so that, perhaps, I in my carelessness was not quite so unwise
as I have often thought myself. Although I made no notes of anything,
caring most chiefly for the condition of my horse, yet when I think on them,
pampa and cordillera, virgin forest, the `passes' of the rivers,
approached by sandy paths, bordered by flowering and sweet-smelling trees,
and most of all the deserted Jesuit Missions, half buried
by the vigorous vegetation, and peopled but by a few white-clad Indians,
rise up so clearly that, without the smallest faculty for dealing with that
which I have undertaken, I am forced to write. Flowers, scents,
the herds of horses, the ostriches, and the whole charm of that New World
which those who saw it even a quarter of a century ago saw
little altered from the remotest times, have remained clear and sharp,
and will remain so with me to the end. So to the readers
(if I chance to have them) of this short attempt to give
some faint idea of the great Christian Commonwealth of the Jesuit Missions
between the Parana and Uruguay, I now address myself.
He who attacks a subject quite fallen out of date, and still not old enough
to give a man authority to speak upon it without the fear of contradiction,
runs grave risk.

Gentle, indulgent reader, if so be that you exist in these
the days of universal knowledge and self-sufficient criticism,
I do not ask for your indulgence for the many errors which no doubt
have slipped into this work. These, if you care to take the trouble,
you can verify, and hold me up to shame. What I do crave
is that you will approach the subject with an open mind. Your Jesuit is,
as we know, the most tremendous wild-fowl that the world has known.
`La guardia nera' of the Pope, the order which has wrought
so much destruction, the inventors of `Ciencia media',*
cradle from which has issued forth Molina, Suarez, and all those villains who,