Justin H. Smith - The Mexican-American War (Vol. 1&2)

This very month rang the bell for the next scene. General Mariano Paredes, another important figure in the history of our war with Mexico, was a brave but rather besotted officer, more honest but less clever than his leading contemporaries. On a mere pretext, though he owed much to Bustamante, he revolted; more or less in collusion with him Santa Anna pronounced as mediator; and General Valencia, correctly described by an American consul as “destitute of every principle of honor or honesty,” treacherously getting hold of what was called the citadel at Mexico, rebelled on his own account: check from two knights and a castle, as Señora Calderón wittily described the situation. Weary, disgusted, indifferent, cynical, men heard unmoved the “Quién vive?” and “Centinela alerte!” of the insurgents at the capital, and between two puffs of their cigarettes gossiped about the revolution as if it had occurred in Europe. It was only a game of chess, and the public were spectators. They understood now that nearly all the pompous phrases of the politicians had meant, as Lara’s Revista Política of 1840 put it, “Move, and let me have your place.”8

In this confusion Santa Anna, whom the conservatives had now decided to support instead of the inefficient Bustamante, came rapidly to the front. His triumph was soon foreseen, and the nation acquiesced. Most people knew he was a villain, but felt that at any rate he possessed energy. Probably he could keep order, they said, and perhaps, if entirely trusted, would act well. If not, one big rascal could not be so bad as many little ones; and at the very least any change must be an improvement. In reality this bold, cunning, hungry, sharp adventurer, who knew what he wanted and got it, dazzled the average Mexicans. They saw in him a fulfilment of themselves, and in letting him rule they had the feeling of success without the trouble.8

For a while Bustamante, whose government practically faded out in September, 1841, resisted with dignity though with no chance of survival; but at length, in a fit of desperation, he cut the ground of legality from under his own feet by pronouncing for Federalism, and on October 7, Santa Anna, driving rapidly through Mexico behind four white horses belonging to a stockbroker, with a retinue of splendid coaches and an immense escort of cavalry, took up his quarters at the palace in Tacubaya, a few miles beyond. Yet not a single viva greeted his magnificent entry or his address to Congress. Memory paralyzed admiration. In despair, not love, Mexico consented to be his.8

By the new arrangement, called the Bases of Tacubaya, a new Congress was to draw a new constitution. Meantime some one, the choice of a junta appointed by the successful chief, was to have the powers “necessary for the organization of all branches of the public service,” and naturally Santa Anna himself received the votes of his junta. This arrangement was regarded by the nation as a mere parenthesis, but the General held a different idea. On October 10, the gloomy old cathedral was as bright as gold, silver, gems and hundreds of candles could make it. Troops entered the sacred precincts, and formed to the music of drums and cornets. The archbishop proceeded to the main entrance in cope and mitre, holding in his hands a crucifix equally beautiful and precious, and there he waited for about three quarters of an hour, when a military officer, who had not even deigned to put on full dress, marched in and seated himself on a splendid throne. A large suite of generals followed, but none of them ventured to sit, though the Te Deum lasted an hour; and finally the man on the throne rose and took this oath: I swear to God—to do as I please; for such was the meaning of the Bases. Hardened by seeing his superior astuteness, audacity and energy balked so many times by circumstances and a lack of confidence in his honor, Santa Anna proposed, now that he once more had the power, to grip it with a hand of steel.9

As dictator he indulged himself by running through the entire diapason from childishness to omnipotence, announcing impossibilities and attempting absurdities. The freedom of the press and the freedom of speech were violated. The tariff was juggled with for selfish pecuniary reasons. He ordered the university to give one of his friends a degree and a chair—that is to say, learning and a profession. He closed a bank without allowing it the time to liquidate. He put up a cheap building of rubble work that was merely an eyesore—though Tornel compared it to the Simplon road of Napoleon—and the city government had to fall down and worship it. His amputated foot was dug up and reinterred with extraordinary pomp. On the top of a monument was erected a gilded statue of him pointing toward Texas, though some said it was pointing at the mint. The Church, now governed by the soft Archbishop Posada, drowsy with satisfaction and carelessly fattening on sweetmeats presented to him by adoring nuns, was forced to make “loans”; and payments on public debts, for which revenues had been solemnly pledged, were suspended.9

Nothing, one might almost say, was too great or too small for Santa Anna, if it looked auriferous. No coach wheel could turn without first paying a tax. Anybody with a promising scheme to get national funds could find a partner at the palace. Brokers and contractors took the places of politicians; wealthy merchants, able to loan great sums at great percentages, took the places of statesmen. Corruption was rampant everywhere, of course. “An arbitrary system, indeed, must always be a corrupt one,” as Burke said; “there never was a man who thought he had no law but his own will, who did not soon find that he had no end but his own profit.” These words describe Santa Anna’s course. And when his chest was full enough and his army big enough, putting a substitute in his place and shaking off the cares of state, he went down to enjoy his gambling and cockfighting and plan his next political move at Manga de Clavo, secure from observation and protected by troops. Hints of a formal dictatorship began to be heard.9

To keep up appearances, however, he summoned the proposed Congress. A majority of the members were Federalists, but he promptly informed it that Federalism would not do, and when they insisted on their notion, Tornel, the minister of war, who was glad to be his lackey and wear the livery of the house, barred Congress out of its hall. Presently, without a sign of protest from any one, it was dissolved by decree; and then eighty persons, chosen by the administration, drew up a new constitution called the Organic Bases. Valencia was president of this junta; and both he and Paredes began to plot against the dictator. Santa Anna forced them to swallow their ambitions for the time being, however, and by dint of military interference—though his enemies were bestirring themselves and he was now increasingly unpopular—he became President in January, 1844, under the new constitution. This appeared like a concession to legality, but no doubt it was intended as a recoil for another spring. His dream of empire still went on, it was fully believed.9

Although the minister of justice described this period as “an epoch of glory” and an “era of absolute felicity,” the new Congress manifested a disposition to antagonize the President; but an almost supernatural dread of him paralyzed even his enemies, and he readily bowled them over. Then he was given a special sum of four millions for war with Texas; and after that sum was promptly absorbed, he demanded not only ten millions more but “extraordinary powers” to lay taxes. This meant that he wanted to have every man’s property at his disposal, and it was generally believed that with a foreign war as excuse he would soon try to make himself autocrat. Congress resisted, and before long was suspended.9