From 1810, when the cabildo of Buenos Aires declared itself free from Spain, through the civil and parochial wars of the post independence period Argentina struggled for constitutional order and political unity. The tyranny of Rosas, the promulgation of the Federal Constitution in 1853, and its ultimate acceptance by the Province of Buenos Aires in 1862 highlighted the drama. Hampered by vast distances, primitive transportation facilities, and the presence of nomadic hostile Indians, the drive for national unity seemed to have reached a significant milestone in 1880. That year saw the creation of the Federal District on the heels of the suppression of a serious revolt against the national government by the Province of Buenos Aires. When the port city of Buenos Aires became the capital of the Republic, and the government of the province moved to the new city of La Plata, it must have appeared to casual observers that Argentina had arrived as a modern nation-state.

Because of the role of the Catholic Church in the history of Spanish America, no thorough or genuine appreciation of the independence era is possible without an understanding of the situation of the episcopacy which is at the center of religious life and growth.

Since the time of Columbus, relations between Church and State in Spanish America became so identified that by 1800 we can speak of one entity, a State-Church, rather than two distinct entities as we find in the separation of Church and State in North America. This point cannot be over emphasized, and it should be understood that it was not the Church which dominated the State, but rather the State which dominated the Church. It was the State, ultimately the king of Spain, which determined when and where a monastery was to be erected. It was the State which sent over missionaries to the New World. It was the State which even decided upon the erection of a new diocese and the nomination of a new bishop.

Scholars of the British experience in Latin America have given considerable attention to the adventures of the two Scottish merchants John Parish Robertson and his brother William, who visited Paraguay between 1811 and 1814. The image of the taciturn Dictator José Gaspar de Francia attempting to use the two British subjects to establish commercial links with Europe has appeared in virtually all histories of the period. Francia's failure in this regard, we are frequently told, ushered in a period of self-imposed isolation for Paraguay. Few foreigners, merchants or otherwise, were permitted to breech the barriers set up by the Dictator and Paraguay quickly took on the reputation of an “inland Japan.” That these barriers were not as absolute as the traditional portrayal would suggest has been established only in the last fifteen years. With few exceptions, the historical accounts have assumed that, with the departure of the Robertsons, British merchants lost all interest in Paraguay. In fact, however, a strong desire to “open” the trade of that country characterized the British mercantile community of Buenos Aires throughout the life of the Dictator and, on one occasion at the very end of Dr. Francia's reign, a concerted effort was made by certain Britons to reintroduce British commerce to Paraguay.

Indian warfare was general in the Internal Provinces of New Spain in the latter half of the eighteenth century. Spain was militarily weak in these frontier provinces so far from Mexico City and, to make matters even more difficult, the barbarian Indian tribes refused to recognize rules of good conduct in war and peace. Where weakness seemed likely to lead to defeat, the Indians thought nothing of employing abject submission, approaching the Spanish authorities with humble requests for peace, conversion, and a place where they might be permitted to settle into a quiet productive existence. Often the Spanish, either exhausted by combat or hopeful of Indian sincerity in such declarations, convinced themselves that the enemy would settle into a sedentary life under the gentle guidance of the friars. Unfortunately for the success of frontier policy, a treaty was only as valid as the number of presidial troops prepared to enforce it. Without force, the Indians, epecially the Apaches, returned to traditional pursuits of rustling livestock and attacks on weakly defended ranches or travellers. A continual history of incidents of this nature brought Spanish governors and frontier soldiers to a state of complete frustration.

Between 1769 and 1853, one hundred and twenty-eight Fernandinos or Franciscan missionaries from the College of San Fernando in Mexico City founded in Upper California twenty-one missions, christianized close to 100,000 Indians, developed the agriculture, the arts and crafts of its earliest civilization, thus effecting the spiritual and in part the temporal conquest of the land. These Fernandinos, with very few exceptions, were natives of Spain. They represented a cross section of practically all the Spanish provinces from Galicia to Catalonia and from Cantabria to Andalucia. Not to be forgotten are the Balearic Islands. Sixteen of California’s missionaries came from Mallorca and thus formed eight percent of the total missionary personnel. Some of these sixteen were among California’s greatest.

Before touching on the spiritual and scientific contribution of the Mallorcan group, it will be well to insist on the fact that the very establishment of apostolic colleges in America antedating the California conquest, thus making possible the future Mallorcan contribution, was due to a Mallorcan, himself an outstanding missionary organizer both in Spain and the Indies, Fray Antonio de Jesús Llinás.

Among the major sources of conflict between liberals and conservatives in nineteenth-century Latin America was the controversy over the relationship between Church and State and the position of the Church in the newly independent states. Not infrequently the issues occasioned violence and bloodshed and long periods of instability while the conservative defenders of a privileged Church disputed with reforming liberals attempting to enforce their ideas. Such was the case in Colombia and Mexico when liberalism reached its apogee in the middle of the nineteenth century. In both countries there had been many years of conflict between conservatives who were generally pro-clerical and espoused centralist ideas about government and liberals who were anti-clerical and favored federalism. The liberals also believed in legal equality, the sanctity of private property, individualism, laissez faire, and the necessity of limiting the Church to a purely spiritual role in society. Although liberals in both countries had achieved national power prior to the 1850’s, the Mexican Constitution of 1857 and the Colombian Rionegro Constitution of 1863 symbolized the liberals’ victory and enshrined their principles; for years those constitutions provided the rallying point for liberals against the opposition.

Despite the voluminous body of historical literature devoted to the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and U.S.-Mexican diplomatic relations, few works address the subject of revolutionary propaganda. During this tumultuous era, however, factional leaders recognized the importance of justifying their movement, publicizing their activities, and cultivating favorable public opinion for their cause, particularly in the United States. In this regard, Venustiano Carranza was especially energetic. From the inception of his Constitutionalist revolution, Carranza and his adherents persistently attempted to exploit the press to generate support among Mexican expatriates, protect Mexican sovereignty, secure recognition from the administration of Woodrow Wilson, gain the acquiescence–if not the blessing–of key sectors of the North American public for his Constitutionalist program, enhance his personal image, and defend his movement against the criticism and intrigues of his enemies–both Mexican and North American.

Around the year 1550, an indigenous tlacuilo (painter-scribe-historian) in Tepechpan, a small altepetl north of Mexico City, narrated the tumultuous events through which he had lived. In Figure 1, we see an excerpt of this tlacuilo's contribution to the town's annals, the Tira de Tepechpan, which depicts a sequence of events from 1545 to 1549. On the left, beneath the glyph for the year 1545, the tlacuilo paints a dangling corpse, its arms crossed and eyes shut, with blood spurting from the nose and mouth. Here the tlacuilo is telling us of the 1545 hueycocolixtli, the “great sickness” that killed at least a third of the population, according to conservative estimates. Among the victims was Tepechpan's ruler, the crowned figure wrapped in funeral cloth above the year glyph.

Students of the Mission History of colonial Spanish America are aware of the importance played by the Apostolic Colleges in the expansion and development of the Indian mission field. The labors of the Fernandinos, Zacatecans and Queretarans, for example, have been heralded in the chronicles of the Colleges, in the extant documents pertaining to the respective mission fields, and in the histories, both Spanish and English, which describe the endeavors of the friars in behalf of Christianity and civilization on the frontier.

Between 1683 and 1814, seven of these Colleges were founded in New Spain alone: Santa Cruz, Querétaro; Cristo Crucificado, Guatemala; Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Zacatecas; San Fernando, Mexico City; San Francisco, Pachuca; San José, Orizaba; and Nuestra Señora de Zapopan, Guadalajara. Querétaro, Zacatecas and San Fernando are the best-known to American students, because of their influence on the Borderlands from Texas to California. San Fernando was responsible for the great development between 1769 and 1833 in the entire territory of Alta California, and in the southern portion between 1833 and 1853. Studies on this mission field are numerous and detailed, but there is a gap which should be filled with a study on the College itself. For such a study, we are dependent on the official documents of the regime, once—before the confiscation period in Mexican history—very numerous. Though various students have declared that most of the documents have been lost, the present writer may announce, with confidence, that while certain ones evidently have been lost, a great body of them does still exist; and from these it is possible to study various aspects of the College’s life. San Fernando has been chosen for study in this article, both because it was the mother house of the California missions, and because a considerable number of pertinent documents have been brought to light in recent years.

William Wheelwright, an American merchant-mariner and entrepreneur from Massachusetts, was the successful pioneer of commercial steam navigation in the Pacific in 1840 but, as is frequently the case, his predecessors prepared the way. Steam powered the Industrial Revolution from the late eighteenth century, and was soon applied to the movement of ships. Practical steam navigation on sheltered inland waters or open oceans depended upon James Watt's development of the steam engine from 1769 to 1782, including such improvements as the use of expansive steam, external condensers which reduced the loss of heat and power, and double-acting pistons. Inventors quickly adapted the new power mechanism to boats.

The Enlightenment in Spain defies definition. In certain respects it was a viable force opening up new vistas of knowledge and understanding, while in others it was a mild breeze rustling some leaves of insight into the possibility of human equality. For certain of Spain's royal officials, the ideas of the eighteenth century philosophes were refreshing and undeniably sound; for others even the gathering of knowledge in the new encyclopedias was a dangerously democratic trend. In some areas of national life, reforms gained immediate acceptance, in others the old ways remained entrenched.

Spain has always been a country of extremes, of absolute alternatives. Spaniards strive to achieve impossible goals or they remain incredibly inert. With the discovery of America their ambitious undertakings excelled those of England or France, but subsequent neglect brought about failures of equal magnitude. In the sixteenth century they thought to conquer the world; in the next their weakened Hapsburg monarchs squandered the wealth of the New World while the country fell into economic ruin.

Following the revolution of 1910-1917, a new era took shape in the port of Veracruz, Mexico as residents (porteños) took to a variety of recreational pursuits that included baseball, social dances and, increasingly, film. No one activity proved more significant, however, than the revival of Carnival in 1925. That year, members of the Veracruz railroad workers union (Alianza de Ferrocarrileros) along with a coordinating committee made up of representatives from various community associations organized the first public celebration of Carnival in nearly five decades. Assembling just outside the union hall on the afternoon of Saturday February 21, 1925, hundreds joined in an afternoon parade that circulated through the central city. Carrying assorted musical instruments and noisemaking gadgets, an enthusiastic throng engaged in a hunt to capture a ritualistic “enemy of the people” known as Mal Humor. After members of the procession seized their prey, a tribunal headed by King Juan Carnaval tried the offender and sentenced him to death.

Juan Bautista Alberdi belonged to a generation of Argentines fervently dedicated to the ideal of lifting the Río de la Plata out of the internal chaos which had delayed national consolidation and economic growth since the time of independence. In his Bases y puntos de partida para la organización política de la república argentina, published in 1852, Alberdi asserted that only the railroad could effect the long awaited unification of the Argentine people. He stated: “Without the railroad political unity cannot be had in a country where distance makes central political power impossible.” “Political unity,” Alberdi added, “can only be begun through territorial unity, and only the railroad can make places separated by five hundred leagues a unified country.”

The reluctance of Costa Rica to join in cooperative political action with her Central American neighbors has for more than a century been a dominant theme in the relations of these states with each other. Costa Rican separatism—a traditional withdrawal or aloofness from Central American political affairs—has been cited in most studies as a powerful factor in the repeated failure of the attemptsof these nations to create a single Central American Government. Always apart by reason of geography, and largely ignored by Spain, the Costa Ricans acquired strong feelings of exceptionality in late colónial times near the end of the eighteenth century. The basis of this attitude was the conviction that they were being badly treated by other Central American provinces, Guatemala and Nicaragua in particular, who in various ways were responsible for Costa Rican administration. In the few years remaining before independence the Costa Rican distrust was substantially increased by Central American and international events. Independence in 1821 intensified this separatism and grossly compounded it by freeing the forces of localism in individual towns and villages.

The Subject of this Study lends itself to a threefold interpretation: it can refer to the books which Zumárraga himself wrote, or to the books which he edited and published, or to those which made up his library, in all probability the first library that existed in New Spain. However it be taken, a study of “The Books of Zumárraga” will give us a glimpse of one of the objects of the invincible zeal that inspired him in his broad vision of his duties as bishop and missionary, as the guide of souls and the father of his flock, occupied with all the necessities of the natives that dwelt within the immense territories comprised in his diocese.

In fact, the constitutive elements of his diocese were two: the conquerors and the conquered. The former, as was to be expected, had their full share of the spiritual defects which the lower nature of any army on active service seems all too prone to exhibit. These faults became even worse among the conquistadores of Mexico when their active service was done and they began to lead a soft, idle life that in many cases incited all their concupiscences.

Some years ago during one of the periodic crises which characterize Inter-American relations, a New York Times analyst concluded that it was almost impossible to obtain unanimity in this country on Latin American policy. With some reluctance the writer added that it was also impossible to make any policy of the United States liked “ down there.” Certainly the “ Platt ” Amendment of 1901 was one of the most controversial hemispheric policies ever formulated by the United States. Later embodied in the so-called Permanent Treaty with Cuba (1903–1934), it has evoked a wide range of praise and vilification. Yet even a cursory analysis of the extensive literature relating to this significant measure reveals serious misunderstanding concerning it.

Waldo Frank, who is now forgotten in Latin America, was once the most frequently read and admired North American author there. Though his work is largely neglected in the U.S., he was at one time the leading North American expert on Latin American writing. His name looms large in tracing the careers of Latin American writers in this country before 1940. Long before Franklin D. Roosevelt launched the Good Neighbor policy, Frank brought back to his countrymen news of Latin American culture.

Frank went to South America when he was almost forty. The youthful dreams of Frank and his fellow pre-World War I writers and artists to make their country a fit place for cultural renaissance that would change society had waned with the onset of the twenties.1 But they had not completely vanished. Disgruntled by the climate of "normalcy" prevailing in America after World War I, he turned to Latin America. He started out in the Southwest. The remnants of Mexican culture he found in Arizona and New Mexico enticed him to venture further into the Hispanic world. In 1921 he traveled extensively in Spain and in 1929 spent six months exploring Latin America.

On April 28, 1822, His Britannic Majesty's ship Doris, outward bound from Portsmouth, by way of Rio de Janeiro, entered the bay of Valparaíso in Chile with her flag halfmast. Aboard was the body of her captain, Thomas Graham, who had died as the vessel rounded Cape Horn. His widow Maria, looking out at the town that Sunday night, wrote in her journal:

The Evueví (commonly known as the “Payaguá”), a Guaycuruan tribe in southern South America, dominated the Paraguay and Paraná rivers for more than three centuries. Non-sedentary, similar in nature to the Chichimecas of northern Mexico and the Araucanians of southern Chile, the Evueví were riverine Indians whose life was seriously disrupted by the westward expansion of the Spanish and Portuguese in the Gran Chaco and Mato Grosso regions. This study will identify Evueví strategies for survival and analyze the nature of intercultural contact between the Indian and Spanish cultures. A study of the ethnohistory of the Evueví contributes to an understanding of the cultural adaptation of a non-sedentary indigenous tribe on the Spanish frontier whose salient features were prolonged Indian wars, Indian slavery, and missions. Such an analysis also provides an opportunity to analyze European attitudes and perceptions of a South American indigenous culture. Unlike other Amerindians, the unique characteristic of the Evueví was that Europeans perceived them as river pirates during the colonial era.

For the study of Spanish Florida's missions and natives the 1630 memorial by Fray Francisco Alonso de Jesus is a most important document that, strangely, has been little used to date. It ranks in significance with the 1675 letter of Bishop Gabriel Díaz Vara Calderón covering his pastoral visitation of Florida, published in 1936 by the Smithsonian Institution Press in a translation by Lucy N. Wenhold. Fray Alonso's memorial covers some of the same ground as the bishop's letter, but contains additional information dating from almost a half century earlier just before the beginning of the formal evangelization of the province of Apalachee. Fray Alonso covers topics such as the characteristics of the land, its trees and plants and minerals, its Indians and their customs, appearance, clothing, houses, council house, languages, government, inheritance system, tribute payment to native leaders, games, music, and dance, burial practices in heathen times, heathens who were clamoring for baptism in 1630, the number of doctrinas and villages and places belonging to the doctrinas, the number of Christians and catechumens, and the manner of construction of the churches.