in all matters civil and military. The viceroy, therefore, in selecting the governor of New Mexico, did not require the approval of the audiencia, the second of the three entities which constituted the district court of appeals. The third entity, the episcopate, the system of church government by bishops, was charged with ecclesiastical administration. The king knew that litigation among the three resulting from petty jealousies and jurisdictional disputes would check the power of each, while keeping him informed of affairs in the most remote corners of the Spanish empire.
* * *
Kind to his friends, cruel to his enemies, the viceroy was a man of practical skills. To assure that civil and military authority remained in his control, he sought the advice of others but ruled alone. Astute and unusually accurate in his judgment of men and other matters, he had the ultimate responsibility of choosing the new governor, and he wanted Luis de Rosas.
Looking around the room at the men who were gathered there the viceroy placed his right hand on top of Rosas’s left hand and said, “Senores, as you’re aware, don Luis and I have been meeting to work out the various aspects of his contract as governor of New Mexico, and I’m convinced that I have the right man for this assignment. But do not think that we’re here for you merely to ratify my choice. I earnestly seek your advice and counsel in the selection of governor for New Mexico. And I especially request your assistance in the instructions he is to receive relative to the conduct of his office. In the Lord’s name,” he said, as he smiled at those before him, “I now ask for your advice and assistance.”
Don Juan de Palafox, visitor general and president of the audiencia, whose velvet stockings and matching slippers were briefly visible beneath his black cassock, gazed about the room. He knew that it was his responsibility to set the tone for the inquiry, since few of the others would question the viceroy’s choice in the selection of governor. If, therefore, his was the only voice the viceroy and governor-applicant might hear, he had to ask the questions the other members of the audiencia were reluctant to express.
The duo, Rosas and Palafox, observed one another shrewdly, each trying to deduce the thoughts of the other. The pause gave Rosas and the president time to evaluate the gap that lay between them and the audiencia members, time to advise one another as to where their advantage and security lay.
There was a long moment before the president spoke. “I wonder if you truly understand the honor and responsibility being placed upon your shoulders?” His intelligent eyes betraying his wariness of the viceroy’s selection, he added in a contemptuous manner, “I wonder if a man of such meager experience can be truly aware of the difficulties he’ll encounter as governor of such a remote province.” He moved to the front of his chair. “There’s an oft-quoted adage regarding the physical and political climate of New Mexico that expresses it well, don Luis,” he stated, looking directly at the governor applicant. “ ‘Ocho meses de invierno y cuatro de infierno!’ Yes, eight months of winter and four of hell, for New Mexico is but a spare and unproductive land,” he said, “blistering hot in summer and bitterly cold in winter. And although covered in abundant forests, its trees are not subject to forestation, for there are no roads or bridges. Communication is poor, and you’ll be almost totally isolated, cut off from succor or aid.” He paused, and then continued, “The land is colonized by an ignorant and vulgar people, don Luis, a people utterly obsessed with their rights and privileges. A vain-glorious people, bloated with a quite unjustifiable pride in the purity of their blood and in their nobility. You’ll not be welcome among them, for they’re uncourteous to strangers, regarding them with suspicion, if not with outright hostility. They live in mean dwellings, domesticated strong-houses with heavily gated doors reflecting a harsh way of life and built only for defense. These doors will not be opened to you, don Luis, for you’ll not be welcome there,” he repeated. “They’re a tight-knit group,” he continued, “so knotted up through intrigue and intermarriage as to form an intricate web of family relationships impossible to penetrate and difficult to unravel so that it’s impossible to determine where their loyalties lie. It will be of no avail to speak to them regarding their obligations toward royal governors, for even their priests defy proper authority, administering the sacraments to the native converts—and to the faithful as well—in complete disobedience to the holy Council.1 A colony of cousins, they’re a troublesome and obstinate lot, don Luis, full of animus and deception, dedicated to land and family aspirations. They feel they can only count on themselves, and so distant are they from royal authority, that they’ll not easily subject themselves to central control and will not participate in governmental affairs.”
Palafox waited then, waited for his pronouncements to sink in and to be fully appreciated by the governor-applicant who sat there quietly, attentive to the cleric’s words. After a moment, Palafox said, “I apprise you of these things not to discourage you, but to make sure that you’re aware of the extraordinary difficulties you’ll encounter as governor of so remote a province. Do you think you’re ready for this?”
Rosas, who knew the importance of his answers, especially in gaining the approval of those who might be wavering in their support, waited a long and painful moment before replying, his words and tone then calculated to make the greatest impact. After a bit, he said, “I have served on the frontier and have lived the life of a soldier.” Looking at Bishop Palafox straight on and then at each of the men spread about the room, he went on, “And being but a poor soldier, I consider my potential appointment as governor an exceptional honor and will accept it with justifiable pride, and with complete awareness of the burden being placed upon me.”
The viceroy, who had been listening quietly, sat for a long time in silence, surveying the room. His eyes scanned the faces of the members of the audiencia looking for suggestions of approval or disapproval but seeing neither. He asked the president, “Perhaps you’d like to include questions regarding his instructions as part of your inquiry?”
His hands flat before him, Palafox pushed himself to the back of his chair. “Yes, I think that would be helpful,” he responded.
The viceroy’s instructions, previously developed in conjunction with the audiencia, filled seven pages of the book the president now laid before Rosas.
“These,” the president said, “are only the most urgent. If appointed to the position of governor of New Mexico, you will be given more complete details before the departure of your train. Your primary responsibility upon assuming your post would be to re-establish royal command and authority by your personal attention to martial law,” the president said in reference to the New Mexico colonists who seemed to be holding on tenaciously to a medieval dream. “You’ll have to oversee the selection of a new cabildo (town council). At present, some of the councilmen are in confederation with brigands, while other members have intimidated some. We need representatives who are willing to listen to the suggestions we might make for the improvement of our northern kingdom. And we need priests who will allow someone other than their sacred selves to suggest them.
“Equal to that,” the president continued, “is the re-establishment and expedition of Royal justice. In that regard, the governor elect will be required to conduct Martinez’s residencia, the mandatory judicial review of one’s administration. I’m afraid that we’ll find much there that will be of concern to us. And we, of course, look forward to the determinations you might make. Are you equal to these tasks?” the president asked.
Rosas had heard of the passion with which the New Mexican colonists asserted their rights and their independence from royal authority, attitudes exacerbated by the apparent failure of his predecessor, Martinez de Baeza, to assert his control. “I know of these people and of their kabylistic tendency to divide themselves into clans, even into different tribes,” he said, echoing a sentiment previously articulated by the viceroy in reference to the relationship of the early Iberians to the people of the Kabyl tribes. “Some have expressed this tendency as a matter of race, while I see it as an artifact of our ancient times, for they, like us, are shepherds by choice when they’re not
