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 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.
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 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.