In the year 1624, Mexico was, for a time, in a state of great distraction, and well nigh revolted from the Spanish throne. The passion for acquiring fortune, which had manifested itself somewhat in other viceroys, seems in Gelves unbounded. He resolved to achieve his end by a bold stroke; and, in 1623, having determined to monopolize the staff of life among the Indians and creoles, he despatched one of the wealthiest Mexicans, Don Pedro de Mexia, to buy up corn in all the provinces at the rate of fourteen reales, the sum fixed by law at which the corn was sold in times of famine. The farmers, who, of course, knew nothing of Mexia's plan readily disposed of their corn, with which the artful purveyor filled his store houses all over the country. After the remnant of the crop was brought to market and sold, men began to compare notes, and suddenly discovered that corn was no where to be procured, save from the granaries of Mexia. "The poor began to murmur, the rich began to complain; and the tariff of fourteen reales was demanded from the viceroy." But he, the secret accomplice of Mexia, decided, that as the crops had been plentiful during the year, it could not be regarded as one of scarcity according to the evident intention of the law, so that it would be unfair to reduce the price of grain to that of famine. And thus the people, balked in their effort to obtain justice from their ruler, though suffering from extreme imposition, resolved to bear the oppression, rather than resort to violence for redress.
After awhile, however, the intimacy between Gelves and Mexia became more apparent as the confederates supposed they had less cause for concealment; and the poor, again, besought the viceroy for justice and the legal tariff. But the temptation was too great for the avaricious representative of the king. He again denied their petition; and, then, as a last hope, they resorted to a higher power, which, in such conflicts with their rulers, had usually been successful.
In those days, Don Alonzo de la Serna, a man of lofty character and intrepid spirit, was archbishop of Mexico, and perceiving the avaricious trick of the viceroy and his pimp, threw himself on the popular side and promptly excommunicated Mexia. But the sturdy merchant, protected by viceroyal authority, was not to be conquered by so immaterial a thing as a prelate's curse placarded on the door of a cathedral. He remained quietly ensconced in his house, despatched orders to his agents, and even raised the price of his extravagant bread stuffs. For a moment, perhaps, De la Serna was confounded by this rebellious son of the church, yet the act convinced him, if indeed, he entertained any doubt on the subject, that Mexia was backed by the viceroy, and, consequently, that any further attempts would bring him in direct conflict with the government. Nevertheless, a man like him was not to be easily alarmed or forced to retreat so quickly. The church, supreme in spiritual power, would never yield, especially in a matter of popular and vital concern, and the archbishop, therefore, determined to adopt the severest method at once, and by an order of cessatio divinis, to stop, immediately, all religious worship throughout the colony. This was a direful interdict, the potency of which can only be imagined by those who have lived in Catholic countries whose piety is not periodically regulated upon the principle of a seven day clock, but where worship is celebrated from hour to hour in the churches. The doors of chapels, cathedrals and religious buildings were firmly closed. A death-like silence prevailed over the land. No familiar bells sounded for matins or vespers. The people, usually warned by them of their hours of labor or repose, had now no means of measuring time. The priests went from house to house, lamenting the grievous affliction with which the country was visited and sympathizing cordially with the people. The church mourned for the unnatural pains her rebellious son had brought upon her patient children. But still the contumacious Mexia sold his corn and exacted his price!
At length, however, popular discontent became so clamorous, that even among this orderly and enduring people, the life of the viceroy's agent was no longer safe. He retreated therefore from his own dwelling to the palace, which was strongly guarded, and demanded protection from Gelves. The viceroy admitted him and took issue with the archbishop. He immediately sent orders to the priests and curates of the several parishes, to cause the orders of interdict and excommunication to be torn from the church walls, and all the chapels to be thrown open for service. But the resolute clergy, firm in their adherence to the prelate, would receive no command from the viceroy. Finding the churches still closed, and the people still more clamorous and angry, Gelves commanded De la Serna to revoke his censures; but the archbishop answered, that "what he had done was but an act of divine justice against a cruel oppressor of the poor, whose cries had moved him to compassion, and that the offender's contempt for his excommunication had deserved the rigor of both of his censures, neither of which he would recall until Don Pedro de Mexia submitted himself reverently to the church, received public absolution, and threw up the unconscionable monopoly wherewith he had wronged the commonwealth." "But," says the chronicle of the day, "the viceroy, not brooking the saucy answer of a churchman, nor permitting him to imitate the spirit of the holy Ambrose against the Emperor Theodosius," forthwith sent orders to arrest De la Serna, and to carry him to Vera Cruz, where he was to be confined in the castle of San Juan de Ulua until he could be despatched to Spain. The archbishop, however, followed by a long train of his prebends, priests, and curates, immediately retired from the capital to the neighboring village of Guadalupe, but left a sentence of excommunication on the cathedral door against the viceroy himself! This was too much for the haughty representative of the Spanish king to bear without resentment, and left no means open for conciliation between church and state. Gelves could as little yield now, as De la Serna could before, and of course, nothing remained for him but to lay violent hands on the prelate wherever he might be found. His well paid soldiers were still faithfully devoted to the viceroy, and he forthwith committed the archbishop's arrest to a reckless and unscrupulous officer named Tirol. As soon as he had selected a band of armed men, upon whose courage and obedience he could rely, this person hastened to the village of Guadalupe. In the meantime the archbishop was apprised of his coming and prepared to meet him. He summoned his faithful clergy to attend in the sanctuary of the church, clad in their sacred vestments. For the first time, after many a long and weary day, the ears of the people were saluted by the sound of bells calling them to the house of God. Abandoning their business, some of them immediately filled the square, eagerly demanding by what blessed interposition they had been relieved from the fearful interdict,—while others thronged the doors and crowded the aisles of the long forsaken chapel. The candles on the altar were lighted; the choir struck up a solemn hymn for the church; and, then, advancing along the aisle in gorgeous procession, De la Serna and his priestly train took up their position in front of the tabernacle, where, crowned with his mitre, his crozier in one hand, and the holy sacrament in the other, this brave prelate awaited the forces which had been sent to seize him. It is difficult to say, if De la Serna designed by so imposing a spectacle to strike awe into the mind of the sacrilegious soldier, or whether he thought it his duty to be arrested, if arrested he must be, at that altar he had sworn to serve. It is probable, however, from his exalted character and courage, that the latter was the true motive of his act, and if so, he met his fate nobly in the cause of justice and religion.
Tirol was not long in traversing the distance between Mexico and Guadalupe. As soon as he arrived, he entered the church accompanied by his officers and seemed appalled by the gorgeous and dramatic display round the shrine. Not a whisper was heard in the edifice as the crowd slowly parted to make way for the soldiers, who advanced along the aisle and humbly knelt, for a moment, at the altar in prayer. This done, Tirol approached De la Serna, and with "fair and courteous words" required him to lay down the sacrament, to quit the sanctuary, and to listen to the orders issued in the royal name. The archbishop abruptly refused to comply, and answered, that "As the viceroy was excommunicated he regarded him as beyond the pale of the church and in no way empowered to command in Mexico;" he, therefore, ordered the soldiers, as they valued the peace of their souls, to desist from infringing the privileges of the church by the exercise of secular power within its limits, and, he finally declared "that he would, on no account, depart from the altar unless torn from it with the sacrament." Upon this Tirol arose, and read the order for his arrest, describing him as a "traitor to the king, a disturber of the peace, and a mover of sedition in the commonwealth."
De la Serna smiled contemptuously at the officer as he finished, and taunted him with the viceroy's miserable attempt to cast upon the church the odium of sedition, when his creature Mexia was, in fact, the shameless offender. He conjured Tirol "not to violate the sanctuary to which he had retreated, lest his hand should be withered like that of Jeroboam, who stretched forth an arm against the prophet of the Lord at the altar!"
Tirol seems to have been a man upon whose nerves such appeals had but little effect. He was a blunt soldier, who received the orders of his superiors and performed them to the letter. He had been ordered to arrest the archbishop wherever he found him, and he left the ecclesiastical scandal to be settled by those who sent him. Beckoning to a recreant priest who had been tampered with and brought along for the purpose, he commanded him in the king's name, to wrest the sacrament from the prelate's hand. The clergyman, immediately mounting the steps of the altar, obeyed the orders, and the desecrated bishop at once threw off his pontifical robes and yielded to civil power. The cowardly Mexicans made no attempt to protect their intrepid friend, who, as he left the sanctuary, paused for a moment and stretched his hands in benediction over the recreants. Then bidding an affectionate farewell to his clergy, whom he called to witness how zealously he had striven to preserve the church from outrage, as well as the poor from plunder, he departed as a prisoner for Vera Cruz, whence he was despatched for Spain in a vessel expressly equipped for his conveyance.
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For a while the people were panic struck at this high-handed movement against the archbishop, but when the momentary effect had passed away and they began to reflect on the disgrace of the church as well as the loss of their protector, they vented their displeasure openly against Mexia and the viceroy. The temper of the masses was at once noticed by the clergy, who were still faithful to their persecuted bishop, nor did they hesitate to fan the flame of discontent among the suffering Indians, Mestizos and Creoles, who omitted no occasion to express their hatred of the Spaniards, and especially of Tirol, who had been the viceroy's tool in De la Serna's arrest. A fortnight elapsed after the occurrences we have just detailed, and that daring officer had already delivered his prisoner at Vera Cruz, and returned to Mexico. Popular clamor at once became loud against him; whenever he appeared in public he was assailed with curses and stones; until, at last, an enraged mob attacked him in his carriage with such violence that it was alone owing to the swiftness of the mules, lashed by the affrighted postillion, that he escaped into the viceroyal palace, whose gates were immediately barred against his pursuers. Meantime the news had spread over town that this "Judas,"—"this excommunicated dog,"—had taken refuge with Gelves, and the neighboring market place became suddenly filled with an infuriated mob, numbering near seven thousand Indians, negroes and mulattoes, who rushed towards the palace with the evident intention of attacking it. Seeing this outbreak from a window, the viceroy sent a message to the assailants desiring them to retire, and declaring that Tirol had escaped by a postern. But the blood of the people was up, and not to be calmed by excuses. At this juncture several priests entered the crowd, and a certain Salazar was especially zealous in exciting the multitude to summary revenge. The pangs of hunger, were, for a moment, forgotten in the more bitter excitement of religious outrage. By this time the mob obtained whatever arms were nearest at hand. Poles, pikes, pistols, guns, halberds, and stones were brought to the ground, and fierce onsets were made on every accessible point of the palace. Neither the judges nor the police came forward to aid in staying the riot and protecting Gelves:—"Let the youngsters alone," exclaimed the observers, "they will soon find out both Mexia and Tirol, as well as their patron, and the wrongs of the people will be quickly redressed!" A portion of the mob drew off to an adjacent prison, whose doors were soon forced and the convicts released.
At length, things became alarming to the besieged inmates of the palace, for they seemed to be entirely deserted by the respectable citizens and police. Thereupon the viceroy ascended to the azotéa or flat roof of the palace with his guard and retainers, and, displaying the royal standard, caused a trumpet to be sounded calling the people to uphold the king's authority. But the reply to his summons was still in an unrelenting tone—"Viva el Rey! Muera el mal gobierno; mueran los dos comulgados!" "Long live the king! but down with the wicked government, and death to the excommunicated wretches!" These shouts, yelled forth by the dense and surging mob, were followed by volleys, discharged at the persons on the azotéa, who, for three hours, returned the shots and skirmished with the insurgents. Stones, also, were hurled from the parapet upon the crowd, but it is related in the chronicles of the time, that not a single piece of ordnance was discharged upon the people, "for the viceroy, in those days, had none for the defence of his palace or person, neither had that great city any for its strength and security."