In the eyes of many European contemporaries, and even in those of a multitude of their own people, the condition of the erstwhile Spanish South American colonists showed no glimmer of hope for a considerable time after the much-desired liberation had actually been obtained. Yet all this time the leaven was working very slowly, but very surely. The fact, indeed, was that, although the acts and circumstances, politically speaking, of the River Plate provinces grew wilder and more desperate, the human substance of the nation was steadily improving and becoming enlightened—a somewhat curious paradox! Even during the tyranny of the most remorseless of the caudillos the enlightenment was working its way among the mass of the people.
The influx of foreigners alone worked an enormous influence in this direction. A country which until the revolution had been governed in a more autocratic fashion than probably any other in the modern history of the world had suddenly opened its doors, and its people stood blinking in the powerful light shining from the European civilization—an outer world, of which the majority of the colonists had had no previous conception.
That many of these should have lost their heads was quite inevitable. A number of intellectuals took France's Jean-Jacques Rousseau and her other contemporary prophets as models, or rather as gods, before whom they fell down and worshipped. The trend of the nation became strongly and even curiously materialistic. In this respect it must be confessed that Argentina and Uruguay more especially have continued to follow the French school of thought.
This departure in itself was enough to cause a profound disturbance in the breasts of the majority of those in themselves neither leaders nor intellectuals, but plain men imbued with the very true, if intensely narrow, devotion and piety of the old-fashioned Spaniard. The force of the convulsion was doubled from the mere fact of its astonishing suddenness, and the religious and political earthquake, once started, went rumbling and roaring ceaselessly the length of the startled Continent.
Speaking quite frankly, there seems very little doubt that in the two countries mentioned the influence of religion died in the birth struggles of the Republics. In the course of the innumerable civil wars which tortured these lands for half a century and more afterwards, religious emblems were from time to time employed, and priests were occasionally attached to one faction or the other; but the records of these latter are such as to show that they had entirely lost to sight their sacred calling, and a number, such as Felix Aldao, became politicians and leaders of these bands, and executed and drank with the wildest of their men. On a few occasions a religious pretext was actually seized upon by one or two caudillos, who in the most barefaced fashion endeavoured to make this cloak serve their ends.
A notable instance of this was afforded by the famous Argentine chieftain Quiroga. This worthy was altogether one of the wildest of his kind. Indeed, at one period he stood self-confessed as a land pirate by the ensign which he adopted—a black flag, with a skull and cross-bones. On one occasion, however, when a religious dispute had broken out among his more intellectual neighbours, Quiroga determined to intervene on behalf of religion. So, when he next made his appearance at the head of his cavalry, not a little amazement was mingled with the dread with which the spectators were wont to regard his grim personality. For the skull and cross-bones had disappeared from the chieftain's banner, and in their place floated the words, "Religion or death." It was evident that Quiroga was determined that whatever he took up should be seriously undertaken!
On several occasions Rome endeavoured to intervene, but on each occasion was met with rebuff. Leaders, such as Francia of Paraguay, appointed their own clergy, and, quite regardless of any outside authority whatever, made or unmade priests, and, in fact, dealt in sacred things to their hearts' content. Francia retained his Bishop in a capacity which was little more than that of a body-servant. This Bishop he had himself promoted from the most ignorant country priest of a most ignorant country.
Probably no other portion of the history of the modern world shows such unbridled licence as was exercised in almost every Republic of the Continent during the first half of its freedom.
Perhaps one of the most curious phenomena of the post-revolutionary era of South America was the rapidity with which the majority of the original leaders disappeared from the stage of public life. San Martin had voluntarily forsaken the scene of his triumphs. In one sense he was fortunate, since the fierce rivalry which arose at the conclusion of the War of Independence left his colleagues little chance of making their congé with a similar amount of dignity.
Bolivar died impoverished and exiled, one of the most sublime and tragic figures of the revolution. O'Higgins, it is true, divested himself of his insignia of office by a spontaneous act. This, however, only came about when the opposing parties had stretched forth their hands to clutch at each other's throats. In the majority of cases the ending of the careers of these early patriots was equally abrupt.