The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848 acquired for the United States one-half of Mexican territory, while the Gadsden Purchase of 1853 secured a more level route for railroads destined to connect the south and the far west. Impatient investors, however, sought immediate union with the west, and the shortest route at hand was across the isthmus of Tehuantepec in southern Mexico. The Department of State advanced these interests, and only on failure turned their efforts to an overland route across Northern Mexico. This latter route would have connected Matamoros on the Rio Grande and Atlantic with Matzatlan on the Pacific. To this goal, Delphy Carlin, an American long-experienced in trade with Mexico, urged Secretary of State Lewis Cass. He was convinced that a line skirting the mountains and connecting these ports would be an ideal boundary; that “all north of that red line is a nuisance to Mexico.”

The “Conference on the History of Religion in the New World during Colonial Times,” which had been announced in The Americas (XIV, No. 2 (October, 1957), 191 f. & No. 3 (January, 1958), 313 f.), was held in the Woodrow Wilson room of the Library of Congress on December 17 and 18, 1957. Twenty-nine historians took part in the discussion of the formal studies which had been prepared in accordance with the published program. They had gathered from Brazil, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Mexico, Peru, Spain, and the United States. A number of students also attended from universities in this country and Canada.

In the vast panorama of colonial American government, Martín Enríquez de Almansa, Señor de Valderrábano, must be ranked among the most effective, intelligent, and conscientious governors sent to this hemisphere by Spanish monarchs. As fourth viceroy of Mexico (1568–1580) and sixth of Peru (1581–1583), Enríquez was of that distinguished official company—Mendoza, La Gasca, Toledo—which consolidated the loyalty of Spain’s Indies during a critical period of separatist pressures. Though often damned as a cantankerous character and handicapped by advanced age and poor health, Martín Enríquez firmly grasped and stubbornly held the reins of monarchical prestige, giving a restive Mexico twelve years of solid training in toeing the mark of viceregal authority. His twenty-two months in Lima, with death at his elbow, can be considered, at the least, a valuable “breather” which helped lessen irritations growing out of Toledo’s dynamic performance. And it was no small achievement that Martín Enríquez stayed in viceregal office so long during such critical years; this in itself points to an unusual personality, meriting investigation. But there is, of course, much more in the Enríquez story.

Many studies have been written concerning the mission. Generally, these choose the areas where the mission was relatively successful. This article is interested in one area, where the mission was not successful: eastern Peru. Neither Spain nor the Catholic Church was able to gain the permanent allegiance of the natives of that region. Certainly the failure cannot be totally ascribed to a lack of effort. Members of every religious order, Augustinian, Dominican, Franciscan, Jesuit, and Mercedarian, were employed by the crown. None reported more than the most modest and temporary successes. The Franciscans tried most of all and lost more than seventy-eight priests at the hands of the natives. For that reason, they are singled out in this study. Failures sometimes can teach as much as successes.

For the English, as well as for the Spanish of the sixteenth century, the first vision of America was highly paradisical and full of promise: this new land was without doubt the best of the world. The Indian who inhabited this land was the beautiful and docile “noble savage” of the Renaissance, favored with the highest physical and ethical qualities. The English at first defended the Indian, using all the niceties of expression and representation then in vogue. Even though the Indian was innocent, he was civilized: that is to say, he was outside the scheming, egoistical, harsh world of Europe. This stereotyped image was accepted by such writers as Le Moyne, De Bry, and White, who embellished and poetized the gentleness and goodness of the redskin; but it was not sufficient to assure the Indian a place in the Protestant spiritual milieu since it did not measure up to the biblical and predestinarian model. The first attempts at evangelization, for instance, the identification of the Indians as human, were carried out by simple Anglican colonists. These men, lacking true evangelical spirit, soon forgot about their earlier mission and instead of impressing spiritual ideas on the hearts of the Indians, they dedicated themselves almost exclusively to exploiting them and to demanding temporal riches of them without giving them in exchange the necessary doctrinal truths. However, since the Protestant God was much less patient and casuistic than the God of the Catholics, He soon became angry and the divine punishments were so terrible that the Anglican colonizers were wiped out in the sixteenth century. The English explanation for the failure was a spiritual one and not a material one. In reality the men of that age seemed to be able to find an excuse for their failures only from a religious point of view.

America became a reality in western civilization from the early period of the Golden Age in the literature of the Iberian peninsula. By the seventeenth century the works of a few outstanding personalities already born in America had been added to the bibliographical sources available in the European libraries and universities.

The literature of Puerto Rico has also had a place in the panorama of Spanish American letters since the arrival of European culture at the end of the fifteenth century and the era of conquest and colonization during the sixteenth century. The trends of the literary history of this Caribbean island have followed the pattern of the literary development in the New World. It was initiated with the letters and the chronicles, the epic poems and the annals of the first men entrusted with the mission of conquest and settlement in the newly acquired possessions.

The Great Seal of the United States, designed in the early days of the Republic, has on it symbolism whose significance is often overlooked. On one side is an eagle which grasps with one talon a branch and with the other a sheaf of arrows. Above its head are “E Pluribus Unum” and thirteen stars for the original states bound together in one nation. The other side has on it an unfinished pyramid. The foundation bears the number MDCCLXXVI. Above the pyramid is the eye of God flanked by the words “Annuit Coeptis,” namely, “He smiles on the undertakings.” Underneath is the phrase “Novus Ordo Seculorum,” meaning “New Order of the Ages.” Here succinctly is the vision which inspired the founding fathers of the new nation. The thirteen colonies had become one, prepared to face together the exigencies of the future, whether for preservation in self-defense or for cooperation in the arts of peace. Here was an attempt at building something novel in the history of mankind—a new and ordered structure. That structure, as yet incomplete, was based upon the Declaration of Independence, with its best-remembered phrases: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” Here is “the American dream.” As “four score and seven years” later Abraham Lincoln even more briefly described it, the new nation was “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” and its success or failure was a test whether “government of the people, by the people, for the people” could “long endure.” To that dream faith in God, in His creative activity, and in His sovereignty was basic.

For early North America and particularly its first creative writers (to 1831), William Robertson (1721–1793) seems to have been the chief source for all things pertaining to the Spanish in the New World. King’s chaplain, principal of the University of Edinburgh, and historiographer-royal of Scotland, Robertson achieved world-wide fame with his histories of Scotland, the reign of Charles V, and with A History of America. Of this last, the first eight books, published in 1777, dealt with the discovery of the western hemisphere and the conquests of Mexico and Peru.

These eight books furnished North America’s nationalist and early romantic writers, the epic poets of the late eighteenth century, and the romantic poets, novelists, and dramatists, even historians, writing into the early nineteenth with facts to be developed into Hispanic themes. One is led to suspect, moreover, that Robertson not only provided facts but, what may be more important, guided North America’s interpretation of them and the themes in the light of the popular fancies of the heroic Columbus, the “black legend,” and the “noble savage.”

Fray Antonio Margil was not the leader of the first group of missionaries to enter Texas. The entrada of which he was a member did not occur until 1716. However, previous to this, there had been only one serious attempt at permanent occupation of Texas by missionaries. This had occurred in 1690. The Spanish claim to Texas antedates this attempt at occupation by almost a hundred and fifty years. In order to present the work of Fray Antonio Margil with’ greater clarity, it will be well to show its exact position in the history of the territory by summarizing here the history of the occupation of Texas previous to the work of Fray Antonio.

Colonial Spanish America would have found the idea of publishing a periodical directed toward a feminine audience alien. Yet the colonial period was not long over when such periodicals began to appear in Mexico. Typical of those published in the period 1841–1855 were El Semanario de las señoritas mejicanas (3 vols.; México, 1841–1842) and La Semana de las señoritas mejicanas (5 vols.; México, 1851–1852). They have been examined in detail to determine what appeal the fledglings tried to make to Mexican society. El Album mexicano (2 vols.; México, 1849), La Camelia (México, 1853), El Album de las señoritas potosinas (San Luis Potosí, 1865) and, as examples of a later type, El Album de la mujer (Mexico, 1883–1890) and El Correo de las señoras (México, 1883–1893) have been used to supplement the information. While none of them achieved the success of Godey’s Lady’s Book which by 1860 claimed a circulation of 150,000, they did show that in the nineteenth century some publishers in Mexico were concerned with woman’s edification, education, and entertainment through reading.

I think it would be hard to overestimate the importance of such discussions as we are carrying on. From the beginning I was thrilled at the idea of being part of such a group. Historians are so commonly blamed, and I suppose rightly so in many cases, for encouraging and accentuating the differences between peoples and nations and groups that it is good for them to come together to discuss their common ground. Here I suppose, of all the possible topics, religion is most important. Every historian must begin with some conception of what is most important for human life, and this will condition all his work. And this suggests a form of exploration for each of us, at least privately. For with all our differences of background and understanding the fact that we are here suggests that we do believe it is important that such groups come together to discuss these matters. And this at least implies our conception of what really is “the last, best hope of earth.”

The Conselho Ultramarino in Portugal was created by King João IV in 1642 although there is some doubt that it functioned effectively until the following year in December. Certain it is that the king despatched an alvará under date of December 22, 1643, directed to all parts of the empire, telling all officials to send directly to the Council all correspondence concerning overseas provinces.

The first order of business for the fledgling Council was to request the king to clear up certain vague remarks in the founding regimento concerning their power. This regimento of 1642 had been based upon that given by Philip II in 1604 at the founding of the short-lived Conselho da India but contained important omissions, which seemed to lessen the scope of the new council and led to innumerable questions of authority between the Conselho and the Mesa da Consciencia e Ordens in matters ecclesiastical.

No tourist who visits central Mexico will fail to pay a visit to the world-famous lake of Pátzcuaro. This beautiful and placid lake, with the several islands which dot its surface and the surrounding hills that frame it, formed, in olden times, the hub of the Michoacán Kingdom. Even today, it is the main habitat of the peaceloving Tarascan Indians who cluster around it and, partly at least, live on its abundant fish. An ancient author tells us that the word Michoacán means “fishing place,” and that the main occupation of the early Indians was the mild art of fishing, so opposed to the war-like activities of their neighbors to the east, the cruel Aztecs.

It is a constant theme of all writers on Canada that the feat of “extending the thin ribbon of population towards the Pacific and of holding all together demanded both the alert resourcefulness of the pioneer and the strategic daring and tactical caution of the true statesman.” It is also affirmed that “in the annals of political architecture the formation of the Dominion of Canada deserves a foremost place.” Both in the process of extension and in the formation of the federal constitution the leaders of the Canadian churches played a vital role. Also they helped to give substantial reality to an artificially contrived nation by fashioning their own church structures in accordance with the new national boundaries of 1867. But what was far more important, they actively cooperated, perhaps even against their own inner convictions, in bringing about a modus vivendi between the two warring cultures that found themselves compelled to live together in one house. Preceding the present “mutual agreement to forgive and forget” there is a long story of religious warfare and rivalry which ought to be of interest to church historians generally, if only to gain some insight into the character of a Christianity which has been so largely shaped under negative conditions.

Historical evaluation of the Morrow mission to Mexico, October, 1927 to September, 1930, has been ill-served by polemicists, adulators, and critics who have misrepresented the state of relations between the United States and Mexico in 1927, misinterpreted the nature of Morrow’s accomplishments, and overemphasized the persistence of the problems with which he had to deal. It is the purpose of this paper to clarify the circumstances attendant on Morrow’s appointment, to describe the character of his mission, and to evaluate the consequences of his efforts in Mexico.

In commenting upon the importance of works of fiction the historian finds himself in strange waters, but with familiar tools at his command. Except as signs of the times, few novels would merit such a serious approach, but the exceptions can be most rewarding. The importance of fiction, both for good and for bad, has long been recognized. It does not have to be great literature to be significant: it has to be popular. Uncle Tom’s Cabin and the fictional output of the “Muckrakers” have had profound influences on the thought and history of the United States. The popularity of Captain Marryat’s sea novels changed the regulations of the British Navy. Kipling almost “set” the accepted concept of relations between the East and West in his manifold descriptions of the “White Man’s Burden” —again because of his popularity as a writer. These are but a few of the examples that can be culled from an examination of the fiction to be found in the English language, and there are many others equally significant. Fiction can establish patterns of thought on past and present problems that should make biographers, essayists, and historians jealous, as established patterns of thought can go far toward making or changing history.

After a border skirmish at the Rio Grande on April 25, 1846, A Mexico and the United States were at war, and within a few months Zachary Taylor’s troops had overrun the north, reaching Monterrey and Saltillo. At the same time an expedition under Winfield Scott landed at Vera Cruz and pushed inward along the ancient road of conquest, reaching the gates of Mexico City by August, 1847. Mexican resistance was heroic and determined in spots, but disorganization and poor leadership played havoc with any attempt at national defense. The capital fell and was occupied by the invaders, the Mexican government fled to Querétaro, and an ignominious peace treaty was negotiated and accepted by the helpless Mexicans, though not without serious opposition from the radical (puro) element which favored a last-ditch resistance. With the rapid subjection of the country and the loss of more than half its territory, the once proud and optimistic nation of Iturbide was left stunned; and it turned to bitter reflection upon its paralyzed condition and its flagrant display of weakness when faced by a small and not too efficient force of invaders.

The very independence of Mexico was now threatened. Such an easy victory by a powerful neighbor would mean that Mexico might at any time be absorbed by the United States, especially when there was a movement for that purpose already afoot north of the Rio Grande. The easy optimism of the early days of the republic had now vanished. The shock of military disaster, after the dismal decade of mediocrity and humdrum military revolutions, accentuated a crisis in Mexican thought. Both liberals and conservatives now saw the necessity of imposing radical changes upon the course of independent Mexico. Since the overthrow of the radical Gómez Farias government in 1834, the country had been allowed to drift, and when the Americans invaded, its vigor appeared to be gone. In spite of the presence of a sizable moderate party, the factions became sharply differentiated as they had never been before in the history of the republic, except perhaps for the year 1832. Liberals and conservatives appealed to their traditional programs for solutions to Mexico’s crisis of 1847, and the seeds were sown for a great conflict.

For more than three centuries in the territories dependent upon the Spanish crown, the shields of bishops or of religious orders dominated the façade of the universities and of the institutions of learning; during that same period, the title pages of books of any scientific merit almost invariably carried the name of a tonsured author; architectural monuments of every class proclaimed the patronage of prelates or the protection of saints recognizing thereby their origin and purpose; schools, colleges and institutions of letters of every kind flourished in the shadow of the parishes and of the monasteries; music and theatrical functions confessed their origin in sacred ceremonies; the prirlting presses began their function under the auspices of ecclesiastics and their entire production during those centuries bears this seal. In short, the names of the university professors and of the teachers in the other educational institutions form an almost unending list of dignitaries, either of the secular clergy or of the regular, so that any summary of the outstanding figures of the intellectual life of that period shows a tremendous percentage of individuals who wore the clerical garb. It is an axiom, indeed, that the Church was in Spanish America the active patron of culture and the sponsor of knowledge almost from the day following that of the discovery. Today, fortunately, such a statement is again commonly accepted, although it was not an easy task to reach this agreement.