This is not the first time we meet; neither is it the first opportunity I have had of coming to this Academy and to such a pleasant ambiente. I find it very welcoming because it is at the same time American and Franciscan, two things which, at first, may seem to contradict each other. When talking of Franciscanism we immediately think, of course, of the simple life, the contact with nature. We think of Italy, with its fields and cities, its mountains where the Lord appeared, covered with wings, to strike the Seraphic Father with the wounds which made possible humanity’s redemption—Italy, with its crystalline rivers which, together with the winds in the oak trees, are the only orchestra that accompanies the silence of the hermitages.

Latin americanists have in recent years become increasingly concerned with constructing the basis for a unified history of Latin America. Frequently this enterprise leads them to contemplate the even larger design of a history of the Americas. While the New World may still be, in Hegel’s words, “a land of desire for all those who are weary of the historical lumber-room of old Europe,” it is now recognized as having an independent heritage; its history is no longer experienced as “only an echo of the Old World.”

The story of fray pedro de aguado, O.F.M., and his work is not a happy one. He was a humble friar who had spent the best years of his life in the New Kingdom of Granada preaching to the Indians. He had also taken the pains of gathering material for the writing of a history of the area with which he was acquainted. Back in Spain in 1576 as a representative of his province, Aguado completed the writing, went through the endless protocols, submitted his work for the examination of cosmographers, and secured due licenses to print—only to see his books fail to appear for one reason or another. And as years went by and publication was not forthcoming, Fray Pedro, who apparently had given up hope, died in an unknown place at an unknown date. Spanish bibliographers thereafter were meticulous enough to include his name in their lists of authors. Aguado was even copied by other historians who were lucky or curious enough to look for and find the manuscripts. But apart from these bibliographers and historians, mice and moths became the ones to profit most from the perusal of the accounts that the friar had so carefully compiled.

Anyone teaching a course focused on an alien culture has his hands full—be it economics, sociology, anthropology, political science, geography, language, literature or history. The instructor constantly must ask himself: am I getting it across? That question, of course, is a normal one for any teacher but somehow it seems to appear more frequently and most frighteningly before the individual charged with enlightening some fellow Americans on the subject of some select foreign group. I remember the last time I got into that pattern of thought. That was the time I actually did something about it.