The Old Franciscan Missions Of California

In Short

This book serves as both a historical chronicle and a field guide to the Franciscan missions of California. It traces the founding of the mission chain, the lives of the missionary padres, and the subsequent secularization and decay of these institutions under shifting political regimes. By documenting the architectural features of each site and the social plight of the indigenous peoples, the work functions as a plea for the preservation of a spiritual history that the author fears a modern, materialist society is in danger of losing.

The Story

The narrative begins with the broader context of Spanish colonial expansion, establishing the link between the earlier Jesuit missions of Mexico and the Franciscan efforts in Alta California. The reader is introduced to the foundational figure, Junípero Serra, whose zeal drives the establishment of the first missions, including San Gabriel and San Luis Obispo. This period is defined by intense, often strained, interactions between the padres, the military leadership, and the native populations. While the missionaries pursue the conversion and instruction of the Indians, they frequently clash with military commandants like Pedro Fages, whose bureaucratic and often predatory approach undermines the humanitarian goals of the religious missions.

As the chain of missions expands under successors like Fermín de Lasuen, the system reaches its zenith of prosperity, marked by successful agriculture, cattle ranching, and the construction of significant stone and adobe churches. However, the narrative arc shifts as political instability in Mexico—and later the United States—leads to the systematic dismantling of the mission system. The process of secularization, enacted by governors like Figueroa and later exploited by figures such as Pío Pico, results in the seizure of church property and the displacement of the neophytes. The author details the tragic fragmentation of these communities, portraying the Indians as "bereft children" left to fend for themselves after their support system is stripped away by administrative decree.

The final portion of the book focuses on the physical reality of these sites in the early 20th century. Many missions lie in ruins, victims of both natural forces like earthquakes and the vandalism of travelers. The narrative follows the efforts of dedicated individuals, such as Father Cassanova at San Carlos, to identify the graves of the founders and restore the buildings before they vanish entirely. The book concludes with a poignant examination of the mission architecture, arguing that the true "type" structure is found only in the most pristine examples, while simultaneously offering practical travel advice for the reader who wishes to visit these locations. The arc is one of rise, decline, and a desperate, late-stage attempt at cultural memory.

How It Unfolds

The foundational link The author establishes the historical continuity between the earlier Spanish missions in New Mexico and the later establishments in California. He emphasizes the shared sacrifices and the role of the Franciscans as an enduring presence on the frontier.

The missionary struggle The narrative details the initial challenges of establishing outposts among potentially hostile populations. It highlights the recurring conflict between the religious mission of the padres and the disruptive, often brutal, behavior of the accompanying military forces.

The era of expansion Successive presidents of the missions oversee the growth of the chain, bringing the total to twenty-one. This period represents the height of material prosperity, characterized by the introduction of new industries and the expansion of cattle and crop production.

The process of decay The story shifts to the political maneuvers that led to the secularization of the missions. The author describes the "general scramble" for property as governors and private citizens plundered the assets once held in trust for the native converts.

The preservation efforts The final section documents the physical state of the missions at the turn of the century. The author highlights the contrast between the grandeur of the original structures and the reality of their abandonment, noting the ongoing attempts to save what remains.

The People

Junípero Serra serves as the primary architect of the mission system, driven by a profound, unswerving belief in the necessity of Christianizing the native population. His intensity and focus often put him at odds with the worldly authorities. His successor, Fermín de Lasuen, is presented as a more diplomatic and perhaps greater leader, under whose administration the mission chain achieves its maximum structural and agricultural potential.

Pedro Fages represents the opposing force of cold, official-minded secular power. His tenure as commandant is marked by his interference in mission operations and the opening of private correspondence, illustrating the friction between the church’s paternal goals and the state’s desire for control. The native chieftains, such as the friendly Yanonalit or the hostile leaders encountered at San Gabriel, appear as complex figures who react to the encroaching mission system with both cooperation and resistance.

Finally, the author highlights the role of individual priests like Padre Peyri and Father Cassanova. Peyri is characterized by his energetic and effective management of San Luis Rey, while Cassanova is portrayed as a hero of restoration, working to preserve the dignity of the founders' final resting places. Together, these figures illustrate a conflict of values: the selfless, spiritual ambition of the early padres versus the mercenary, opportunistic tendencies of the later political regime.

In Its Own Voice

"The unbridled passions of men of the new race already foreshadowed the death of the old race, even while the good priests were seeking to elevate and to Christianize them."

The author reflects on the violent consequences of the interaction between the Spanish soldiers and the native population at San Gabriel.

"To-day, not a brick of its walls remains; the only evidence of its existence being the few old pear trees planted early in its history."

Describing the total disappearance of the San Rafael Mission, the author laments the fragility of these historic landmarks.

What It's Really About

The book explores the tension between material success and spiritual purpose. The author argues that a "materially inclined nation" requires the preservation of unselfish history to maintain its own moral health. The missions are presented as symbols of a "genuine brotherhood of man" that is constantly under threat from the "vulgar mass" of greed and political expediency. The underlying question is whether a society can survive without the historical anchors that teach unselfish lessons. The work is also a critique of colonization, specifically the "hideous nightmare" of American treatment of the Indians, which the author posits as the most destructive phase of the mission legacy, ultimately leading to the near-extermination of the very people the padres sought to protect.

Why Read It Today

This book will appeal to those interested in the intersections of architectural history, religious biography, and the early, often brutal, development of the American West. It offers a window into a time when the mission was the center of social and economic life, and its tone—warm, earnest, and deeply respectful of the friars—provides a distinct contrast to modern, detached historical analysis. Readers will feel the author’s genuine affection for the physical beauty of the adobe walls and the red-tiled roofs, which makes the descriptions of their decay feel like the loss of a personal friend.

However, the reader must be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes, particularly his paternalistic view of the indigenous people, whom he often describes as children in need of the guidance of the padres. The book is not a modern academic study; it is a labor of love from 1913, and its prose is infused with the Victorian-era sentimentality of its time. Those looking for a critical, balanced exploration of the colonial experience might find the author’s bias toward the Franciscans difficult to navigate. Yet, for those who value the preservation of memory and the appreciation of the "unselfish element" in our history, the book offers a moving, if imperfect, testament to a California that exists now only in ruins and records.