Under these circumstances, of course, the dominant general, Santa Anna, was elected President. For Vice-President the choice fell upon Valentín Gómez Farías, leader of the radical Federalists. In many ways Farías deserved warm admiration. He was active, indefatigable, fearless, thoroughly honest, and willing—perhaps a little more than willing—to serve the public in the humblest or the highest office. He loved Mexico ardently, and he believed in the supremacy of law and the civil authority. Unfortunately, however, his education was inadequate for the work he undertook to do; and he lacked prudence, patience and common sense. In short, he may be characterized as a fanatical democrat and political idealist.[7]
Santa Anna now had the army at his back, but he desired to have also the privileged classes there, and they had been exasperated by his overthrowing Bustamante. He therefore decided to let them see they needed him; and, retiring early in 1833 to his estate—which in fact he enjoyed much more than bearing the burdens of administration—he left the Vice-President in power. Farías then undertook to transform Mexico, by merely saying “Open Sesame!” to the Federalist majority in Congress, into a modern, liberal, orderly and prosperous nation; and reform projects made their appearance at once. The privileges of the army were boldly attacked and still more those of the Church, which aimed to be in the social order enough to dominate it, yet enough outside to escape from all obligations. Farías proposed, therefore, without having a well-digested plan, to reassert the supreme authority formerly exercised by the king, abolish the clerical fuero and the compulsory tithes, provide for popular, lay education, and bring into productive circulation the immense wealth controlled by the Church; and Congress, fully aware that reforms were necessary, dazzled by the boldness and novelty of his programme, and misled by the Mexican faith in theories and formulæ, supported him.[7]
Naturally such projects and their foreseen consequences roused the clericals and all in that camp to fury, and the proprietors of great estates also grew alarmed. The President felt his time had come, and in May, therefore, he resumed his functions. The progress of reform promptly halted, and soon it was announced that Santa Anna, ingeniously made a prisoner by his own troops, had been proclaimed dictator. Undoubtedly he expected the mutiny that now broke out at the capital to overthrow the government; but Farías, again in power during the President’s absence, quelled the revolt, and Santa Anna found it necessary to “escape” and resume his office.[7]
A CHANGE OF RÉGIME
Pretending still with consummate address to favor both parties—though really a Centralist now—he made both of them court and fear him, and proved his power by breaking down and then restoring the army. Of course, however, these manoeuvres excited suspicion. The privileged classes, though anxious for his support, hesitated to pledge him theirs, and so he returned on a six months’ leave of absence to his figurative plow, leaving Tornel, whom an American minister described as “a very bad man,” to scheme in his interest. The now embittered and excited forces of reform were thus unleashed, and before long the Church and the rich proprietors offered the Cincinnatus of Manga de Clavo absolute power on condition that he should protect them. In April, 1834, therefore, two months before his leave was to expire, he took possession of the supreme power again, and was hailed by the clergy as a new Messiah. Supported soon by the revolutionary “plan” of Cuernavaca, he made himself in effect a dictator. The cause of reform was harshly checked and turned back. Congress found the door of its hall barred; and Farías, covered with abuse, was driven from the country.[7]
Secretly encouraging reactionary insurrections and instigating demands for a centralized régime, though still professing publicly the other creed, Santa Anna ordered the people to surrender their weapons, and crushed with a ruthless hand the state of Zacatecas, which dared to oppose his will. “Worthy son of the father of lies,” “unrivalled chameleon,” “shameless hypocrite,” “atheist and blasphemer,” shrieked his opponents. “With the tranquility of a tiger, which, sated with the flesh of its prey, reposes on what it does not wish to devour, Santa Anna reports his victory,” cried El Crepúsculo. But resentment counted for nothing; Mexico was prostrate. Late in 1835, therefore, a packed Congress of self-seeking politicians decided upon centralization, and it was understood that Santa Anna would be chosen President for ten years, with a longer term and a higher title in prospect. But now the scene was tragically shifted. In March, 1836, the Texans declared their independence. The Napoleon of the West fell into their hands at San Jacinto, where they defeated his army; and, as an inkling got abroad of the unpatriotic agreements made with his captors while in fear of revenge for his cruelties, he thought it wise to announce, on returning to Mexico in 1837, a definitive retirement from public life.[7]
According to the organic law, any proposed constitutional change had to remain under consideration for two years; but the Congress of 1835, not minding a trifle like this, drew up as fast as possible what it named the Seven Laws—called by others the Seven Plagues. By December, 1836, despite the resistance and threats of the Federalists, the new régime was fully organized, and Bustamante soon held the reins again. The Church and the wealthy were now satisfied. The army also felt pleased, for the Federalists denounced its privileges, the cost of the many state offices created by them reduced the amount of money it could get, and an aristocratic government seemed likely to need it constantly and pay it with some regularity; and so the prospect was, especially with Santa Anna eliminated, that the new regime would be stable.[7]
But among the aristocrats it had become unfashionable by this time to meddle with politics. The groups that made up the dominant party, though united against the democrats, had little else in common. Each group desired to enjoy privileges and shun burdens; each aimed to exploit the nation; and there was not enough to satisfy all. The expulsion of the Spaniards had weakened the numbers, ability, energy and wealth of the party; and now, as after every revolution, it proved so impossible to fulfill the promises made to win support, that soon disappointed friends were allying themselves with open enemies.[8]
A new difficulty, too, arose, for under a centralized system the government had to assume financial responsibilities previously borne by the states. A strong treasury was therefore essential; yet the rich, and in particular the clergy, would not pay enough to carry on the government they had established. Consequently funds had to be borrowed, Church property being the only available security; and the clergy, instead of meeting the terms of the money-lenders, busily hid or exported their wealth. Every dollar that could be raised had to be given the army as the price of its allegiance, and for six months not one civil employé, from the President down, received a salary. In October, 1837, the ministry resigned in a body, and would not return to their desks, for nobody cared to support so heavy a load when there was no chance to steal or even to get paid.[8]
Early in November the British representative, although the legation had all along sympathized with the aristocratic party, reported that Centralism had completely failed; and it was notorious that Bustamante himself desired a restoration of Federalism as the only possible expedient. Seeing their enemies divided, the liberals took heart, and petitions for a change of system were soon pouring in from the departments, which had now taken the places of the states. Dissatisfaction spread. Pronunciamientos began, and only the popularity of Bustamante, who had mellowed with age and foreign travel during his period of eclipse, maintained the government. Yet Federalism could not act, for at this juncture the French minister was pressing claims, and the two wings of the party—the moderates led by Pedraza and the radicals led by Farías—disagreed passionately on this foreign issue. A complete state of anarchy prevails, reported our consul at Mexico in December, 1838.[8]