked the rector of the Jesuit college to send a priest to take his place. The answer he received was politic, and to the effect that there was no Jesuit who could be spared, and even if there was it ill-befitted any Jesuit to infringe upon the duties of the secular clergy; but that, if Cardenas intended to found a new reduction with all the privileges that the King had always given to that kind of establishment, the rector himself would ask permission from his Provincial to undertake the work. A splendid answer, and one which proved that the man who gave it was a man wasted in Paraguay, and that his place by rights was Rome or, at the least, some court.

Don Bernardino, who in matters such as these was quite as cunning as the rector, thanked him, and said he did not want a saint, but a priest to take the duty of another priest for a short time. The rector, seeing his diplomacy had failed, told Father Mansilla, who was at Itatines, to transfer himself to Arecayá, and, writing to the Bishop, told him that he had no doubt Mansilla would do all that was fitting in the case. The Bishop, who had gained his point and saw no further use for diplomacy, said: ‘Of that I am quite sure, and if he does not I shall excommunicate him, and lay the district of the Itatines under an interdict.’ Nothing appeared to give Don Bernardino such unmitigated pleasure as an excommunication; on the slightest protest he was ready, so that during his episcopate someone or other in Asuncion must have always been under the ban of Holy Mother Church. The rector felt instinctively that Don Bernardino had not done with him. This was the case, for soon another order came to send two Jesuits to undertake the guidance of a mission near Villa Rica. As at the time the Jesuits had no missions near Villa Rica, the order was most unpleasant to him. Firstly, the two who went—Fathers Gomez and Domenecchi—had to leave their missions and undertake a lengthy journey in the wilds. On reaching Villa Rica, they found not only that the inhabitants looked on them with great disfavour as interlopers, but that the Indians, whom they were sent to guide, were under the encomienda system, thus forcing them to wink at that which they disapproved. The resolution that they took did them great honour; it was to leave the town of Villa Rica and live out in the forests with the Indians.

The Jesuits of the college at Asuncion felt the situation keenly. People began to murmur at them for their invasion of the spiritual domains of others, and the rector, in despair, sent to the Bishop, and begged him not to praise them in his sermons. Nothing cost Cardenas so little as to promise, so he promised not to mention them again, and next time that he preached he spent an hour in telling of the wonders that the Jesuits had done in saving souls, not only amongst Catholics, but also amongst the infidels and Turks. The tactics of the Bishop were so marked that at last a rumour reached Don Melchior Maldonado, the Bishop of Tucuman, of whom Don Bernardino always stood in dread. His letter somehow became public, and as in it he spoke most warmly of the Jesuits, and praised the rector, the public turned again upon their side. Just at this time, however, the sleeping feud between the Bishop and the Governor broke out anew with so much fury that attention was directed from the Jesuits for the time being; but on them the situation still was hung, and both sides made advances to them for support.

Chapter V

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

The Governor, like a prudent soldier, was biding his time. The Bishop, not yet strong enough to walk alone, dared not break openly with the Jesuits. Don Pedro Cardenas still following up his evil courses, poor Don Gregorio Hinostrosa, accustomed all his life to deal with ‘officers and gentlemen’, thought fit to bring this under his uncle’s notice. The Bishop spoke to his nephew in a paternal fashion, enjoining certain penances upon him, and amongst others that he was to kiss the earth. Although Don Pedro Cardenas was not a man accustomed to lavish kisses on things inanimate, he complied, but, though complying, still pursued his vicious course.

Quite in the manner of King Charles (of pious memory), the Governor determined to arrest the recalcitrant with his own hand. Armed to the teeth, and with a band of musketeers accompanying him, he appeared before the convent of St. Francis, where Father Cardenas had taken refuge, and, dragging him from his bed, haled him incontinently to the river’s bank, and left him gagged and bound, a prey to flies and sun, for two whole days, dressed in his drawers and shirt. On the third day he was embarked in a canoe for Corrientes, with a small quantity of jerked beef for all provision, and a woman’s cloak wrapped round his shoulders to shield him from the cold. Not quite the guise in which a clergyman would care to appear before the eyes of his superiors, even in Paraguay. Naturally, the Bishop, having nothing else to do, got out his excommunication in his usual style, but no man marked him.

Meantime Asuncion was in confusion, the Bishop and the Governor keeping no measure with the other man of sin. One tried to obtain possession of the other’s person to throw him into prison; the other strove to animate the preachers in the various churches to consign his rival’s soul to hell. In the deserted streets drums thundered, whilst in the air bells jangled, and the quiet, sleepy town was rent in twain by the dissensions of the opposing powers. The churches closed their doors, and the consolations of religion were withdrawn from those who wanted them.

To add to the confusion, Don Pedro Cardenas escaped from Corrientes, and, having taken to himself a companion—one Francisco Sanchez de Carreras—raged through the city like a devil unchained. In his extremity, the poor Bishop went to the Jesuits for advice, informing them he could not stand the scandals that were taking place, and that he intended to leave the city after launching an interdict of excommunication upon all. Placed in the position of declaring openly either for Bishop or for Governor, the Jesuits refused an answer, knowing that anything they said would be brought up against them. All their advice to him was, ‘to trust in God, to persevere in his good efforts, to resign himself to divine will, which will, as the Bishop knew full well, worked sometimes in a mysterious fashion for the welfare of the soul.’ The Bishop answered this advice ‘fort sèchement’,[120] taking it for a reproach, and as a sort of thing not to be tolerated amongst professionals—as if one lawyer, having gone to another for his advice upon a private matter, had received for answer a lecture on conveyancing or a short treatise upon Roman Law.

Still, the occasion called for something to be done; so, calling an Indian servant, he stripped to the waist, and, to the horror and amazement of the public, appeared with naked feet and shoulders, dressed in a sack and armed with a heavy scourge. At the first blow he gave himself some canons of the Cathedral begged him to desist; but he, after prayer, replied that he intended, so to speak, to act as his own Pascal lamb, and wipe out the affront done to St. Francis in his unworthy blood.

A naked Bishop in a sack is almost sure to attract some observation even in Paraguay. Religious women not unfrequently have been attracted by such a spectacle, and so it proved on this occasion. Although the Jesuits and the saner portion of the population blamed the Bishop’s action, he made himself a host of partisans amongst the women of all classes, who followed him as they have often followed other thaumaturgists in times present and gone by.

His friend Don Melchior Maldonado, hearing what had passed, wrote to reprove him for his inconsiderate zeal. In his epistle he observed that, though some of the Apostles had scourged themselves, it was not their habit to appear half naked before a crowd of women; that our Lord Himself had not of His own accord taken off His garments for the scourger; that saints who scourged themselves had, as a general rule, chosen a private place for their self-discipline. This was quite reasonable, but the advice was little to the taste of the recipient, who hated criticism when levelled at himself.

If crosses make a saint, about this time Don Bernardino had his full share of them. News came from Itatines, where the two Jesuits had been marooned, that both of them were ill. Cardenas, who, we may remember, was homme à visions, called in the rector of the Jesuit college to inform him that the Company of Jesus had a new martyr in their ranks. Though martyrs (even to-day) enter the ranks of General Loyola’s army pretty frequently, it still seemed strange that the Bishop should know of this particular recruit before the rector. Pressed for an explanation, he replied that a pious person who was vouchsafed communication with the Lord in prayer had seen Father Domenecchi in heaven shining in glory and with a halo round his head.

Nothing could be more satisfactory. All the essentials of a well-attested miracle had been complied with. A man was dead, another man had seen the dead man in an ecstasy of prayer, and, to make all complete, refused to testify himself, sending the Bishop as a sort of pious phonograph. No true believer in such a case could doubt, and all went well till it appeared a man from Itatines, charged with a message to the Jesuit college, had passed the night before he gave his message at the Bishop’s house. In Holy Writ we read the wicked man shall have no rest; if this is so, it is as it should be, though generally the good seem just as troubled in their lives as the most erring of their brethren. He who would be a saint must be a-doing, year in, year out, just like a common workman, and Cardenas was no exception to the rule.

The pseudo-miracle not having been quite a success, he turned to other fields, and summoned all the inhabitants of Paraguay to attend at the Cathedral upon a certain day. The Governor, thinking there was a revolution likely to break out, fixed a review of all the troops for the same date. A Jesuit priest waited upon the Bishop to persuade him that the crowds which would assemble might break the peace. The Bishop reassured him, and sent him to the Governor to say that his intention was to preach to the people and explain to them the faith; further, that he intended on that day to raise his excommunication and be reconciled: only he asked him to allow the troops to attend and hear his sermon. The crowd was great; the Bishop mounted the pulpit, and, extending his forefinger in the attitude of malediction so dear to Bishops, straight began to preach. For a time all went well. The Governor, presumably, was waiting for the circulation of the hat—that awful mystery which makes all sects kin—when to his horror Cardenas began to enumerate all his offences: he was anathema, was excommunicated, a disbeliever, and had endeavoured to cast down that which the Lord Himself had set on high. The Bishop then informed the crowd that God was angry with the Governor, talked about Moses, and dwelt with unction on the fact that the great lawgiver had been swift to slay.

In a peroration which, no doubt, went home to all, he called upon his hearers, under penalty of a heavy fine and his displeasure, to seize the Governor, adding that if there was resistance ‘he should kill his brother, his friend, or his nearest relative.’[121] After these words he seized a banner from the hands of the astonished officer who stood nearest to him, and stood forth, like another Phineas, surrounded by his clergy, all of whom had arms beneath their cloaks.

A most dramatic scene, and probably almost successful, had but the Bishop only reckoned with two things: Firstly, he had forgotten that the Governor was an old Indian fighter, and ready for surprises; and, secondly, he had not taken into account the usual apathy of the common people when their leaders fight. Dumbly and quite unmoved the people stood, staring like armadillos at a snake, and made no sign. Then word was brought that the Governor had left the church and was assembling a force of arquebusiers.

Surrounded only by clergymen, Don Bernardino had to yield, and yielded like a Levite, with a subterfuge. He sent a priest to beg the magistrates to come to the Cathedral and reason with him. After a consultation this was done, and Cardenas consented to abate his fury and exhale his wrath. He said that Holy Writ itself gave leave to recur to force in self-defence (but did not quote the text), and that the Governor had meditated a like enterprise against himself; moreover, that, he being an excommunicated man, it became lawful for God’s vicegerent to lay hold on him.