THE STORY OF THE REPUBLIC
There is a strange fascination about the history of Mexico, and no one
can thoroughly understand the country or the people without a little
insight into those stirring events that preceded the establishment of the
present republic. With the increasing friendly regard and the growing
commercial intercourse between the two countries, a few pages devoted
to this subject will not be amiss; and the prospective traveller, as
well as the one who has already travelled in that country, will find an
additional interest in Mexico and the Mexicans.
However we may feel inclined to criticize Cortez, the fact remains that
he thoroughly subjugated the country, and presented to Spain the fairest
jewel of her domain. Having been made the first governor of New Spain,
he was too busy with fresh conquests and the task of keeping order to
make a successful ruler. In order to reform the various abuses that had
grown up, and represent in every way possible the person of the king,
King Charles V sent the first viceroy in the autumn of 1535. This first
of a long line of viceroys, reaching down to the year 1821, was named
Antonio de Mendoza, himself of noble descent, a man of ability, and one
who had at heart the best interests of the colonists and the welfare
of the Indians. The latter had been subjected to many humiliations and
hardships all of which were removed by him, and they were encouraged in
the cultivation of the lands.
The colonists themselves were a source of great trouble for they were
mostly adventurers and were not, like the early American colonists, men
who were seeking religious liberty. The arm of the church was stretched
just as strongly in new Spain as in the land of their birth, and to the
religious orders was due in great measure the firm foundation upon which
the Spanish government was established. During the rule of this man and
his successor, Velasco, the country prospered, agriculture was stimulated
and a number of industries suitable to the climate of the country
encouraged.
At the close of the sixteenth century, Spain underwent great changes. The
line of able rulers had passed away, and the government fell into the
hands of profligates who were favourites of the reigning sovereign. The
line of viceroys continued in rotation, and most of them were fair men
who probably governed the best they knew how, but their knowledge on that
subject was not very great. They were poor rulers when compared with the
first two above mentioned. The church retained its firm grasp. As one
writer has put it, during the first century of Spanish rule the church
was a blessing to the country, during the second an indifferent quantity
and during the third an actual menace. The inquisition—that terrible
institution—had been established in Mexico as early as 1570. The first
_auto-da-fé_ was celebrated in 1574, when “there perished twenty-one
pestilent Lutherans.” Indians were exempt from this institution and it
was only aimed at heretics of other nations. Large numbers were burned in
the capital and other cities. In Puebla, the old house of the inquisition
was remodelled within the last half-century, and a number of walled-up
cells opened in which skeletons were found—no doubt remains of victims
who had been buried alive. The inquisition was not formally abolished
until the beginning of the last century, just prior to the beginning of
the movement for independence. Even this concession, and the promise
of correcting other abuses, did not stop the growing discontent, for
generations had grown up who had few ties linking them to the mother
country; who had intermarried with native races; and who would be
satisfied with nothing but complete severance of their relations.
The beginning of the nineteenth century opened with a feeling of unrest
in all European nations and their colonies. When Napoleon overturned
monarchies, the idea of the divine right of kings received a shock.
Among the countries thus affected was Spain, which had dropped down from
the high pedestal it had formerly occupied. The eyes of the people of
Mexico were opened by the events in Europe, and also by the successful
revolution of the American colonies. All the offices of profit in Mexico
were held by Spaniards, and the policy of the mother country toward her
dependents was well expressed by one of the viceroys as follows: “Let
the people of these dominions learn once for all that they were born
to be silent and to obey, and not to discuss nor to have opinions in
political affairs.” The spirit of revolution and liberty was in the air
and restraint became more and more galling. The events leading to the
independence of Mexico, and the stirring times subsequent thereto, can
best be treated by a glance at the men who were in the limelight during
the various periods.
When Miguel Hidalgo, curate of the little village of Dolores, sounded the
“grito” of independence by ringing the bell of the parish church early on
the morning of the 16th of September, 1810, a struggle for independence
was started that lasted for eleven years, and during which much of the
soil of Mexico was crimsoned with the blood of those slain in battle
or executed by the authorities as traitors. At the outset no people
were less prepared for such a contest. They knew nothing of military
tactics; their weapons were primitive and their leaders were without
military training. No more righteous cause ever existed for rebellion
against tyranny and usurpation. The first two leaders were consecrated
representatives of the church that had assisted a despotic government in
bringing about such an unfortunate state of affairs. These two martyrs
who were excommunicated by the church, and executed by the government
as traitors, are now honoured with resting places in sacred ground by a
grateful nation.
The first revolt was headed by a picture of the patron saint of the
country, and shouts of “Viva Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe” and “Viva
la Independencia” were intermingled. Hidalgo and his compatriots were
compelled to begin their movement before thoroughly prepared, because
their plans had been discovered and betrayed to the government. On the
morning of the memorable day above mentioned, Hidalgo addressed the
people from the pulpit of the church where he had so often celebrated
mass, and, leading his followers forth, released the prisoners in
the town, and captured the principal Spaniards. Soon afterwards this
priest-warrior patriot, who had been named Captain-General, followed by
a few hundred of human beings (they can not be called soldiers), marched
forth to conquer Mexico and give “death to the Spaniards.”
It was a motley crowd armed with stones, lances, _machetes_, arrows,
clubs and swords, whose numbers and enthusiasm were ever increasing as
they marched across the country without meeting resistance. San Miguel
and Celaya, Irapuato and Querétero, yielded, and the army which by this
time numbered tens of thousands marched towards Guanajuato. The governor
of that province assembled the terror-stricken populace in the now famous
Alhondiga de Granaditas, built for storing grain but now a prison, as
noted in that city as the Bastille of Paris. Upon a refusal to surrender,
Hidalgo and his followers attacked this fortress with fanatical zeal, and
captured it by the mere force of numbers. This supplied him with plenty
of food and a million dollars in money which furnished the sinews of war.
Terror struck the hearts of the Spaniards and every town yielded to
this new leader, who now bore the title of Generalissimo, as the army
approached the City of Mexico. One terrible battle occurred at Monte
las Cruces and both forces withdrew. Hidalgo—and this was probably
his greatest error—retreated, and his fortune immediately turned. The
volatile nature of the people asserted itself and his followers deserted
by the thousands. He started for the United States, but was betrayed
and captured, and was executed at Chihuahua on July 31st, 1811. For ten
years his head was suspended by a spike from one of the corners of the
Alhondiga de Granaditas, once occupied by him as conqueror, as a warning
to revolutionists, but was afterward buried with great ceremony in the
cathedral at the capital.
It was around a disciple of Hidalgo that the forces of discontent and
patriotism rallied upon the death of their first leader, and that man
was also a priest, Jose Maria Morelas. Of low birth and poor, this man
drove mules until thirty years of age before an opportunity presented
itself for education to fit himself for the priesthood, which was his
ambition. In that time he had acquired the qualities of patience and
cool calculation from the animals he drove. A student under Hidalgo, he
had imbibed a love for independence, and leaving his church upon the
sounding of the “grito,” offered his services to the Generalissimo.
He was an abler leader than Hidalgo and showed great military skill,
winning a series of victories clear across the country from Acapulco, on
the Pacific Coast, to Cuautla not far from Vera Cruz. At Cuautla he was
besieged for over two months, and then successfully withdrew with all
his forces by night. Returning to Acapulco he summoned the first Mexican
Congress, which met at Chilpantzingo, a small town near that city.
This congress met on the 14th of September, 1813, and on the following
day issued its famous declaration of independence, as follows:—“The
Congress of Anahuac, lawfully installed in the city of Chilpantzingo,
of North America, solemnly declares, in the presence of God, arbitrator
of kingdoms and author of society, who gives and takes away according
to the inscrutable designs of his providence, that, through the
present circumstances of Europe, it has recovered the exercise of its
sovereignty, hitherto usurped, its dependence upon the throne of Spain
being thus forever disrupted and dissolved.”[5]
This congress provided a form of government with a military executive
called Generalissimo, and Morelas was elected to this position for
life, or “so long as he was worthy.” Shortly after this his forces were
defeated at Valladolid, now called Morelia, and his power began to wane,
though resistance was kept up for some time afterwards with varying
success. Spanish troops had arrived, and stronger leaders were in charge
of the government forces and the cause of independence looked dark.
The plans of Morelas were betrayed to the enemy and he was captured.
The ecclesiastical tribunes covered him with ignominy. He was then
sentenced to death by the military authorities, and shot in the little
village of San Cristobal Ecatepec, near the capital, on December 22d,
1815, dying the death of a hero. This muleteer-priest-warrior was an
able leader, an honest man and a patriotic citizen. He seemed devoid of
personal ambition, although accepting title for the sake of the cause
he fought for. He was possessed of restless energy and great piety, for
he always made confession before entering battle. To-day, he is second
only to Hidalgo in the affections of the people, and worthily fills that
position. Over the door of the house once owned by him in Morelia appears
the following inscription:—
“Morelas the illustrious
Immortal Hero.
In this house honoured by thy presence
Salute you the grateful people of Morelia.”
The revolution was seemingly crushed at the death of Morelas but a few
patriots retired to the mountains, and there kept alive for better
days the sacred fire of liberty. Guerrero was one of those heroes who
showed an unwearying activity, and kept up a constant warfare upon the
government forces. The next prominent name in succession among those
leaders of the movement for freedom was Agustin de Iturbide, a former
active and able officer of the royalist forces, and to whom more than
anyone else was due the failure of Morelas. Deserting the cause of Spain,
because he thought injustice had been done him, General Iturbide issued
the “Plan of Iguala” on the 20th of February, 1820, composed of three
articles: preservation of the Roman Catholic church; independence of
Mexico under a monarchical form of government with a prince of the royal
house of Spain as ruler; union and equality of Spaniards and Mexicans.
From this proclamation his army became known as the army of the three
guarantees. His act was full of duplicity, for he had obtained the
largest force possible from the Viceroy Apodaca in order to turn them
over to the new scheme.
Before the viceroy could recover from his surprise, Iturbide, who
had been joined by most of the insurgent leaders, had started on his
victorious campaign. Valladolid, Querétero and Puebla succumbed. The
viceroy tried by suppressing liberty, and enforcing enlistments in the
royal army, to stem the tide but in vain, and he was deposed. O’Donoju,
the sixty-fourth and last viceroy, arrived about this time at Vera Cruz,
but was intercepted by Iturbide and entered into the treaty of Cordoba in
which the independence of Mexico was recognized with a sovereign to be
selected from the royal house of Spain, and a provisional Junta formed.
Iturbide was selected as president of this Junta, and made a triumphal
entry into the City of Mexico on the 27th of September, 1821. This ended
three hundred years of Spanish rule in Mexico. Iturbide had accomplished
in a little more than a year, and with little bloodshed, what ten years
of strife had failed to do. He can not be classed with Hidalgo and
Morelas as a pure patriot, but he has been officially designated as the
“Liberator of Mexico.”
The rejection of the treaty of Cordoba by the Cortes of Spain gave
new impetus to the smouldering ambitions of Iturbide. The second
Mexican Congress having been called, Iturbide at a packed session was
declared Emperor by a majority of four to one of those voting, but
not a constitutional majority, and he took the office as Agustin I.
When he was crowned and anointed in the cathedral with much form and
solemnity, on the 21st of July, 1822, the ambition of this self-made
emperor had reached its full. The saying that uneasy lies the head
that wears a crown never had better application than in this instance.
Other leaders in the cause of liberty felt that they had been slighted,
and every discontented person made common cause against the Emperor. A
republic was proclaimed at Vera Cruz in December of the same year by
Santa Anna, who was commander of a regiment stationed there, and he
issued a _pronunciamento_. This plan failed, but it encouraged Bravo,
Guerrero and other revolutionary leaders, and rebellion sprung up in a
number of places. Iturbide had dissolved congress and this increased the
dissatisfaction. A more formidable revolt arose, and on March 19th, 1823,
Iturbide abdicated without attempting to retain his position by force of
arms.
A few weeks later the ex-Emperor left Mexico and sailed for Italy, having
been granted an annual sum of $25,000 for his services. He soon went to
England and wrote the government from there that the republic was in
danger, and he would come back to help fight the battles of his country.
He did not know that his death had been decreed by congress, and so
he set sail upon his last voyage. When he arrived at Vera Cruz he was
captured, and after some delay was executed at Padilla on the 19th of
July, 1824, as a traitor, in his forty-first year. His body was buried in
a roofless old church and lay there until 1838, when it was removed to
the Cathedral.
Opinion is very much divided as to the rank that should be accorded
Iturbide. He was able, brave, honest so far as is known, and probably
fell a victim to his ambition like many a man before him. The relative
regard in which he is held is shown in the fact that the town which
gave both him and his former vanquished foe, Morelas, birth, is now
called Morelia, and a state is also named Morelas. In contrast to this
there is neither city nor state named after Iturbide, and the famous
Iturbide Hotel in the capital city, once his residence, is the only
institution perpetuating his name so far as I could learn. The only
things accomplished by him during his brief reign were the settlement of
the titles by which he and his family should be addressed, the succession
to the throne, order of precedence among the dignitaries, allowances of
himself and family, and the creation of the Order of Guadalupe to bestow
honours upon his followers.
At last a so-called republic was established, and Guadalupe Victoria was
inaugurated as the first president on the 10th day of October, 1824,
and served until 1828. When the fort of San Juan de Ulua at Vera Cruz
lowered its flag, in 1825, the last vestige of Spanish power was gone,
and the red and yellow striped banner of the Iberian peninsula was not
to be seen on Mexican soil. And Mexico, as then constituted, was a big
country, containing almost twice as much territory as to-day. From the
end of the administration of President Victoria until after the death
of Maximilian, there was not a year of peace in Mexico. Revolutions,
_pronunciamentos_, “plans” and restorations followed each other in quick
succession. Generals, presidents and dictators sprang up like mushrooms,
and their position was as evanescent. The congress unwisely decreed the
expulsion of the Spaniards, and their departure took much of the wealth
of the country. Revolutions were an every-day affair. A man in position
of authority did not know when his time to be shot might come. A sudden
turn of fortune might send him either to the national palace, or before a
squad of men with guns aimed at his heart.
A good illustration of this uncertainty of affairs is seen in the
treatment and fate of the grim old patriot Guerrero. Born of very low
Indian parents he had climbed to the front and borne many of the burdens
of the struggle with Spain. He cheerfully yielded his command to the
renegade Iturbide, and fought valiantly under that leader for liberty.
By a turn of fortune he became the third president in 1829. A few months
later he was compelled to flee, but was soon afterwards betrayed and
captured at Acapulco. At a farcical trial he was condemned to death
as “morally incapable” to act as president, and shot on the 15th of
February, 1831, at Cuilapa. Soon afterwards he was declared a martyr
and his body removed to the capital with honours. Two monuments to this
martyr now adorn that city, and a state has been named after him. Under
his short rule slavery was abolished by statute.
Elections eventually became a farce. The unfortunate habit was acquired
of appealing to arms instead of submitting to the result of the ballot.
The trouble was that the people had copied the letter, and not the
spirit of the American constitution. Liberty was interpreted as license,
after their exaggerated ideas of the former. The scheming politicians
would hesitate at nothing—revolution or civil war—to attain private ends
or personal aggrandizement. A general indolence of character, and the
hindrances to the acquirement of property among the masses, made the
people more willing to yield to disturbing and designing politicians.
They are impetuous by nature, impatient of restraint and easily fired up.
The rapid changes in government can be seen when you read that there were
five different presidents in each of the years 1846 and 1847, and four in
1855—not an evidence of tranquillity at least. The two leading parties
constantly at war were the “progresistas” and “retrogrados.”
During this period a few prominent names are constantly recurring, and
by far the most prominent one is that of the notorious Santa Anna,
who, for more than fifty years, occupied a prominent, but not always
honourable, place in Mexican affairs. Earlier in life his restless energy
was expended in a fairly commendable way, and he fought some battles
in defense of the rights of the people. During the war of intervention
with France in 1838 he lost his leg in the defense of Vera Cruz. Ever
afterwards, when in trouble, he would flourish his severed limb and
remind the people how he had been mutilated in the defense of his
country, with the effect of restoring himself in public favour. As he
grew older his naturally quarrelsome disposition increased, his vanity
knew no bounds, and when at the height of his glory, he declared himself
dictator and ordered all people to address him as “most serene highness.”
Never honest except as a matter of policy, his cupidity became more
pronounced, until, near the close of the war with the United States, he
offered to appoint commissioners and confirm a treaty of peace for the
sum of one million dollars. First elected president in 1833, he was
again either chosen to, or assumed the office, in 1839, 1846, 1847,
1853 and 1855, but did not serve long at any time. On one occasion his
amputated leg was buried with great ceremony, but afterwards fickle
sentiment changed, and the martyr part of this hero was brought forth by
the rabble, dragged through the streets of the capital, and insulting
epithets heaped upon the former idol.
Santa Anna led the forces against the Texas insurrectionists, and was the
man responsible for the Alamo slaughter, when one hundred and forty brave
Texans were trapped and slain. Visitors to that place are still shown the
stains made by the blood of that brave frontiersman, Davy Crockett, and
the cry of “Remember the Alamo” still has potency. This insurrection was
soon followed by the war between Mexico and the United States.
Franklin says, there never was a good war nor a bad peace. The United
States can not be justified in warring upon Mexico, though the results
have perhaps been for the best with both nations. Bancroft does not mince
words in his treatment of the subject for he says: “It (the Mexican
War) was a premeditated and predetermined affair; it was the result
of a deliberately calculated scheme of robbery on the part of the
superior force.” The result was a foregone conclusion, for Mexico, torn
by internal dissensions, impoverished by the expense of revolutions and
official robbery, and with a government changing with every change of the
seasons, had neither armies, money nor supplies for such a conflict. The
people were used to the smell of powder but were not trained soldiers,
and the “generals” were simply a few of the twelve thousand recipients
of military commissions that had been distributed by various presidents
in the preceding three years. “Plans” promulgated by one party were
bombarded with “pronunciamentos” from another. This was the condition of
affairs when General Taylor assumed the offensive and fought the battle
of Palo Alto.
Mexico might have sued for peace at this time, but no government was
in power long enough to negotiate a treaty. A special envoy sent from
Washington at the request of one president was refused an audience by a
new one, who had usurped the office before his arrival. Generals Taylor
and Fremont subdued Northern Mexico, and General Scott later began his
memorable march toward the ancient Aztec capital, from Vera Cruz, like
Cortez of old. Santa Anna, who had been “recuperating” from public
unpopularity at Havana, returned and state after state immediately
“pronounced” in his favour. He issued a manifesto assuming the executive
control and took the field against the invaders. He first tried to secure
$15,000,000 from the Church, but although the priests hated the “northern
heretics” they were loth to give up the coin, and little was secured.
Vera Cruz fell after two weeks’ bombardment, and Puebla yielded to the
Americans. Patriotism was finally aroused to save the City of Mexico,
but the victories of Chapultepec, Chorubusco and Molino del Rey were
followed by the triumphal entry of General Scott into the capital. The
treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo ceded to the United States more than six
hundred thousand square miles of the Mexican domain, including some of
the richest mineral lands of the republic. Disgraced and humiliated as
Mexico had been, it was, I believe, the beginning of better things for
that country.
Santa Anna went into voluntary exile to Jamaica. The first president
after the war, Herrera, actually served the appointed time of his office,
but disorder soon began under his successor. “Pronouncing” became
popular again, and Santa Anna returned. He was made dictator for a short
time by his favourites. This was the last office held by this selfish
politician. He exiled himself to St. Thomas again, and afterwards in
Elizabethport, New Jersey. During the second empire he tried to curry
favour with both sides, but neither would listen to him. Discouraged and
disheartened he lived abroad, until, burdened by the weight of eighty
years, he sought and obtained permission to return to the capital, and
died on the 20th of June, 1876. Thus passed a man who had lived in
stirring times, was most intensely hated, had been president six times,
military dictator four times, had upset fifteen governments, had been
marked for the assassin’s bullet many times; and yet he lived to a ripe
old age and died a natural death. However, all his glory had faded, and,
blind, lame and infirm, he spent his last days in extreme poverty.
Here is a picture of this man drawn by Rev. William Butler,[6] who
visited him about a year before his death: “Santa Anna was living in an
obscure street, neglected and forgotten by all parties. On entering the
apartment we found the old man sitting on a sofa, behind which hung a
picture of his wife ‘her serene highness, Dolores Tosta de Santa Anna’
arrayed as a vice-queen. The magnificence of the painting contrasted
sadly with the poverty-stricken aspect of the room and furniture. To him,
however, this could make but little difference, as we soon saw that he
was totally blind as well as feeble and broken in spirit, with a tendency
to mental weakness.” He was buried in the cemetery at Guadalupe without
honours or recognition by the government, and his remains still rest
there. As I gazed upon his tomb I could not help thinking what a contrast
between his career and that of the patriots Hidalgo, Morelas, and Juarez.
The early constitution had declared that the Roman Catholic religion
should perpetually be the religion of Mexico. Nevertheless a struggle
had been growing up between the clericals and liberals for many years
with increasing intensity. It finally centred in a struggle over the
sequestration of the church property, and became wider and wider until
the whole country was involved and divided into two great parties. The
liberals were probably just as good Christians as the others but thought
the Church had too much wealth.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE CHURCH]
At this juncture there arose a pure Indian, of lowly parentage, who
never saw a school until he was twelve years of age. His name was Benito
Juarez. Although ever professing devout faith, he early espoused the
cause of the anti-clerical party. He was banished by Santa Anna and
fled to New Orleans, but opinion changed and his sentiments became the
popular views. The new constitution of 1857 declared the separation of
church and state. Juarez had been elected President of the Supreme Court
under Comonfort. The latter was compelled to flee the country and Juarez
became president under the constitution, in 1857. Congress passed a law
confiscating church property and civil war was begun. Juarez took the
field in person and did not reach the capital until three years later.
These three years have been called the years of horrors. The liberals
were excommunicated by the church, and the papal delegate and several
bishops were ordered out of the country in turn by Juarez. Ministerial
crises and resignations became chronic. Guerillas and robbers were bold
and attacked many aliens, and foreign obligations were unpaid because of
the impoverished condition of the country.
Juarez alone remained cool in the midst of all these disturbances. The
convention entered into between France, England and Spain for a joint
intervention in Mexican affairs on the 31st day of October, 1861, brought
new embarrassment to the Indian reformer. Underneath these acts of
the convention the crafty hand of Napoleon can be seen. The man who
had accomplished one _coup d’Etat_ was a sworn enemy to all republican
institutions. The pretext for this intervention was the collection of
some money claims and reparation for alleged offences. Spain no doubt
looked forward to a little revenge. The Spanish fleet occupied Vera Cruz
on the 14th of December, 1861, followed by the other armies. A conference
took place at Orizaba with Juarez who acknowledged the money claims, and
Spain and England withdrew their forces. The French remained, secretly
supported and encouraged by the extreme church party, and advanced to and
captured Puebla. Distracted and disheartened by the state of affairs, the
prospect of a stable government made the way easy to place Maximilian
upon the throne as Emperor of Mexico, and this was done. He and the
empress arrived on the 28th of May, 1864. Maximilian was a liberal ruler
and the Empress Carlotta won the people by her charming personality and
benevolences.
As long as the French forces remained his throne was secure. The prompt
and decisive action of Secretary Seward sounded the death knell of
Maximilian’s ambitions. Napoleon withdrew his troops, and Maximilian
might have easily escaped had he not wavered between ambition and
discretion,—the former eventually winning. He met death with dignity and
said “May my blood be the last spilt for the welfare of the country.”
During all of these years Juarez maintained a semblance of authority and
kept a cabinet under appointment although he was finally driven to the
American border. Yet he could wait, for he had inherited from his dusky
ancestors the qualities of patience, endurance and imperturbability.
He also had executive ability and an abundance of good sense. After
the execution of Maximilian he made a triumphal entry into Mexico. The
country was impoverished. The short empire had added a national debt of
$187,000,000. More than one thousand battles and skirmishes had occurred
between 1863 and 1867, and a hundred thousand Mexicans had been killed or
disabled. The people were still restless and an increasing element began
to say that he had been president long enough. He was unmoved, but kept
steadily on his way trying to better the condition of the people, improve
the finances and bring prosperity to his country. The iron constitution
finally gave way and he died on the 19th of July, 1872, beloved and
honoured by his country. He deserves to be called the Washington of
Mexico, for the real liberty of a republican form of government began
with him. He had prepared the way for his successors to bring peace,
prosperity and liberty to a country that for centuries had been groping
and striving after such a condition. Juarez lies buried beneath a
magnificent monument in the Panteon de San Fernando, in the City of
Mexico.
Upon the death of Juarez the constitutional succession to the chief
magistracy fell upon Lerdo de Tejada, who occupied that office for four
years. The subsequent history of Mexico, however, centres around the
personality of Porfirio Diaz, and the events of his long administration
and final downfall are treated in the two following chapters.