We have now arrived at the most critical of all the periods which Spanish South America has undergone in the course of its history, the decade or so which preceded the actual outbreak of the revolutionary wars.  In order to arrive at a just appreciation of the situation it is necessary to realize that, although the policy of Spain had consistently demonstrated itself as discouraging towards learning and progress in every direction, to such an extent had the population of the colonies grown that this task of repression of the intelligence of a Continent had now become Herculean and altogether beyond the powers of the moderately energetic Spanish officials.

Despite every precaution, the colonists had succeeded in educating themselves up to a certain point; moreover, a number of them, flinging restrictions to the wind, had now begun to travel abroad, and had visited European centres.  These sons of the New World had adapted themselves admirably to the conditions of Europe.  They had been received by notable personages in England and France, who had been struck with the intelligence and ideals of the South Americans.  These latter, for their part, had benefited from an exchange of views and from conversations concerning many subjects which were necessarily new to them.  With an intercourse of this kind once in full swing it was inevitable that the regulations of Spain should automatically become obsolete and, in the eyes of the Americans, ridiculous.

In South America itself, nevertheless, the social gap between the Spaniard and the colonial continued entirely unbridged, and the contempt of the European officials for the South American born was as openly expressed in as gratuitous a fashion as ever.  Indeed, as the opportunities for education broadened for the colonists, it would seem that their Spanish alleged brethren affected to despise them still more deeply—­no doubt as a hint that no mere learning could alter the solid fact that their birth had occurred without the frontiers of European Spain.

The ban upon mixed marriages continued, and neither Viceroys, Governors, nor high officials might lead to the altar any woman born in America, however beautiful she might be, and however aristocratic her descent.  A few minor privileges had been accorded to these oversea dwellers, it is true.  A system of titles had been instituted throughout the colonies, for instance.  By means of this it was hoped to pander to the vanity of the Americans, and to bring into being a new tie of interest which should cement the link between the Old and the New World which was proving so profitable to Spain.

As a matter of fact, none took the trouble to grant these titles in return for merit or service; it was necessary to buy them and to pay for them.  Their grandeur was strictly local.  Thus a Marquis or a Count in Lima or elsewhere in the Southern Continent would have been crassly unwise to leave the shores of South America, for once in Spain his title fell from him like a withered leaf; he became plain “Senor” and nothing beyond, for in Spain these colonial distinctions were a matter for jeers and mockery.  What remained, therefore, for the poor local noble but to hasten back to the spot where his nobility held good!  It was better to bask as a Marquis in the sunshine of the south than to be cold-shouldered as a plebeian in stately Castile.