Vol. 14 · n.º 1 · June 2016 e-journal ofPortuguese History Table of Contents 14, number 1, June 2016

[ARTICLES]

Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility: ...... 1 The Teles de Meneses Family in the Iberian Courts (Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries) Hélder Carvalhal

The Effect of the Establishment of the Portuguese Republic ...... 20 On the Revenue of Secular Brotherhoods: The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” Paulo Mourão

[SURVEYS & DEBATES]

Portuguese History in a Global Context ...... 53 (Brown University, October 2012) [4th part] The editors

Taking Stock: Portuguese Imperial Historiography ...... 54 Twelve years after the e-JPH Debate Roquinaldo Ferreira

Seeing the Nation through the Territory ...... 71 Some Historiographical Frameworks Iris Kantor

[INSTITUTIONS & RESEARCH]

Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741: A Recently Discovered Document ...... 86 On the History of Portuguese in the Moravian Regional Archives in Brno Karel Staněk & Michal Wanner

[ REVIEWS]

Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions...... 103 The Luso-Brazilian World, c. 1770-1850. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2013 ISBN: 978-1-107-02897-5 Nelson Mendes Cantarino

Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor: André Palmeiro and the Jesuits in Asia...... 108 Cambridge, Massachusetts: The Belknap Press, 2014 ISBN: 978-0-674-41668-0 Federico Palomo

Palomo, Federico (ed.). La Memoria del Mundo: ...... 114 Clero, Erudición y Cultura Escrita en el Mundo Ibérico (siglos XVI-XVIII). Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 2014 ISBN: 9788466934930 Bruno Feitler

Nelson Novoa, James W. Being the Nação in the Eternal City...... 120 New Christian Lives in Sixteenth-Century Rome. Peterborough: Baywolf Press, 2014 ISBN: 9780921437529 Antonio J. Díaz Rodríguez

Salomon, Herman Prins (ed.). Queimar Vieira em Estátua: ...... 124 As Apologias (1738, 1743) do Senhor Inquisidor António Ribeiro de Abreu em Resposta às Notícias Recônditas Atribuídas ao Pe. António Vieira (1608-1697). : Cátedra de Estudos Sefarditas “Alberto Benveniste”/Rede de Judiarias de Portugal, 2014 ISBN: 978 989 96236 5-1 Thomas M. Cohen

Barton, Simon. Conquerors, Brides and Concubines...... 128 Interfaith Relations and Social Power in Medieval Iberia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015 ISBN: 978-0-8122-4675-9 Maria Filomena Lopes de Barros

Sabaté, Flocel; Fonseca, Luís Adão da (eds.). Catalonia and Portugal: ...... 132 The Iberian Peninsula from the Periphery. Bern: Peter Lang, 2015 ISBN: 978-3-0343-1650-7 Robert Patrick Newcomb

Myrup, Erik Lars. Power and Corruption in the Early Modern Portuguese World ...... 137 Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2015 ISBN: 978-0-8071-5980-4 Paulo Cavalcante

Kammen, Douglas. Three Centuries of Conflict in East ...... 142 Singapore: NUS Press, 2016 ISBN: 9789971698751 Anthony Soares Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility: the Teles de Meneses Family in the Iberian Courts (Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries)

Hélder Carvalhal1

Abstract

This article discusses the social mobility strategies of the Teles de Meneses family throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, seeking to understand their influence on the family’s social evolution and improved ranking at the court. Marriage policy and service in the Iberian courts are analyzed over three different generations and from two standpoints: first, the preservation of the family’s pre- acquired status; second, the diversification of the services performed in the various settings where its influence could be exercised. This will highlight the reasons behind the social evolution of this family and the subsequent granting of titles to some of its members.

Keywords

Teles de Meneses; Social Mobility; Family; Nobility; Marriage

Resumo

O presente artigo pretende discutir as estratégias de promoção e mobilidade social da família Teles de Meneses durante os séculos quinze e dezasseis, com o propósito de compreender as implicações que daí advêm em termos de incremento social e posicionamento na corte. Para tal, analisar-se-á a política matrimonial e o serviço nas cúrias ibéricas conduzido por três distintas gerações, obedecendo a duas perspectivas: uma relacionada com a conservação do estatuto já adquirido e outra centrada na diversificação dos serviços prestados nas variadas esferas de poder, percebendo desta maneira as razões para o consequente incremento social e titulação de alguns membros.

Palavras-chave

Teles de Meneses; Mobilidade Social; Família; Nobreza; Matrimónio

1 CIDEHUS (UID/HIS/00057/2013), University of Évora, Portugal. Project ‘Na Privança d´el Rei: Relações Interpessoais e Jogos de Facções em Torno de D. Manuel I (EXPL/EPH-HIS/1720/2013). E-mail: [email protected] Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

Introduction

This article’s main goal is to discuss the social mobility strategies of the Teles de Meneses family at the end of the fifteenth century and during the first half of the sixteenth century, by examining both the practical execution of such strategies and the instruments employed to attain the social status they enjoyed at the time. The family under analysis is one of the branches of the Silva lineage,2 who, as a result of the services they rendered at the court, were rewarded with the County of Unhão in 1636 (Freire, 1927: II, 73). The article will follow the trajectory of Fernão Teles de Meneses (c. 1432–1477), the fourth Lord of Unhão, and of his descendants up to the second half of the sixteenth century, encompassing a period corresponding to three generations. I shall argue that two main variables lay at the root of the substantial degree of social mobility demonstrated by this family from the mid-sixteenth century onwards. The first variable relates to the progressive stabilization of a courtly and political hierarchy in the context of the Portuguese . In order to secure for themselves the best position possible, the members of this family resorted to a series of social and political practices, ranging from dedicated service at the Iberian royal courts to the pursuit of a deliberate marriage policy. This first variable gave rise to another feature, the services provided by family members at the Portuguese and Castilian courts, which grew in visibility from the reign of Manuel I onwards. Court service will be approached from a dual, and not necessarily concomitant, perspective: on the one hand, royal service was simply the result of the Teles de Meneses’ proximity to the royal family, which afforded them the obvious rewards within a favor-based economy. From another perspective, it is important to assess the limits of the political fides as it was practiced by this extended family, considering their taste for high- ranking employment in the Portuguese crown dating back to the Middle Ages. During the first half of the sixteenth century, the range of courts at which members of the family rendered service became increasingly diverse. This raises the question of how family members dealt with the issue of fealty and, in turn, of whether individual princes exploited their clienteles in order to increase their own power. In spite of such ambiguities, the investment made by the various family members across such spheres of power led to an inevitable increase in their social capital, exploited by the extended family by virtue of their kinship and the formal and informal relations they developed in both kingdoms. In turn,

2 Habitually referred to as Teles de Meneses or Silva Teles, being part of the House of Unhão. See Attachment 1. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 2 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility the enhanced social capital obtained among the Iberian princes and monarchs ensured that the family members involved in the process would gain in both power and influence, in the form of titles, rents and land, as well as high-ranking positions and offices in their respective courts. On a more general note, and in accordance with the vast historiography produced about the role of royal and noble courts as a space for self-affirmation, patronage and client-patron relationships, the (not necessarily concurrent) viewpoints adopted in this article—that is, the stabilization of a constellation of political agents at court and the services rendered by individuals at two royal courts simultaneously—rely upon two basic premises. The first such premise concerns the proximity to the monarch, which might—or might not—be the consequence of high office. It thus differs from the second premise, which is social status. Historiography has indeed highlighted the important role played in decision-making by those servants who were physically closest to the prince (Starkey, 1973). The period under analysis was characterized by a certain ambiguity between features that were distinctive to the late Middle Ages and to the Early Modern court. Such ambiguity results in the fact that the two above-mentioned premises do not always coincide. Therefore, the condition of being close to the prince and/or the king did not always mean belonging to the high nobility. Theoretically, for the lower strata of the nobility, the possibility of social ascension depended on the efforts of the interested parties. Most importantly, it relied on the monarch’s own favor and his acceptance of the presence of these parties. However, the ambivalence resulting from serving the monarch was subject to a number of factors. One such factor was the self-image of the king as a natural leader among the nobility, and the need for him to act accordingly (Elias, 1987: 65; Duindam, 1995: 49-56). The period studied in this article, encompassing the second half of the fifteenth century and the first half of the sixteenth century, has been described as quite favorable to social mobility within the kingdom (Pereira, 2003). Much of this paradigm may be explained by three aspects. First, the bureaucratic needs of the royal household, leading to recruitment from among non-noble ranks—a policy that had clear social consequences in the short term (Gomes, 2003: 16-55). Second, the opportunities prompted by maritime expansion, which allowed the second children of nobles to occupy administrative and military positions in the African outposts and, later, in the Estado da Índia (Boone, 1986). Lastly, marriage used in its political role as a means of forging alliances, raising social status, and even collecting magnanimous endowments (Cunha and Monteiro, 2010: 51-53).

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Aside from the diversification of the services provided, due to an increase in opportunities, it is important to understand whether the concessions made to descendants, along with the solidarity ties at stake, would have worked as the main catalyst for social ascension, or if the most relevant factor was instead the investment made in client-patron interdependency, with considerable implications for the monarchy’s political arena. With these considerations and objectives in view, an analysis will be carried out regarding the marriage policy and the princely service of the Teles de Meneses at the Iberian courts across three generations, clarifying the family’s behavior in the light of both the corresponding political context and the pursuit of titles of nobility, leading to an ever rising social status.

Political context

Before initiating this discussion, it is necessary to consider the centuries-old tradition of paying service to the crown, not only on the part of the Teles de Meneses family, but also on the part of other families who were similarly related to the Silva lineage. Indeed, the most remote ancestors of the Silvas, with branches existing in both Castile and Portugal, had been close to the Portuguese court’s sphere of influence since at least the middle of the thirteenth century (Ventura, 2009: 216). During the rule of the Avis dynasty (from 1385 onwards), the various branches in the lineage usually provided royal service either to the royal household or to the newly established houses of the royal infantes, specifically to the dukedoms of Viseu-Beja and Coimbra. For instance, the support offered to Infante Pedro by Aires Gomes da Silva, the Lord of Vagos and head magistrate at the Casa do Cível (a high court of law), did not result in his being cast out from the royal sphere of influence, since Afonso V pardoned all defectors soon after the Battle of Alfarrobeira (1449), in which Pedro was defeated (Moreno, 1979: I, 659). After obtaining the royal pardon (1453), Aires and his sons were able to return to the court, having briefly regained some significant offices in the royal administration: one of the sons, Fernão Teles de Meneses, was allowed to inherit a substantial share of the jurisdictions his father had enjoyed (Freire, 1927: II, 51; Moreno, 1979: II, 1048). Fernão possessed no title and enjoyed only a middle ranking within the hierarchy of nobles, but his close relationship with the court and the offices he occupied granted him some degree of influence at Afonso’s court. This was enough for him and his descendants to earn rewards from the fides and the services carried out, in the form of highly coveted

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 4 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility courtly offices and even jurisdiction rights in the Portuguese Atlantic, a fertile ground yet to be explored (Riley, 1998: 152). Likewise, Fernão participated in various campaigns in North , serving the king and Infante Fernando at al-Qsar as-Seghir (Alcácer-Ceguer, 1458), Tangiers (1463) and Asilah (1471) (Moreno, 1979: II, 1047-53). Historiography has highlighted the close affinity between Queen Isabel and Dona Beatriz de Meneses, the mother of Fernão Teles and her sometime chambermaid and maid of honor (Freire, 1927, II, 51-3). Several authors have approached the role of interpersonal relations and of the concept of fealty in supporting the way of life at the Early Modern court (Mousnier, 1982; Dedieu and Moutoukias, 1998). Perhaps this informal relationship between the two women was one of the reasons why Fernão was so swiftly readmitted to the royal court to enjoy significant benefits, among which were the positions of head steward to Queen Leonor, João II’s consort, and chamberlain to Princess Joana (known as the Excelente Senhora). As will soon become clear, these dynamics designed to safeguard power were a distinctive, underlying feature of the marriage policy implemented by the “founder” of this branch of the lineage, Fernão Teles de Meneses; they are also traceable in the continuous targeting of different spheres of power, as well as in the increasing diversity of the services performed.

Marriage policy

Table 1: Lineage and male line in the Teles de Meneses family (c. 1450-c. 1550)3

Average number of Average number of Average number of Generation male heirs per male legitimate children children per male heir heir per male heir

1st 6 4 6 2nd 5 3.5 4.5 3rd 3.7 2.9 3.1 Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 337-9; MORAIS, 1997: II, 445-55; GAYO, 1992: IX, 391-407; FREIRE, 1927: II, 73- 105; FARIA, 1956: 127-9.

It is legitimate to say that, to a certain extent, the marriage policy implemented by the Teles de Meneses branch ever since its creation provided the conditions necessary for every second child to bear progeny. The lesser number of offspring in subsequent generations was prompted by variables such as a rise in male mortality rates (chiefly deriving from military duties carried out in North Africa) or their admission into the

3 Numbers include only the male line of the family, including illegitimate children. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 5 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility military orders, which imposed vows of chastity and restrictions on marriage. To a certain extent, the latter variable can help us to understand the considerable fall in the number of legitimate offspring during the second and third generations of the family. The substantial mortality rate of male heirs at the time, coupled with a tendency to give younger females away to a religious life, generally accounted for the concentration of wealth in the hands of only a few heirs, or even just one. This behavior was common to most families in the upper echelons of the nobility. However, in the lowest strata, to encourage the marriage of every descendant—even the female offspring—might prove to be the shrewdest strategy, since the meagerness of the family’s assets would not compensate for their concentration in the hands of just one or a few individuals (Boone, 1986). In the case of the Teles de Meneses family, their behavior regarding the marriage market reveals the adoption of two different strategies. On the one hand, the marriage options for the female offspring called for extreme care. Even in the third generation, marriage to members of the titled nobility did exist (see Tables 4 and 5), which contradicts the tendency for the second sons to embark on a religious career. On the other hand, ever since the first generation it had been common for male heirs of this family to be admitted to both the mendicant and the military orders (such was the case, for example, with Aires Teles of the first generation, and Jerónimo Teles of the third). The choice to integrate these men into such institutions is, apparently, indicative of a profile similar to that of the upper aristocracy, thus enabling the concentration of assets in the hands of the lowest possible number of children. The compulsory assignment of these resources, as imposed by their entailment (the morgadio) at the time of Maria de Vilhena in 1483, was ratified in 1504 by Rui Teles de Meneses, which also contributed to the adoption of the latter arrangement.4 Nonetheless, based on the information available, such actions may be considered ambivalent. In part, they reflected the ambitions of a family who, in spite of their proximity to the royal court and unlike some of their distant relatives, did not belong to the kingdom’s highest nobility.

4 DGARQ/TT, LN, liv.18, fl. 290. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 6 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

Table 2: Marriage policy applied to the direct offspring of Fernão Teles de Meneses (c. 1432-1477) and Maria de Vilhena – first generation. Descendant Consort Social status Social Mobility André Teles n/a n/a n/a Rui Teles de Meneses Guiomar de Noronha Non-titled nobility Identical João de Vilhena n/a n/a n/a Aires Teles n/a n/a n/a Joana de Vilhena João de Meneses Titled nobility Higher Filipa de Vilhena Nuno Martins de Silveira Non-titled nobility Identical Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 337; FREIRE, 1927: II, 76; GAYO, 1992: IX, 391; MORAIS, 1997: II, 445; FARIA, 1956: 127-8.

As shown in Table 2, all the offspring of Fernão Teles de Meneses married members of influential families at court (except for André Teles, João de Vilhena and Aires Teles, all of whom never married). The heir Rui Teles de Meneses (c. 1460-1528), the fourth Lord of Unhão, married Guiomar de Noronha, the daughter of Pêro de Noronha, João II’s head steward and the Commander-in-Chief (comendador-mor) of the Order of St. James in Portugal (Ordem de Santiago). A similar alliance was to be noted in the marriages of Joana and Filipa de Vilhena, respectively, to Nuno Martins de Silveira, Queen Catarina’s head steward, and João de Meneses, known as the Conde-Prior due to his accumulation of offices and titles. The strategy of attempting to maintain the family’s offspring within the sphere of the court is quite clear. Let us now consider the situation of the following generation.

Table 3: Marriage policy applied to the direct offspring of Rui Teles de Meneses (c. 1460-1528) and Guiomar de Noronha – second generation. Descendant Consort Social status Social Mobility Fernão Teles n/a n/a n/a Aires Teles Inês de Noronha Non-titled nobility Identical Manuel Teles de Margarida de Vilhena Non-titled nobility Identical Meneses Brás Teles Catarina de Brito Non-titled nobility Identical André Teles da Silva Branca Coutinho Non-titled nobility Identical Beatriz de Vilhena Francisco de Portugal Titled nobility Higher Teresa de Noronha Luís Portocarrero Titled nobility Higher Maria de Noronha Francisco da Silva Non-titled nobility Identical Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 338; FREIRE, 1927: II, 80; GAYO, 1992: IX, 391; MORAIS, 1997: II, 445-6; FARIA, 1956: 128.

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An analysis of Table 3 shows that such a trend continued to exist: the practice of marrying male heirs to the offspring of court officers was maintained, provided that those officers occupied either central administrative positions (such as Inês de Noronha’s father, Álvaro de Castro, who was governor of the Casa do Cível) or positions in overseas territories (such as Rui Dias de Sousa, the governor of al-Qsar as-Seghir and the father of Branca Coutinho). On the other hand, great emphasis was placed on the matrimonial alliances of female descendants, since a number of marriages took place to men of higher social standing (for example, Francisco de Portugal, the first Count of Vimioso), or alternatively to nobles whose families were close to the court and/or were prominent figures within it (for example, to Francisco da Silva, a distant relative of the extended family). Regarding these matrimonial options, particular attention should be paid to the surrounding political context. As will be demonstrated later on, a key aspect for understanding the high rate of social mobility of the second children (in this case, the daughters of Rui Teles de Meneses) was the diversification of services provided by both men and women to the Iberian royal courts.

Table 4: Marriage policy applied to the direct offspring of Manuel Teles de Meneses (d. 1573) and Margarida de Vilhena – third generation5 Descendant Consort Social status Social Mobility Fernão Teles de Meneses Maria de Castro Non-titled nobility Identical Jerónimo Teles n/a n/a n/a Maria de Vilhena Fernando de Noronha Non-titled nobility Identical Joana de Vilhena Afonso de Noronha Titled nobility Higher Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 338; GAYO, 1992: IX, 391-2; FREIRE, 1927: II, 83-4; MORAIS, 1997: II, 446; FARIA, 1956: 128.

The marital unions recorded among the progeny of Manuel Teles de Meneses (d. 1573), the fifth Lord of Unhão, highlight the marriage policy practiced by their direct ancestors. Once again, the firstborn son (and potential heir) married the daughter of a court official (here, Jerónimo de Noronha), who served as lady-in-waiting to Queen Catarina, while the female children were married to similar or even higher-ranking gentlemen. Such was the case with Joana de Vilhena, who married Afonso de Noronha, the fifth Count of Odemira.

5 The decision was made to consider only the legitimate children for the purposes of this article: the number of illegitimate children is unclear, with Gayo reporting two male children, Morais one, and the Livro de Linhagens do século XVI none whatsoever. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 8 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

It is, however, important to point out that such patterns were not exclusive to the progeny of the heir to the jurisdictions, lands and entailed property of the lordship of Unhão. There is evidence that this policy applied more widely within the family branch, as it was followed by all the descendants, despite slight variations depending on the available marriage options and the opportunities resulting from the services being rendered at court or overseas. The lineage of the following descendants emphasizes this idea: considering the offspring of André Teles da Silva (or Teles de Meneses, depending on the author), we can see a marriage policy that was simultaneously conservative—as far as social status was concerned—and expansive.

Table 5: Marriage policy applied to the direct offspring of André Teles da Silva (d. 1562) and Branca Coutinho – third generation Descendant Consort Social status Social Mobility Rui Teles da Silva Coutinho Leonor de Manrique Non-titled nobility Identical Paulo da Silva n/a n/a n/a Brás Teles n/a n/a n/a Aires Teles de Meneses Brites de Aragão Non-titled nobility Identical Bernardim Teles n/a n/a n/a Manuel Teles Coutinho n/a n/a n/a Lourenço Teles Meneses da Silva Joana de Moncada Titled nobility Higher Guiomar de Vilhena Fradique de Toledo Titled nobility Higher Maria Coutinho Lopo de Alarcão Non-titled nobility Identical Beatriz Coutinho Vasco da Gama Non-titled nobility Identical Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 339; MORAIS, 1997: II, 453; FREIRE, 1927: II, 80-1; GAYO, 1992: IX, 405-6; FARIA, 1956: 129.

The family’s propensity for promoting marriages with Castilian families is noteworthy. By proceeding in this way, the family was attempting not only to conserve its social status, but if possible to enhance it. This increment in the matrimonial market should not, however, be seen merely as a consequence of the mobility of servants from the houses of the royal princes, such as the departure of Rui Teles de Meneses, fourth Lord of Unhão, to Castile, to serve in the entourage of Empress Isabel. The protection gained from becoming part of this entourage was considered to be a major advantage in the plethora of marriage arrangements. One should also bear in mind that Teresa de Noronha was later to marry Luis Portocarrero, the second Count of Palma. However, considering the marriage options available, the evidence indicates that this was an alternative solution. Indeed, Rui Teles de Meneses had attempted to arrange the marriage of this daughter of his to Alfonso

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Téllez, the heir to the Marquisate of Villena. The direct assistance of Emperor Charles V suggests that the crown was, at least, interested in ensuring that Teresa de Noronha married a man who would be worthy of the Empress’s lady-in-waiting status. In this case, the political purpose of the marriage arrangement was to promote the family’s relations with its Castilian counterpart, considered at the time to be among the great noble houses of Castile and Aragon (the so-called Grandees). When the arrangement failed, Rui Teles had to seek an alternative.6 The ties established abroad arose from the opportunity and interest in marrying offspring (especially second children) to members of a socially or hierarchically well- positioned family. While there was a tendency to maintain homogamy in political marriages in the case of male descendants, the marriage policy for women was one of hypergamy. This explains why Guiomar Vilhena, the daughter of André Teles da Silva, married Fradique Toledo, the high steward of the household of Prince Carlos and the son of the third Count of Alva de Liste. There were also, naturally, some exceptions to this tendency. The marriage of Lourenço Teles Meneses da Silva, the son of André Teles da Silva, to Joana de Moncada (or Mendonça) may be understood as one such case in which the acquisition of titles through marriage was directly related to the occupation of high office, with all of its subsequent rewards.

The court and the granting of offices and titles

Table 6: Number of offices and titles granted to the Teles de Meneses family, per generation (c. 1450-c. 1590)7 Generation CORH RAO OVO EMB CMO EO T 1st 3 1 1 0 1 1 0 2nd 4 2 2 1 3 1 0 3rd 7 7 8 1 8 1 1 Caption: CORH = Chief offices in the royal household (including the princes’ households); RAO = Royal administration offices; OVO = Overseas offices; EMB = Embassies; CMO = Commanderships of the military orders; EO = Ecclesiastic offices; T = Titles.

In general terms, the growing number of offices that were granted (Table 6) can be explained by the previously mentioned factors: the increased bureaucracy associated with the royal administrative structures, and the additional opportunities opened up by the

6 AGS, Est., Leg. 2-1, fl. 174; Leg. 2-2, fl. 397. 7 Only the offices and titles bestowed upon the male line are contemplated here. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 10 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility overseas expansion. The second and third generations of the family, in particular, benefited from the need to empower the households of Manuel I’s children, elevating the family members to the higher echelons within the hierarchy. This allowed them to build upon their pre-existing influence by populating these various structures with their descendants and relatives. Furthermore, the family took full advantage of the overseas offices granted to them, since by the third generation they had obtained a high number of posts in the administrative structures of North Africa and the Estado da Índia, serving as captains, captains-general and even as governors/viceroys. Services were also rewarded through the granting of commanderships of the military orders. Indeed, the granting of positions in the military orders of Avis, Christ and St. James is clearly notable from the third generation onwards (Olival, 1988: II, 463-4), which were slightly higher in number than the positions granted within the Order of Malta and other foreign military institutions, such as the Order of Alcántara in Castile, which provided Lourenço Teles da Silva with a commandership.

Both the male and the female progeny of Rui Teles de Meneses tend to fit into this pattern of diversification. Rui, the head of the family, must have been extremely influential within the court, as he succeeded in placing all of his four subsequent children within the court’s institutional sphere or in households related to it, thus promoting the preservation of his lineage within such circles of power. This was particularly clear in the house of Infante Luís, where Rui Teles guaranteed his sons positions: Brás Teles “inherited” the offices of provost (guarda-mor) and high chamberlain (camareiro-mor); André Teles was appointed the high steward (mordomo-mor); and António Teles was granted the office of head chaplain (capelão-mor).8 It should be noted that, in institutional terms and when taken together, the spaces which these men oversaw—the chamber, the hall and the chapel—represented an astonishing platform of influence and power, providing significant access to this prince as master of the household, and conditioning his capacity to allocate patronage. This confirms the tendency of this family to firmly establish itself in the above-mentioned social structure, with the offspring being appointed to key domestic sectors.

8 DGARQ/TT, CDM, Doações..., liv.36, fl. 66v; DGARQ/TT, CDJ, Próprios, liv.47, fl. 120; DGARQ/TT, CDJ, Próprios, liv.51, fl. 77v. The remuneration considered refers to subsidies of various types, paid every two or three months, either in kind or in cash. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 11 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

Chart 1: Total amounts paid by Infante Luís to the three foremost family groups of his house (in reais per year). 400000 350000 300000

250000 Teles de Meneses 200000 Botelho 150000 Rodrigues de Beja 100000 50000 0 1536 1538 1542 1545 1551 1553 1555

Sources: DGARQ/TT, CR, NA, livs. 177-186.

The payments in question (see Chart 1) might not relate exclusively to services carried out at court. On many occasions, gifts made directly by the prince, or under his influence, came in the form of administrative, fiscal, and military offices. As far as this family is concerned, sizeable grants include those made by Infante Luís to André Teles da Silva and Brás Teles, appointed respectively as governors (alcaides-mor) of Covilhã, and Seia and Moura. The inclination to regard offices such as these as a family legacy is equally clear, at least from the second quarter of the sixteenth century onward. João Gomes da Silva, the son of Brás Teles, “inherited” the position of governor of Seia from his father, keeping the office in the family until the period of the restoration of Portuguese independence, in 1640. Brás de Teles’ firstborn son, Rui Teles de Meneses (named after his grandfather), would be granted the office—held by his father before him—of governor of Moura. André Teles’ firstborn son, Rui Teles de Meneses Coutinho (named after his cousin and grandfather) would also be appointed governor, just like his father, a position which in turn was passed on to his offspring (Gayo, 1992: 394, 406; Sousa, 1947: 335). The inclusion of Rui Teles de Meneses’ progeny in the entourage escorting Princess Isabel to Castile, upon her marriage to Carlos V, may have benefited from the affinity between Isabel and Guiomar de Noronha. Indeed, Rui Teles de Meneses’ wife had been summoned to the palace very early on in her life (1504), in order to take part in the princess’s upbringing.9 Not only did this turn into a huge advantage for Guiomar, it also especially benefitted her female descendants, who were shown priority among the women eligible for inclusion in Isabel’s entourage. Despite the attempts to remove Portuguese

9 DGARQ/TT, CC, Parte I, mç. 4, nº 60. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 12 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility officials from the empress’s household through the appointment of prominent Castilian nobles to the highest positions there (Labrador Arroyo, 2005), Isabel’s grandson, Rui Gomes da Silva, was able to establish himself at court, thanks to his proximity to Prince Felipe (later, Felipe II), thus improving his social standing in a remarkable way, having been shown favoritism and granted various titles (Boyden, 1995). To a certain extent, such an influence would even benefit Rui’s brothers. For example, Fernando Teles da Silva served Filipe II in Milan, became governor of Asti, and married Juana de Moncada, the Marchioness of Favara (Álvarez-Ossorio Alvariño, 2001: 87). In addition to the services provided at the households of the various princes, the family never ceased to render services directly to the king. These services were rewarded through fixed regular payments and miscellaneous graces and favors, with family members enjoying the rank of fidalgos da Casa Real—noblemen of the royal household. One should also highlight the overseas interest of some family members, whether participating in colonial settlements or benefiting from colonial trade. Such was the case with Brás Teles de Meneses, who in 1524 was authorized to keep 3,200 arrobas (approximately 106 lb) of sugar from Madeira and to sell it abroad, exempt from the payment of duties (the dízima) to the crown. That such transactions had already taken place beforehand is known from the fact that Brás Teles de Meneses authorized his representative, Manuel Carvalho, to ship a similar amount of this product to Venice, where it would be sold.10 Though we cannot be certain about the exact profits from this business, there is evidence of a subsequent attempt to expand it to Brazil, since, in 1541, Brás Teles de Meneses was granted some land in the captaincy of Espírito Santo, by the captain-major at the time, Vasco Fernandes Coutinho.11 From a broader perspective, the grant may relate to the royal approval (by Afonso V, in 1474) of the purchase of the island of Flores (in the Azores), together with its lordship rights, from João de Teive by Brás’ grandfather, Fernão Teles de Meneses. Fernão was given ownership of the domain of Sete Cidades (also in the Azores) as well as any territories discovered by him, excluding those around the region (Meneses, 2005: III, 243-260). Although granted at different periods, both jurisdictional rights reflect the involvement of some family members in colonial endeavors, thus enhancing the social status of the Teles de Meneses family, while meeting the crown’s need for maritime exploration and the settlement of newly conquered territories.

10 DGARQ/TT, CC, Parte I, mç. 31, nº 46; Parte II, mç. 118, nº 116. 11 DGARQ/TT, CDJ, Doações..., liv. 47, fl. 1. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 13 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

That mutual support was exercised between members of the family regardless of their proximity in terms of kinship is noticeable from the assignments they carried out on behalf of their lords. During Catarina of Austria’s regency, there is evidence of favors requested by André Teles de Meneses for his son, during the latter’s employment as an ambassador in Castile and Rome, and until his death in 1562. As a reward for those services, the regent Catarina promised to grant Aires Teles, André’s son, the command of a fortress in India.12 The choice of André Teles as an ambassador to Castile was far from being an innocent one: in the 1530s, he had already been sent as an envoy of Infante Luís to the Castilian court, to discuss the latter’s private business.13 It may, therefore, be concluded that the prior experience of André Teles, taken together with the social capital that he was gradually able to acquire, justify his mandate for the crown, André keeping his role as a facilitator of communications between the two courts. Another broad implication of this analysis is that Rui Gomes da Silva, Prince of Eboli and Duke of Pastrana, also used his position to influence the granting of commanderies to his kinsmen in Portugal.14 Assuming that arrangements of this type were widespread, it can be inferred that interpersonal relationships, in addition to a thoughtful marriage policy, facilitated the establishment of a platform for family power, whose profits were shared among the various family members. An intricate web of informal contacts also fed such a platform, working on both sides of the border, where family members used their privileges of greater access to the prince in order to promote this system.

Conclusions

As historians have stated, the diversification of the services provided to the crown was a crucial factor in guaranteeing the sustainability and even the expansion of aristocratic lineages in the process of upward social mobility, particularly when considering that such mobility was very common during the period under analysis (Cunha, 2009). In the particular case of the Teles de Meneses family, this diversification was not achieved merely through the several individual actions performed by its members over a considerable period of time—namely holding prominent offices at the royal household and the princes’

12 DGARQ/TT, CC, Parte I, mç. 104, fl. 87. Letter of André Teles de Meneses to Queen Catarina [Toledo, 1561-03-12]. 13 AGS, Est., Leg. 369, fl. 123. 14 DGARQ/TT, CC, Parte I, mç. 108, nº 57. Letter from Rui Gomes da Silva to Queen Catarina, requesting the commandery of Ulme for his nephew, João de Saldanha [Madrid, 1567-5-25].

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 14 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility households and important positions in both the central and the colonial administrations; serving in diplomatic missions; and holding military posts. The family also invested in the close relationships arising from its service to other sovereigns. Additionally, advantages were obtained from the political support that the various members of the extended family permitted each other. As an example, consider the actions of Rui Gomes da Silva, who, in recommending grants for his fidalgo cousins in the royal household, overlooked the political strife between the partisans of Catarina and those supporting the regency of Henrique, during the minority of King Sebastião. If we consider the earning of titles as another possible goal within the lineage, only the “Castilian” branch of the family was successful (as Rui Gomes da Silva, Fernando Teles, or Lourenço Teles da Silva proved). Due to a number of different factors, the family members who served in Portuguese courts experienced a slower development in their upward mobility process. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, they never accomplished the same level of gains as those achieved by their distant relatives, who actively took part in the maritime expansion and in courtly service (Cunha, 2009). Ironically, to a certain extent, the regular services provided by members of the family at the household of Infante Luís were to hinder the social progress of several individuals, since this prince was not himself successful in promoting his own particular standing. Neither did the attachment of those individuals to the crown do much for their status. Although this is still unproven, it seems likely that competition for the king’s patronage was much fiercer at the royal court than it was in the princes’ households. The latter had fewer resources to offer when compared to the crown. Apart from the patterns demonstrated so far, there are also other conclusions to be drawn. A political interpretation may be made, based, for instance, on the family’s behavior during the dynastic crisis of 1580. Some historians have found it difficult to explain the reasons why Fernão Teles de Meneses, the governor of Portuguese India, was so eager to proclaim his allegiance to Filipe II (sworn in as the new king in 1581) before leaving Goa. His hesitation had been due to the close relationship between himself, his father (Brás Teles de Meneses) and Infante Luís, in addition to his being, quite plausibly, sympathetic to the cause of the latter’s illegitimate son, António, the Prior of Crato. Essentially, the family’s behavior and the mutual support network connecting its members—even the most remote ones—may help to explain their preference for serving with the Castilian king. Some authors have already highlighted the probable conversations between Rui Teles de Meneses, the second governor of Moura (and the brother of Fernão Teles de Meneses),

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 15 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility and Cristóvão de Moura, concerning their eventual support for Filipe II’s claim to the Portuguese throne (Colleción, 1845: VI, 294). For some, such clues have been enough to place the family as supporters of Filipe II’s cause (Sampaio, 1921: 15-6). Yet, considering the diversity of offices performed at the various Iberian royal courts, it is very much to be expected that family alliances prevailed over the bonds of allegiance and fidelity to the prince being served. In spite of the many rewards accumulated over time from the Portuguese crown, the princes’ households (particularly those of Isabel and Luís), and the offices held at the central and overseas administrations, in the end it was the will of the family which carried most weight when the time came to make a decision. This implied shifting their allegiance and services to Filipe II, since he would probably be in a better place to reward the family members for their support. Likewise, patriarchal power would be reinforced in terms of both decision-making within the family and the planning of their descendants’ future, considering the interests of the lineage (Frigo, 1985). The existence of a coherent family strategy for the period studied here is open to discussion. Nevertheless, the arguments previously stressed regarding marriage policy and the political solidarity among its members leads one to think that, at least in the time of Rui Teles de Meneses, the fifth Lord of Unhão, and his descendants, family interests were taken into serious consideration. In fact, the strategy mentioned here does not differ considerably from that of other case studies from the same period, such as the Meneses or the Cunhas (Cunha, 2009). It was based on the premise of maximizing what the matrimonial market could offer, especially to daughters and some second sons, a strategy attributed to families that did not belong to the highest nobility (Boone, 1986: 867). Alternative ways of guaranteeing social mobility to descendants other than the first-born came in the form of courtly service. Hence, arranged marriages, accompanied by services rendered through offices at court and overseas, were part of a typical path of social ascension. From that viewpoint, the behavior of the Teles de Meneses family before 1580 was decisive for its future success in the noble hierarchy, always taking advantage of the current political context and profiting from it.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 16 Carvalhal Lineage, Marriage, and Social Mobility

Abbreviations:

AGS: Archivo General de Simancas CC: Corpo Cronológico CDJ: Chancelaria de D. João III CDM: Chancelaria de D. Manuel I CR: Casa Real DGARQ/TT: Direcção Geral dos Arquivos/Torre do Tombo Est: Estado Fl: Folio Leg: Legajo LN: Leitura Nova Mç: Maço Nº: Número NA: Núcleo Antigo

Attachments:

Attachment 1: Simplified genealogy of the first two generations of the Teles de Meneses family (c.1432-1477)

Fernão Teles Maria 4th Lord of de Unhão Vilh en a

(c.1460-1528)

Rui T eles Guio mar 5th Lord de of Unhão Noronha

(c.1490-1573)

Manuel Teles André Brás António Beatriz Francisco Maria Francisco Teresa Luis 6th Lord of Teles Teles Teles de de Port ugal de da Silva de Portocarrero Unhão Vilh en a Count of Noronha Lord of Noronha Count of Palma Vimio so Ulme

Sources: GÓIS, 2014: 338; GAYO, 1992: IX: 391; MORAIS, 1997: II, 445-6. The heads of household are identified by the title Lord of Unhão.

Bibliography and printed sources

Álvarez-Ossorio Alvariño, Antonio (2001). Milán y el legado de Felipe II: Gobernadores y Corte Provincial en la Lombardía de los Austrias. Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V. Boone, James L. (1986). “Parental Investment and Elite Family Structure in Preindustrial States: A Case Study of Late Medieval-Early Modern Portuguese Genealogies”. American Anthropologist, 88 (4): 859-878. Boyden, James (1995). The Courtier and the King; Ruy Gómez de Silva, Phillip II and the Court of Spain. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Cunha, Mafalda Soares da (2009). “Nobreza, alianças matrimoniais e reprodução social. Análise comparada dos grupos familiares dos Meneses e Cunha (séc. XV-1640)”. In Amélia Aguiar Andrade, Hermenegildo Fernandes and João Luís Fontes (eds.), Olhares sobre a História. Estudos oferecidos a Iria Gonçalves. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio, 741-756. Cunha, Mafalda Soares da and Monteiro, Nuno G. (2010). “Aristocracia, poder e família em Portugal, séculos XV-XVIII”. In Mafalda Soares da Cunha and Juan Hernández Franco (eds.), Sociedade, Família e Poder na Península Ibérica. Elementos para uma História Comparativa. Évora and Múrcia: CIDEHUS/Universidade de Évora and Universidade de Múrcia, 47-75. Dedieu, Jean-Pierre and Moutoukias, Zacarias (1998). “Introduction”. In Juan Luis Castellanos and Jean-Pierre Dedieu (eds.), Réseaux, famillles et pouvoirs dans le monde ibérique à la fin de l´Ancien Régime. Paris: CNRS, 7-30. Duindam, Jeroen (1995). Myths of Power. Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Elias, Norbert (1987) [1969]. A Sociedade de Corte. Lisbon: Estampa. Faria, António Machado de (1956). Livro de Linhagens do século XVI. Lisbon: Academia Portuguesa de História. Freire, Anselmo Braancamp (1927) [1899-1901]. Brasões da Sala de Sintra. Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 3 vols. Frigo, Daniela (1985). Il padre di famiglia. Governo della casa e governo civile nella tradizione dell´“economica” tra Cinque e Seicento. Rome: Bulzoni. Gayo, Manuel José Felgueiras (1992) [1938-1941]. Nobiliário de Famílias de Portugal. Braga: Carvalhos de Basto, 12 vols. Góis, Damião de (2014). Livro de Linhagens de Portugal. In António Maria Falcão Pestana de Vasconcelos (ed.). Lisbon: Instituto Português de Heráldica/CLEGH/CEPESE. Gomes, Rita Costa (2003) [1995]. The Making of a Court Society. Kings and Nobles in Late Medieval Portugal. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Labrador Arroyo, Félix (2005). “La Emperatriz Isabel de Portugal, mujer de Carlos V: Casa Real y facciones cortesanas (1526-1539)”. Portuguese Studies Review, 13 (1-2): 135-171. Meneses, Avelino Freitas de (2005) “O Povoamento”. In Joel Serrão and António H. Oliveira Marques (eds.), Nova História da Expansão Portuguesa. Vol. III:A Colonização Atlântica (coordinated by Artur Teodoro de Matos). Lisbon: Estampa, 209-306. Morais, Cristóvão Alão de (1997) [1943-1948]. Pedatura Lusitana. Nobiliário de Famílias de Portugal. Braga: Carvalhos de Basto, 6 vols. Moreno, Humberto Baquero (1979) [1973]. A Batalha de Alfarrobeira. Antecedentes e significado histórico, 2 vols. Coimbra: Biblioteca Geral da Universidade de Coimbra. Mousnier, Roland (1982). “Les fidélités et les clientèles en France aux XVIe, XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles”. Social History/Histoire Sociale, 15 (29): 35-46. Olival, Maria Fernanda (1988). Para uma análise sociológica das Ordens Militares no Portugal do Antigo Regime (1581-1621), 2 vols, MA dissertation in Early Modern History. Lisbon: Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Lisboa. Pereira, João Cordeiro (2003). “Estrutura social e o seu devir”. In Portugal na Era de Quinhentos. Estudos vários. Cascais: Patrimonia Historica, 299-369. Riley, Carlos Guilherme (1998). “Ilhas Atlânticas e Costa Africana”. In Francisco Bethencourt and Kirti Chaudhuri (eds.), História da Expansão Portuguesa, vol. I. Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores, 137-62. Sampaio, Luís Teixeira de (1921). Os Chavões. Porto: Typographia da Empresa Literária e Typografica. Salvá, Miguel and Baranda, Pedro Sainzde (eds.) (1845). Collección de Documentos Inéditos para la Historia de España, tomo VI. Madrid: Imprenta de la Viuda de Calero.

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Sousa, António Caetano de (1946-1955). História Genealógica da Casa Real Portuguesa. Coimbra: Atlântida, 13 vols. Starkey, David (1973). The King’s Privy Chamber, 1485-1547, PhD thesis, Cambridge: University of Cambridge. Ventura, Leontina (2009). D. Afonso III. Rio de Mouro: Temas e Debates.

Received for publication: 14 April 2015 Accepted in revised form: 4 April 2016 Recebido para publicação: 14 de Abril de 2015 Aceite após revisão: 4 de Abril de 2016

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 19 The Effect of the Establishment of the Portuguese Republic on the Revenue of Secular Brotherhoods—the Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”1

Paulo Mourão2

Abstract

Following its establishment in 1910, the First Portuguese Republic adopted a markedly anticlerical profile during its early years. Consequently, we hypothesize that the revenue of Portuguese religious institutions should reflect a clear structural break in 1910. However, one of Portugal’s most important historical pilgrimage sites (“Bom Jesus de Braga”) does not seem to have experienced a very significant break. Relying on time series econometrics (consisting primarily of recurring tests for multiple structural breaks), we studied the series of the Bom Jesus revenue between 1863 and 1952 (i.e., between the confiscation of church property by the constitutional monarchy and the stabilization of the Second Republic). It was concluded that 1910 does not represent a significant date for identifying a structural break in this series. However, the last quarter of the nineteenth century cannot be neglected in terms of the structural changes occurring in the Bom Jesus revenue.

Keywords

Portuguese economic history; anticlericalism; Bom Jesus de Braga; structural breaks

Resumo

Após o estabelecimento, em 1910, a Primeira República Portuguesa assumiu um perfil anticlerical durante os seus primeiros anos. Consequentemente, poderíamos supor que as receitas das instituições religiosas portuguesas refletiram quebras estruturais em 1910. No entanto, um dos mais importantes centros históricos de peregrinação de Portugal (o "Bom Jesus de Braga") parece ter passado esses anos sem quebras significativas. Baseando-nos em análises econométricas de séries temporais (principalmente testes sobre quebras estruturais), estudámos com detalhe a série de receitas de Bom Jesus entre 1863 e 1952 (ou seja, entre o confisco da propriedade da igreja pela monarquia constitucional e a estabilização da Segunda República). Concluiu-se que 1910 não é uma data significativa para a identificação

1 The author is grateful for the suggestions provided by two anonymous reviewers from the e-Journal of Portuguese History of a previous version of this research. The author is also indebted to Jorge Gonçalves, João André Gomes and Gil Guerra for their valuable support in collecting the primary data examined in this work (i.e. the data relating to the Bom Jesus revenue). The author also wishes to thank the members of the Executive Board of the Bom Jesus Brotherhood for permitting the of the primary data. The author also recognizes the willingness and availability of the Bom Jesus workers (namely Fernando Rocha) in providing a convenient timetable during which the Bom Jesus historical could be studied. Any remaining errors are exclusively of the author’s own responsibility. 2 Department of Economics. Economics & Management School, University of Minho. E-mail: [email protected] Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

de uma quebra estrutural na série. No entanto, os anos do último quartel do século XIX não podem ser negligenciados em termos de mudanças estruturais nas receitas do Bom Jesus.

Palavras-chave

História económica portuguesa; anticlericalismo; Bom Jesus de Braga; quebras estruturais

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 21 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

1. Introduction

The establishment of the First Portuguese Republic (on October 5, 1910) transformed a constitutionalist monarchy into a parliamentary republican system. In its first years, this system produced an impressive number of legislative documents. However, the most important of these documents were clearly anticlerical in their tone and nature. This political vendetta against Catholic forces stemmed in part from the Catholic hierarchy’s official opposition to republican forces (since the early 1820s), as well as from the political loyalty of many clergymen and rural residents to the monarchy. The Minho region (whose administrative capital, Braga, is approximately 30 miles to the north of Porto) was among the most conservative areas, opposing many political changes that were more effusively applauded in the largest Portuguese cities (e.g., Lisbon and Porto). Since the seventeenth century, Bom Jesus de Braga has been one of the most important religious sites in the so-called Portuguese Rome (i.e. the city of Braga), and is managed by a secular brotherhood. In addition to the local and regional prestige that it enjoys by belonging to this brotherhood, Bom Jesus de Braga has been further characterized by its national and international prominence since the eighteenth century. However, after an exhaustive study of the daily balance sheets, we observed considerable oscillations in the revenue reported by the Bom Jesus brotherhood for almost a century, i.e. between 1863 and 1952. These daily sheets cover a long period that was extremely dense in historical, political and economic events, even from a national perspective. Because the Bom Jesus revenue has primarily been derived from donations, alms, stipends and yields from financial investments (among other items, which will be discussed later on), they reflect not only the flows of visitors to the shrine, but also the country’s economic growth and the idiosyncratic changes it has experienced. Accordingly, this work will analyze the endogenous dynamics of Bom Jesus, which, during the period under study here, evolved from a strictly religious area (centered around Jesus Christ’s via crucis) into a tourist area (changes included the improvement of its hotels, the building of a funicular, and the enlargement of its already dense forest). However, the Minho region also developed, and its population increased between 1863 and 1952. Demographic challenges arose, and important moves were made in the political chess game. The Minho area not only adapted to the complex evolution of the Portuguese economy and society, but also retained one of the most notable particularities of the area’s population—its religiosity.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 22 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

We will empirically test whether the establishment of the First Republic significantly changed the Bom Jesus revenue. Our hypothesis was constructed in the light of the extensive changes that the republican forces intended to make to the population’s Catholicism and the military occupation of Braga’s convents, with the interruption of its processions and the enforced exile of two of its archbishops during the period of the establishment of the Republic, among other episodes that will be discussed later on. Furthermore, in 1910-1911, important changes took place in the purchasing power of the Portuguese population, including a significant reduction in the size of the economically active population (Valério, 2001), which might have significantly changed the propensity of private individuals for making religious donations (such as those that accounted for much of the Bom Jesus revenue). The structure of this paper is as follows: in section 2, we will discuss the location of Bom Jesus, its religious importance, and its evolution; and, in this same section, we will also describe the changes occurring in the Bom Jesus revenue from 1863 to 1952. In section 3, we will revisit the most important historical moments that occurred in Portugal and the Minho region during the period under study. Our empirical tests for the existence and identification of structural breaks in the time series of the Bom Jesus revenue will be discussed in section 4. Finally, section 5 concludes the paper.

2. The revenue of Bom Jesus de Braga between 1863 and 1952—how the revenue of a secular brotherhood reflected the evolution of the local and national economies

2.1 The importance of Bom Jesus and a justification for selecting the case of the Bom Jesus revenue

According to Pereira (2013a), the Bom Jesus complex remains one of Portugal’s most important and most heavily visited religious pilgrimage sites, receiving more than 900,000 visitors per year. Bom Jesus is currently applying for the status of a World Heritage Site. Interestingly, the Brazilian site of Bom Jesus de Matosinhos (Congonhas, Minas Gerais, Brazil), which was constructed in the eighteenth century with a design based on that of Bom Jesus de Braga, is already a World Heritage Site.3 The architectural influence of Bom Jesus de Braga can be clearly noted at various other Portuguese sites, such as the

3 Information about the Bom Jesus sanctuary in Congonhas is available from UNESCO: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/334 e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 23 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

Sanctuary of Our Lady of Remedies (Lamego) and the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Mercy (Sanfins do Douro). The Bom Jesus site continues to be inspired by its religious roots. However, it also provides non-religious tourist amenities (including its funicular, which was the first to be built in Portugal and Spain,4 green leisure areas, a central lake, and a group of four hotels). This site was originally developed around modest chapels that focused on the Catholic devotion to the Holy Cross, which already existed in the seventeenth century (Peixoto, 2011). On August 29, 1773, Clement XIV signed three religious briefs concerning Bom Jesus, which significantly contributed to the increased number of visitors from then on (Peixoto, 2011). During the eighteenth century and the first years of the nineteenth century, the religious area expanded into its adjacent territory to create a baroque natural sanctuary (a “sacromonte tridentino,” as Bandeira (2006) claims). Prior to 1868, 16 chapels were constructed on the site to represent the stations of Jesus Christ’s via crucis (Illustração Popular, 1868, as reported in Peixoto, 2011). During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the site was enriched with a complex system of fountains and biblical statues to improve its scenic attractiveness. During the nineteenth century, several private chalets were built around this natural sanctuary, demonstrating the local importance of this place even to Braga’s bourgeoisie (Bandeira, 2006). The dense inner forest area within the Bom Jesus site was also substantially improved during the second half of the nineteenth century through the planting of trees from the hills of Gerês and Buçaco (Peixoto, 2011). The last quarter of the nineteenth century witnessed several more improvements, namely to the lakes and fountains. In 1877, a central lake was constructed (Peixoto, 2011). In 1878, in recognition of the public’s affluence, a telegraph post was erected. On May 13, 1880, a contract was signed between Bom Jesus and a private company (Companhia de Carris e Ascensor) to distribute water between its various sources and utilities (e.g. the funicular, the lakes, and the hotels). The impressive number of visitors during this period5 led to an increased hotel capacity through two main initiatives—the construction of a chalet for benefactors (1877-1880), and the construction of a new storey at the Hotel do Elevador (1883-1884) (Peixoto, 2011). According to Peixoto (2011), during the nineteenth century, Bom Jesus was not only an important site of religious pilgrimage, but also a local setting for the enactment of national political and parliamentary conflicts that were then exported to the most important

4 According to Unamuno (1908) and Coutinho (1899), the funicular began to operate on March 25, 1882, thanks to the enterprise of Manuel Joaquim Gomes. 5 According to Lopes (2009: 19), during the pilgrimage of 1884, more than 90,000 pilgrims visited Bom Jesus. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 24 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” brotherhoods of the region (namely the conflicts between the “Regeneradores” and the “Progressistas”). The elections of the last quarter of the nineteenth century revealed these dynamics. During the 1870 elections, several protests were made about the continuing persistence in office of several brothers who had managed the brotherhood for over 15 years. In the elections of 1877 and 1895, two separate lists of candidates claimed victory, with the result of the elections being resolved by the Supreme Administrative Court (Peixoto, 2011). After the establishment of the First Portuguese Republic (October 5, 1910), the statutes governing the brotherhood of Bom Jesus provided the primary evidence of the deep changes that the anticlerical direction of the new Portuguese government had introduced into the country’s religious life. According to Peixoto (2011), in 1912, new statutes were approved by both civil authorities (on February 27) and religious authorities (on March 25). In 1919, new statutes were passed, which expressly mentioned the Law of Separation of Church and State (Peixoto, 2011). Although the establishment of the First Portuguese Republic is usually linked to the rise of anticlerical movements, the Bom Jesus resort continued to develop after 1910. In 1903, an artificial cavern was built close to the main hotel, and, in 1912, a belvedere was constructed in that cavern. In 1906, the space was electrified in order to power the public streetlights installed at the resort. In 1916, the architect Raul Lino designed a casino for the resort (which is currently a conference hall), and, in 1926, the same architect put his name to the “Casa das Estampas” project, a building designed to sell religious articles that was located close to the main church of Bom Jesus (Bandeira, 2006). In 1925, the Bom Jesus private historical was created. According to Pereira (2013a), from 1890 to 1930, Bom Jesus was a cultural space with an intense program. There were philharmonic performances, popular/secular festivities (usually at Pentecost, 50 days after Easter), cultural conferences hosted at the hotels, 6 and sports tournaments (especially fencing). Because of its many sights and magnificent views, Bom Jesus was also visited by many photographers. It was further improved in 1944 with the addition of a telescope, which is now considered to be one of its major attractions (Peixoto, 2011).

6 At a historical conference on May 27, 1926, Dr. Cunha Leal gave a speech. This conference precipitated the military coup that started in Braga the following morning, resulting in the establishment of the Second Portuguese Republic (1926-1974). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 25 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

2.2 The revenue of Bom Jesus between 1863 and 1952

The Bom Jesus brotherhood maintains a private historical library containing a large collection of books that describe the history of the area and the institution. We will therefore begin by studying the library’s daily balance sheets, which span nearly a century, i.e. from 1863 to 1952.7 This private library includes an extensive list of documents relating to official administrative staff meetings (“Mesa”), accounting ledgers relating to the brotherhood’s various financial operations (not only its day-to-day activities, but also its investments), and documents providing details of particular brotherhood activities, such as the provision of social welfare or the modernization and expansion of its buildings. These activities generated expenses that were primarily covered by the brotherhood’s revenue. To observe the Bom Jesus revenue, we consulted the brotherhood’s official accounting ledgers for 1863-1952. Accordingly, we consulted the Bom Jesus daily balance sheets (Diário da Despesa e Receita). This collection is composed of seven handwritten and well-preserved ledgers8 whose reference codes (in the Bom Jesus book inventory) are 811, 812, 813, 814, 815, 816, and 817.9 These ledgers provided us with our observations of the group’s revenue. The main items of revenue observed from 1863 to 1952 can be divided into current revenue and capital revenue. Current revenue includes donations, religious bequests, alms, Mass stipends, sales of religious items (such as pictures of saints, medals, candles, and books), dues paid by members/brothers, and new enrolment fees for members. Capital revenue primarily relates to the receipt of interest from bank accounts, dividends, and rents (the brotherhood owns land and hotels, which are rented by third parties). During the period under study, current revenue accounted for an average of 72% of total revenue, and thus the yearly cycle of revenue primarily depended on the cycle of current revenue. There were two peaks in the months of June and July (which are usually

7 The Bom Jesus historical library also contains other books that describe the details of its accounting operations and/or financial flows for the period before 1863. However, because this information is scattered among various books, with different accounting methods being used by different bookkeepers and treasurers, we opted to cover the most extensive series of yearly observations, which was constructed using the same methodological and accounting procedures. Therefore, we focused only on the years between 1863 and 1952. More recent years (i.e. after 1952) were not covered in this paper because the relevant books have not yet been deposited in the historical library. The study of daily balance sheets after 1952 merits additional attention in future research studies. 8 A full description of these books is available upon request. 9 Book 811 covered the period from July 4, 1863, to July 10, 1877. Book 812 covered the period from July 18, 1877, to June 30, 1896. Book 813 covered the period from June 30, 1897, to June 30, 1921. Book 814 gave the details for book 813. Book 815 covered the period from June 30, 1921, to December 31, 1952. Books 816 and 817 gave the details for book 815. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 26 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” close to the main religious festival for Bom Jesus—Pentecost—according to Peixoto (2011)). The minimum monthly values tended to occur in August. Full details are available upon request. To avoid serious problems with inflated values (due to the Portuguese inflation rate), we will observe this revenue at constant prices. To properly deflate the Bom Jesus revenue, we will use the price indexes available in Valério’s Estatísticas Históricas Portuguesas (2001) and Vasconcelos (1999). Figure 1 shows the values of the Bom Jesus revenue at constant prices10 between 1863 and 1952.

Figure 1—The total revenue of Bom Jesus, 1863-1952 (vertical axis: 1,000,000 escudos at 1999 prices)

If we analyze Figure 1, we will notice an upward trend in revenue between 1865 and 1890. At the end of the 1880s, revenue reached its maximum value of approximately 140,000,000 escudos (at 1999 prices). The 1890s were characterized by sharply diminishing values (1899 revenue only reached slightly over 20,000,000 escudos). Between 1900 and 1920, revenue reached its maximum value (approximately 110,000,000 escudos in 1906), exhibiting an inverted-U shape over these two decades. Between 1920 and 1950, there were three revenue cycles during each decade, with peaks in 1925, 1935 and 1948.

10 The base year is 1999 for two reasons: firstly, the euro was introduced in 1999 as the official Portuguese currency, secondly, using amounts calculated at 1999 prices improves clarity for readers, given that these are relatively recent (Wynne and Rodriguez-Palenzuela, 2004).

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This series exhibits different patterns of oscillation, indicating the absence of a unique trend. To explain this movement in terms of revenue, we could formulate hypotheses that focused on the history of Bom Jesus. In this case, several authors (Otáhal, 2012; Almodovar and Teixeira, 2008; Bértola, 2013) warn that we would be overlooking the importance of Bom Jesus beyond its religious practices. As various authors have claimed (Bandeira, 2006; Peixoto, 2011), Bom Jesus has always been an important source of revenue, not only at a local level, but also at the national and international levels. Therefore, the revenue of Bom Jesus is necessarily dependent on major regional and national socioeconomic changes. In order to search for additional explanations, in the next section, we will describe the main political, economic and religious changes observed in Portugal and in the Braga area during the period under study.

3. Explaining the oscillation of the revenue of Bom Jesus—brotherhood dynamics and local and national causes between 1863 and 1952

The study of business cycles in the field of economics has received special attention from very different authors, including Ibn Khaldun, Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and Alfred Marshall. As Parpola (2009) argues, even nomadic tribes studied the cycles of their travels, paying special attention to seasonal variations, lunar phases, and tides. Similarly, the study of the causes of such cycles has emerged as a “natural” field of research (Moore, 1914; Temin, 1998). According to several authors (Moore, 1914; Otáhal, 2012; Bértola, 2013), if we wish to analyze the cycle of a particular socioeconomic phenomenon, we must also identify the most important external dimensions that might influence the phenomenon beyond its own dynamics. If the phenomenon is regionally concentrated (for instance, the volume of trade recorded by a fair over several years), we must study the economic history of the region in addition to the fair’s own commercial flows. In the case of Bom Jesus, we are analyzing a religiously inspired place whose sphere of influence not only includes its surrounding region (northern Portugal), but also touches upon Portugal as a whole (Peixoto, 2011; Pereira, 2013b). Therefore, if we intend to explain the oscillations observed in the Bom Jesus revenue, we must analyze the Bom Jesus dynamics more closely, as well as the major economic events in historical terms in Portugal in general, and in its northern region in particular.

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3.1 The complex relationship between Portuguese political forces and Catholic institutions from 1863 to 1910

The period under observation (1863-1952) is full of events related to the rise of the Portuguese republican movement, ranging from the complex management of the institutional and social relationships between the Catholic Church, the Monarchy and the Parliament to the social convulsions affecting the country. For instance, as Mourão (2012a) notes, the 1860s imposed a series of unpopular taxes, marked by the “Maria Bernarda” and “Maria da Fonte” revolts in the Braga and Minho areas, respectively. In April 1861, several laws were enforced by the Portuguese courts in favor of the dissolution (“desamortização”) of the property of nuns and churches, which were financed by interests on public debt (Neto, 1998). 1861 also signaled the suppression of the rights relating to religious bequests (“vínculos e capelas”). In 1862, new legislation prohibited the functioning of religious congregations. In 1866, the movement to confiscate religious properties was extended to include parishes, brotherhoods, and charitable institutions (“Misericórdias”); in 1869, it was extended to religious primary schools. For a more detailed discussion of anticlericalism in Portuguese law during the 1860s, see Fernandes (2007). However, the 1870s brought changes to these anticlerical laws. According to Silva (1996), the “Associação Católica”11 was created in 1870, and in 1871 there were some attempts to re-legalize the activities of religious orders (although the Benedictines only returned in 1888). In 1871, anticlerical conferences were prohibited at the Casino Lisbonense (Mónica, 2001). In 1872, the Catholic newspaper “A Palavra” was founded. The 1878 Administrative Reform clarified the functions that could be performed by local religious authorities (namely priests) and by the presidents of “juntas,” the local parish councils that managed many public issues, including the maintenance and reconstruction of religious sites (Gomes, 2012). The years 1880 (marking the three hundredth anniversary of Camões’ death) and 1882 (marking the centenary of the Marquis of Pombal’s death) reinforced the influence of the anticlerical movement (Cunha, 2011). In 1895, a congress of anticlerical forces was organized by socialists, and in that same year Afonso Costa published A Igreja e a Questão Social. Furthermore, Portugal signed a treaty with the United Kingdom (on August 20, 1890), which permitted religious freedom in the African territories under their

11 See Gonçalves (2004) or Catroga (1988) on the “Associação Católica.” e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 29 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” administration. In 1900, the socialist force “Círios Civis” organized another anticlerical congress, and João Bonança published O Século e o Clero. In 1901, Minister Hintze Ribeiro attempted to pass legislation recognizing the public activities of religious orders through the Decree-Law of April 18, 1901 (Villares, 1995), which was followed by popular protests in several cities (even in cities in northern Portugal, such as Vila Real and Chaves).12 Catholic movements defended themselves in the press. In 1893, the influential Catholic newspaper Correio Nacional appeared. In 1901, ten years after the Rerum Novarum (of Leo XIII) at Coimbra, Catholic forces acquired a more powerful political voice with the creation of the “Centro Académico de Democracia Cristã.”13 In October 1904, legislation appeared to facilitate the loan contracts of Catholic trade unions. In December 1904, Father Pinheiro Marques published O Socialismo e a Igreja (Ferreira, 2007). On August 30, 1907, the 2nd Congress of the Popular Catholic Associations took place in Porto. Silva (1996) discusses the Catholic movements over these final years of the constitutional monarchy. The rise of Catholic social organizations was accompanied by the appearance of important anticlerical movements, such as the “Junta Liberal,” a para-Masonic organization (led by Miguel Bombarda, António Aurélio da Costa Ferreira, Egas Moniz and Cândido dos Reis), which attracted more than 100,000 people to a public meeting on December 22, 1909 (Catroga, 1988).

3.2 The First Republic and changes in the relationship between the Portuguese State and the Catholic Church

The First Portuguese Republic was established on October 5, 1910. The incumbent forces immediately set about the task of profoundly restructuring the relationship between the Portuguese State and the Catholic Church (Fernandes, 2009). On October 8, 1910, the Jesuits were expelled, as were other religious congregations, and many convents were closed. Several religious institutions lost their religious heads (some were arrested, others fled) and were consequently maintained by secular Christians in the months that followed (Araújo, 2001). Ten days later, on October 18, 1910, the teaching of Christian doctrine at public schools was abolished. Afonso (2013) argues that the republicans’ most effective anticlerical legislation was the one governing

12 See Ribeiro Aires (2010). 13 For an extensive discussion on the origins and the importance of the “Centro Académico de Democracia Cristã,” see Hipólito (2004). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 30 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” educational reform, and on October 20, 1910, the Apostolic Nuncio left Lisbon, while many priests and nuns were imprisoned. On November 3, 1910, the Divorce Law was promulgated (according to Ferreira (1993), this law represents one of the major victories of republican ideas), and on December 29, the theological and canonical law faculties were closed. On January 21, 1911, a Decree-Law was passed prohibiting religious worship at the chapel of the University of Coimbra (at the time, the most important in the country). On February 20, 1911, parochial institutions lost their monopoly over the control of demographic censuses (namely the registration of births, deaths, and marriages), and these duties were assumed by the “Registo Civil” (Civil Registry Office), a secular administrative office created in each municipality. The first public reaction from Portuguese bishops occurred on February 23, 1911, with the signing of a public letter of protest about the evolution of the newly-established republic. The Minister of Justice, Afonso Costa,14 prohibited the of the letter, and several arrests and imprisonments were reported when religious people disobeyed the ban. On January 14, 1912, the bishops of Viseu and Porto were exiled.15 On April 20, 1911, the Law of Separation of Church and State was passed. This law led to the severance of institutional relations with the Vatican (which was further encouraged by Portugal’s nationalization of Church property). However, after three years during which there was an intense implementation of anticlerical measures by the ruling forces (discussed in Fernandes (2009)), the First Republic and the Portuguese Church began to enjoy a more stable relationship. In 1913, the Catholic movement known as “União Católica” (Pinto, 2011) was officially registered. On February 7, 1915, the consecration of the first Bishop since the establishment of the Republic—Dom Antonio Pereira Ribeiro, Bishop of Funchal—took place, and on August 8, 1915, the Catholic nationalist movement “Centro Católico Português”16 was created at a meeting in Braga. In 1917, the reported apparitions of the Virgin Mary at Fátima increased Portugal’s Catholic religiosity, which evolved from a popular phenomenon into the international pilgrimage that currently characterizes Fátima. The relations between the Portuguese

14 There are several books that reflect on the difficult relationship between the Catholic Church and the early First Republic. Afonso Costa’s Catolicismo, Socialismo e Sindicalismo (1913) and Moreira d’Almeida’s A Separação do Estado e das Igrejas (1911) deserve special attention. 15 On February 22, 1914, the Bishop of Porto received an amnesty. 16 According to Catroga (2010) and Rocha (2012), this important movement denounced the religious intolerance of the First Republic. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 31 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” parliaments and governments and Fátima, and even the relationship of the Catholic hierarchy towards Fátima, were always complex affairs (Azevedo, 1995). This complexity was evident during the First Republic (Fernandes, 2012) and was only overcome after the establishment of the Second Republic (in 1926), a political period during which Fátima clearly assumed its international prominence. In 1918, the dictatorship led by Sidónio Pais17 issued a Decree-Law (on February 23), revising the Law of Separation of Church and State, in order to restore some powers to the Catholic Church and other religious organizations. On July 10, 1918, diplomatic relations with the Vatican were resumed after Monsignor Ragonesi was received by Sidónio Pais. On January 23, 1919, Nuno Álvares Pereira (a fourteenth-century Portuguese statesman) was beatified, signaling the creation of Catholic movements such as the “Cruzada Nun’Álvares,” which were concerned with stimulating religious worship and devotion. For an extended discussion of the role played by the dictatorship of Sidónio Pais in the re-establishment of relations with the , see Silva (1996). On July 26, 1923, the Cardinal Patriarch of Lisbon, Dom António Mendes Belo, was accepted as a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences.

3.3 The tenuous stability of the relationship between Portuguese political institutions and the Catholic Church, 1926-1952

On May 28, 1926, a military revolt began in Braga and ended in Lisbon some days later with the establishment of the Second Portuguese Republic (greatly influenced by Oliveira Salazar, Finance Minister from 1928 onward and Head of Government from 1932 to 1968). This was a period of relatively stable relations between the Portuguese political authorities (namely the parliament, the government and the president) and the Holy See. On October 13, 1926, the Minister for the Colonies, João Belo, signed Decree-Law No. 12485, which granted the Catholic Church the exclusive right to evangelize in the Portuguese colonies. Furthermore, in 1926, several conservative Catholic periodicals appeared—most notably, the Ordem Nova, in which the future Chief of Government, Marcello Caetano, participated. On June 29, 1928, Order No. 6269 nullified most of the First Republic’s anticlerical legislation, namely that which applied to public demonstrations of religious faith. On August 5, 1928, Cardinal Manuel Gonçalves Cerejeira replaced Dom António Mendes Belo

17 This dictatorship was initiated on December 8, 1917, by a military coup led by Sidónio Pais; it ended when Sidónio Pais was assassinated (December 14, 1918). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 32 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” as the Patriarch of Lisbon. Cerejeira was a former colleague of Oliveira Salazar, a former leading member of Catholic organizations such as “Centro Académico de Democracia Cristão” and “Acção Católica,” and a former history professor at the University of Coimbra. The close relationship between Salazar and Cerejeira contributed not only to the approval of Salazar’s successive governments by the Catholic hierarchy, but also to the recovery and stabilization of the Church’s social and pastoral activities in Portugal (Reis, 2000). On November 10, 1933, Pope Pius XI created the “Acção Apostólica Portuguesa,” a religious institution for pastoral action in society. In the institution’s opening message, it clarified that the Holy See recognized and supported the ideological and legitimate plans of the (new) Portuguese Republic because the activities of Portuguese Catholic forces were subordinate to the State in the political sphere. The Portuguese State in turn recognized the Church’s moral tutelage. This institutional relationship was further developed through the implementation of the Concordat and the Missionary Agreement on May 7, 1940. A few weeks later (on May 25, 1940), Salazar clarified these points in his speech “Problemas politico-religiosos da Nação Portuguesa e do seu Império.” On July 25, 1940, Decree-Law No. 30615 provided for the return to the Church of the property that religious institutions had previously managed (which had been nationalized by the First Republic). Reflecting the proximity between their respective points of view, on December 2, 1940, a “Te Deum” Mass was celebrated in Lisbon, presided over by Cardinal Cerejeira, to conclude celebrations of the eight hundredth anniversary of the Portuguese nation and the importance of religious activities in Portugal. As previously noted, the religious phenomenon of Fátima took on even greater importance during the Second Republic. For example, Cardinal Masella, a Legate of Pius XII to Cova da Iria (Fátima), visited the sanctuary for a celebration during which a statue of Our Lady of Fátima was crowned (on May 13, 1946) after the end of the Second World War. Although the relationship between the Catholic hierarchy and the Portuguese political institutions had stabilized, there was less evident agreement from some clergymen (or secular movements) about the country’s political direction. For instance, O Trabalhador, a newspaper edited by Father Abel Varzim, a former supporter of the Second Republic, was banned on July 10, 1948, for adopting a pro-Marxist perspective. Because of this episode, Father Varzim, who had received a PhD (in political and social science) from Louvain University, was transferred from Lisbon (where he had also directed several

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Catholic social initiatives) to the parish of his birthplace (Cristelo, Barcelos) in the north of the country. Another important case involved the exile of Dom António Ferreira Gomes (1959-1969), the Bishop of Porto, whose opposition to the corporatist inclinations of the Second Republic is discussed by Linda (1999). The work of Braga da Cruz (1999) details the Catholic opposition to Salazar’s government. Santos (2006) shows that, as Oliveira Salazar persisted in power, traditionally supportive movements began to withdraw their backing. For instance, articles published in the review Brotéria, founded by Jesuits in 1902 as a counterbalance to anticlerical and atheist opinions, shifted from a laudatory position (from 1926 through the 1930s) to a very critical stance (after 1950). Therefore, in keeping with Linda (1999) and Reis (2000), we can recognize that after 1926 Portugal’s political authorities abandoned the anticlerical view that had been adopted by the Portuguese government during the early years of the First Republic. This new profile created a scenario of stability that religious institutions or brotherhoods (such as the Bom Jesus de Braga brotherhood) might have used to expand their activities and to increase their revenue.

3.4 Socioeconomic movements in the city of Braga and its developing region, 1863-1952

In searching for explanations for the oscillations in the Bom Jesus brotherhood’s revenue, we must also consider the social and economic changes taking place in its surrounding region, i.e. in northern Portugal, especially in the Braga and Minho areas, during the period under study (1863-1952). Although the most important political events occurred in Porto, after the middle of the nineteenth century, the remainder of Portugal’s northern region gradually began to participate in the evolving political and religious discussion, because it also witnessed the country’s economic transformation, namely the industrialization process promoted by the Fontes Pereira de Melo government (1868-1889). This industrialization provided various cities and towns in northern Portugal with the opportunity to display their own economic development at industrial exhibitions and trade fairs beginning in 1860. For instance, in 1861, the Portuguese Industrial Exhibition was held in Porto. Two years later, Braga organized the Agricultural and Industrial Exhibition. In 1865, the remarkable Porto International Exhibition took place at the Palácio de Cristal in this major northern city, a site deeply marked by the romanticism of

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 34 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” the time. In 1869, the Porto Commercial Athenaeum (“Ateneu Comercial do Porto”) was created, being linked to the appearance of a regional bourgeoisie whose wealth was based on Porto’s wine production and trade, textile industry and local banks. In 1875, the city of Braga opened a train station (Capela and Nunes, 2011). However, Northern Portugal also experienced a rise in the number of proletarian movements, including the organization in Porto, on May 24, 1892,, of the “Congresso das Associações de Classe” (Congress of Class Associations). In 1902, the 2nd Galician- Portuguese Congress was organized in the Minho city of Viana do Castelo; the following year, Braga hosted the 3rd Congress, which was marked by a common debate that included socialist speakers and trade unionists from both regions (Minho, Portugal and Galicia, Spain). The second half of the nineteenth century featured very significant developments in the Braga area that explained the dynamics set in motion by the industrial exhibitions and the proletarian meetings. As Oliveira (2011) argues, this dynamism was also supported by the presence of a new bourgeoisie in Minho, composed of barons and viscounts (who, at the time, were afforded political recognition with the provision of a significant public fund by the State) and the so-called “brasileiros,” returned emigrants who had lived and worked in Brazil. Additional proof of this industrialization (which reinforced Braga’s centrality) is provided by the concentration of many organizations created during the period in response to the challenges of the rising numbers of indigent people and poor families.18 On the one hand, we must agree with Juncal (2004), who shows a growing number of people living in the Minho region after 1864. On the other hand, we must also recognize that a rising population was not synonymous with a significant reduction in the area’s poverty. Guimarães (2005) identifies twenty organizations (primarily religious organizations) created in Braga after 1860 to help needy people. Some examples include the “Asilo da Infância Desvalida de Dom Pedro V” (1863), the “Oficina de São José” (1889) for children, the “Colégio de Regeneração” (1869), the “Regulamento das Toleradas” (1871) for female prostitutes, the “Montepio de São José” (1861) and the “Associação Comercial de Beneficiência de Braga” (1874) for the impoverished families of local merchants. Some of the supporting religious organizations included the Franciscan Hospitaller Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, the Dominican Sisters, and the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Cluny.

18 Although the city of Braga was increasingly central, some events taking place in the second half of the nineteenth century limited its growth. Examples include the epidemics of smallpox and typhoid during the 1870s, according to Barbosa (2001), and increasing emigration after 1860, according to Barbosa (2002). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 35 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

Republicanism once more enjoyed greater prominence in northern Portugal during this period (after the massacre of January 31, 1891). Porto was chosen to host the Congress of the Republican Party on April 29-30, 1909. On April 27, 1912, after the actual implantation of the republic itself, another Congress of the Republican Party was hosted in the north, this time in Braga. Social forces from the Minho region that were more closely connected with the Portuguese Catholic monarchist and conservative movements began to organize similar public events (Rocha, 2012).19 For instance, on July 3, 1903, Viana do Castelo hosted the Congress of the Nationalist Party (a Catholic political movement). The effects of October 5, 1910 also spread from Lisbon to other Portuguese regions, namely to the country’s traditionalist northern region. On February 23, 1911, members of two Catholic political groups (the “Círculo Católico” and the “Associação Católica”) publicly debated (and even fought) in the streets of Porto. The topic discussed was the role of the Portuguese Catholic Church in the light of the changed political regime. That year, on April 26, Afonso Costa spoke at Braga about his government’s intention to destroy Catholicism in Portugal within two generations (Araújo, 2001: 58). 1911 was a very tense year in Braga. Ferreira (2011) and Cordeiro (2011) describe street fights that occurred when anticlerical forces interrupted a Sacred Heart procession. Cordeiro (2011) also notes that the headquarters of the “Associação Católica” in Braga were burned down on October 1, 1911. Coelho (2010) examines Braga newspapers in the weeks after October 5, 1910. Apparently, the local press did not emphasize the regime change during that period. Even republican publications devoted few lines to describing or commenting on the facts. However, as Coelho (2011) recognizes, this type of message (or, more properly, this type of silent message) reveals a strategy of the local press given the magnitude of the changes that were envisaged. Therefore, Braga’s press (mostly in the hands of monarchists and clericalists) presented confusing messages, opinions and perspectives about the situation created by the regime change. According to Sarmento (2012), this apparent silence was followed by the closures of various religious institutions in Braga: “various Theology Schools [were] closed down,20 heritage was vandalized, and many musical activities, such as

19 According to Lopes (2009: 56) and Aguiã (1996: 125), devotion to the Virgin Mary increased in Portugal after 1876, particularly following the completion of the building of the Basilica of Sameiro in Braga (in a neighboring parish to the Bom Jesus parish). In 1904, 500,000 pilgrims celebrated the 50th anniversary of the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception at the Basilica of Sameiro (Aguiã, 1996: 126) 20 There were various military occupations of Braga’s Theology Schools between 1910 and 1911 (Sarmento, 2012; Araújo, 2001). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 36 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” the study of religious music, were affected (i.e. at Braga’s Montariol College). Indeed, it was in a difficult social and political context that the liturgical congresses of Vila Real (1926) and Braga (1928) took place” (Sarmento, 2012). Finally, Catholic opinion in Braga became more critical of the political path followed by the First Republic after the exile of two of its Archbishops (Dom Manoel Cunha in 1912 and Dom Manuel Vieira Matos in 1917). The First Republic (1910-1926) was characterized by significant social turmoil, especially in northern Portugal, which was invaded three times by the monarchist troops of Paiva Couceiro (the “Traulitânia”) in 1911, 1912, and 1919. Although the monarchist troops were defeated by coalitions of popular militias supported by the republican army, several places exhibited particular support for the “Traulitânia” (or the “Monarquia do Norte”). Some of these places were located in the Minho region.21 On May 28, 1926, General Gomes da Costa departed from Braga, leading military divisions and spontaneously forming groups of people, including industrial workers, supported by several leading figures in the Catholic conservative movement (who were in Braga for a Marian Congress). They marched to Lisbon to reform the Republic’s political institutions, which were permanently involved in abrupt changes of government and dissolutions of parliament. This military coup ended the First Republic and gave rise to the Second Republic (1926-1974), as described in section 3.2. On May 28, 1933, the “Camisas Azuis” (the Blue Shirts), a nationalist and socialist movement led by Rolão Preto, appeared in Braga (where this nationalist movement had recruited several members from among its most traditionalist residents) and engaged in streets fights against the police. One of the Second Republic’s strategies was to use propaganda to send out strong messages that stabilization had been achieved (Rosas, 2012). Some such displays took place in the Minho region. Cardinal Cerejeira presided over the religious celebrations of the 150th anniversary of the laying of the first stone for the main church at Bom Jesus (Peixoto, 2011). On May 1, 1935, Guimarães hosted the “Festa do Trabalho,” which included impressive parades. On May 28, 1936, Oliveira Salazar and the President of the Republic, Oscar Carmona, went to Braga to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the 1926 coup d’état; several civic and military parades demonstrated the public acceptance of the ruling forces.

21 Places such as Ponte da Barca, Ponte de Lima, Arcos de Valdevez, Melgaço, Vila Nova de Cerveira, Caminha, Guimarães, Barcelos, Vieira do Minho, Fafe, Póvoa de Lanhoso, Cabeceiras de Basto, and Esposende. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 37 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

On June 2, 1940, Guimarães (the first capital of the Kingdom of Portugal) hosted the celebrations for the 8th centenary of the foundation of Portugal; Salazar made his emblematic speech, “800 anos de Independência.” During the first decades of the twentieth century, the regions closest to Bom Jesus (especially in the Braga and Minho areas) did not lose their pro-Catholic characteristics. Pereira (2013a) shows how Braga’s social practices maintained the city’s close ties to religious organizations even after the establishment of the First Republic. In 1930, 140 of the 193 designated “places of sociability”—i.e., places where organized meetings, conferences and congresses could take place—were managed by religious institutions. During the period in which we are studying the Bom Jesus revenue (1863-1952), Braga (and its surrounding region) exhibited three main characteristics: population growth since the middle of the nineteenth century (Juncal, 2004), instability around the time of the implantation of the First Republic (1910), and the maintenance of a conservative Catholic influence during those years (Rocha, 2012).

3.5 The 1910 hypothesis—how economic and political crises changed the revenue of religious institutions

Based on the previous sections of this paper, 1910, the year of the birth of the First Republic, represents a hypothesized change in the pattern of the series of the Bom Jesus revenue. In this year, we observed simultaneous and important changes not only in the dynamics of Bom Jesus itself, but also in the dynamics of Portugal in general and the northern areas in particular. Let us recall these changes. The statutes of the Bom Jesus brotherhood were revised several times after 1910. Peixoto (2011) notes that new statutes were required to be passed in 1912 and 1919, reflecting the anticlerical legislation produced after the establishment of the First Republic. From a national perspective, the regime change led to hard times within the hierarchy of the Portuguese Catholic Church and other Catholic institutions. According to Fernandes (2009) and Rocha (2012), priests were arrested, bishops exiled, and convents closed, and the temporal authority of the Church was eroded by more than 30 anticlerical laws passed during the first year after October 5, 1910. Because of these national changes, we expected to note significant differences in the Bom Jesus revenue due to the political changes motivated by the appearance of the First Republic. We will test these expectations in Section 4.

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Additionally, we observed that northern Portugal, including the Braga region, was not immune to the social and political transformations taking place in Lisbon and beginning in 1910. This permeability might have generated significant differences in northerners” attitudes toward religious practices, according to authors such as Araújo (2001), Ferreira (2011) and Sarmento (2012). Ferreira (2011) also describes the turmoil arising from the celebrations of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (in Braga in May 1911). Because the laws of the First Republic prohibited public displays of religious faith, a procession for the celebration of the Sacred Heart was interrupted by anticlerical individuals, leading to street fights. Ferreira (2011) also notes that there were “clear signs of a break in the exteriorization of religious feeling” (sic) with the suspension of the religious tradition of Easter festivities in many parishes. This change in perspective should also have led to changes in the revenue received by the religious orders and secular brotherhoods in the northern part of the country. A body of economic literature argues that periods of political and/or economic crisis are prime candidates for the display of structural breaks in time series related to business flows. In this case, we are drawing, for instance, on the works of Peacock and Wiseman (1961) and Hamilton (1994). Synthesizing this economic literature, there are three main reasons why a crisis can explain a breakpoint: revenue effects, price shocks, and the instability that occurs in moments of crisis. Usually, inflation shocks generate not only a decrease in consumer purchasing power, but also a significant break in net household revenue (Jinnai, 2013; Fountas, 2010). Several historical episodes providing such evidence are discussed by Hayes (2011) and Moiseev (2005). An increased “fear of the future” leads to delays in investment (Schulmeister, 2014), to changes in the composition of the consumption bundle (Sato, 1997) and to a restructuring of the set of preferences and priorities related to families” objectives (Grosjean et al. 2013). This was the economic scenario in post-1910 Portugal: Lains (2003) shows the divergence of real per capita GDP in Portugal from that of a group of nine industrialized countries between 1910 and 1915. Therefore, assuming that the Bom Jesus visitors, contributors and customers were so affected, we can expect 1910 to have been a year that generated a significant breakpoint in the reported revenue. This is Ferreira’s (2011) thesis: the events of 1910 changed the public expression of religiosity, even in the traditionally most conservative Portuguese regions. However, Mourão (2012b) observes that during periods of economic hardship, believers increase the number of graces/blessings published in Catholic bulletins.

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According to this evidence, during periods of economic difficulty, believers may also have a higher propensity to increase their demand for religious goods and services, all else remaining constant. However, even in this case, the 1910 hypothesis is also favored by the evidence of a statistically significant breakpoint in the Bom Jesus revenue for 1910 (meaning that this revenue should have consistently increased since 1910). What interpretation can we offer if the 1910 hypothesis is not supported? In this case, we can argue that the establishment of the First Portuguese Republic did not change the structural forces affecting the business cycle of this religious resort, supporting Carreira’s (1996) explanation that the people of Minho (most of whom are deeply religious) have tended to interpret the various regime changes as political matters unlikely to transform their idiosyncrasies or their faith (Carreira, 1996). In this case, we could also conclude that the establishment of the First Republic did not give rise to any significant alterations either in the religious beliefs of the Bom Jesus public or in their habits in terms of local visits and pilgrimages. Now, we will test the hypothesis that 1910 (when the political regime changed from a monarchy to a republic) represented a break in the series of the Bom Jesus revenue (as illustrated by Figure 1). To test this hypothesis, we will use the appropriate time series techniques to identify the breaks in the next section.

4. Empirical section—a study of structural breaks in the revenue of the Bom Jesus brotherhood

At this point, we recall that this paper’s primary motivation is to identify the presence of structural changes in the revenue series observed between 1863 and 1952, as reported in the official accounts of the brotherhood of Bom Jesus de Tenões (Braga), referred to in this paper as simply Bom Jesus. First, we will test the 1910 hypothesis. Econometricians have already developed appropriate methods for identifying single or multiple breaks in time series (Hamilton, 1991), with further significant developments having been made since 1970. Given the focus of this study, we intend to briefly introduce the analysis of structural breaks. We refer those interested in more exhaustive explanations to Hamilton (1991), Andrews and Zivot (1992), Clemente, Montañés and Reyes (1998), and Baum,

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Barkoulas and Caglayan (1999). Here, bt represents the series of yearly revenue collected by Bom Jesus at constant prices.22

bt = α + ρ1bt−1 + ... + ρ nbt−n + et (1) 2 2 E(et ) = σ

That is, in keeping with Hansen (2001), we first model bt as an autoregressive [AR(n)] process with an n lag, as in equation (1). We will test for structural breaks in this series by considering two alternative assumptions. First, we will test for aprioristically known/suspected dates (Chow tests), and secondly, we will test for unknown dates (Andrews and Zivot, 1992; Clemente, Montañés and Reyes, 1998; Baum, Barkoulas and Caglayan, 1999).

Let us first test the year 1910 as a probable candidate for a break in bt. Accordingly, we will use a Chow test (Baum, 2005). In keeping with Baum’s explanation, we must split the sample into two sub-periods (the period before and including 1910 and the period after 1910). Then we estimate the parameters of equation 1 for each sub-period. Finally, we test whether the two sets of parameters are equally recurring, using a classic F-statistic. Table 1 presents the main values associated with the Chow test.

Table 1—Chow test of the Bom Jesus revenue with a break in 1910 (implantation of the Portuguese Republic) Series Break date F-statistic (AR-n) Budget revenue 1910 10.19*** (AR-1) (logged) Budget revenue 1910 21.86*** (AR-1) (growth rate) Note: Significance level: 1%, ***; 5%, *; 10%, *.

In reviewing Table 1, we cannot reject the null hypothesis that the year 1910 (marking the implantation of the Portuguese Republic) changed the structure of the Bom Jesus revenue. We cannot reject this hypothesis either for the budget revenue series or for the respective yearly changes. However, according to several authors (Andrew and Zivot,

22 In order to test for robustness, we will also examine the respective yearly growth rates of the revenue of Bom Jesus. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 41 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

1991; Baum, 2005), the Chow test raises several issues. For instance, what happens in 1911 or in 1900?23 Are these dates characterized by more (or less) significant F-statistics? To address these limitations, we must use tests of unknown dates that analyze all possible breaks. According to Baum (2005), in this set of tests we first use Andrews and Zivot’s (1992) procedure for a single break. This test is based on a Dickey-Fuller unit root test. We can test for a trend break or for trend and intercept breaks generated by the break year. The next table (Table 2) presents the values obtained by Andrews and Zivot’s procedure for our data.

Table 2—Andrews and Zivot’s (1992) test of the Bom Jesus revenue Series Break assumption Break date (with t-statistic (AR-n) minimum t-stat) Budget revenue Intercept and trend 1896 -5.902***(AR-3) (logged) Intercept 1877 -4.264** (AR-0) Budget revenue Intercept and trend 1902 -7.198*** (AR-3) (growth rates) Intercept 1922 -7.145***(AR-3) Note: Significance level: 1%, ***; 5%, **; 10%, *.

After reviewing the values provided in Table 2, we reject the hypothesis that 1910 (or a year close to this) brought significant changes in the Bom Jesus revenue. Depending on the assumptions used in each test specification (either intercept and trend changing because of the break or only intercept changing), we obtained four different dates. Two of those dates (1896 and 1902) coincided with the previously discussed pre-1910 downtrend. This downtrend was recorded for the period when socialist and republican ideas spread across the country, even into northern regions and rural areas. A third possible break was 1877; observing Figure 1, this date coincides with the beginning of the period during which the Bom Jesus revenue significantly increased for nearly ten years. The fourth date (1922) occurs at the beginning of the period during which we observed another uptrend in the Bom Jesus revenue, coinciding with the recovery of the privileged relationship of the Catholic Church with the Portuguese government (Reis, 2000). Therefore, the results of the Andrews and Zivot (1992) test do not allow us to pinpoint the official date of the implantation of the Portuguese Republic (1910) as marking a structural change in the revenue of secular brotherhoods such as the Bom Jesus one. Alternatively, these values suggest that the period of political transition (from a monarchy

23 For the series of budget revenue in 1911, the F-statistic is 10.18 (significance level below 1%). For the same series in 1900, the F-statistic is 12.23 (significance level below 1%). For the series of growth rates in 1911, the F-statistic is 21.89 (significance level below 1%); in 1900, the F-statistic is 25.03 (significance level below 1%). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 42 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” to a republic) did not significantly change the relevant budgets, placing special emphasis on the moments characterized by the diffusion of republican and socialist ideas or by the recovery of privileges by religious institutions. However, tests similar to the one developed by Andrews and Zivot (1992) are not suited to identifying multiple breaks (for instance, in a W-shaped series), which typically occur when time series span several decades. This may be the case for the Bom Jesus revenue series and its respective annual growth rates—which we observed for 1863-1952. In these cases, several researchers opt for tests such as those developed by Clemente, Montañés and Reyes (1998). The critical values are then those provided by Perron and Vogelsang (1992). These tests allow for the detection of sudden breaks because of particular moments (additive outliers) or gradual shifts in the mean of the series (innovational outliers). Considering the previous specification using the notation of Baum (2005) and detailing the additive outliers’ case, we first estimate the following system of equations.

bt = α + δ1DU1t + δ 2 DU 2t + et (2) k k k e w DT w DT e e z t = ∑ 1i b1,t−i +∑ 2i b2,t−i +ρ t−i + ∑θi Δ t−i + t i=1 i=1 i=1

DU1t is equal to 1 for the periods t after the first break, and DU1t = 0 otherwise.

Equivalently, DU2 t= 1 for the periods t after the second break, and DU2t = 0 otherwise. Tb1 and Tb2 are the breakpoints to be located by grid search (i.e. by identifying the minimal t- ratio for the hypothesis ρ = 1). According to Baum (2005), we use DTbm,t = 1 for t = Tbm + 1 and 0 otherwise for m = 1, 2.

The innovational outlier case estimates the following model.

k b DU DU w DT w DT b b z t = α +δ1 1t +δ 2 2t + 1 b1,t + 2 b2,t +α t−i + ∑θiΔ t−i + t i=1

We again test for the hypothesis ρ = 1 (i.e. that the error term follows an AR(1) process). The next table shows the values obtained using the tests developed by Clemente, Montañés and Reyes (1998). We obtained these values and Figures 2, 3, 4, and 5, using the Stata commands clemao2 and clemio2. From Figures 2, 3, and 4, we can easily note that the significance level dropped considerably in the analysis of growth rates. This is a common e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 43 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” pattern in series that are stationary at their own growth rates (meaning that the successive growth rates are close to their means), but that are not stationary at their original levels.

Table 3—Clemente, Montañés and Reyes (1998) test of the Bom Jesus revenue Series Break assumption Optimal t-statistic (AR-n) breakpoints Budget revenue Additive outliers 1878 8.820***(AR-2) (logged) 1897 -5.058***(AR-2) Innovational outliers 1875 3.236*** (AR-11) 1894 -3.690*** (AR-11) Budget revenue Additive outliers 1918 0.092 (AR-4) (growth rates) 1929 -0.320 (AR-4) Innovational outliers 1930 1.942*(AR-3) 1935 -1.826*(AR-2) Note: Significance level: 1%, ***; 5%, **; 10%, *. The optimum number of lags included in the AR process following information criteria are shown in parentheses.

Table 3 again shows that the year 1910 is not a good candidate for a breakpoint in the Bom Jesus revenue. Adopting a different perspective, we identify four years (1875, 1878, 1894, and 1897) as the most probable optimal breakpoints for the logged series. The respective t-statistics relate to significant values (significance level below 1%). Figures 2 and 3 display these results in the form of a graph.

Figure 2—Graph of the Double Additive Outlier Test of the Bom Jesus Revenue

Clemente-Montañés-Reyes double AO test for unit root Test on lrec: breaks at 1878,1897 25.5 25 24.5 lrec 24 23.5 23 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

D.lrec 2 1 0 D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

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Figure 3—Graph of the Double Innovational Outlier Test of the Bom Jesus Revenue

Clemente-Montañés-Reyes double IO test for unit root Test on lrec: breaks at 1875,1894 25.5 25 24.5 lrec 24 23.5 23 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

D.lrec 2 1 0 D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

Figure 4—Graph of the Double Additive Outlier Test of the Bom Jesus Revenue Growth Rates

Clemente-Montañés-Reyes double AO test for unit root Test on D.lrec: breaks at 1918,1929 2 1 0 D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

D.D.lrec 2 1 0 D.D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

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Figure 5—Graph of the Double Innovational Outlier Test of the Bom Jesus Revenue Growth Rates

Clemente-Montañés-Reyes double IO test for unit root Test on D.lrec: breaks at 1930,1935 2 1 0 D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

D.D.lrec 2 1 0 D.D.lrec -1 -2 1860 1880 1900 1920 1940 year

4.1 Discussing the empirical evidence—why was Bom Jesus relatively unaffected in 1910?

From Tables 1, 2, and 3, we can argue that the last quarter of the nineteenth century (i.e. from 1875 to 1900) was more important than the years on either side of the implantation of the Portuguese Republic (circa 1910) for the financial structure of a Portuguese secular brotherhood (i.e. the Bom Jesus brotherhood). Therefore, we were not able to support the explanations of authors such as Ferreira (2011) for the behavior of the Bom Jesus revenue series in approximately 1910. Instead, the explanations of Carreira (1999) were more appropriate for describing the slight oscillations in the Bom Jesus revenue observed during this period. The Bom Jesus revenue rose for almost a decade beginning in 1875. Revisiting the main historical moments identified in sections 2 and 3, this period saw an increase in the population of Braga and its surrounding area (because of industrialization and abundant natural resources—see Juncal (2005)). This was also a time during which the population growth in the Minho region led to an increasing number of visitors to the Bom Jesus complex, many of whom were probably attracted by its structural improvements, namely the completion of the chapels (1868), the improvements to the central lake (1877), and the opening of the funicular (1882). The combination of these two positive effects—the novelty effect (Peixoto, 2011) and the welfare effect (Oliveira, 2011)—has proved a valid

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 46 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” explanation for the empirical results, indicating that the decade after 1875 produced statistically significant changes in our series of the Bom Jesus revenue. After 1890, the Bom Jesus revenue decreased consistently until 1900. The period between 1880 and 1890 produced several anticlerical and anti-Jesuit public protests (after the centenary of the Marquis de Pombal’s death in 1882 and Afonso Costa’s 1895 publication A Igreja e a Questão Social (The Church and the Social Question)). As Mónica (2001) and Gomes (2012) have commented, this was also a period of loud public demonstrations by republican and socialist movements in the largest Portuguese cities (in Lisbon, Porto, and Coimbra in 1882; similarly, in 1891, the Congress of the Republican Party was also a protest against the so-called “English Ultimatum” of January 11, 1890).24 This combination of factors promoted a critical situation in which, even though religious practices continued to be performed in the traditionalist and monarchist areas such as Braga, the secular brotherhoods reported significantly lower revenue. Alternative breakpoints were especially identified for the growth rates (presuming innovational outliers) in 1930 and 1935. As observed in section 3, and according to several authors (Catroga, 2010; Rocha, 2012; Fernandes, 2012), this period coincides with the first years of the Second Republic, which restored the institutionally privileged relationship of the Portuguese State and the Holy See. This restoration created a context in which religious institutions (even secular brotherhoods) stabilized their activities. In the case of Bom Jesus, this led to an increasing trend (or a persistence of positive growth) in revenue between 1930 and 1950.

5. Conclusions and Future Research

In this work, we tested for the presence of structural breaks in the Bom Jesus revenue series, at constant prices, collected by the Bom Jesus de Braga brotherhood, which we observed for the 1863-1952 period. Bom Jesus de Braga has been a well-known pilgrimage site in Portugal since the seventeenth century, as well as serving as a starting point for pilgrims and hosting visitors from many countries since the nineteenth century. Given the radical changes ushered in by the establishment of the First Portuguese Republic, we first tested for the presence of a structural break in the studied series around the year 1910. The results of Chow tests conducted in order to evaluate the 1910

24 According to Capela and Nunes (2010), there were several protests in Braga due to the English Ultimatum; these protests were organized by members of a trade association, the “Associação Comercial de Braga,” as well as by local students. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 47 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga” hypothesis indicate that the establishment of the First Republic changed the path of the Bom Jesus revenue. However, additional tests suggest that other periods introduced far more relevant changes into the series. Using Andrews-Zivot (1992) procedures, confirmed by the tests suggested by Clemente, Montañés and Reyes (1998), we found that the 1870s revealed a significant upward trend, and that the years 1890-1900 recorded a very important downtrend in revenue. We interpreted these results in the light of a review of the dynamics of Bom Jesus itself, the socioeconomic history of the Minho region, and the socioeconomic history of Portugal as a whole. This review led us to conclude that the Bom Jesus revenue was particularly influenced by the positive stimulus of the combination of events that occurred during the 1870s. On the one hand, a novelty effect was introduced by the completion of the set of sixteen chapels (1868), the enlargement of the central lake (1877), the opening of the funicular (1882), and the modernization of the hotels. On the other hand, there was a wealth effect caused by rising activity in the regional industrial sector, remittances from Brazilian emigrants, and the acts of a bourgeoisie with more time available for leisure activities. The national dimension was especially influential for the series of yearly growth rates, and 1930 and 1935 were identified as particularly relevant years. During these years, the Second Republic (1926-1974) replaced the government’s previous anticlericalism with a close institutional relationship between religious institutions and Portuguese political institutions. These ties helped to change volatile growth rates into continuous positive growth rates for the series observed. We identify four main opportunities for future research. Because the years after 1952 were not covered, we suggest an extension of this analysis to this more recent period. A second opportunity relates to the possibility of studying the different series that compose revenue. Accordingly, we suggest that the breakpoints in the series relating to current revenue and those relating to capital inflows be studied separately. Thirdly, the cycles (namely seasonality using monthly data) of revenue and growth rates could be analyzed using appropriate techniques, such as periodograms and spectral analysis. Finally, studying the correlation/causality of various variables on the evolution of the Bom Jesus revenue would be important. Such variables include population change, internal/external financial flows and exogenous asymmetric shocks (such as those related to the World Wars), which could be analyzed by estimating vector autoregression or vector error correction models.

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Oliveira, E. (2011). “A arte em Braga antes e durante a I República.” In Capela, J. and H. Nunes (eds.) (2011). Braga—Roteiros Republicanos. Quid Novi, Matosinhos. Otahal, T. (2012). “Economic History: What Are the Contributions of Historical Example to Understanding of Economic Phenomena?” Politicka ekonomie, University of Economics, Prague, vol. 2012, 5, 679-693. Parpola, A. (ed.) (2009). Migration, trade and peoples—Part 3: Aryans and nomads. The British Academy, London. Peacock, A. and J. Wiseman (1961). The Growth of Public Expenditure in the United Kingdom. Princeton University Press, Princeton. Peixoto, J. (2011). Bom Jesus do Monte. Edição da Confraria do Bom Jesus. Braga. Pereira, N. (2013a). Teatro, cinema, excursões… Usos do tempo de lazer em Braga, 1890-1930. M.Sc. Thesis on History. Universidade do Minho, Braga. Pereira, V. (2013b). “A importância do turismo religioso para o desenvolvimento regional.” Proceedings of the 19th Conference of the Associação Portuguesa para o Desenvolvimento Regional. Braga. Perron, P. and T. Vogelsang (1992). “Nonstationarity and level shifts with an application to purchasing power parity.” Journal of Business and Economic Statistics, 10, 301–320. Pinto, S. (2011). “Legislação republicana em matéria religiosa e separação.” In vv.aa., Centenário da República. Agência Ecclesia / Universidade Católica, Lisbon. pp. 26-31. Reis, B. (2000). “A concordata de Salazar? Uma análise a partir das notas preparatórias de Março de 1937” Lusitania Sacra, 2ª série, 12, 185-220. Ribeiro Aires, J. (2010). A República no distrito de Vila Real (1873-1933). Maronesa, Vila Real. Rocha, A. (2012). Católicos e política a partir da imprensa conservadora bracarense: o Centro Católico Português (1915-1926). M.Sc. Thesis on History. Universidade do Minho, Braga. Rosas, F. (2012). Salazar e o Poder—a Arte de saber durar. Tinta-da-, Lisbon. Santos, A. (2006). A Brotéria e a justiça social no Estado Novo. M.Sc. Thesis on Philosophy. Universidade do Minho, Braga. Sarmento, J. (2012). “Space, culture, and music: how provincial were the provincial Portuguese towns at the turn of the nineteenth century?” Proceedings of the XIII Coloquio Ibérico de Geografía. Santiago de Compostela. Sato, H. (1997). "What is 's Economic Crisis?" Japanese Economy, M.E. Sharpe, Inc., vol. 25(2), pp. 3-20, March. Schulmeister, S. (2014). “Learning from Roosevelt: His ‘New Deal’ and the Present Crisis of .” WIFO Working Papers, WIFO 473, WIFO. Silva, A. (1996). “Os católicos e a ‘República Nova’ (1917-1918)—Da questão religiosa à mitologia nacional.” Lusitania Sacra. 2ª série, 8/9, 385-499. Temin, P. (1998). “The causes of American business cycles—an essay in economic historiography.” NBER Working Paper No. 6692. Unamuno, M. (1908). Escritos de Unamuno sobre Portugal., ed. 1985. Paris. Valério, N., (ed.) (2001). Portuguese Historical Statistics. Instituto Nacional de Estatística, Lisbon. Vasconcelos, P. (1999). O real valor do dinheiro—850 anos de história de inflação em Portugal. Districultural, Sacavém. Villares, A. (1995). “As ordens religiosas em Portugal nos princípios do século XX.” Revista de História, 13, 195-223. Wynne, M. and D. Rodriguez-Palenzuela (2004). “Measurement Bias in the HICP: What do we know and What do we need to know?” Journal of Economic Surveys, Wiley Blackwell, 18, 1, 79-112, 02.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 51 Mourão The Case of “Bom Jesus de Braga”

Received for publication: 6 November 2015 Accepted in revised form: 4 April 2016 Recebido para publicação: 6 de Novembro de 2015 Aceite após revisão: 4 de Abril de 2016

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 52 Portuguese History in a Global Context (Brown University, October 2012) (4th part)

In 2012, the e-Journal of Portuguese History celebrated its 10th anniversary. In order to commemorate this date, the Editors organized a conference entitled, “Portuguese History in a Global Context,” which took place at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island, on October 12–13, 2012. The conference consisted of three round tables (one on historians, one on key issues in Portuguese historiography, and the third one on influential books). The aim was to gather scholars of different academic backgrounds to discuss relevant topics and themes of the history of Portugal in an international context. Of all the papers presented, the e-Journal of Portuguese History has now published a total of 12 texts. Two of them were published autonomously (Summer, 2012 and Summer, 2013), whereas the remaining ten were distributed in four groups (Summer and Winter, 2013, and Summer 2014, as well as in the present issue). It is, therefore, with pleasure that we announce the publication of the final set of papers presented at the aforementioned conference, which constituted an important event in the life of our e-JPH. Indeed, it allowed us to put in perspective a set of issues that have emerged as particularly relevant during the ten years of experience gained in the production of this journal.

The Editors Taking Stock: Portuguese Imperial Historiography Twelve years after the e-JPH Debate

Roquinaldo Ferreira1

How has the intellectual output on the history of Portugal and its colonies changed over the past twelve years as a result of institutional collaboration between academic communities in different countries? How might shifts in predominantly English-speaking academic institutions lead to more attention to Portuguese imperial history? How does the historiography of the compare to recent trends in the broader historiography of European empires? These are some of the questions that have anchored the bibliographical essay below, which draws extensively on a debate in the e-journal of Portuguese History (e-JPH) in 2003 to reappraise the evolution in Portuguese imperial history over the past decade. While suggesting that the demise of area studies might rekindle Portuguese imperial history, the essay draws parallels between the so-called new imperial history and the recent scholarship on Portuguese imperial possessions. In the 2003 debate, a group of prominent scholars of Portugal and its empire engaged in a lively debate to assess the state of affairs regarding the historiography of Portugal and its empire. Amid a fair amount of soul-searching (and some finger-pointing as well), scholars drew a direct connection between the status of international scholarly production on Portugal and its empire, particularly in the Anglo-Saxon world, and the perceived geopolitical relevance (or lack thereof) of Portugal in the international arena. A prominent scholar remarked: “What is specific to our discipline is that Portugal and Portuguese history also became peripheral as objects for research” (Pedreira 2003). Scholars participating in the e-JPH debate were obviously drawn to the sharp contrast between the pioneering and central role that the Portuguese played in the construction of the Western world and the relative paucity of studies on the history of Portugal and its empire. The Portuguese empire, to paraphrase Giuseppe Marcocci, was a “forgotten empire” (Marcocci 2012a: 33). Who was to blame for such dispiriting situation? In the 2003 e-JPH debate, much of the blame was attributed to lack of financial resources for historical research, the alleged parochial nature of academic circles in Portugal, and the impact of a nationalistic political agenda during the dictatorship on academic debates.

1 Vasco da Gama Associate Professor. History Department and the Portuguese and Brazilian Studies Department, Brown University, USA. E-mail: [email protected] Ferreira Taking Stock

Notably, this harsh assessment mirrored another equally pointed appraisal predating the e- JPH debate. “The Spanish, and to a lesser extent, the Portuguese are not international in outlook and seldom partake in foreign historical congresses” (Winius 1979:102). In the e-JPH debate, scholars identified internalization as a key strategy to raise the profile of Portuguese historiography in the Anglo-Saxon world, while pointing out that earlier efforts to globalize Portuguese academia had been “largely rhetorical” (Curto 2003; Pedreira 2003). Some suggested moving beyond the traditional focus on Portugal and its empire: “It is pointless to think of historiographical expansion as a dilemma of choosing between Europe and the high seas” (Schaub 2003). Others highlighted that the goal of internationalization relates less to themes than to the analytical lenses used to develop historical studies (Curto 2003). What might have been left out in the debate is how the writing of bottom-up social and transnational histories could generate interest in the Portuguese empire and help integrate it into the mainstream of Anglo-Saxon scholarship of European empires. It is important to provide background on the context in which this debate occurred. According to Matos, a 1999 survey of Portuguese scholarship “revealed an overwhelming preference for national topics (85.3%), compared to a limited interest in the history of other countries, including Brazil and Lusophone African nations” (Matos 2012: 765–777). Much of this narrow scope of analysis might be attributed to the decolonization in Africa, a process by no means exclusive to Portugal, and a salient example of how societal forces shape academic trends. “Perhaps the most immediate effect of decolonization—in Britain and France alike—was the virtual banishment of imperial history to the margins of national historiography” (Aldrich; Ward 2010: 261).2 In Portugal, the situation was further complicated by the active role of colonial and dictatorial establishment as a promoter of studies of empire. “The Salazar government was only too happy to inspire, sponsor or promote anything which called attention to Portugal’s long presence in Asia or Africa, as if this would soften hearts already hardened against colonialism” (Winius 1979: 111). It is also worthy to emphasize that the e-JPH debate/discussion was obviously not the first time that scholars had assessed Portuguese imperial historiography and that others had already suggested innovative ways to reinvigorate this historiography. Previous generations had called for analytical treatment placing Portuguese imperial history in the broader context of global exchanges (Godinho 1948; Boxer 1954). At least one of the

2 See also Rothermund 2015. Introduction, 5. For the Portuguese context, see: Santos, 1998, 111-128; Flores 2006, 26; Pinto and Jerónimo 2015, 97-120. For the British context, see Darwin 2015,18-38. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 55 Ferreira Taking Stock participants of the e-JPH debate had already proposed innovative methodological frameworks to unpack Portugal’s imperial past. In Curto’s view, “perhaps the best way of examining how institutional structures really worked is through case studies of individual agents and small groups” (Curto 2000: 87). This agenda was echoed by Xavier, who wrote that “through the trajectory of a single individual it is possible to tap into worlds that otherwise would be invisible” (Xavier 2000: 155). More recently, Flores has written that despite many changes in the landscape of Portuguese imperial history, scholars have not yet adequately accounted for “non-European dimensions of European empires” (Flores 2006: 31). Interestingly, the e-JPH debate might have overlooked factors that contributed to the perceived marginalization of Portuguese imperial historiography, particularly its balkanized nature, which privileges specific regions of the empire to the detriment of studies of the empire as whole. This status quo clearly makes it more difficult to bring the Portuguese empire into the mainstream of Anglo-Saxon academia by drawing analogies with other imperial formations. “Portuguese overseas history rarely views the entire empire at once. Far more typical are regional studies that examine one relatively small part of the former Portuguese world” (Coates 2006: 84).3 Santos traces this fragmentation to what she calls the lack a “unified model of management of overseas spaces” by the Portuguese crown, suggesting the use of thematic axes as a way to overcome historiographical balkanization (Santos 1998: 114). Furthermore, the e-JPH debate might have failed to pay sufficient attention to the specific contexts of production of knowledge in Anglo-Saxon academia, particularly the dominating nature of area studies and its attendant impact on imperial studies. In England, as John MacKenzie recently argued, area studies have bifurcated studies of the British empires into two sub-fields, with “the writing of the so-called imperial history [becoming] separated in some respects from its components parts” (MacKenzie 2015: 100). In the , area studies have privileged groups of nation-states as the unit of analysis, promoting intensely vertical studies of particular regions of the globe as a response to the imperatives of the Cold War. In doing so, they have largely ignored transnationality and global exchange (Szanton 2004; Middell; Naumann 2005: 149-170). Equally important, twelve years past the stimulating e-JPH debate, how has the status quo changed? An answer to this question points to a dynamic intellectual milieu

3 See also Xavier 2000, p. 150. For a few exceptions to this rule, see Alden 1996 and Myrup 2015. The problem is by no means restricted to Portuguese imperial historiography. See Stern, 2006: 693-712. For a recent attempt to bridge this gap in British historiography, see Bowen, Mancke, and Reid (eds.) 2012. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 56 Ferreira Taking Stock where scholarship on Portuguese imperial possessions has been transformed by factors ranging from increased availability of funding, better institutional frameworks to conduct research, and international collaboration with scholars in France, Spain and Brazil (Cunha; Cardim 2012:160). Granted, this dynamism might suffer under financial constraints generated by current economic crises in Portugal and Brazil. However, reflective of this environment has been the creation of an inter-university PhD program in global history (Programa Interuniversitário de Doutoramento em História, PIUDHist). Promising to increase levels of internationalization of Portuguese academia, the PIUDHist aims to “broaden the geographical scope of both the teaching and the supervision provided.” 4 The trend toward internationalization—some have argued—has shifted Portuguese historical writing style “away from French models towards Anglo-Saxon ones … and a concomitant realignment with the empiricist paradigm dominant in the Anglo-Saxon world” (Bennett 2014: 14). Further research will need to be carried out to examine this claim and the consequences it posits. What is undeniable, on the other hand, is the impact of academic collaboration between Portugal and Brazil, which has produced a plethora of edited volumes and academic meetings that have creatively reshaped imperial studies in Portugal and Brazil. On one hand, according to Schwartz, “the rebirth of early modern history in post-Salazar Portugal” has “greatly enriched and deepened analysis of Portugal and its empire, including Brazil” by Brazilian and foreign scholars (Schwartz 2011: 102). On the other hand, some Portugal-based scholars have come to believe, perhaps exaggeratedly, that the future of Portuguese historiography writ large “lies over there, on that huge landmass on the other side of the Atlantic [Brazil], rather than with a little country on the periphery of Europe [Portugal]” (Bennett 2014: 14). To appreciate this shifting dynamic, one only needs to be reminded of Luso-Brazilian academic interaction in the 1970s: “to judge from the two [academic meetings] I have attended, the Portuguese merely group together and complain that the Brazilians have monopolized the whole conference” (Winius 1979: 102).

The New Imperial History

The premise of this section is that the goal of raising the profile of studies of Portuguese empire necessitates a broad understanding of the historiographical landscape of British imperial historiography. British imperial historiography is particularly relevant

4 http://piudhist.ics.ul.pt/pt/ e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 57 Ferreira Taking Stock because of the e-JPH’s stated goal of raising the profile of Portuguese imperial history in the Anglo-Saxon academic world. Prior to this debate, there had been cross-fertilization between Portuguese and British imperial historiographies, particularly vis-à-vis the nature of the political and commercial ties between center and peripheries in the early modern empire (Russell-Wood, 2002: 105-143). As stated by Greene, the ultimate goal is to “escape—and transcend—the national frameworks that have long channeled their work and inhibited broad comparative analyses” (Greene, 2013: chap.1). However, it is also important to identify and compare commonalities and possible areas of interaction in themes and methods by scholars dealing with different imperial formations. Such comparison might be fruitful if framed in the context of recent historiographical trends in studies of the British Empire, which have led to the rise of a new imperial history paradigm focused on the organic and transnational nature of British empire-building in the early modern world. Particularly insightful and generative has been Kathleen Wilson’s call for an alternative conceptualization of imperial studies. While reminding us that the very notion of an “imperial history,” whether new or old, may be an artifact of European dominance and metropolitan perspective,” Wilson argues that scholars ought to rethink “what empire meant from the point of view of their different partisans and opponents, the variegated logics of their divergent strategies and cultural technologies of rule, and the possibilities they offer for transnational and comparative scholarship” (Wilson 2004: 2; Wilson 2006: 212).5 Wilson’s call bears at least partial resemblance to methodological tools that other scholars have suggested as key to unlocking the complex past of imperial formations. Cooper and Stoler, for example, argue that scholars ought to “treat metropole and colony in a single analytic field” (Cooper; Stoler, 1997: 4). Others have suggested “decentering” interpretations of empires to fully account for subaltern groups. Natalie Zemon Davies states that “the decentering historian does not tell the story of the past only from the vantage point of a single part of the world or of powerful elites, but rather widens his or her scope, socially and geographically, and introduces plural voices into the account” (Davies 2011: 190). The rise of the new imperial history should be understood as part of growing interest for imperial history writ large. As pointed out by historical sociologist Runciman, “it is indeed notorious that the last two decades have seen both a revival of interest in imperialism and a more positive reappraisal of many of its past practitioners” (Runciman

5 See also Burton 2011: 277. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 58 Ferreira Taking Stock

2011: 99).6 Reflecting the end of the Cold War and multipolar international geopolitics, this focus is hardly confined to academic circles (Pomper 2005: 1-27; Rosenau 2005: 73-87). As de Groot points out, empire “draws attention to how rulers and ruling elites involved in conquest or settlement adapted, maintained or reinvented their exercise of power in order to control and exploit the peoples and territories they subjugated or colonized”(De Groot 2013: 24).7 Much of this shift clearly also relates to trends in scholarly work in the Anglo- Saxon world. First, it is worth pointing out the thrust to transcend the nation-state as a unit of analysis. According to Hausser & Pietschmann, “empire as an investigative concept has helped the investigation … to broaden the Historiographic scope of research beyond national borders” (Hausser & Pietschmann, 2014: 7).8 Second, scholars’ recognition of the symbiotic relationship between the nation-state and imperial formations has also contributed to the turn towards imperial history. “A number of historians have emphasized that European and colonial roles over the last three centuries have shaped social, political and cultural development within Europe rather than being external or additional to it.”9 Thirdly, the new imperial history has also benefited from the rise of post-colonial and feminist studies.10 The rise of empire as a preferred unit of analysis has not gone unchallenged. Some have drawn parallels between current presumed fixation with empires and their histories and similarly excessive centrality/attention previously devoted to the nation-state.11 Others have pointed out that though scholars have achieved key insight into European history by studying empires, this approach risks inadvertently depicting non-European history as “less real” than European history.12 Scholars have also taken issue with presumed insufficient attention to the connection between empire and colonialism: “work on ’connected histories’ does not always pay attention to the fact that this single global modernity was forged, or at least drastically reshaped, alongside colonialism”(Loomba 2014: 145).13 Some have argued that “imperial historians should not abandon their long­standing attempts to

6 See also Alcock, N. D'Altroy, Morrison, Sinopoli (eds.), 2011; Reinhard (ed.), 2015 and Leonhard & von Hirschhausen, 2010. 7 For genealogies of empire, see Proudman 2008:400; Padgen 2000:7; Padgen 2005:32 and Sacks 2012:531. 8 For the ways imperial history might help scholars overcome the legacy of area studies, see Eckert 2013:155. 9 For a brief assessment of this scholarship, see Greene 2013: preface. As de Groot points out, this connection originated in seventeenth-century debates among policymakers and intellectuals. See De Groot 2013: 5-10 and Curto 2000: 91. 10 Burton 2011:1-27. See also Ballantyne & Burton 2014. 11 Lima, 2008:245. 12 Zimmerman 2013: 314. 13 For similar critique, see Sweet 2011:209-214. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 59 Ferreira Taking Stock understand the peculiar nature of modern empires as political, economic, cultural and social structures, with all the opportunities, obstacles, inequalities and violence that they presented people with in the past” (Potter; Saha 2015). Despite these reservations, “by the 1980s, empire [had] once again galvanized academia”(Aldrich; Ward, 2010: 267).14 Significantly, much of the most recent research seeking to de-center empires has benefited from scholarship focusing on regions affected by or under the influence or control of the Portuguese empire. To that end, scholars have deployed concepts such as “connected history,” offering an alternative conceptualization of the early modern period beyond binary categories and characterized by shared histories. As Potter and Saha point out, “connected histories of empire might offer accounts that accord more agency to individuals, and recognize the crucial importance of choice, contingency and chance” (Potter; Saha 2015: 1).15 Also illustrating the contribution of scholars of the Portuguese empire to broader imperial historiographies are studies of how imperial policies circulated in Europe. As Subrahmanyam argues, the formulation of such policies brought the Portuguese into close dialogue with other European powers, sometimes as the source of Iberian and non-Iberian imperial policies. 16 As Adelman points out, “empires also borrowed, stereotyped, and gained self-understanding between and across each other”(Adelman 2015: 78). Elliott adds: “this realization has led to attempts to integrate the history of individual empires into a wider historical context, in the form of Atlantic history or of global history” (Elliott, 2015: 202). In contrast to the old imperial history, the new imperial history is a rebuttal of traditional interpretation of empires that “neglects reciprocal flows of influence from non- Europe to Europe and [that] presumes only one planetary order—Europe’s” (Adelman 2015: 77). While moving away from narrow definitions of empire that locate power exclusively in Europe, this new historiography asserts the pluralistic nature of mechanisms of social control and of forms of cultural and economic domination that Europeans established in their imperial possessions. Empire is seen as “a complex patchwork of interacting and dynamic agencies, rather than as one homogenous monolith directed from London with a single overarching objective” (Potter; Saha 2015: 3). The New imperial history emphasizes “forms of rule and strategies to manage social heterogeneity, revealing shifting and mixed methods of governing territories” (Adelman 2015: 77).

14 See also Friedrichs; Mesenholler 2013:164-201. 15 See also Subrahmanyam 1997: 735-762; Subrahmanyam, 2005: 26-57; Subrahmanyam, 2010:118-145. For variations and similarities between connected, comparative, and entangled histories, see Werner; Zimmermann, 2006: 30-50 and Levine 2014: 331-347. 16 Subrahmanyam 2007: 339-359; Padgen;Subrahmanyam, 2012: 279-303. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 60 Ferreira Taking Stock

Of course, this historiographical shift has not eliminated intellectual histories of empires. Nor does the focus on more organic forms of empire-building eliminate the need to further examine the high politics dynamic that shaped empires.17 However, a trend towards a more integrated social and cultural history approach to imperial history is undeniable, with scholars increasingly studying “inter-cultural relations, hybridities and the theoretical ways in which these may be constructed” (MacKenzie, 2015: 114). Themes frequently addressed by historians also include the accommodative forces that characterized imperial statecraft and networks, the ambiguous and limited nature of power in the formation of global European empires, and the role of indigenous people in the management of colonial societies. In this view, empire is marked by improvisation, sometimes nudged in a direction by metropolitan officials but more often shaped by officials appointed on the ground who catered to their own agendas.

Portuguese Imperial History meets New Imperial History

As Flores points out, Portuguese imperial history has much to gain from integration into the broader historiography of empires if anchored in fine-grained archival research18. But how exactly does Portuguese imperial historiography writ large measure up against the new imperial history paradigm? To begin with, it would be inaccurate to state that the scholarship in Portuguese imperial studies necessarily lags behind what has been done by scholars working on the history of other empires. In fact, scholars of the Portuguese empire have contributed critical knowledge to the several themes from recent historiographical trends. The work of Vitorino Magalhães Godinho is a case in point. In a seminal 1950 article, the eminent Portuguese scholar argues for an integrated Atlantic world fueled by networks of the sugar trade and other commodities, offering an early example of the productive use of the Atlantic history paradigm well before the term gained currency.19 As Roura points out, “empire formation – and consequently the colonizing process—is inseparable from the process of state formation” in Portugal and Spain.20 Indeed, the Portuguese narrative of imperial formation crystallized in the first half of the

17 Paquette 2013. 18 Flores, 2006:33. 19 Godinho 2005: 313-337. For recent studies of trading networks, see Curto; Molho (eds.) 2002; Studnicki- Gizbert, 2007; Alencastro, 2006: 109-138; Ebert, 2008:54-77; Ebert, 2011: 88-114 and Bethencourt, 2013: 15-35. 20 Roura 2013: 202-228. For further information on the Portuguese context, see also Loureiro, 2002: 75-76 and Gomes, 2005:56-89. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 61 Ferreira Taking Stock nineteenth century, as geopolitical competition pitting the Portuguese against the British escalated in the south Atlantic during the campaign to end the slave trade. In this context, Portuguese intellectuals, seeking to fend off perceived British threats against Portuguese territories in Central Africa, developed a narrative that justified Portuguese claims of territorial sovereignty against the British by highlighting Portugal’s pioneering role in empire-building in Africa.21 However, according to Hausser and Pietschmann, while the term empire became widely used in the Anglo-Saxon literature on Spain and its colonies, it never gained currency in Portugal due to the influence of the French Annales School. Nevertheless, scholars have widely applied the category empire to analyze the history of Portuguese engagement with the non-European world, particularly after the fall of the Portuguese dictatorship. Thomas, for example, has studied the imperial thrust of reign of Dom Manuel in the early sixteenth century. 22 According to Pedreira, the Portuguese were quintessential empire-builders endowed with the ability to assemble “new imperial structures without completely destroying the older ones.” 23 More recently, Marcocci has stated that “it is necessary to correct the notion that early modern Portuguese culture did not establish theoretical foundations to frame overseas possessions and different forms of authority developed in Africa, Asia, and South America”. In Marcocci’s view, “the perception of the empire as a single political body was evident”(Marcocci 2012a: 23).24 As MacKenzie reminds us, “the challenge of imperial history is to combine the view from above with that from below” (MacKenzie, 2015: 104). In this light, how exactly have Portuguese empire scholars aligned with the themes and methodologies of the new imperial history? An answer to this question points to a mixed situation in which thematic overlapping, particularly the emergence of bottom-up scholarship on popular groups, coexists with persistent balkanization that prevents comparative and global studies of the Portuguese empire. Indeed, scholars of the Portuguese empire’s social history concerns largely overlap with themes and methodologies favored by new imperial history scholars. Much like the latter, the former write fine-grained histories that unpack the social, cultural and religious worlds of popular groups, and are particularly successful in probing into the nature of racial mixing and intercultural interaction in Portuguese imperial possessions.25

21 Curto, 2007: 37-43; Curto, 2012:111-123. 22 Thomaz, 1990: 35-103. 23 Pedreira, 1998 :99. 24 For the British context, see MacKenzie 2015:108. See also Pettigrew, who argues that British notion of empire stemmed from British participation in the transatlantic slave trade. See Pettigrew, 2013. 25 Souza, 2003; Vainfas, 1995 and Metcalf, 2006. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 62 Ferreira Taking Stock

However, with the exception of histories of inquisition and imperial administration, they have mostly shied away from teasing out the global ramifications of the Portuguese empire.26 Interestingly, the tendency towards balkanization has been reinforced by studies of imperial administration, which constitute another important sub-field of the broader historiography of the Portuguese empire and have thrived in the past decade as a result of academic collaboration between Portuguese and Brazil scholars. This sub-field has provided key insight into the administrative apparatus that Portugal developed to manage an empire that stretched across four continents. By developing concepts such as polycentric and ancient regime in the tropics, scholars have undermined the conventional wisdom about colonial Brazil, distancing themselves from binary categories such as colony and metropole, and effectively moving studies of colonial Brazil beyond the mold of dependency theory.27 However, this scholarship has not ventured much outside the confines of the Portugal-Brazil axis, nor has it sought to account for non-elite agency in Portuguese imperial possessions. Another glaring absence has been scholarship centered on the place of Africa in the broader Portuguese empire. As Frederick Cooper points out, “imperial history, if it is to reflect the actual workings of empires, slides into African history” (Cooper 2014: 9). In a classic chronology of Portuguese imperial history, Clarence-Smith breaks down this history into three eras: the first Portuguese empire (focused on the Estado da India, stretching from East Africa to Japan), the second Portuguese empire (centered on a south Atlantic comprised of Brazil and Africa), and the third Portuguese empire (focused mostly on Africa).28 However, despite Portugal’s continued engagement with the African continent, scholars of the Portuguese empire have mostly failed to write on or even draw upon scholarship on Africa.29 A case in point is scholarship on the early phase of Portuguese empire building in the fifteenth century, which took place mostly in Africa and has gone largely unnoticed by scholars of the Portuguese empire.30 Nor have the latter paid much

26 For the former, see Bethencourt, 2009; Paiva; Marcocci 2013. For the latter, see Newitt 2005; Newitt 2009 and Myrup 2015. 27 For a limited sample of this thriving field, see Hespanha 2007; Cardim; Miranda 2012; Cardim; Herzog; Ruiz lbáñez; Sabatini (eds.) 2012; Fragoso; Guedes; Krause (eds.) 2013. See also Cunha; Monteiro; Cardim (eds.) 2005. 28 Clarence-Smith 1985. 29 For an exception, see Blackmore 2009. 30 Elbl 1992; Elbl 1997-1998; Elbl 2003; Elbl 2007a; Elbl 2007b; Humble 2000. For a newly minted exception, see Flores 2015. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 63 Ferreira Taking Stock attention to art historians’ generative arguments on cultural fluidity and identity formation at the early phase of Portugal’s long journey out of Europe.31

Conclusion

This essay’s starting point is that the historiographical horizon of Portuguese imperial studies has changed significantly since the 2003 e-JPH debate due to a variety of shifts in the wider milieu in which production of knowledge about Portuguese imperial history takes place. In addition to the structural obstacles mentioned by scholars in the e- JPH debate, thematic choices and analytical lenses are also critical to the e-JPH debate goal of integrating Portuguese imperial history in the Anglo-Saxon academia. Portuguese imperial studies are deeply divided along geographic and thematic sub-fields, with lack of communication between these historiographical streams preventing cross-fertilization and hindering the emergence of general thematic axes to break away from balkanization in the studies of the Portuguese empire. While social history has fueled the rise of a vibrant sub-field of scholars working on inquisition studies and missionary work, particularly regarding colonial Brazil, a strong focus on imperial administrative history still remains, putting Portuguese imperial history somewhat at odds with trends towards social and cultural history in other historiographies of European empires. This essay suggests that ongoing trends towards social and cultural history in studies of Portuguese imperial possessions offer the potential to bring this historiography into the mainstream of imperial studies writ large. To achieve higher visibility in the Anglo-Saxon academic world, scholars of Portuguese imperial history will need to further engage with themes that have dominated recent historiographical debates about empires such as the global ramifications of imperial power, cross-cultural exchange, and non-elite agency.

31 Blier 1993; Pereira 2010; Blier 2009; Gomes 2012. For an exception, see Marcocci 2012b. See also Lawrance 1992. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 64 Ferreira Taking Stock

References

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e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 70 Seeing the Nation through the Territory: some Historiographical Frameworks

Iris Kantor1

Recent approaches to the study of Brazilian Independence have provided a new framework for the classical interpretations of the emancipation process (see Costa, 2005).2 In the last fifteen years, the bibliography on this subject has grown enormously, and comparative analysis with the Spanish American processes has gained greater density, depth, and contrast. However, the so-called Brazilian exceptionalism is still one of the major issues yet to be examined: how to explain the continuity and legitimacy of the House of Braganza’s sovereignty in South America? How was it possible to maintain the territorial integrity of Portuguese America given the fragmentation of Spanish America? In his article “Why Was Brazil Different? The Contexts of Independence”—first published by the Council on Foreign Relations on April 25, 2000 –, Kenneth Maxwell (http://www.cfr.org/americas/why-brazil-different-contexts-independence/p3747; Maxwell 2012: 161-193) intertwined internal and external aspects of the economic and geopolitical dynamics that led to the longevity of the Portuguese Crown in the South America. In contrast to this, however, João Paulo Garrido Pimenta argues that the Brazilian case was not so different from that of the rest of Spanish America, explaining that, in choosing a republican system (except in Mexico for a very short term), they did not differ greatly from a constitutional monarchy: in both cases, the compatibility between state, territory, and nation was fully realized (Pimenta, 2011; Slemian; Thibaut, 2013). In turn, John Elliot stresses another kind of exceptionalism when comparing the thirteen Anglo-American colonies with the bureaucratic colonies of Spanish America. Nevertheless, his argument is also suitable for describing the Portuguese legacy, as he emphasizes the post-Independence continuity of colonial political patterns, and the long endurance of the shadow of the black legend (Catholicism, inquisition, and censorship), which explain the fragility and failure of the liberal regime in Catholic America. In his view, Anglo-American societies better embodied the civic virtues of “consent and the sanctity of individual rights” (Elliot, 2006:411).

1 Professor at the University of São Paulo, Department of History. Email: [email protected] 2 See also the other twenty-six authors who have followed the trends of contemporary debate. Kantor Seeing the Nation

Adopting a transnational perspective, Gabriel Paquette and Jeremy Adelman have shown the complex and entangled relationship that existed between the Iberian Crowns and their American possessions (Paquette, 2013: 1-16). The era of Atlantic revolutions had different consequences in the two Iberian empires: the policies of enlightened reformism either led to a rupture with the Metropolis, as in the Spanish case, or enabled the re- accommodation of the administrative and mercantile ruling class, as in the case of Portugal (Adelman, 2006: 5-8). The conservative or moderate nature of Brazil’s political emancipation is a fairly consensual historiographical statement (Novais, 2005: 183-194). But let us first recall some current historiographical approaches from the 1970s: first, those that identify a growing discontent with the metropolitan policies among the American subjects, which resulted in new political identities and a sense of belonging that was expressed by either provincial or continental patriotism (Jancsó, 1997:387-437 and Jancsó; Pimenta, 2000: 389-440). A second major approach rejects any kind of patriotic awareness or new political identity in the making of the new independent state, emphasizing that there was no radical rejection of Portuguese sovereignty (Holanda, 1962: 9-39; Dias, 1972: 160-186). Between these two perspectives, we still need to better understand the political language of the upper and working classes with respect to the geographical space that would later become the nation of Brazilian citizens (Jancsó; Pimenta, 2000 and Schwartz, 2003: 217-271). My aim here is to highlight a key problem in the process of the building of the Brazilian national state: the preservation of territorial integrity and its connections with the political action guided by the principles of enlightened reformism. One of the greatest challenges facing Brazilian historians has been to demonstrate that emancipation was not the natural process that many nineteenth-century historians stated it to have been when they claimed that the Brazilian branch of the Portuguese tree had become too heavy to remain united to its trunk for much longer. This naturalistic image was used to explain the relationship between the colony and the mother country (Salgado, 2006: 68-85; Guimarães, 2011). The historians of the Brazilian Historical and Geographical Institute, founded in 1838, for example, sought to establish the beginning of a new era in 1815. They argued that becoming part of a United Kingdom would elevate Brazil’s political status, which in turn would enable Luso-Americans to enjoy active diplomatic representation in international courts (Dias, 1972: 160-186). Although the historians of the Brazilian Historical and Geographical Institute situated the real breakdown in 1815, what mattered most to Portuguese historiography was the diplomatic

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 72 Kantor Seeing the Nation agreement whereby the Independence of Brazil was recognized by the Portuguese Crown under the treaty of 1825 (Rodrigues, 1969: 125-138). The agreement established that the possessions of , Guinea and would remain under Portuguese sovereignty (Alencastro, 1979: 401-403). Whereas from a political and diplomatic point of view, the years of 1815 or 1825 may have been important, from an economic perspective the new era began with the abolition of the mercantile monopoly of the Crown in 1808 and 1810. Caio Prado Jr. suggests the contradiction that marked the political emancipation process: the separation was one result of enlightened reformism (Prado Jr., 1942: 363). The transmigration and establishment of the Portuguese Court in Rio de Janeiro was undoubtedly the key aspect for understanding the new political status gained by Brazil in the nineteenth century and the main factor that shaped the singularity of Brazilian Independence, particularly in comparison with the provinces of Spanish America. According to Oliveira Lima, the Independence of Brazil was an amicable divorce (Lima, 1922: 103). From Sergio Buarque de Holanda’s perspective, the events of 1822 were just another aspect of the liberal revolutions of Porto and Lisbon; Independence did not acquire any national significance until the abdication of the king in 1831 (Holanda, 1962: 13-23). Only after this event did Brazil complete its metamorphosis from colony to nation. To some extent, this debate focused on identifying the different interest groups that led the process of a negotiated pact of independence in the short and long term. In other words, the debate about Independence is also, essentially a debate about the degree of continuity and discontinuity between the colonial and postcolonial period in terms of various aspects: administrative, fiscal, commercial and socio-cultural (Costa, 2005: 53-118).3 In the 1970s, one of the main issues debated in Marxist historiography was the role of proto-national consciousness in the development of the political process, which at the time was called the tomada de consciência da condição colonial, or the emergence of anti- metropolitan resentment, expressed, in particular, in the Inconfidencia movements of the late eighteenth century. To explain the political emancipation of Portuguese America, Fernando Novais and Carlos Guilherme Mota linked the Luso-American context to the more general crisis of the mercantilist system triggered by the North American and French constitutional revolutions (Novais; Motta, 1986). According to these authors, the emancipation of Brazil should be simultaneously read as being part of the breakdown of old colonialism, the construction of national states, and the new division of labor in the world markets. This

3 This is an important article that presents the main trends of these aspects. See, also the article by Pimenta, 2009. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 73 Kantor Seeing the Nation broad chronological framework focused on the political impact of the Atlantic and Hispanic revolutions on the periphery. It further maintained that political emancipation was a chapter in the major global transformation of the capitalist system that strengthened competition between imperial powers (Mauro, 1972: 38-47).4 In the case of Brazil, the emancipation was also the result of the greater economic prosperity obtained in the context of the Napoleonic wars and the complete breakdown of the Atlantic economy (Arruda, 1980: 635-655). According to Fernando Novais, the enlightened reforms of Dom Rodrigo de Souza Coutinho and the establishment of the Portuguese court in the Americas had extremely positive effects for the economy and the politicization of Portuguese American elites. This explains the non-radical features of the emancipation of Brazil, which Novais called the conservative revolution because it maintained the slavery production system. Anyway, in his view, people had already expressed an explicit desire to be Brazilian before the events of 1822. This desire can be identified by the expectations of the Geração de 1790 [the Generation of the 1790s]—this expression was coined in Kenneth Maxwell’s article to describe an elite group from Brazil that had graduated from the University of Coimbra— who are considered to have been the main formulators and executors of enlightened reformist policies (Maxwell, 1973: 107-144). Educated under the influence of the Pombaline Enlightenment, many of them occupied strategic positions in the Portuguese state apparatus, where, as scientists and administrators, they proposed solutions to the problems faced by the Portuguese Empire (Lyra, 1994; Cardoso, 2001: 80-81; Cantarino, 2016). Like Fernando Novais, Kenneth Maxwell underlines the importance of the process of the politicization of colonial elites, pointing out their open opposition to excessive metropolitan control because it led to conspiracy movements, particularly in the states of Minas Gerais, Rio de Janeiro and Bahia. In his essay, Maxwell reconstructed the international political and economic circumstances which fed the hopes nurtured by the American Portuguese that they could extend their influence within the Portuguese empire. For Maxwell, the project of a federative empire was to find in Rodrigo de Souza Coutinho its most complete formulator: “this collaboration between Brazilian intellectuals and enlightened ministers produced an imperial idea, Luso-Brazilian in inspiration, which moved beyond nationalism to a broader imperial solution, and sought to diffuse metropolitan-colonial tensions,” configuring itself in the end as an element of cooptation

4 Also important is the work by Godechot, 1972. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 74 Kantor Seeing the Nation and accommodation among elites. Fernando Novais, on the other hand, focused his analysis on the disconnections between the theory and practice of enlightened reformism due to the structural contradictions and tensions provoked by the impossibility of promoting metropolitan and colonial development in a single system. He stresses the argument on theories of capitalist development in the peripheries, pointing out the fragility of the compromise proposed by the Generation of the 1790s on both sides of the Atlantic. In contrast to what happened in Spanish America, where Carlos III’s reformism accentuated the polarization between American and Peninsular subjects, Fernando Novais argues that the repercussions of enlightened reformism in Portuguese America facilitated the accommodation of interests reached between the provincial elites and the ruling classes, thereby avoiding political radicalization during the crisis of mercantile colonialism (Novais, 1979: 213-297). Both Maxwell and Novais based their arguments on the assumption that reformism resulted in the politicization of the local elites, who began to reclaim and reaffirm their provincial identities with greater intensity. If we look at Maria Odila Leite da Silva Dias’ pioneering essay from 1968, we can see that she studied the cultural attitudes of the Portuguese American elites, and, unlike Maxwell and Novais, argued that they did not expect independence. In this study, she described the affinities between the scientific background and state policies, focusing on the development of the empire. Silva Dias identified close ties between the political behavior and the cultural styles of this generation that was involved in the making of the independent state (Dias, 2005: 94). However, these three authors center their analysis only on the links between Portuguese America and the metropolis, excluding the other parts of the Portuguese Empire from their interpretation. This aspect may be considered as the main shift in perspective to have occurred in recent years, with contemporary historiography now being more concerned with the transnational or interconnected study of the independence processes, whether in the political, diplomatic, social or economic field. The effects that the Independence of Brazil had on the other parts of the empire still need to be studied in greater depth, however. Researchers have recently shown the impact of independence on the Atlantic Slave Trade that supplied the ports of Brazil. Portuguese and Brazilian merchants maintained their partnership in the slave trade until almost the end of the 1840s as current historiography has pointed out (Alencastro,1986 and 2004; Alexandre, 1998:61- 86); however, less attention has been given to the Asian colonies, which are a territory that still remains to be investigated.

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Over the past fifteen years, there has been a major shift in the historiography of the empire as numerous historians have begun to examine the transcontinental itineraries and careers of the members of this elite, whose role in the search for natural wealth (and not only in Portuguese America) guided the economic development of the empire. This is perhaps the most relevant contemporary historiographical trend, namely the tendency to study more closely the role of the Generation of the 1790s in widening the geographical scope of the elite’s circulation and operation (which was no longer limited to the South American continent), while also taking into account the experiences acquired in other parts of the Portuguese Empire (Curto, 1999; Kury, 2004; Raminelli, 2008 and Domingues, 2012). In this sense, military institutions and academies, along with Masonic networks and the press, constituted spaces for socialization and politicization that escaped local logic and shaped new spheres of public opinion among the various elites in the different corners of the Portuguese Empire (Morel, 2005; Barata, 2006). Historians currently emphasize the cosmopolitan culture of the so-called Generation of the 1790s, whose experience, whether through administrative positions or through scientific missions, facilitated the development of a pragmatic view of how to deal with the imperial dilemmas. In recent years, however, Brazilian, Portuguese and Anglo-American historians have debated the repercussions of the establishment of the Portuguese court in Rio de Janeiro, which promoted new political practices and enlarged the public sphere. The Crown in Rio de Janeiro changed the balance of power at the regional level and transformed the dynamics of the imperial trade; the reinforcement of fiscal control over the provincial elites of Northern Brazil (Bahia, Pernambuco, and Pará) is one of the main causes of the emergence of a regional resentment against the elites from Rio de Janeiro, Minas Gerais and São Paulo. These internal tensions produced a civil war on both sides of the Atlantic, so that the elites in Rio de Janeiro disputed with Lisbon their right to be at the center of the political decision-making; the sovereignty of Rio was conquered with concessions and privileges, and by force as well. The annexation of the Banda Oriental (Cisplatina) in 1817 was an important chapter in this expansion of the borders of the Portuguese American Empire. I mentioned earlier how Maria Odila L. Silva Dias emphasized the need to abolish the long-lasting image of a colony fighting against a metropolis. Until the middle of the century, she argued, political actions were not framed within a nationalist discourse. Only after the 1830s or 1840s do we notice the emergence of a national consciousness. So, the explanation for the political unity and territorial integrity of the new state after independence is based on two major approaches: one underlines the homogeneity and

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 76 Kantor Seeing the Nation common legal background of the elites formed by the magistrates who had graduated from Coimbra University (Carvalho, 1982: 378-398); the second emphasizes the pact between the ruling elites, the slave traders and the slave owners (Alencastro, 1979:395-419). According to this latter view, one of the key factors in the cohesion of the upper classes was the threat of a slave uprising. Moreover, racial tensions and the fear of Haitianism were crucial to the formation of the identity of elites. However, the importance of the fear of an uprising of slaves as a factor determining national unity has been questioned, in view of the assimilationist aspect of the Portuguese constitutional law regarding the integration of freed slaves (Marquese; Berbel; Parron, 2010: 150-220). Another way of thinking about the alliances between the ruling classes and ruling is offered by the works of Antonio Carlos Robert Moraes and Ilmar R. Mattos, both of whom pointed out the strategies of regional elites in aiming to expand their control of the land and the indigenous labor force, both before and after 1822. These historians sought to link the process of expansion into the hinterlands and the conquest of internal borders to the consolidation of the external sovereignty (Mattos, 2005: 271-300; Moraes, 2007: 497-505). But the question of territorial integrity still remains to be examined. Why the new Brazilian state did not split into pieces after independence (as happened in Spanish America in the third decade of the nineteenth century) is one of the most intriguing questions yet to be explored. In the case of the Northeastern region of Brazil, Evaldo Cabral pointed out that none of the local republican parties, not even the radical federalists, questioned the territorial unity of Brazil. Despite the vast territorial dimensions and the real danger of fragmentation before and after independence, he argued that colonization succeeded in shaping a global consciousness of the Brazilian space as a single body (Mello, 2001: 69-115).5 The idea that Portuguese America had natural boundaries formed by two river basins—the Amazon and the River Plate—representing Brazil as an island was well described by the diplomats of the nineteenth century, who insisted on the geographical explanation for the formation of territorial boundaries, according to the geopolitical thinking of that time (Magnolli, 1997). This pre-existing and consolidated image was, to some extent, a geographical ideology that had been disseminated by Portuguese diplomats since the Treaty of Utrecht, mainly in the international public and diplomatic sphere (Kantor, 2010). In Alencastro’s view the fact that Portuguese America maintained its unity

5 See also Mello:2014. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 77 Kantor Seeing the Nation improve many historiographical bias, mainly centered in a territorial narrative of the State Building (Alencastro, 2015: 26) Although Brazil was presented abroad as political unity; domestically, from at least the mid-eighteenth century onward, a genuine effort was made to reorganize and reorder the civil and ecclesiastical administration of the territory. In this respect, the itineraries and careers of military and naval engineers—besides the activity of lawyers and interests associated with the maintenance of the slave trade—also established an important support for the territorial unity of the future independent state. Historians such as Varnhagem and Capistrano de Abreu tended to reinforce the idea that the external borders and territorial unity constituted the new nation’s legacy from Portugal. In their view, the real challenge faced by the new State was the establishment of the territory’s internal borders. The most dramatic threat of all was the danger of territorial fragmentation. Nevertheless, unlike the westward expansion of the USA, the conquest of the Brazilian hinterland was never completed. As far as we know, the effective occupation of the land took place in ebbs and flows of population and depopulation, discontinuity and dispersion in time and space. There is however a general consensus that Brazil was formed along the edge, or from the outside in. In other words, external sovereignty was achieved before the internal process of integrating the different parts of Portuguese America had been completed. The reality created by successive treaties from the mid-eighteenth century onward enabled the symbolic and material presence of Portuguese administration in the most remote areas. The expeditions for the demarcation of the territory and the construction of fortresses had a huge impact on the Indians and the Maroon communities living in border regions. From the second half of the eighteenth century onward, the Platine, Andean and Amazonian borders progressively gained centrality in diplomatic offices, exemplified, in concrete terms, by Dom Rodrigo de Souza Coutinho’s creation of the Maritime Royal Society (Kantor, 2010a). However, colonial territoriality should not be confused with the geopolitical unit that became consecrated as Brazil in the post-independence period. Luiz Felipe de Alencastro suggests that the colonial and post-colonial spatial matrix may only be understood in the light of the geography of the slave trade, or, in other words, through the incorporation of an African space as an arena for the social reproduction of slave labor. The colonization process left a territorial archipelago—except for the interregnum of the exploration of the Golden Mine in the middle of eighteenth century. According to Alencastro’s analysis: “independence

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 78 Kantor Seeing the Nation brought political autonomy to a territory undone by the shifting of the interior land trade to maritime coast.” (Alencastro, 1997:14). In his perspective, a new spatial matrix emerged from 1750 until 1850, remaining untouched until the abolition of the slave trade, the Land Law and the arrival of European immigrant workers. In other words, to better understand the emancipation process in Ibero-American nations, we must first investigate the specific contexts that defined the degree of territorialization experienced by the state during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries (the expansion led especially to the military annexation of Cayenne and the Banda Oriental do Rio Uruguay [East Zone of the Uruguay River]). According to Ilmar R. Mattos, after the establishment of the Court, the true expansion did not encroach on neighbors but instead headed towards the interior of the continent; the non-contiguity and the possibility of political fragmentation within Portuguese America was even more threatening than border conflicts with the emerging Spanish American republics. This macro-structural interpretation remained quite dominant until the beginning of the twenty-first century. However, in recent historiography, there has been a greater effort to apply anthropological interpretations, following the arguments that boundaries are better understood from below, or from the local level rather than from the State’s perspective or at the level of diplomacy (Herzog, 2015: 243-267). In this respect, many historians have been trying to focus on how different social actors identified themselves as belonging to a particular body politic, but at different levels: local, regional, intra- continental, intra-or inter-imperial (Gonçalves, 2013: 211-234). Returning to geography, we should therefore ask what place or role geographical narratives had in the formation of early national identities at different scales: imperial, continental, Atlantic and regional. What were their repercussions on the transformation of Dynastic States into Nation States in the first two decades of the nineteenth century? How did new conceptions of citizenship (North American and French revolutions) change the way that contemporaries conceived of the territory and their attachment or connection to the land? What was considered to be common knowledge regarding external and internal boundaries? Did geographical representation of the nation affect the process of building states, or nations, for that matter? These are some questions that have been worked upon in recent historiography (Biaggi; Droulers, 2000; Peixoto, 2005; Cezar, 2005: 79-99). Regarding the great cartographic synthesis made by Antonio Pires da Silva da Pontes Leme: New Lusitania or Portuguese America and the State of Brazil (see figure 1), commissioned by Dom Rodrigo de Souza Coutinho in 1797, Jaime Cortesão stated: “[in]

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 79 Kantor Seeing the Nation the famous map by Silva Pontes, Brazil reveals a vast territory, which was exploited, delimited, organized and defended like an immense body that generated a soul of its own.” According to his analysis, “the New Lusitania map revealed a geographical consciousness, which was one of the strongest reasons for proclaiming independence,” (Cortesão, 2009: 381-388). In fact, the map of New Lusitania shows precisely this situation through its graphic composition, since it tries to demonstrate the contiguity, uniformity, and integration of the continental domains of the Portuguese Crown in South America. However, this perception of the geographical and political body was not shared by the local elites, nor did it express a sense of national belonging. Nowadays, we can say that Cortesão’s interpretation is clearly anachronistic, since the political actors did not want to create an independent state, but rather to expand their privileges and autonomy within the Portuguese Empire. If we look at the map depicted by a popular cartographer who called himself the old mulatto Anastacio de Sant’ Anna, we can see how this subject of the Portuguese Crown answered our concerns. He made an atlas of all the American provinces existing in the year of 1817 and dedicated it to the local elites and also to young people. In it, he explains that the maps of military cartography have many errors that should be corrected (see figure 2: Sant’ Anna, 1817). Comparison of the two maps reveals that his is not as accurate as the New Lusitania geographical chart, but it clearly expresses the desire to rename the territory with its original Indian place names. The native or patriotic identity expressed in this map reveals that new ways of seeing the territory had emerged on the eve of independence; however, if we analyze the way in which he depicted the external borders, we can see his concern to ensure the Portuguese sovereignty. From his perspective, Brazil was already a political body (Souza, 1999). Indeed, the crisis of the old regime and the transformation of the dynastic state into a nation state led to the emergence of new territorial identities able to articulate the interests of the working classes with the interests of the upper classes, since they both shared a common geographical ideology as Antonio Carlos Robert de Moraes wrote (Moraes, 2005). The social groups that lived by the slave system, whether directly or indirectly, aimed to keep their social and economic privileges as owners and traders of the labor force, while the free and poor people could expand their access to land, with some degree of autonomy, especially in the first half of the nineteenth century, despite the escalation of the violence against the Indian people, and the intensification of the slave

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 80 Kantor Seeing the Nation trade and forced recruitment of African labor (Cunha, 1992; Araujo, 2001, Motta, 2009 and Carvalho, 2012:75-88).

Fig. 1

Source: Antonio Pires da Silva Pontes Leme. Carta Geographica de Projeção Esférica da Nova Lusitania ou America Portuguesa Estado do Brazil, Lisboa, a 1797. Exemplar do Observatório Astronômico da Universidade de Coimbra. Cf. Jose Ramos Bandeira. Universidade de Coimbra, tomo I, Coimbra, 1943, pp. 115 e 117.

Fig. 2

Source: Anastacio de Sant’Anna. Guia de Caminhantes, Bahia, 1816-17. Fundação Biblioteca Nacional (Rio de Janeiro).

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Mattos, Ilmar Rohloff de (2005). “Construtores e herdeiros: a trama dos interesses na construção da unidade política”. In Jancsó, István (org.), Independência: história e historiografia. São Paulo: Hucitec, 271-300. Maxwell, Kenneth R. (1973). “The Generation of the 1790s and the Idea of Luso-Brazilian Empire”. In Dauril Alden, Colonial Roots of Modern Brazil. Berkeley: University of California Press, 107-144. Maxwell, Kenneth (2012), Mais Malandros: ensaios tropicais e outros. São Paulo: Paz e Terra. Mauro, Frederic (1972). “A conjuntura Atlântica e a Independência do Brasil”. In Carlos Guilherme Mota, 1822: dimensões. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 38-47. Mello, Evaldo Cabral de (2001). A ferida de narciso. Ensaio de História Regional. São Paulo: Senac. Mello, Evaldo Cabral de (2014). A Outra Independência. São Paulo: Editora 34. Moraes, Antonio Carlos Robert de (2005). Ideologias geográficas: espaço, cultura e política no Brasil. São Paulo: Annablume [1st edition, 1988]. Moraes, Antonio Carlos Robert de (2006). Território e História no Brasil. São Paulo: Annablume. Moraes, Antonio Carlos Robert de (2007). Território, região e formação colonial: apontamentos em torno da geografia histórica da Independência brasileira, In Hector Mendoza Vargas (org). La integracion del território en una idea de Estado: México y Brasil, 1921-1946. Cidade do México: Unam. Morel, Marco (2005). As transformações dos espaços públicos: imprensa, atores políticos e sociabilidades na cidade imperial, 1820-40. São Paulo: Hucitec. Motta, Marcia M. (2009). Direito à terra no Brasil (1795-1824). São Paulo: Alameda. Novais, Fernando A. (1979). Portugal e Brasil na crise do Antigo Sistema Colonial (1777-1808). São Paulo: Hucitec. Novais, Fernando A. (2005). “Passagens para o novo Mundo”. In Aproximações: estudos de história e historiografia. S. Paulo: CosacNaify, 183-194. Novais, Fernando; Mota, Carlos Guilherme (1986). A independência política do Brasil. São Paulo: Moderna. Paquette, Gabriel (2013). Imperial Portugal in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions. The Luso-Brazilian World, c. 1770-1850. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Peixoto, Renato Amado (2005). A máscara da Medusa: a construção do espaço nacional brasileiro através das corografias e da cartografia no século XIX. Tese de Doutoramento, UFRJ. Pimenta, João Paulo Garrido (2009). “The Independence of Brazil: a review of the recent historiographic production”. e-journal of Portuguese History. [Available at http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Portuguese_Brazilian_Studies/ejph/html/is sue13/pdf/jpimenta.pdf. Accessed on 11/05/2016] Pimenta, João Paulo Garrido (2011). Estado y Nación: hacia el final de los impérios ibéricos, 1808- 1828. Buenos Aires: Editorial Sud America. Prado Jr., Caio (1986). Formação do Brasil Contemporâneo. São Paulo: Brasiliense [1st edition, 1942]. Raminelli, Ronald (2008). Viagens Ultramarinas: monarcas, vassalos e governo a distância, São Paulo: Alameda Editorial. Rodrigues, José Honório (1969). Teoria da História do Brasil. São Paulo: Companhia Editora Nacional. Sant’ Anna, Anastacio de (1817). Guia de Caminhantes. Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro. Schwartz, Stuart B. (2003). Da América Portuguesa ao Brasil. Transl., Nuno Mota. Lisbon: Difel. Slemian, Andrea; Thibaud , Clement (2013). “Indépendance du Brésil ou des Brésils? Unité et diversité dans la construction d’un Empire en Amérique au début du XIXe

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siècle”. Nuevo Mundo Mundos Nuevos [available: https://nuevomundo.revues.org/64747?lang=pt. Accessed on 11/05/2016). Souza, Iara Lis Carvalho (1999). Pátria Coroada. O Brasil como corpo político autônomo, São Paulo: Unesp. Verger, Pierre (1968). Flux et reflux de la traite des nègres entre le golfe du Benin et Bahia de Todos os Santos. Paris: Mouton.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 85 Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 A Recently Discovered Document on the History of Portuguese India in the Moravian Regional Archives in Brno

Karel Staněk1 Michal Wanner2

Abstract

The present text discusses the broad context surrounding an excerpt from a letter from the fourth Count of Ericeira to the Portuguese ambassador in France, Luís da Cunha, dated 1741. Found in the Moravian Regional Archives in Brno, in the Czech Republic, this letter is an important contribution to the study of the Portuguese-Maratha wars, which began in the 1660s and lasted until the 1740s. The significance of the document lies in its description of not very widely documented events occurring toward the end of the Portuguese-Maratha wars. Most studies end with the events of 1739, i.e., with the occupation by the Marathas of the Portuguese Northern Province (Província do Norte).

Keywords

Estado da Índia, Província do Norte, Portugal, Count Ericeira, Marathas

Resumo

O texto apresentado analisa o contexto alargado no qual se insere um excerto de uma carta do quarto Conde de Ericeira, enviado, em 1741, para Luís da Cunha, embaixador português em França. Esta carta foi encontrada no Arquivo Regional da Morávia em Brno, República Checa. É uma contribuição para o estudo das guerras entre os Portugueses e os Maratas que começaram na década de 60 do século XVII e demoraram até aos anos 40 do século XVIII. O interesse do documento reside na descrição de eventos não muito amplamente documentados do período tardio das guerras luso-maratas. A maioria dos estudos termina em 1739, ou seja, no momento da ocupação da Província do Norte pelos Maratas.

Palavras-chave

Estado da Índia, Província do Norte, Portugal, Conde de Ericeira, Maratas

1 Charles University, Prague, Czech Republic. E-mail: [email protected] 2 Department of Archives Administration and Records Management of the Ministry of the Interior, Prague, Czech Republic. E-mail: [email protected] Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741

The Czech archives are not normally included amongst the sources used by Czech or foreign researchers in the field of Oriental and African studies. This is understandable when we take into account the fact that the archives in the Czech Republic usually just contain records relating to the development of the territory of the Czech Republic and its historical predecessors. The documents on the and Africa that are to be found in the Czech archives are not, indeed, very numerous and often only partially cover certain events or phenomena. Some of these documents do, however, merit greater attention. At least in the case of two central archives, namely the National Archives in Prague and the Moravian Regional Archives in Brno, it has already been possible, for a number of years, to access such sources using special finding aids (Soupis materiálu, 1966; Soupis k dějinám, 1972; Smutná, 1975). The documents discovered using these search aids fall roughly into three types: documents originating from the activities of religious orders and fraternities, most of which were closely linked to missionary activities, form the most comprehensive group; reports collected through the activities of individuals, mostly explorers, collectors, and technical experts, form another group; documents linked to exile and emigration to the countries concerned, and to the economic and social relations with these, form a much smaller number of sources. The last named group’s time frame mostly spans the period from the nineteenth to the twentieth century (Wanner, 2008: 21-37). The document that is the subject of interest in our study belongs to the first of these groups; its character, nevertheless, differs from the other sources in the sense that it is not linked to missionary activities. Comments on the state of the East Indies are brought to light here, extracted from a letter from Francisco Xavier de Meneses, the fourth Count of Ericeira, to Dom Luís da Cunha, the Portuguese king’s envoy to the King of France. The Count of Ericeira received the letter, from which the information is taken, from his son, the fifth Count of Ericeira and the Viceroy of the East Indies, Luís Carlos de Meneses.3 The document is stored in the archive group “Brno Jesuits” deposited in the Moravian Regional Archives in Brno. The archive group was accessed by the inventory of 1954 (Švábenský, 1954). The significance of the document lies in its description of not very widely documented events that occurred toward the end of the Portuguese-Maratha Wars. Its importance is further enhanced by the fact that the theme itself is one that is less frequently discussed. The main studies that have been made on this issue are the problematic works

3 MZA Brno, E 25, Jezuité Brno (Brno Jesuits), p. 63 DD, 1741. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 87 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 by Panduronga S. S. Pissurlenkar, written from the Maratha perspective. Moreover, most of the studies end with the events of 1739, i.e., with the occupation by the Marathas of the Portuguese Northern Province (Província do Norte). The Count of Ericeira’s letter describes the events that took place in Goa shortly after May 18, 1741, when, after a strenuous trip lasting one year and six days, the new viceroy, Dom Luís Carlos de Meneses, the fifth Count of Ericeira and the first Marquis of Louriçal, arrived in Goa to take over power from his predecessor Pedro de Mascarenhas, the Count of Sandomil. The arrival of the new viceroy and the accompanying important military help had been determined by the continuing uneasiness caused by the pressure from the Marathas (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 351, 449-450, note 27).4 The uneasy relationship between the Portuguese and the Marathas dated back to long before this letter. The armies of had already threatened the territory east of Goa on the Konkan Coast in the 1660s and 1670s. In 1683, Shivaji’s son , who was even more aggressive, had nearly plundered Goa, which was saved only by the arrival of the Mughal army. According to the Jesuit Francisco de Sousa, the Indian Viceroy Francisco de Távora, the Count of Alvor, was so scared that he ordered the tomb of St. Francis Xavier in Bom Jesus church to be opened and asked the saint for help (Disney, 2009b: 303). The Muslim Mughals acted as the guards of a unified India, while the Marathas sought to protect Hinduism. In February 1684, the Mughals compelled Sambhaji to make peace in Phonda (also Pondá). Under the terms of this peace treaty, the Marathas were awarded the taxes received from Bassein and Daman. The treaty also restricted the potential cooperation of the Portuguese with the Mughals (Subrahmanyam, 1993: 194-195). In 1689, Sambhaji was defeated by the Mughal army and killed. Later, the Portuguese had other conflicts with Khonaji (Kamhoji) Angria, a Maratha chieftain and the founder of the Angrias Dynasty. He governed the western regions of the Maratha Confederation between Bombay and Wingurla (Vengurla), which included various ports, except for the possessions of the Muslim of Murud-Janjira,5 who sided with the . At a time of internal disorder within the Maratha Confederation, which ended with the assumption of power by the (prime minister) Balaji in 1720 – who effectively ruled in place of the chattrapati (king) –, the Angrias gained de facto

4 The new viceroy brought with him four infantry battalions comprising 2,000 men. They assembled in the Portuguese ports of Cascais, Lagos, Peniche, and Porto. The flotilla also brought a large amount of ammunition and 16 cannons of a new type made by Frederick Weinholtz, a Danish expert in the service of the Portuguese. These guns could fire up to thirty times per minute. The war fleet itself, which soon earned respect in the region, also represented an important help. 5 Siddis – descendants of Abyssinian Muslims. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 88 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 autonomy and considered the territories in the southern part of the Konkan Coast as their own, even though these were dependent domains. European historians tend to refer to them as pirates, but this term is not completely justified. Following the Portuguese example, the Angrias attacked all ships whose captains had not bought their protective passports (cartazes). Many Portuguese ships sailing to Bassein had to buy such documents (dastak), which were considered as humiliating in Goa (Boxer, 1969: 137). Relations between the Portuguese and the Marathas took a sudden turn for the worse in the 1720s. In 1717, the Marathas plundered Salsette Island, and a year later the Portuguese took their revenge on the Angrias. In 1721, a joint English-Portuguese attack on one of the Angria fortresses—Colaba (now the southernmost district of Bombay)— ended in failure (Danvers, 1892: 78). Portuguese-Maratha skirmishes were repeatedly interrupted by truces signed in 1724, 1728, and 1732 (Lobato, 1965: 73-126). In 1720, the peshwa I took advantage of the break-up of the Mughal Empire and embarked on extensive wars of aggression. In the first half of the 1730s, this expansion, predominantly directed toward the territory to the north of Maharasthra, also reached down to the Konkan Coast. In 1733, Balaji Baji Rao besieged the large naval fortress of Murud-Janjira, which had already been occupied for more than one hundred and sixty years by the Siddis, who maintained their African identity. The Siddis held the fortress against all newcomers, be they the Shivaji, the Portuguese, the Dutch or the English. They recognized the sovereignty of the Mughals and, in the years following Shivaji’s death (in 1680), expanded their territorial domains, including most of the central and northern Konkan coastal plains. They acted as the main rivals of the Angrias. Badji Rao’s units did not occupy Janjira, because they lost the naval support of the Angrias due to a dispute over inheritance. Nevertheless, they occupied a large part of the surrounding territories in the so-called Elephant War—a profitable agreement of 1736 that bestowed the theoretical control of all territories, except for Janjira, Anjanwel and Gowalkot, upon the Marathas (Gordon, 1993: 123; Mehta, 2005: 109-113). The peaceful relations between the Portuguese and the Marathas began to fluctuate from 1732 onward, being interrupted firstly by the Maratha attacks on Goa, Bassein, Chaul and Salsette Island, and secondly, in 1734-1735, by the massive Maratha aggression of 1737. In order to prevent support being sent from Goa to Bassein by sea, they attacked Goa itself. Their forces under Dadaji Bhave Nurgunker, Venkatrao Ghorpade and Jivaji Shinde crossed Dighi Ghat and started a far-flung, multithreaded attack on the territory of Salsette (Mhamai, 1984: 40-41). In 1737, the Portuguese lost the fort of Tana (Thane), built

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 89 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 on Salsette Island in 1734 to afford better protection to Bassein. The fortress in Chaul fell in April 1740 to the hands of the Marathas (Dighe, 1944: 43-48, 154-191). After a three- month siege, Bassein, the capital of the Northern Province, capitulated on May 23, 1739. Goa gathered together enough food reserves for a mere two months, and only escaped a similar fate thanks to a large ransom paid through the sale of Chaul. The peace treaty, signed on September 18, 1740, at Poona, handed the towns of Cahul, Karanje, Bandore, Bassein, Mahim, Tana, Chaul and Varsova (also Versova) over to the Marathas. The regions of Bardês and Salsette were returned to the Portuguese on condition that they paid the Marathas 40% of their local taxes. The Portuguese also retained Daman and held the right to trade across the Western Ghats, but, in the course of several months, lost the territory between Varsova Island and Daman and had to agree to the presence of Maratha troops in Pondá (Lobato, 2004: 327-329; Melo, 2013: 683). Thus, the Portuguese lost the whole of the Northern Province, the sole region in India where they also controlled an inland region with a highly developed agriculture. In total, the lost territory amounted to an area of 145 x 35 km, with eight towns, 377 villages, 20 fortresses and a tax revenue of 32 contos. The Portuguese prestige in India suffered a huge blow and the Estado da Índia began to change from a great maritime power into a regional power. What contributed to the success of the Marathas was, first of all, the gradual disintegration of the Mughal Empire, beginning at the start of the eighteenth century and culminating in the sack of Delhi by the Persian army of Nader Shah in 1739, and, second, the indirect English support to the Marathas in the form of supplies of military material (SIM, 2009: 56, 64). The fate of the remainder of the Estado da Índia hung by a thread (Alden, 1996: 593). Of key importance for the further development of the Portuguese colonies was the rise of the Hingnikar . In 1720, when Balaji Baji Rao I was appointed peshwa, one of his chiefs, Raghuji Bhonsle, took hold of the Berar region (Berar—now northeastern Maharastra). He agreed to keep 5,000 cavalrymen in favor of Balaji Baji Rao’s uncle Shahu Raja. In the 1720s, Raghuji Bhonsle mostly operated in Berar and in Gondwana (the eastern part of Berar and parts of Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh). In the 1730s, he hired some soldiers and became involved in various conflicts in the Gond Kingdom, the capital of which was Nagpur. In the 1740s, Raghuji came to power there, but he held the Gond king a prisoner, as a titular head of state. In the end, he was the only one of the Maratha chieftains to declare himself independent of the peshwa and became one of his fiercest opponents (Gordon, 1993: 124). In the course of the 1730s, Raghuji supported the incursions and collection of taxes in the East and North East, up to the coastal region of

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Odisha (former Orissa) and all of Gondwana; in the 1740s, his units attacked Bengal (Wink, 1986: 108-109). Other members of the Bhonsle family, Ramchandra Sawant and Jairam Sawant, the semi-independent Sawants of Wadi (also Sawantvadi, Sawantvandi) ruling in the region along the frontier with the territory of Bardês, i.e. between the Portuguese and the Maratha territories, were on good terms with the Portuguese when the Marathas attacked Salsette as part of their Bassein campaign. This can be discerned from the letter of thanks sent by Viceroy Sandomil to the Sawantvadi rulers on February 16, 1739. The Sawants of Wadi were repeatedly declared vassals of the Portuguese Crown (1699, 1712, 1726, 1736), but they finally took advantage of the calamitous situation in which the Portuguese were now involved. At the beginning of March, they informed the Portuguese that the peshwa Balaji Baji Rao I was pressing them to attack the territory of Bardês. They were able to disobey this order, if the Portuguese agreed to surrender to the Bhonsles the islands of Korjuva (also Kharjuvem) and Paneli, and also exempt them from the payment of an annual tribute of 1,000 rupees. Besides this, the expenses that the Bhonsles had incurred during more than two to three months in safeguarding the territory of Bardês against a possible attack by the Maratha forces would be paid back to them. The demands of the Sawantvadi rulers were rejected by the Portuguese (Mhamai, 1984: 41). While the above negotiations were being conducted with the Portuguese, the Sawantvadi rulers began concentrating their troops at Alorna. Even after receiving notice of this movement well in advance, the government of Goa was not in a position to safeguard the province of Bardês and defend it against the Bhonsles’ attack. There was only one company of sixty grenadiers and one company of light infantry to defend all the frontiers in Goa and Bassein (Mhamai, 1984: 42). So, at the same time as the Portuguese were defending Bassein, the Bhonsles’ army attacked Bardês early in the morning of March 5, 1739 and, on March 12, 1740, occupied all of the Bardês province, including the island of Korjuva, and all its fortresses, except for Aguada and Reis Magos. Goa found itself in danger of falling. Viceroy Sandomil attempted to remedy this situation. He sought the alliance of Nagoba Sawant Bhonsle, who was opposed to the Sawantvadi rulers, his brother Ramchandra Sawant, and his nephew Jairam Sawant (Mhamai, 1984: 155-157, 179),6 but he soon recognized that this alliance would

6 See the letter of November 19, 1739, from Nagoba Sawant Bhonsle to the Portuguese Secretary of State, informing that the Portuguese might think that Jairam Sawant and Ramchandra Sawant and he himself were brothers and would unite on this occasion. In fact, he remained the worst enemy of the Sawantvadi rulers and confirmed his loyalty to the Portuguese. Quoted by Mhamai (1984): document written in the , pp. 155-57; English summary, 179, nº 3. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 91 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 bring the wrath of all the Bhonsles upon them. Therefore, he preferred to negotiate a peace treaty between Nagoba and his relatives. Under the scope of this treaty, the Portuguese gave the village of Pirna to the Bhonsles in exchange for the island of Paneli, and promised to provide the Sawantvadi rulers, whenever necessary, with gunpowder and bullets for a price, in exchange for the promise of free shipping (Mhamai, 1984: 42-43). The Portuguese also sought the mediation of the English in all dealings with the Maratha chiefs, and confirmed their role as guarantors of the results achieved so far. But the possibilities open to the Viceroy were very limited because of the serious lack of all kinds of resources. The Sawantvadi troops restricted themselves to launching separate attacks against Bardês and the island of Goa in February 1741. The Count of Sandomil therefore impatiently awaited the arrival of reinforcements from Europe (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 351, 354). In June 1741, Dom Luís Carlos Inácio Xavier de Meneses, the fifth Count of Ericeira (1689-1742), replaced him as viceroy. This man, descended from a family of grandees, had already held the office of viceroy and general captain of the Indies in the years 1717-1720 (the third viceroyship). Like other viceroys in the period of 1701-1757, the time of the “aristocratisation of the title and the appointment of viceroys” (Cunha, Monteiro, 1995: 91-120, quotation 103), he was granted the title of the first Marquis of Louriçal, as a reward for his willingness to take up this post again (the seventh viceroyship; Sim, 2011: 71). The new viceroy was equipped with royal instructions that showed that the king, João V, was well informed about what was happening in India. The document advised Ericeira to make plans to retake the Northern Province, lest the capital should be in danger. Since the terms had already been signed, Ericeira was to consult with the outgoing viceroy and others to reassess the need for these to be overthrown if they had been prejudicial to the Estado. The final decision was to be entrusted to him (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 459-60). Ericeira alone had thoroughly studied the situation in India even in his first viceroyship, leaving a clear record in his instructions to his successor Francisco José de Sampaio e Castro. He indicated that the Mughals and some of their allies were concerned that the commerce and the activities of some of their hostile vassals had resulted in losses for their merchants. He was convinced of the need to build alliances with other local powers, even the minor ones. He spoke of the need to “play politics among the mouros (Muslims) and the Europeans” (Sim, 2011: 84).

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After his arrival, the Marquis was accommodated in Panjim Palace at first, not in Reis Magos College, where the viceroys usually stayed. This precaution was adopted due to reported threats from enemies in the vicinity of the college. On June 1, 1741, the new viceroy majestically entered Goa and, on the same date, issued orders that the province occupied by their enemies would be recaptured. He brought with him 2,000 men, four infantry battalions, one company of grenadiers and a brigade of sipahis,7 who set up camp on the site called Karepa, on Chorão Island. All of this military equipment and the European troops were brought by the Portuguese fleet of six ships. Two of these were commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Dom Luís de Pierrepont and Lieutenant Colonel José Caetano de Matos, both infantry officials. The former had already distinguished himself through his bravery (Mhamai, 1984: 49). In June 1741, the viceroy gave orders to mobilize his armed forces for the reconquest of the province of Bardês. On June 13, 1741, before daybreak, the sipahis commanded by Manuel Soares Velho, who had their camp on the island of Chodan, reached Korjuva Island without encountering any enemy opposition. Later on, the Portuguese infantry also arrived at the same place (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 451). In the narrow area between Karepa and Korjuva, two boats carrying two companies of grenadiers on board capsized. According to the report about the disaster, 56 men drowned, even though the other boats attempted to rescue them. General Velho attacked the Korjuva fortress with his remaining units, taking it by surprise and occupying it. Then he set out to capture the Kolvala fortress. In spite of the fierce resistance of the besieged forces, he conquered this base as well. Marquis Louriçal’s letter to His Majesty King João V describes the event as follows: “The enemies opened secret doors facing the river in order to leave the fortress. Through these doors they fled in great confusion. Our grenadiers pursued them even into the water. As ordered, they did not leave the site where 460 horses were lined up to facilitate the retreat of the sipahis. Their casualties are estimated at the loss of 500 lives, many of whom died in the water. Niba, allegedly the captain of the Sardesans, was a victim of the firing. We lost no lives. Only six sipahis, two company officers and four Portuguese were injured. Miguel Ira Sampao, the captain of the grenadiers, was one of them” (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 451). Lieutenant Colonel Luís Pierrepont later reached the Chapora fortress, which he found abandoned. The Bhonsles also abandoned the fortresses of São Miguel, São Tomé de Tivi and Assunção (the middle fortress and the new fortress). They concentrated fully,

7 Sipahis – also sepahis, sipais, sepoys, infantry soldiers in India or East Africa, from the eighteenth century onward, recruited by Europeans from among the native inhabitants and trained in accordance with European practices. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 93 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 but fruitlessly, on keeping hold of the more important Korjuva and Kolvala fortresses. Thus, in the course of just a single day (June 13), the Portuguese army had succeeded in liberating the Bardês Province (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 451). Another campaign was thwarted by rain. The Bhonsles of Sawantvadi sought the help of the peshwa Balaji Baji Rao I. The Portuguese, at the same time, drew the peshwa´s attention to the terms of the treaty that the peshwa had signed with them on September 18, 1740, at Poona. One of the terms of the treaty stated that “the treaty of peace between the Sawants and the Portuguese will be entered upon in the agreed manner. Should the treaty of peace be violated by the Sawants, then the Peshwa shall side with and assist the Portuguese. Should it be violated by the Portuguese, the Peshwa shall side with and assist the said Sawants” (Mhamai, 1984: 50). When the peshwa Balaji Baji Rao I found that the Bhonsles of Sawantvadi had been defeated and realized that they had violated the treaty, he offered his help to the Portuguese. General Velho was, therefore, entrusted with the task of starting negotiations with the Marathas. The result was a treaty signed in Goa on September 11, 1741. Basically, the Portuguese were awarded different war compensations, and the territory occupied by the Bhonsles was returned to them (Pissurlenkar, 1975: 452).8 The agreement was made on the basis of the previous treaties, signed by both parties in 1712 (on behalf of the Portuguese, it was negotiated by the Indian Viceroy, Rodrigo da Costa), as well as in 1726 and 1736. The Bhonsles were not allowed to intervene in the region of Phonda, and had to surrender all claims to the islands of Panelim and Korjuva, and parts of the region of Bardês, in favor of the Portuguese. Furthermore, they were banned from trading with the Arabs (from Oman), because these were enemies of the Portuguese. Finally, they became the vassals of the Portuguese and promised to hand over to them two Arabian horses each year or to pay 1,000 xerafins. In 1741, the new conditions were added to the provisions of the above-mentioned 1712 treaty, which had been incorporated into the contract. These were more or less identical (although somewhat broader in their scope) to those preliminary conditions mentioned in our document from the Regional Archives in Brno, which we will see below. The most important condition was the following one: the maritime pirate activities of the Bhonsles directed against Portuguese ships were banned. They had to contribute 15,000 xerafins to repair the churches damaged by war in the region of Bardês, whose bells they were also obliged to return. They were similarly obliged to return 70 captured guns and pay

8 See the letter from the Marquis of Louriçal to the Peshwa dated October 24, 1741. Quoted by Pissurlenkar (1975), 452, note 32. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 94 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 for another 35 guns. It was also necessary to return all the Portuguese ships seized on March 5, 1739, and to buy Portuguese cartazes. Besides the islands of Panelim and Korjuva, the Bhonsles further surrendered the locations of Maem, Arabo and Pirna, as well as the villages of Macazana (also Mahaqhazana) and Vazary, although the latter two ended up not being claimed by the Portuguese. The agreement was drawn up simultaneously in two languages—Portuguese as well as Marathi (Biker, 1885: 220-39). The events in Goa which occurred between June 1 and September 11, 1741, are also described in the aforesaid document from the Moravian Regional Archives. The author and the addressee of the said letter were among the most prominent members of Portuguese society. Luís da Cunha (1662-1749), the Portuguese envoy in Paris, belonged to the class of so-called estrangeirados, enlightened Francophiles, critics of the political, social and religious circumstances in Portugal. We know that the fourth and fifth Counts of Ericeira, father and son, were both ardent Roman Catholics, although their link to Luís da Cunha was one of close friendship. Despite their firm Roman Catholic beliefs, they shared the opinion of most of the estrangeirados that many heretic literati could be emulated and given credit, thus engaging in a de facto undermining of the faith in dogmatic truths (Boxer, 1969: 356-357). Unfortunately, there still remains some uncertainty about other features of the document. Firstly, it is not clear when or for what purpose the comments were written or how they came to be added to the archives of the Jesuit College in Brno. Despite intensive efforts, it has also been impossible to discover whether and where the original document exists from which this extract was made. Both the Portuguese and the French archives have come under consideration. The description of events contained in the comments is unusually precise, coinciding with the data found in other sources even in terms of details, so that there can be no doubt as to the origin of the information and its authenticity. The Brno document even enriches our knowledge of certain details concerning, for example, the treaty of September 11, 1741. We therefore quote the text of the comments in its full Latin wording, followed by an English translation:9

Notitiae status Indiarum excerpta ex literis Comitis Ericera scriptis ad Dnum Ludovicum de Acugna Lagatum Serenissimi Regis Lusitaniae apud Regem Christianissimum, quas dictus Comes accepit á Vice-Rege Indiarum suo Filio.

9 The English translation is by Michal Wanner. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 95 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741

Marchio de Louriçat novus Vice-Rex Indiarum, post longam et periculosam navigationem unius anni, et sex dierum, appulit ad portum Goanum cumtribus navibus, in quibus 912 milites rensebantur, ubi Urbem Goam in tam profligato statu veperit, ut propé tributaria Regulo barbaro dicto Bosuló, aliás Queima effecta fuerit. Is itag ium (Anno 1741) 18 Maji Goane Urbis possessionem uepisset, atq Ia Junii solemnem inqvessum celebrasset, mox exciis quot senum advexit, militibus, praesidiis Goani, conflati alioquin ex 873 capitibus, defectum supplevit, duas centurias 100 remigibus, et alias duas 400 militibus ad solam maniti navalem pugnam instruitis, auxit. Equitum etiam duas centurias erexit, gentem dictam Cypaes, aliás Lascarins, qui more Helvetiorum in Germania are condua solitorum, militant, pecunia conduxit. His vero sat paviis Copiis summó secreto conjuctis, cum Emmanuelem Suarez, et Franciscum Mascareynas, quiá supremo primi regimine dependeret, Duces prefecisset, diem, quo in hostem progredeventur, tertiam decimam Julii S' Antonio Lusitano, vulgó Patavino, dictam elegit. Articér imperitia nautarum factum sit, quodin in transitu primi fluvii dua naves cum S o pyrobolariis aquis haustae essent, primium ramen munitionem impetu facto occupatunt, secundam, tormentis velocibus recens inventis s: quae seilicet unius momenti spatio 15 globos e aculantur) hostes territi, deseruerunt; tertiam seró, et si quatuor propugnacilis munitam, et 16 roimentis, atg 500 prasidiariis provisam postquam tu in apertum campum egressi partium in ipsa acie, partium dum flumen trajicere fugitivi paravent, casiessent, sibi vindicarunt; huie iefuper fimiles duas alias munitiones, necnon Corguen et Panelim Insulas acguisiverunt. In his omnibus congressibus, quatuor non nisi lasos ex pyrobolariis, et unum tribunum, sex veró Cypaes cumduobus eorum ductoribus mortuos, Lusitani numerarunt: At inter occisos hostes etiam proximo sanguine junctus ipsi Regulo Bosuló, fuit unus. Haec itaq jactura compulit Regulum, ut pacem pereret, quam tandem 13a Augusti his conditionibus impetravit. 1a ut Bosuló se tributarium redderet, duos equos Arabes aut 1000 xarefinos (: quorum singuli, singulos Romanos Julius valent:) soluturus, et mox 25 equos Arabes daret, quod prastitit. 2da ut exactas ab Urbe Goana contributiones pecuniarias omnes, Campares Ecclesiis ablatas septemdecies restituerer; quinquaginta Xarefinorum mibba ad munitiones, quindecim veró millia ad Ecclesias ab illo destructas reparandas fulveret, quod paritet prastitit. 3tia ut ablata 10 tormenta munitioni Goanae restituerer, tantamg adjiceret pecuniam, quantam triginta trio abia volebant. quod itidem practitit. 4ta Ut multas terras pro recipiend o femine cryzae, quas Lusitani aliás nunquam habebant, cederet. 5ta Ut omnes tractatus, et contractus cum aliis Vice-Regibus ab Anno 1729 initos (: excerpto illo quem ultimus Vice-Reex fecit, promittendo 11 000 xerafinos, qui jam nunc illi summae detroctifuerunt, quam Jose ui praesentis tractatus folvere debet:) vescinderet.

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6ta Ne in portus suos naves inimicas admitteret; Lusitanis veró liberum cum terris suis commercium permitteret. 7ma Ur omnes Militiae Lusitanae desertores restitueret, quibus moafa=cta est fugavenia 8va Ut privatis omnia, qua illis eripuit, subitó restitueret. 9na veró ut adverso omnes Mauri, et Coffri captivi exceptis tamen belli Ducibus, iisq, qui sacro Baptismatis fonte ablui parati essent, Lusitani Bossuló Régi, restituerent. Ita veró omnes Salcettarum Septentrionalium provincia pacem pristinam et quierem receperunt. Carerum Rex Sundesis ut poté Lusitanis Foederatus nunc sese disponit ad dicendum bellum potentissimo illi Regi barbaro Maratha; et quam do nova suppetia Lusitanbica aderunt, Vice-Rex novos progrestus religioni Catholica proficuos tentabit in Nomine Domini.

------

Comments on the state of the Indies, extracted from Count Ericeira’s letter written to Dom Ludovic de Acugna, the envoy of the Most Serene King of Portugal to the Most Christian King, which the said Count received from his son, the Viceroy of the Indies.

After a long and dangerous voyage lasting one year and six days, the Marquis of Louriçat [Louriçal], the new Viceroy of the Indies, landed at Goa harbor with three ships carrying 912 soldiers, where he found the city of Goa in such a pitiful condition, that it nearly had to pay tributes to a barbarian king called Bosul, otherwise Queima [Bhonsle]. And thus, on May 18, 1741, when he took control of Goa, entering the city in a triumphant ceremony on June 1, he immediately supplemented the insufficient Goa garrison, consisting of 873 heads, with those soldiers that he had brought with him. He supplemented two companies with 100 oarsmen, and another two with 400 soldiers trained for naval battles. He also established two companies of cavalrymen from the people called Cypeos, otherwise Lascarins,10 who after the fashion of the Swiss in Germany are usually hired for money; these he hired for money (the horsemen). After this rather small group of soldiers had then been most secretly put together, and after he had appointed Emanuel Suarez as its commander and had made Francisco Mascareynas dependent on the former’s higher command, he selected June 30, known as the day of Saint Anthony of Padua, as the day when the enemy would be attacked. Although, due to the sailors’ lack of experience, the first two boats with grenadiers capsized and sank when crossing the river, the first fortress was nevertheless overrun by the attack; the second one, after new rapid-fire guns were deployed (those firing 15 bullets in a short time), was abandoned by the terrified enemies; the third one, even though it was fortified by four bastions and equipped with 16

10 Lascarim (or Lascarin) – native soldier in Portuguese Asia. From Persian lashkari, i.e. soldier. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 97 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 guns and a 500-head garrison, was conquered when the enemy darted into the open field, some dying in the battle proper and others when fleeing and trying to cross the river; in addition to this, two other similar fortresses were occupied, as well as the Corguen and Panela Islands. In all these encounters, the Portuguese casualties numbered only four grenadiers and one officer injured, as well as five dead Cypeos, together with their two chieftains. But among the enemies killed was also one related by blood to the king Bosul himself. This also forced the king to ask for peace, which he obtained on August 13 under these terms:

1) As a tribute, Bosul was to pay two Arabian horses or 1,000 xaretins11(one of them worth one Roman Julius) and soon thereafter he was to donate 25 Arabian horses, which he did; 2) He was to compensate for all the tax money collected in the city of Goa and for the 17 lamps taken from churches; he was to pay fifty xaretins for the repair of fortifications, and 15 thousand for the repair of the churches that he had destroyed, which he also did; 3) He was to compensate for 70 guns taken from the fortifications of Goa, and to add the amount of money equivalent to the cost of 33 other guns, which he also did; 4) He was to relinquish many plots of land to be sown with rice, which the Portuguese would never have possessed otherwise; 5) He was to cancel all pacts and treaties with other viceroys, completed after 1729 (except for the one signed by the last viceroy, with the promise of 11 thousand xaretins, which were now deducted from the sum he was obliged to pay under this treaty); 6) He was not to admit enemy ships into his harbors, but was to permit the Portuguese free trade with his territories; 7) He was to return all deserters from the Portuguese army, whose escape was then at once pardoned; 8) He was to return to private persons everything he stole from them; 9) Conversely, all captured Mauri and Kaffirs except for chieftains and those who would be willing to submit to holy baptism, were to be returned to the king Bosul by the Portuguese. In this way, all the provinces of northern Salsette regained their previous peace and quiet. Furthermore, the King of Sunda,12 as an ally of the Portuguese, is now preparing to declare war on that most severe barbarian Maratha king; and when fresh Portuguese reinforcements arrive, the viceroy, in the Lord’s name, shall seek to achieve a new progress beneficial for the Roman Catholic religion.

11 Xaretin = xerafim, also xerafin – Indo-European coin originally of gold, and later of silver, formally equivalent to 300 reis. In practice, it differed somewhat in its weight and thus also in value. It was also minted in multiples of 2, 4, 8 and 12. In the eighteenth century, it was equal to a silver pardão. 12 The ruler of Sunda or Sonda, a town in the North Kanara district, Bombay Presidency, situated 10 miles north of Sirsi. His state lay along the frontier of the Salsette region, remaining in a relationship of vassalage to e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 98 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741

The Portuguese did not enjoy their victory for long. After only six months, it appeared that the Bhonsles of Sawantvadi did not intend to observe the said treaty. Conflicts with the Bhonsles and other Maratha chieftains broke out again and dragged on, with alternating victories, throughout the years 1742-1746. Fortunately, the Marathas had many other problems during that time, which meant that the Portuguese were less important for them. Moreover, the Marathas viewed the Portuguese as potential allies against the English. The Portuguese used the peshwa’s involvement elsewhere and regained some minor enclaves. The Marquis of Louriçal died on June 12, 1742; in the next few years, however, the new viceroy Pedro Miguel de Almeida e Portugal e Vasconcelos, the first Marquis of Castelo Novo, the third Count of Assumar, and later the first Marquis of Alorna, who assumed office in 1744, achieved some important successes. In 1746, at the expense of the Bhonsles of Sawantvadi, he took possession of the fortresses of Alorna, Bicholi (also Dicholi), Terakhol (also Tiracol) and several other places. Besides this, he once again subjugated the Bhonsles to a condition of vassalage. However, the recapture of the Northern Province did not take place, although this possibility was considered. On the other hand, the Portuguese prestige was restored and the way was paved for the new expansion in the second half of the eighteenth century (Melo, 2012a: 40, 120-124; Pissurlenkar, 1975: 452-477). The Portuguese were faced with a lack of resources. In his work Instruções políticas (1734), the aforementioned Luís da Cunha proposed that this problem should be resolved through the establishment of the Indo-African Company. This would not only possess a commercial monopoly, but would also force the Crown to provide vessels to defend the Portuguese overseas possessions. However, the implementation of this plan, which had been based on the Indian Company first considered in the early seventeenth century and was, in fact, realized for a very brief period between 1628 and 1633, depended on there being sufficient capital (Disney, 1978: 71-155; Disney, 2009a: 242-258; Winius 1981: 119- 134). Since this capital was, above all, in the hands of Jewish merchants, Cunha therefore proposed that they should be allowed to settle in Portugal and be free of any persecution by the Inquisition. Unfortunately, this did not happen, so the draft law proposed by the Cunha finally perished (Silva, 2001: 161-163, 340-344). Only thirty years later did the Portuguese gain more noticeable compensation for the territory lost in 1740. In 1763-1788, they gained seven new talukas, which extended the the Estado da Índia and serving as a buffer zone against the Marathas. See The Imperial Gazetteer of India, vol. XXIII, p. 82. e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 99 Staněk & Wanner Count Ericeira’s Letter of 1741 territory of Goa northwards, eastwards and southwards as far as the Western Ghats, all at the expense of the Bhonsles. This territory, the so-called Novas Conquistas, measured scarcely 3,000 km2, and it represented the last territorial gains of the Portuguese in Asia. Consequently, the Portuguese territory in India tripled or quadrupled in size and acquired better defined and more stable and defensible borders than before. However, the value of this territory was only fully appreciated much later, when iron ore deposits were discovered there. From a general point of view, in 1739-1740, the Estado da Índia passed through the last phase of its transformation from a maritime power into a territorial power. This tendency culminated in the second half of the eighteenth century when the Portuguese territories in India became economically self-sufficient and were able to survive unchanged until the twentieth century (Thomaz, 1994: 395; Pearson, 1989: 138-39).

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References

Alden, Dauril (1996). The Making of an Enterprise: The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire and Beyond, 1540-1750. Stanford: Stanford Unviersity Press. Biker, Júlio Firmino Júdice (1885). Coleção de Tratados e Concertos de Pazes que o Estado da Índia Portuguesa Fez com os Reis e Senhores com quem teve Relações nas Partes da Ásia e África Oriental desde o Princípio da Conquista até ao fim do século XVIII, Volume VI. Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional. Boxer, Charles Ralph (1969). The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415-1825. London: Hutchinson. Cunha, Luís da (2001) [1736]. Instruções políticas, Silva, Abílio Diniz (ed.). Lisbon: CNCDP. Cunha, Mafalda Soares da and Monteiro, Nuno Gonçalo (1995). “Vice-reis, Governadores e Conselheiros de Governo do Estado da Índia, 1505-1834”. Penelope, 15. Danvers, F. C. (1892). Report of Portuguese Records Relating to the East Indies, Volume I. London: India Office. Dighe, Vishvanath Govind (1944). Peshwa Bajirao I and the Maratha Expansion. Bombay: Karnatak House. Disney, Anthony R. (2009a). “The First Portuguese India Company, 1628-33”. In Disney, Anthony R. (ed.), The Portuguese in India and Other Studies, 1500-1700. Aldershot: Farnham-Ashgate. Disney, Anthony R. (2009b). A History of Portugal and the Portuguese Empire. In The Portuguese Empire, Volume II. New York: Cambridge University Press. Disney, Anthony R. (1978). Twilight of the Pepper Empire: Portuguese Trade in Southwest India in the Early Seventeenth Century. Cambridge (Massachusetts): Cambridge University Press. Gordon, Stewart, (1993). The Marathas, 1600-1818. In The New Cambridge , Volume II, Part 4. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Imperial Gazetteer of India (The), (1908). Oxford:Clarendon Press, vol. XXIII [available: http://dsal.uchicago.edu/reference/gazetteer/toc.html?volume=23; consult. 2016.04.25]. Lobato, Alexandre (1965). Relações Luso-Marathas, 1658-1737. Lisbon: CEHU. Lobato, Manuel (2004). “A Guerra dos Marathas”. In Barata, Manuel Thermudo and Teixeira Nuno Severiano (eds.), Nova História Militar de Portugal, Volume II. Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores. Mehta, Jaswant Lai (2005). Advanced Study in the History of Modern India, 1707-1813. New Delhi: New Dawn Press. Melo, João Vicente (2012a). Lord of Conquest, Navigation and Commerce: Diplomacy and the Imperial Ideal during the Reign of John V 1707-1750. Swansea: Swansea University. Melo, João Vicente (2012b). “Respect and Superiority: The Ceremonial Rules of Goan Diplomacy and the Survival of the Estado da Índia, 1707-1750”. In Portuguese Studies, 28 (2), pp. 143-158. Melo, João Vicente (2013). “Seeking Prestige and Survival: Gift-exchange Practices between the Portuguese Estado da Índia and Asian Rulers”. In Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 56 (4-5), pp. 672-695. Mhamai, S. K. (1984). Sawants of Wadi: Coastal Politics in the 18th and 19th Centuries. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company. Pearson, Michael Naylor (1989). The Portuguese in India. In The New Cambridge History of India, Volume I, Part 1. Cambridge-New York-New Rochelle-Melbourne-Sydney: Cambridge University Press. Pissurlenkar, Panduronga S. S. (1975). The Portuguese and the Marathas. Bombay: State Board for Literature and Culture.

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Sim, Teddy Y. H. (2009). “War and Diplomacy in Estado da India, 1707-1750”. Portuguese Studies Review, 16 (2), pp. 49-79. Sim, Teddy Y. H. (2011). Portuguese Enterprise in the East: Survival in the years 1707-1737. Leiden-Boston: Brill. Smutná, Kateřina (1975). Soupis pramenů k dějinám národů severní Afriky, Asie a Oceánie [Register of sources for the history of the peoples of North Africa, Asia and ]. Brno. Soupis materiálu k dějinám jižní Ameriky a Afriky [Register of materials for the history of South America and Africa] (1966). Prague. Soupis k dějinám severní Afriky, Asie a Oceánie (z fondů I., II., III. a IV. oddělení) [Register for the history of North Africa, Asia and Oceania (from the archive groups of sections I, II, III and IV)] (1972). Prague. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay (1993). The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500-1700. A Political and Economic History. London-New York: Longman. Švábenský, Mojmír (1954). Jezuité v Brně [Jesuits in Brno], 1241-1773. Brno: Krajské nakladatelství. Thomaz, Luís Filipe F. R. (1994). Estado da Índia. In Albuquerque, Luís de (ed.), Dicionário de História dos Descobrimentos Portugueses. Volume I. Lisbon: Caminho, Círculo de Leitores, pp. 388-395. Wanner, Michal (2008). Kontakty českých zemí s Orientem 1780-1914 v zrcadle pramenů českých archivů. In Bláhová, Kateřina and Petrbok, Václav (eds.), Cizí, jiné, exotické v české kultuře 19. století, Sborník příspěvků z 27. ročníku sympozia k problematice 19. století, Plzeň 22. - 24. února 2007. Prague: Academia KLP. Winius, George Davidson (1981). “Two Lusitanian variations on a Dutch Theme: Portuguese Companies in Times of Crisis, 1628-1662”. In Blussé Leonard and Gaastra Femme S. (eds.), Companies and Trade. Leiden: Leiden University Press. Wink, André (1986). Land and sovereignty in India: agrarian society and politics under the eighteenth- century Maratha svarajya. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press.

Received for publication: 17 August 2015 Accepted in revised form: 6 April 2016 Recebido para publicação: 17 de Agosto de 2015 Aceite após revisão: 6 de Abril de 2016

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 102 Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial Portugal in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions. The Luso-Brazilian World, c. 1770-1850. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2013. ISBN: 978-1-107-02897-5.

Nelson Mendes Cantarino1

The history of the Portuguese Empire never ceases to surprise us. Established explanatory paradigms and interpretive generalizations are never exempt from the findings of thorough documentary research undertaken in Luso-Brazilian archives and the detailed analysis of their historical files. This is the challenge faced by Gabriel Paquette when discussing the different unexpected events that took place in the Portuguese Empire in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions. Adopting a that is based on the revolutionary processes of the eighteenth century is not a recent method, for this was the time when imperial institutions, networks formed by individuals with common economic and political interests, and trade circuits that had linked both sides of the Atlantic during the Modern period, were replaced by other institutional arrangements. But how can the Portuguese scenario help us understand a key period in the emergence of the contemporary world and independent American nations? This starting point proved to be critical for the study undertaken by R.R. Palmer: The Age of Democratic Revolution. 2 A seminal work, Palmer’s book was an invaluable contribution that abandoned a nationalistic and singular interpretation in favor of a comparative approach, based on transnational processes. Instead of multiple “exceptional” and “unique” paths creating new nations, the revolutionary model for independence in North America and pre-Bonapartist revolutionary France was considered the interpretive parameter for the break-up of colonial empires and for the formation of new nation states. Here, Palmer’s assumptions are the subject of Paquette’s approach. One example is that there was a single possibility for the direction that Modernity took, propagating

1 Professor of Economic History at Instituto de Ensino e Pesquisa de São Paulo (INSPER-SP) and at Fundação Escola de Comércio Álvares Penteado (FECAP). Email: [email protected]; [email protected] 2 Palmer (1954), Palmer (1959-64). Cantarino Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial Portugal enlightened ideas from a central European hub to its peripheries, mimicking the political discourse from the Europe of the Enlightenment throughout the Americas.3 As far as the Portuguese Empire is concerned, the application of the “Age of Revolution” approach still presents two drawbacks: firstly, the temptation to undervalue reformist efforts sponsored by the Portuguese Crown during the last decades of the eighteenth century—which were effective in creating new ties of loyalty between Lisbon and the colonial elites, easing tensions and allowing for a period of great prosperity in America.4 The existing historiography is thorough in its reconstruction of the enlightened reformism commanded from Lisbon and in discussing the difficulties of our independence process. Paquette skillfully masters that bibliography, and he chooses a side as well. Furthermore, some of the insights he produces in the book recapture his painstaking research work on Spanish Reformism under the reign of the Bourbon dynasty. Common dilemmas are the leitmotif for a perspective that draws Lisbon and Madrid closer together in the battle to bring about prosperity in their empires: the impact of their imperial rivalry on their policies during most of the eighteenth century; the importance of legal ideas, especially regalism, for understanding a modern monarchy and its governance; the role of the Church and the corporatism of the Old Regime in the colonies; the actions performed by colonial administrators in order to ascertain the feasibility of reforms; and, finally, the colonial elites’ commitment to this process. 5 Paquette then tackles the Portuguese Crown policy to establish closer links between the colonial elites in the key period that ran from the end of Pombal’s governance (1777) until the French occupation of the Iberian Peninsula (1807–1808). Not only in his selection, but also in his argument, there is an evident connection with the work published by the British historian Kenneth Maxwell.6 The “co-opting” of young Luso-Brazilian intellectuals from the University of Coimbra to serve the Crown overseas became the state’s strategy. These individuals would later work in favor of an increased control from

3 In previous works, Paquette himself (2013b) had already pointed out the misconception behind this argument. We cannot consistently believe that there was just one single European Enlightenment, let alone homogenize its impacts on the “periphery” of the European world. 4 Here, the criticism also points towards Jonathan Israel’s argument about the “moderate” Enlightenment. According to Israel (2010), moderate policies suggested by the political agents of the Old Regime were “inappropriate” and were unable to hold back the process that inevitably led to the independence of the American colonies. 5 Cf. Paquette (2008). In the case of the Spanish Empire, Regina Grafe (2012) begins with a similar perspective, and comes to a different conclusion: the decentralization that the reforms brought all across its vast empire was what held back Madrid’s efforts to modernize the colonies. High transport costs, legal barriers to trade, and the local elites’ wish to support their positions of power were the major inconveniences of the Bourbon Reforms. 6 Maxwell (1968), Maxwell (1973) and Maxwell (1995). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 104 Cantarino Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial Portugal

Lisbon at the administrative level and defended the consolidation of a bureaucracy that was able to serve several Portuguese dominions. The objectives were well-defined: to prevent the decline of the Empire and, once again, to stimulate economic prosperity in the colonies through an “international division of labor” and by offering these territories greater independence. Political economy was the instrument that was used to achieve these aims.7 The second criticism of R.R. Palmer’s model lies in the acknowledgement of an ongoing complex chain of interests and affinities, which persisted among the ex-colonies and their old metropolises, even after greater political freedom had been achieved. This is not new to Brazilian historiography: Sérgio Buarque de Holanda and Maria Odila da Silva Dias had already pointed out the legacy and the continuity of Portuguese institutions in independent Brazil.8 Following this recognition, Paquette emphasizes that “(...) Brazil’s independence was a highly contingent, generally unsought, and somewhat undesirable break from the previous half-century’s trajectory” (2), and for many of his contemporaries “(...) the end of empire proved to be a rude, unanticipated shock, an event which legions of Crown officials, nobles, clerics, and merchants tried to forestall, if not prevent entirely, as they watched the crumbling of imperial structures across the Atlantic World. With the benefit of hindsight, they sought to divert the river of History and believed that they had engineered this feat, forcing it to flow away from revolution and toward regeneration and reform” (5). To better understand the independence process, Paquette uses the notion of “Late Atlantic History.”9 By extending the chronological period of his research to a time beyond Brazilian Independence (1822) and its acknowledgement by Portugal (1825), he is able to tackle two core dilemmas for the Empires’ destinies formed on both sides of the Atlantic: the question of absence and the effects of such detachment on the individuals, institutions and states that emerged after the independence process. Seen from this perspective, the Portuguese Empire is a source of many interesting stories. What was the impact of Brazilian independence on the economic and political interests established in Portugal? Could Brazilian sovereignty be exercised without any sort

7 Cardoso (2001). 8 Buarque de Holanda (1962) and Silva Dias (2005). More recently, Jeremy Adelman suggested that the “Revolution did not begin as secessionist episodes… much more common in the complex breakdown was the exploration of models of re-accommodating colonies into imperial formations, a groping for an arrangement that would stabilize, not dissolve empires.” Adelman (2006), 5–8. 9 Rothschild (2011), Brown and Paquette (2013). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 105 Cantarino Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial Portugal of influence from its ex-Metropolis? The relationship between the Courts in Rio de Janeiro and Lisbon was much more complex than one could imagine.10 The explanation is associated with the way in which the colony consolidated its institutions and its sovereignty after independence—by maintaining the imperial model and the monarch who was next in the line of succession to the Portuguese throne. The economic feasibility of the Empire of Brazil led to the creation of ties with the Portuguese enclaves on the African coast, which were the source of slave labor for the great Brazilian agriculture. As for the prosperity of the Portuguese economy, especially its emerging industry, this may have been condemned by the loss of the Brazilian market. What was left was the decision to search for new horizons in Africa. An interesting methodological aspect is Paquette’s attempt to reconstitute individual trajectories. In this context, the empire’s dissolution may be directly associated with the idiosyncrasies of its leaders, with their enormous influence and political power. For instance, Prince Dom Pedro was a major figure in this history. While still in Rio de Janeiro, he planned the outcome of the succession to the throne in Lisbon. In Europe, the shadow of the political debate expected a new alliance between the Atlantic Crowns of the Braganza dynasty. The maintenance of the imperial model by the newly-independent Brazil led to another unusual consequence: contrary to common sense, the ideological political discourse of legality crossed the Atlantic, but from America to Europe. During the political crisis of Miguelism, Dom Pedro was not only converted from emperor to a warrior and the king of freedom, but he also took with him the Constitution that had been approved in Brazil. Paquette had already studied the influence of the Brazilian legal discourse in the Portuguese Constitution of 1826.11 But here we can observe its use in the context of the fresh links established between political groups and institutions after the civil war, which transformed brothers into sworn enemies. The great value of Imperial Portugal in the Age of Atlantic Revolutions is that it presents an interpretation of the imperial outcome based upon a more extensive reading, clarifying nationalistic perspectives and interpretations that regarded Brazilian independence as the obvious result of an inevitable process. This is a book that has much to add to the current Luso-Brazilian historiography, for it reminds us that, ultimately, our societies and institutions shared a common history that has lasted longer than the Portuguese Atlantic Empire itself.

10 Paquette (2013c). 11 Paquette (2011). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 106 Cantarino Paquette, Gabriel. Imperial Portugal

References

Adelman, Jeremy (2006). Sovereignty and Revolution in the Iberian Atlantic. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Armitage, David and Subrahmanyan, Sanjay (eds.) (2010). The Age of Revolutions in Global Context, c. 1760-1840. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Brown, Matthew and Paquette, Gabriel (eds.) (2013). Connections after Colonialism. Europe and Latin America in the 1820s. Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press. Cardoso, José Luís (ed.) (2001). A Economia Política e os Dilemas do Império Luso-Brasileiro (1790-1822). Lisboa: Comissão Nacional para as Comemorações dos Descobrimentos Portugueses. Grafe, Regina (2012). Distant tyranny: markets, power, and backwardness in Spain (1650-1800). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Holanda, Sérgio Buarque de (1962). “A Herança Colonial – sua desagregação.” In Sérgio Buarque de Holanda (ed.), História Geral da Colonização Brasileira. Tomo II: Brasil Monárquico, vol. I (O Processo de Emancipação). São Paulo: Difusão Européia do Livro. Israel, Jonathan (2010). A Revolution of the Mind. Radical Enlightenment and the Intellectual Origins of Modern Democracy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Maxwell, Kenneth (1968). Pombal and the Nationalization of the Luso-Brazilian Economy. HAHR, 48, 608-611. Maxwell, Kenneth (1973). Conflicts and Conspiracies: Brazil and Portugal: 1750-1808. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maxwell, Kenneth (1995). Pombal: Paradox of the Enlightenment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Palmer, R.R. (1954). The World Revolution of the West: 1763-1801. Political Science Quarterly, 69:1, 1-14. Palmer, R.R. (1959-1964). The Age of Democratic Revolution: A Political History of Europe and America, 1760-1800, 2 vols. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Paquette, Gabriel (ed.) (2009). Enlightened Reform in Southern Europe and its Atlantic Colonies, c. 1750-1830. Farnham: Ashgate. Paquette, Gabriel (2011). The Brazilian Origins of the 1826 Portuguese Constitution. European History Quarterly, 41:3: 444-471. Paquette, Gabriel (2013b). Views from the South: Images of Britain and its Empire in Portuguese and Spanish Political Economic Discourse, ca. 1740-1810. In Sophus A. and Paquette, Gabriel (2013c). In the Shadow of Independence: Portugal, Brazil, and their Mutual Influence after the End of Empire (late 1820s – early 1840s). e-JPH, number 2, Winter 2013, 101-119. Reinert and Pernille Røge (eds.). The Political Economy of Empire in the Early Modern World. UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 76-104. Rothschild, Emma (2011). Late Atlantic History. In Nicholas Canny and Philip Morgan (eds.). The Oxford Handbook of the Atlantic World. 1450-1850. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 643-648. Silva Dias, Maria Odila (2005). A Interiorização da Metrópole. In A Interiorização da Metrópole e Outros Estudos. São Paulo: Alameda, 2005.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 107 Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor: André Palmeiro and the Jesuits in Asia. Cambridge (Massachusetts), London: The Belknap Press, Harvard University, 2014, 515 pp. ISBN: 978-0-674-41668-0.

Federico Palomo1

How was the Society of Jesus governed outside Europe, particularly in regions like Asia, whose distance severely limited fluid communication with Rome? This is the question at the heart of Liam M. Brockey’s study of the Jesuit André Palmeiro and the role he played as the Order’s Visitor in the Indian Ocean region over the course of almost twenty years, from 1618 to his death in 1635. The history of early modern missionary work is probably one of the areas of historiographical research which has progressed most over the past twenty years, thanks to profound theoretical and methodological revisions. Alongside the complete renewal of Jesuit studies, these changes have allowed us to overcome outdated panegyric and to produce instead a more nuanced understanding of the missionary phenomenon. In the 1990s, the pioneering works of scholars like Luce Giard, John O’Malley, Pierre-Antoine Fabre and Antonella Romano paved the way for a new generation of historians in this field and particularly in the field of the Jesuit mission; Liam Brockey is undoubtedly a member of this generation. His works on the Jesuit presence in China during the modern era2 have helped drive forward a field of research that has become far more visible in historiography over the past few years. Other contributions in this area have been provided by scholars such as Ronnie Hsia, Noël Golvers, Pascale Girard, Florence Hsia, and, once again, Antonella Romano. The present study fits into this field of research, but takes a wider look at the Asian world as a whole. It thus offers a complete overview of the Jesuit presence in the Indian Ocean and East Asia region during the first third of the seventeenth century, and of the problems that the Society faced in various places where it was active, from Ethiopia to the Kingdom of Tonkin and to Japan. Brockey studies this phenomenon through the figure and perspective of the Portuguese Jesuit André Palmeiro. Palmeiro is almost unknown and has barely been studied, but he is shown to have been a tireless writer of letters and travel accounts, and, due to his post in the region, a key actor for those analyzing Jesuit

1 Complutense University of Madrid. E-mail: [email protected] 2 In particular, Journey to the East: the Jesuit Mission to China, 1574-1724. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2007. Palomo Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor missionary activity in the Indian Ocean in a period when there was no shortage of transformation and change. The Order’s apostolic strategies in such places were never fully defined during the sixteenth century. Faced with traditional historiography, which has framed the Jesuit mission through the experience of the sixteenth century and the legacy of Francisco Xavier, Matteo Ricci and Alessandro Valignano, Brockey’s study manages to show us a less static reality, in which the methods and strategies used by the Jesuits continued to be negotiated, contested and redeveloped. In this context, the figure of the Visitor, armed with a range of powers delegated to him by the Superior General, would naturally arise as a crucial player in attempts to shape missionary activity. His job was to guarantee its effectiveness without endangering the foundations of Jesuit identity. Valignano’s determining role in this process during the final decades of the sixteenth century is well known; Palmeiro’s, while far less prominent in historiography, was nevertheless just as important. As Brockey states in the introduction, the portrait he offers us in this study is one which brings together three aspects of Palmeiro’s character. First, that he was a member of a religious congregation like the Society of Jesus, characterized by its emphasis on intellectualism and education, but even more so by its well-known missionary engagement. The Jesuits’ presence in Asia and the Indian Ocean at the beginning of the seventeenth century was the result, furthermore, of the links which they had established with the Portuguese crown from 1540 onward. The Order thus benefited from royal support for setting up a whole network of colleges and establishments which served as the missions’ centers; but it also had to play its part in the Empire’s own projects. Second, Brockey highlights Palmeiro’s status as an administrator. His post as Visitor, so common in the Order’s bureaucratic practices as an instrument of control, took on a particular significance in the Asian context. The distance from Rome made the post, to all intents and purposes, a permanent one, and set him up as a figure with wide-reaching powers who essentially represented the Superior General, to whom he reported and with whom he kept in direct and constant communication. Among various roles, he was tasked with mediating and pacifying the conflicts which arose at the heart of Jesuit communities. Most importantly, he had to inspect the spiritual, apostolic, governmental, material and personal aspects which affected the way in which the Order’s provinces functioned; he had to make sure they fitted the Constitutions and the spirit of the Society. Finally, in his study of André Palmeiro, Brockey takes into account a personal dimension, presenting his subject as someone who was extremely curious and had a great ability for observing the places he

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 109 Palomo Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor lived in and visited. At the same time, he had a sense of pragmatism which, faced with idealism and rather more “visionary” enterprises, compelled him to seek what was possible at all times. The study is set out in two main parts. The first focuses on Palmeiro’s activity at the heart of the Portuguese Empire in Asia, focusing on Goa and the territories around the Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Bengal where the Portuguese were present. The second part looks at the period Palmeiro spent in Macau, within the borders of the Empire, dealing with the problems which surrounded the Jesuits’ missionary projects in China, in the Japanese archipelago and in . Naturally, therefore, Brockey structures the book around Palmeiro’s own biography: firstly, as Visitor in the provinces of Malabar (1618-1621) and India (1621-1626), and then later as Visitor in the province of Japan and in the vice-province of China (1626-1635). But this structure also underlines how missionary practice differed between areas under the control/influence of a power like the Estado da Índia and areas where there was no such control/influence. In the latter case, the presence of Jesuits and missionaries had no imperial support, and thus their ability to act was strongly dependent on the will of local rulers. Indeed, the convergence of the Society’s interests with those of the Empire is made clear throughout the study. However, it is particularly important in the first part, most specifically when analyzing the period that Palmeiro spent in Goa, where – as Brockey points out—he was part of colonial power circles and managed to establish close links with the Viceroy, Francisco da Gama. Furthermore, his experience across a region as extensive as the Jesuit province of India offered him a more “imperial” vision of the Society’s role in the Indian Ocean and in Asia more generally. Brockey draws attention to the diplomatic aspect of enterprises like the Jesuit mission at the Moghul court, where the Society acted as a crucial line of communication between the Moghul Empire and Goa, or the Jesuits’ presence in Ethiopia in the first third of the seventeenth century. There is no doubt that, by collaborating with Portuguese power structures, the Jesuits received favors, which were vital to maintaining their status in the Portuguese-Asian political and religious world. However, their involvement in Portuguese imperial structures also brought with it confrontation with other actors. This study, in fact, accurately highlights some of the questions which led to the biggest controversies of the day, from the jurisdictional disputes with the Bishop of Cochin about the missions on the Pearl Fishery Coast and the debts of the College of Colombo, to the suspicions which the archbishops of Goa and Cangranore

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 110 Palomo Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor had about Nobili’s strategies, and to the recurrent disputes with the other religious orders that competed in the field of missionary work and for the glory of martyrdom. Beyond the external factors which determined Palmeiro’s actions, his tenure as Visitor and administrator was largely shaped by internal factors and the Order’s own interests. Here, Brockey provides an accurate analysis of the various spiritual and material problems which the Jesuits faced at that time, and of the solutions which Palmeiro attempted to enforce, demonstrating the difficult balance which he had to establish at times between the stance transmitted from Rome and the realities of local missions. Therefore, he stresses Palmeiro’s role in defining the very strategy of the Order in the Asian world. He maintained a presence in areas which had been subject to Jesuit apostolic activity for a significant time; but, at the same time, he explored new territories for missions. Brockey refers, for example, to António de Andrade’s expedition in 1624 to the Himalayas. Above all, however, particular emphasis is placed on the boost which missionary activity received under the auspices of Palmeiro himself in Southeast Asia (Tonkin, Siam, Cochinchina, Hainan), which had hitherto barely been explored by Catholic missionaries. In reality, bringing these regions within the Jesuits’ geographical and missionary purview was the alternative to the volatile situation in which the formerly successful mission in Japan had been mired since 1614. One of the most serious problems which the Society encountered in this period was related to exactly that: the end, the final moments, of Japanese Christianity. Since the Society had become a clandestine mission marked by persecution and martyrdom, Brockey underlines the growing pessimism among exiled brothers and Jesuit superiors in Macau about the future of this missionary enterprise. Now all that remained was to attempt to bring comfort to the handful of brothers who were still there, and to preserve the memory of those who had been martyred, by promoting their causes to the authorities in Rome. The Jesuit missionaries were a subject of particular and continued concern and worry for André Palmeiro, whose role as Visitor naturally made him an “administrator of men”. In this regard, Brockey underlines, on the one hand, his mediating role in the various disputes which arose at the heart of Jesuit communities. Of particular note is Brockey’s analysis of the internal strife which faced the brothers of the Province of Malabar in the 1620s. Deep divisions arose between the Portuguese Jesuits and the Italian Jesuits, with the latter growing in both number and power. There was no shortage of people ready to contest the Italians’ control over the College of Cochin and several other missions, but many questioned the methods of evangelization practiced by certain fathers, such as

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 111 Palomo Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor

Roberto Nobili, whose policies of accommodation in Madurai pitted him against Gaspar Fernandes and other Jesuits, and provoked strong criticisms outside the Society. Nobili, furthermore, fitted a particular type of missionary, which, as Brockey points out, posed a persistent problem to the Order’s strategies. Men such as António de Andrade, Antonio Rubino, Alberto Laerzio, and Nobili himself, were characterized by their strong charisma, their almost visionary nature and a spirit which pushed them to try to emulate the apostles in everything they did. At the highest levels of missions and colleges, these men often aroused controversy, and, more importantly, contrasted with the necessary pragmatism that Palmeiro believed should guide all those engaged in government. In his correspondence with Rome, he made this problem of leadership which affected the Jesuits’ provinces in Asia very clear, demanding time and again that government responsibilities should be given to mature subjects rather than to figures who had been crowned with a halo of apostolic heroism. Of all the issues which André Palmeiro faced in his role as Visitor, Brockey places special emphasis, naturally, on the debates about the policies of accommodation that marked Jesuit apostolic practice in Madurai, China and Japan. In this sense, his analysis of Nobili and the controversy to which his methods gave rise allows him to bring to the fore Palmeiro’s own “conversion”. In contrast to his initial position, Palmeiro recognized that many of Nobili’s initiatives were harmless; but, in turn, he cast a skeptical eye over the efficacy of such policies, given the small number of conversions they achieved, and he warned that certain practices posed a danger to preserving Jesuit identity. His experience in Madurai was undoubtedly decisive in his later perception of the missionary methods developed in China. There, the issue took on different overtones, and it is therefore unsurprising that Brockey dedicates a whole chapter to analyzing Palmeiro’s position after his journey around China from Canton to Peking in 1628-1629, a journey which allowed him to see first hand the reality of the missionary endeavor begun by Matteo Ricci in the 1580s and the policies of accommodation which Ricci had developed at that time. Here, Brockey begins by underlining the specificity which the so-called metodo soave took on in this context, where the Jesuits, all but stripped of religious elements, presented themselves as intellectual equals of the Chinese literati. He also recalls some of the historiographical commonplaces on the subject, the result of an often rather rushed analysis: from the emphasis given to Ricci’s supposed “modernity”, presenting him as a tolerant, knowledgeable man, open to dialogue, and secularizing him to the detriment of his missionary work, to the caricature of his detractors and the insistence on a “national”

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 112 Palomo Brockey, Liam Matthew. The Visitor viewpoint which put the Jesuits from Italy in the “accommodation” camp and those from the Iberian Peninsula in another one (Niccolò Longobardo, João Rodrigues and Álvaro Semedo are just three examples who show that this was not the case). Above all, Brockey situates the problem within the context of 1629 and in terms of the debate that was brewing at that time at the heart of the Order. After more than thirty years, the shortage of converts was forcing them to rethink their strategies: in Palmeiro’s view, they needed to overcome obstacles like xenophobia, institutional uncertainty and missionary isolation; to reconsider whom the Jesuits should be targeting their energies toward; to analyze to what extent they should adopt the habits of the learned Chinese in order to assure their protection and how far they should change their Christian message and behavior to fit Chinese cultural and devotional norms. In essence, as Brockey makes clear, the issues arising from policies of accommodation at the mission in China, as well as the answers which Palmeiro attempted to formulate, were about Jesuit identity. At its heart, this question was whether the missionaries should or should not be identified as the Jesuits they were, that is, as Europeans linked to a religious order which sought to convert the Chinese to Christianity. Beyond the larger issues, such as what methods should be used for evangelization, this work consistently shows us a Visitor who was concerned with apparently less important concerns, from administrative details (like the search for an alternative route to Ethiopia) to economic matters (like the Society’s involvement in new commercial routes with Southeast Asia, which would entail the loss of trade with Japan). Over the course of the broad overview which Brockey provides, it is regrettable that we do not hear more about other religious actors who also had a significant presence in Asia. Bringing such figures into consideration would provide a more nuanced view of the predominant position that is often attributed to the Jesuits. In any case, Brockey’s study does not only bring us closer, through the figure of André Palmeiro, to Jesuit spaces in the Indian Ocean and to the problems and changes which the Order faced there during the first third of the seventeenth century. It also constitutes, without any doubt, a major contribution to the understanding of how an international religious congregation such as the Society of Jesus found in the Visitor an instrument for governing those communities that were most distant from the Roman center.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 113 Federico Palomo (ed.) La memoria del mundo: clero, erudición y cultura escrita en el mundo ibérico (siglos XVI-XVIII). Cuadernos de Historia Moderna. Anejos. Serie Monografías, XIII (2014). ISBN: 9788466934930

Bruno Feitler1

It was part of the strategies adopted by every important family in the Iberian Ancien Régime, whenever possible, to dedicate one or more of their children to the Church. Such ordinations were the result of specific vows, strategies of prestige, or simply a way of keeping the family estate undivided. More than one foreign traveler, in his chronicles, drew attention to the high proportion of priests, friars and nuns among the population of Lisbon, for example. Because of their number, but mainly because of their specific status and the role they played, the men and women of the Church constituted an important social group in Iberian society. They deeply influenced the economy and politics of those kingdoms, not to mention the obvious religious and disciplinary roles that they played. Furthermore, between 1500 and 1520, 40% of the books printed in the Iberian Peninsula were religious ones (not taking into account Bibles, but including printed papal bulls). According to Wilkinson, this ratio increased to 46% between 1580 and 1600. Obviously, the men and women of the Church did not write works (printed or handwritten) that were related solely to religious subjects, yet, nevertheless, both these population numbers and publishing data pinpoint the importance of religion, and consequently of the clergy, in the written culture of the Iberian early modern world. The volume edited by Federico Palomo and entitled The Memory of the World: Clergy, Erudition and Written Culture in the Iberian World (16th-18th centuries) provides us with an innovative discussion of the role played by clerics in the production, circulation and eventual printed publication of texts about a broad series of subjects during the Iberian early modern period, ranging from theology to comedies, or from chronicles to scientific treaties. It also deals with the importance of texts for these clerics’ strategies and, in the case of the regular clergy, for the relations of their congregations with other religious orders. As some of the contributions show, written texts were also an important element of identity for these congregations.

1 Universidade Federal de São Paulo (Unifesp) / CNPq. E-mail: [email protected] Feitler Federico Palomo (ed.) La memoria del mundo

The choice of authors (and of the texts themselves) clearly indicates a desire to understand “the central role of secular and regular clerics in the religious field of the written culture” in this period, from an imperial or even planetary logic, as announced by the volume’s erudite, clear and comprehensive introduction written by its editor. Of the total of ten articles, only three deal exclusively with the Iberian-European context. This choice reveals Federico Palomo’s main goal: to understand the role that clerics “could have played (through their texts) in the construction and configuration of the Iberian empires.” One of the other manifest objectives of this volume is to challenge the traditional historiography that: 1) linked the intensive use of the press only to the Reformation, as opposed to a less erudite and more sentimental Tridentine Catholicism; 2) within the world of Roman Catholicism, saw Jesuits as the only ones who used intensively handwritten or printed texts in their political and missionary strategies; 3) regarded clerics in general and religious orders in particular, as, for example, Antonella Romano points out, as elements of obscurantism, and, because of this, as incapable of making any valid contribution to the renewal of knowledge, both technical and scientific. (Romano’s contribution shows how crucial missionary texts were, for example, for the European knowledge of China). Related to this third aspect of traditional historiography, the editor makes the noteworthy choice to leave to one side those studies that dealt more specifically with the production and circulation of doctrinal, theological and also legal works. Works that were in fact the main editorial successes of the Iberian early modern world and, in that sense, undoubtedly the largest part of what constituted its erudition and written culture. The volume is divided into two parts, each of which consists of five contributions. The first one deals with “The clergy and their texts: circulation, edition and commerce,” and the second one with “Memory, erudition and knowledge.” Nevertheless, I will address here the somewhat narrower topics that appear in articles from both parts. The contributions by Fernando Bouza (“Printing investors and the religious book market in the Iberian early modern period”) and Palomo (“Atlantic connections: Friar Apolinário da Conceição, religious erudition and print culture in Portugal and the Portuguese America in the eighteenth century”) study, among other themes, the market in religious publications and the very original place that the clergy sometimes occupied in it. Both authors draw attention to the importance and the influence that investors and sponsors of those publications could have on the final result of the book. The objectives of those financiers might have been spiritual, but funders also clearly had a mercantile vision of publishing, while sponsors originating from the overseas elite were seeking, through print, to guarantee their social assertion and

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 115 Feitler Federico Palomo (ed.) La memoria del mundo ennoblement. Bouza and Palomo also consider the role that religious investors, and even convents and full congregations, played in the commerce of books, with the convents being used as depositaries for part of their members’ publications. Through exchanges, these institutions could end up owning an important number of copies of books published by other congregations, and these could be used as assets to pay debts, for example. Palomo also describes an unusual commodification, not only of books, but also of masses. The protagonist of his study, Friar Apolinário da Conceição was placed, while in Lisbon, in charge of buying books for his Province, whose headquarters were in Rio de Janeiro. He also ended up supplying other markets in mainland Portugal. His correspondence (dating from the first half of the eighteenth century) with one of these buyers reveals an exchange market that was open only to the clergy, in which books were sold in exchange for certificates of celebrated masses. Contrasting with the focus traditionally placed on the Jesuits, the article by Palomo, as well as those by Ângela Barreto Xavier (Friar Miguel da Purificação between Madrid and Rome: account of a journey to Europe by a Portuguese friar born in India) and Zoltán Biedermann (Space subjected to time in Franciscan chronicle writings: revisiting the Conquista Espiritual do Oriente of Friar Paulo da Trindade), study the importance of the Franciscans within the written culture of the Portuguese imperial world. These authors reveal that the Franciscans had a clear awareness of the importance of texts for the Order’s identity, but also for the identity of one particular province in relation to other provinces. The cases analyzed here are the Province of Southern Brazil (Conceição) and that of India (São Tomé). This Franciscan use of texts became evident in the agitated context of the redefinition of the Iberian empires’ religious fields, between the creation of the Propaganda Fide (1622) and the end of the Union of the Crowns of Portugal and Spain (1640). Xavier shows how a triply “subordinate” individual tried to use different instances of the Spanish and the papal courts to obtain recognition for the Portuguese “sons of India.” Friar Miguel da Purificação sought to carve out a better place within the Portuguese empire and, in a broader sense, within the Respublica Christiana. This “sanctification of the tropics” was designed to challenge the powerful image of the atavistic degeneracy of those people living in, or born into, the overseas territories. Among these three different texts, one can perceive the definition of a chronology of the interest, or the awareness, shown by Franciscans in the importance of print, despite their need to attract sponsors because of the Order’s “poverty.” According to Palomo, an intellectualization of the Order occurred from the end of the seventeenth century onward. This bias was, however, noticeable some time before this, if we take into

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 116 Feitler Federico Palomo (ed.) La memoria del mundo account the works of Friar Miguel da Purificação, published in 1640 and 1641 (Xavier), as well as that of Friar Paulo da Trindade, composed during the 1630s (Biedermann). This awareness of the importance of printed texts is made clear in Biedermann’s analysis of the Spiritual Conquest of the Orient, by the aforementioned Trindade. The author first demonstrates the archaic style of the Franciscan friar who gave more importance to time (or, we might think, to matters of a spiritual nature), as opposed to a geographical and spatial reading of the conquest of the Orient. He then argues that the use of that archaic style was nothing more than a conscious rhetorical device adopted by Trindade against the forces (above all the Jesuits) that threatened the “symbolic possession,” or the monopoly, enjoyed by Franciscans in the missions of Ceylon. This rivalry through chronicles is deeply linked to the topic of erudition and written culture as markers of religious identity. The contributions of Paul Nelles (The Chancellery in the College: the production and circulation of Jesuit texts in the sixteenth century), Antonio Castillo Gómez (Letters from the convent: female epistolary in Counter-Reformation Spain) and Rodrigo Bentes Monteiro (Oratory of the kings and their conquests: pictures and leaflets collected by Diogo Barbosa Machado) point more or less directly to the fact that different congregations (Jesuits, Discalced Carmelites and Oratorians) had their own writing formulas and mechanisms to promote the circulation of information that was an integral part of the identity of each of them. Nelles makes a detailed study of the importance for the Society of Jesus of the circulation of a huge amount of information. The author describes the evolution of these formats and the use of the famous “annual letters” (established in 1547), as well as the role of local colleges in the production, copying and circulation of what can be seen as an instrument for consolidating the identity of the Order. In turn, Castillo begins with a description of the highly controlled way in which female writing evolved in the post- Tridentine world. He then draws attention to just two female epistolary models: one that served as a tool for religious reformation (Teresa de Ávila), and another in which the sender was raised to the status of the “divine mother,” as was the case with Maria de Ágreda, who was a political and spiritual adviser to King Filipe IV. Castillo draws attention to Teresa de Ávila’s policy that nuns should write each other letters “so that charity does not grow cold,” which, in a certain way, was also the purpose of the Jesuits’ annual letters. One of the questions that Bentes Monteiro raises about Barbosa Machado’s collection of portraits and leaflets is to what extent a private collection reflects the ideas of a wider group, a quest that points more directly to political issues. However, his article also refers to the erudite production of some other Portuguese Oratorians besides Barbosa Machado,

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 117 Feitler Federico Palomo (ed.) La memoria del mundo pointing in this way to one single apprehension of the world and a singular way of writing about history that connected these people to the Oratory and to the Portuguese Royal Academy of History. This volume is thus an important contribution to the historiography written about the (mainly regular) clergy, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, to the historiography of the learned culture of the early modern times, suggesting not only subjects of study, but also methodological approaches to further research into these two broad areas of interest.

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References

Alexander S. Wilkinson (2010). Introductory essay to: Iberian Books. Books Published in Spanish or Portuguese or on the Iberian Peninsula before 1601. Edited by A.S. Wilkinson. Leiden/ Boston: Brill.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 119 Nelson Novoa, James W., Being the Nação in the Eternal City. New Christian Lives in Sixteenth-Century Rome. Portuguese Studies Review Monograph Series, vol. 2. Peterborough: Baywolf Press, 343 pp., 2014. ISBN: 9780921437529.

Antonio J. Díaz Rodríguez1

Once again, the study of the world of conversos in early modern Iberia has demonstrated its enormous potential. With this book, Professor James W. Nelson Novoa, currently undertaking research at the University of Ottawa, fills a number of gaps in the historiography. First, because up to now there has been a notable lack of studies centered specifically on the New Christian Portuguese community in sixteenth-century Rome. Secondly, because his analysis goes far beyond questions of ethnicity and religion. All too often, the study of judeoconversos both in and beyond the Iberian Peninsula has relied over-heavily on Inquisition sources. Clearly, this documentation is fundamental, but it still remains only partial. This has meant that attention has been focused on only a small segment of this minority. In some cases, this has happened through convenience, and, in other cases, as a result of a particular—and, I believe, excessively reductionist— historiographical perspective, though I shall not comment further on that here. We might say that we have not been able to see the judeoconversos for the Judaizers. Fortunately, things have moved on in terms of the historiography of this minority population of the Iberian Peninsula. James Nelson’s book constitutes a welcome step forward in the study of Portuguese conversos who chose to live in Rome either temporarily or permanently, in diverse situations, and for varied reasons. It is precisely by exposing the complexity of the New Christian group in Italy, and the diversity of ways in which converso identity was lived, that this book makes its most important contribution. The methodology, and the structure used, are the two pillars that make this possible. The historiographical analysis is based on a sound knowledge of the relevant scholarship in this area, but also on a systematic and rigorous use of primary sources. The author makes use of abundant original archive material, but his approach, involving constant cross-referencing of data, avoids falling into an overly positivist trap. The varied

1 Postdoctoral Fellow of the FCT (Ref. SFRH/BPD/85917/2012). University of Évora, Interdisciplinary Center for History, Culture and Societies (CIDEHUS-UE), Portugal. Email: [email protected] Rodríguez Nelson Novoa, James W., Being the Nação provenance of the source material is especially noteworthy, drawing on and important European archives in Lisbon, Simancas, Rome, Parma, and Florence. Some of the unpublished documents are presented in a documentary appendix. The book consists of two main parts. The first three chapters provide the reader with context, giving meaning to the mosaic of case studies that are presented in the six following chapters, in the form of mini-biographies. The book is therefore able to set out, in a consecutive and meaningful way, the roots of the Iberian judeoconverso phenomenon, the significance of the Jewish and New Christian communities within the framework of the economic expansion of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Europe, and finally the fascinating human landscape of contemporary Rome. The city which King Ferdinand of Aragon called the “plaza del mundo” contained an enormous foreign population. It was a city of nations, each recognized as having their own entities and identities, including not only the Spanish and Portuguese “nations,” but also the nação cristã-nova. From time to time in this book, Rome takes on an active role, behaving almost as an agent rather than as a mere backdrop. The development of financial, mercantile, diplomatic, and artistic activity around the Holy See throughout the sixteenth century is, without doubt, a key factor in understanding the presence of this minority in the papal city. Individually, the case studies would not be representative of the totality of the Portuguese converso community in Rome, but together they help us to reconstruct the complex puzzle that this constituted. Among the dozens, or hundreds, of possible examples, those chosen by the author are especially illustrative, notable without being exceptional, and they also allow for diachronic analysis. Duarte de Paz (Chapter 4) is perhaps the best known of the Portuguese conversos brought together here. His biography is the first in the series and, at the same time, the earliest. He is the figure who is closest to the first generation of conversos, illustrating their expectations and interests. Diogo António follows in Chapter 5, typifying a character that was common in Rome at this time: the converso cleric with a legal background, involved in all sorts of business around the Curia, from legal matters to business surrounding the financing of apostolic letters, and acting as an intermediary. Although a less well-known character, he is perhaps the figure that is the most broadly representative of this period.

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Chapter 6 is dedicated to Diogo Fernandes Neto, a Portuguese businessman with a Jewish background, based in Rome and in contact with the Society of Jesus. The development of his situation is a good reflection of the Portuguese New Christian community in Rome. The merchant banker Jacome da Fonseca and the physician Pedro Furtado, like many others, settled in Rome to escape persecution by the Inquisition. Chapter 7 examines the two lives in parallel. Both are magnificent examples of the diverse paths that the Diaspora took: on the one hand, exile to the Levant and a return to Judaism; on the other hand, the attraction of other parts of Italy and the promise of security. Moving forward in time, António da Fonseca (Chapter 8) represents a financier who was perfectly integrated into the Portuguese community. He was an active banker who collaborated with the powerful company run by Simón Ruiz, and provided credit both for individuals and for the Crown. He was Governor of the Portuguese community of Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi and his heirs became members of the local elite. António da Fonseca provides an example of a business man who adapted to the new times of what was, in the words of Thomas Dandelet, “Spanish Rome.” The fact that he built a chapel in which to be buried in the very Church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli is a good indication of his integration. Finally, and closely related to Fonseca, we find Dr. António Pinto (Chapter 9). A cleric and the grandson of Jews condemned by the Inquisition, he was to be successful in accumulating a large number of ecclesiastical benefices for himself. Both he and his son-in- law became agents of the Crown, under both the House of Aviz and the Hapsburgs. Pinto represents another case of reinventing the past as a means of social advancement and, as the last example in terms of chronology, he ends the series of case studies. The book does not deal with the roots of the converso phenomenon or with the dynamics of integration or rejection per se. Clearly it mentions these roots, but its focus is on the second generation, which is the common denominator of the whole work and of the individuals highlighted. This allows the author to focus on the variety of ways in which the sons and grandsons of converts from Judaism lived their identities. The book presents firstly a group of lives marked in one way or another by public recognition of belonging to the nação, and then a series of others who chose to hide their origins. The book does not attempt to analyze the well-known mechanisms of social rejection (I do not need to cite the extensive literature on inquisitorial persecution, purity of blood statutes, etc.) or the less

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 122 Rodríguez Nelson Novoa, James W., Being the Nação well-known routes to social assimilation; however, the life histories it describes offer up some interesting details. The chronological framework allows the author to deal with the period both before and after the dynastic union between Spain and Portugal. It is also true that, although some aspects of these lives reflect the repercussions of the Hapsburg accession to the Portuguese throne, we know that, beyond politics, there were already strong links in existence before 1580. This makes sense for various reasons. One might ask whether it would be correct to extrapolate similar conclusions for the following century in the years after the separation. Markets and banks, Judaism and the Inquisition, clergy, diplomacy, patronage, social advancement, identity, the search for justice, the disguising of origins, rejection, assimilation … all these make up the landscape of this book. The style makes for easy reading, something that is not always a feature of academic writing. It is also worth mentioning that there is a useful glossary of unusual terms. Beyond the study of the physical lives that it presents, the book sets out to refocus attention on this diverse minority as a group. A multiple perspective was the only way of “exemplifying the complexity”—as the author says—of this kaleidoscopic reality, and this is the book’s great strength. I hope this book will serve to stimulate further studies of this minority in early modern Rome, which are much needed. Few social groups achieve such a multiplicity of dimensions (social, economic, religious, political) or such a level of transversal significance vis-à-vis other areas of research. Few lend themselves to so many other historiographical approaches. In my opinion, Being the Nação in the Eternal City already constitutes a key reference.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 123 Queimar Vieira em Estátua: As Apologias (1738, 1743) do Senhor Inquisidor António Ribeiro de Abreu Em Resposta às Notícias Recônditas Atribuídas ao Pe. António Vieira (1608- 1697), ed. Herman Prins Salomon. Lisbon: Cátedra de Estudos Sefarditas "Alberto Benveniste"/Rede de Judiarias de Portugal, 2014. ISBN: 978 989 96236 5-1.

Thomas M. Cohen1

The last twenty years have seen the publication of a series of superb editions of the writings of the great Jesuit preacher, writer and missionary António Vieira (1608-1697). These include the Obra Completa edited by Pedro Calafate and José Eduardo Franco (2013-- ); previously unpublished texts from Vieira's Inquisition trial: Autos do Processo (1995; second edition, 2008) and Apologia das coisas profetizadas (1994), edited by Adma Muhana; and three editions of the unfinished prophetic treatise Clavis Prophetarum edited by Pedro Calafate (2013), by Silvano Peloso (2007), and by Arnaldo do Espírito Santo (2000). Only a short excerpt of Clavis had previously been published (in Obras Escolhidas, edited by Hernani Cidade). To these important publications may now be added Herman Prins Salomon's masterly edition of two previously unpublished treatises by the eighteenth-century Inquisitor Antonio Ribeiro de Abreu (Salomon was unable to ascertain the dates of his birth and death). The treatises constitute an extended refutation of Notícias Recônditas y Postumas del Procedimiento de las Inquisiciones de España y Portugal con sus Presos, an attack on the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions that was published anonymously in English translation in London in 1708 and has been reliably attributed to Vieira. Ribeiro's first treatise was composed in 1738-39. The second treatise, which is much longer and provides the more systematic exposition of Ribeiro's central arguments, was composed in 1743-1744. Queimar Vieira em Estátua includes a facsimile of the Spanish and Portuguese texts of the Notícias that were published (also anonymously) in Vila Franca in 1722. In addition, the book includes an exchange of letters between Ribeiro and the Coimbra Inquisitor João Pais do Amaral, and eight interrogations of António Monteiro (a prisoner of the Lisbon Inquisition) conducted by Ribeiro in 1734.

1 Oliveira Lima Library, The Catholic University of America, USA. E-Mail: [email protected] Cohen Queimar Vieira em Estátua

Vieira was preoccupied throughout his long career by New Christians, Jews and Judaism. During two extended stays in Amsterdam between 1646 and 1648 as a representative of D. João IV, Vieira met rabbis Menasseh ben Israel and Saul Levi Mortera (Vieira's meeting with Menasseh is well known; Salomon provides convincing evidence that Vieira also met with Mortera). Vieira's conversations with Menasseh—author of The Hope of Israel—would help to shape the millenarian thought that Vieira developed in his treatise The Hopes of Portugal, in his Inquisition defense, and in his other prophetic writings. In the 1640s Vieira began a sustained campaign in defense of the Portuguese New Christians. Among many proposals that Vieira presented to D. João IV, whom he served as an adviser and court preacher, were the elimination of the distinction between New Christians and Old Christians; the reintegration of New Christians into the Portuguese mercantile economy; and the curtailment of the powers of the Inquisition, including the prohibition of the confiscation of the goods of New Christians accused of judaizing. Vieira's arguments of the 1640s anticipated the arguments of the Notícias, which included a detailed examination of 17 Inquisition trials dating from 1660 to 1672. The abuses that the Notícias denounced led Pope Clement X to suspend the Portuguese Inquisition in 1674. It was not reinstated until 1681, which marked the beginning of a sustained period of persecution of New Christians. The principal argument of the Notícias

is that the Inquisition never sought to distinguish between guilt and innocence but only to draw confessions and denunciations of Judaism from every accused New Christian. The fact of being a New Christian led to a presumption of heretical Judaizing…To the extent that [the New Christian community in Portugal] was diminishing, the Inquisition—fearing that it would lose control over the exercise of terror, given that the desire to “judaize” was by definition an ethnic phenomenon, transmitted by blood— categorized an ever increasing number of people as New Christians (Introduction, p.37).

Until now, the questions posed to Vieira during the course of his Inquisition trial have provided our best glimpse of the thinking of an individual Inquisitor. Ribeiro's two treatises and the texts that accompany them provide us for the first time with an account of the reasoning of Vieira's persecutors. Although Ribeiro began his work a generation after

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Vieira's death, the vehemence of his attack on Vieira demonstrates that the wounds that Vieira had inflicted on the Inquisition remained fresh. Salomon's analysis of Ribeiro's treatises places them in the context of the history of the Portuguese Inquisition and of the early modern Catholic Church as a whole. Drawing on decades of archival work and an unrivalled knowledge of printed primary sources, Salmon introduces us to Ribeiro, a little-known Inquisitor, and to the world in which he lived. Ribeiro's treatises, in turn, provide a systematic defense of the Inquisition's condemnation of an ever-widening network of New Christians solely on the basis of lineage. The treatises also constitute a sustained personal attack on Vieira, whose opponents sought, over the course of several decades, to prove that he was a New Christian. These efforts failed. Vieira had a mulata grandmother, an element of his lineage that affected the career of his brother but not his own. One of the most striking elements of Ribeiro's second treatise is the link that he draws between Jesuit attitudes towards New Christians and the treatment of Chinese catechumens by Jesuit missionaries. Ribeiro came of age during the Chinese Rites Controversy, which pitted members of the Roman Curia and the Portuguese church hierarchy against Jesuits who accommodated Chinese beliefs and practices in their ministry. Ribeiro's treatises allow us to understand how the Chinese Rites Controversy continued to affect relations between the Society of Jesus and the Portuguese Inquisition during the decades after the Controversy was resolved by the Curia. Although Jesuits preached at autos da fé and served the Inquisition in other ways, the relationship between the Inquisition and the Jesuits was frequently strained. This strain could also be seen within the Society, especially during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when a vocal minority of Jesuits opposed the admission of New Christians to the Society. Many Jesuits, from the time of the founding of the Society in 1540 to its expulsion from the Portuguese empire in 1758, argued for a more inclusive policy both in admitting men to the Society and in ministering to non-Christians throughout the empire. Fr. Antonio Possevino (1533-1610) was among the most eloquent advocate for both elements of this policy. Among his successors in the Society, the Jesuits of the missions in China and India produced the most sustained arguments in favor of accommodation. Ribeiro rejected accommodation. He explicitly condemned Fr. Matteo Ricci, one of the founders of the China mission, and looked instead to the teachings of Ricci's contemporary, Fr. José de Acosta (1540-1600), whose great missionary handbook De procuranda indorum salute rejected the accommodation of non-Christian religious beliefs and

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 126 Cohen Queimar Vieira em Estátua practices and insisted that idolatry be punished. Ribeiro went further by proposing that the Jesuit missionaries themselves be punished by the Inquisition for their accommodation of Chinese traditions. Citing the criticisms of the Jesuits advanced by Cardinal Charles- Thomas Maillard de Tournon (1668-1710), papal legate to China and India, Ribeiro argued:

The [Jesuit] fathers seek to live among the idolaters, equating the doctrines of the Church and of paganism…The many abuses of the sacraments of baptism, penance and marriage to which the decree of [Cardinal] Tournon refers oblige [the Jesuits] to recognize that if they do not lack the light of faith, they must acknowledge these errors and understand that the practices of their Fr. Riccio [Matteo Ricci] are clear and diabolical deceptions…All this constitutes obstinacy and formal disobedience to the Apostolic See, and there is no ready and efficient remedy unless the Holy Office investigates this matter…The Holy Inquisition should conduct a judicial investigation of these religious, many of whom in this kingdom lived in China, and it will discover which fathers have encouraged [pagan] rites, which have obstructed apostolic instructions, which have approved of things that are superstitious and repugnant, and contrary to the purity of our Holy Faith. And only the Holy Office of Portugal has the clear responsibility to investigate this matter (pp. 636-640).

Ribeiro's treatises provide an invaluable first-hand account not only of the views of an influential Inquisitor but also of the divisions between the Inquisition and leading members of the Society of Jesus. Salomon's wide-ranging and insightful introduction, his extensive notes on the texts, and the treatises, letters and interrogations themselves provide important new tools with which to understand the religious, social and political history of the Portuguese Inquisition in its global context.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 127 Barton, Simon. Conquerors, Brides and Concubines. Interfaith Relations and Social Power in Medieval Iberia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, Penn, 2015. ISBN 978-0-8122-4675-9.

Maria Filomena Lopes de Barros1

As its title indicates, this book, which is divided into four chapters, seeks to provide an overview of “the diverse political, social and cultural functions that interfaith marriage alliances and other sexual encounters fulfilled within the overall dynamic of Christian- Muslim relations in the Iberian Peninsula during the medieval period, both within al- Andalus (…) and the expansionist Christian-dominated polities of the North” (4). In this sense, its chronological span reaches from the early eighth century (the conquest of the Iberian Peninsula by the Muslims) to 1492 (the Christian conquest of the Nasrid Kingdom of Granada). Proceeding in a sequential fashion, Chapter 1 (“Sex and Power”) deals with al- Andalus and examines the sexual mixing between Muslim lords and Christian women. Such unions were an important mechanism whereby Muslim invaders consolidated their authority over the Peninsula, both through marriage and through concubinage. “Sex was perhaps the ultimate colonizing gesture” (41), an “instrument of domination” (as Pierre Bourdieu puts it) (44) that served different purposes: marriage alliances were a means of pacifying the Peninsula, legitimizing the conquest, and channeling the landed wealth of the Visigothic aristocracy; the en masse enslavement of Christian women and their recruitment as concubines to the harems of the Muslim dignitaries was a potent weapon of psychological propaganda. This use of sex was designed in part to destroy solidarity among Christian communities, since women’s status rested essentially upon their honor and chastity. At the same time, it also inflicted shame and humiliation on their male coreligionists, who were unable to protect them. Chapter 2 (“Making Boundaries”) analyzes the Christian reaction to these mechanisms of interfaith sexual mixing. From c. 1050 onwards, both secular and ecclesiastical lawgivers had a common purpose: to prevent interfaith sex, and above all intermarriage between Christians and Muslims, or Jews. This widespread anxiety about

1 Universidade de Évora. Departamento de História and CIDEHUS. E-mail: [email protected] Barros Barton, Simon. Conquerors, Brides and Concubines interfaith sex spread all across Christian Iberia in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, though it could vary substantially from region to region. The “making of boundaries” to prevent social assimilation and, above all, sexual mixing implied a double moral standard, in which “the sexual behavior of … women tends to be policed with particular rigor, and misconduct severely punished. By contrast, sexual relations between group males and female outsiders tend to evince notably less concern” (69) This profound cultural shift was, in part, a consequence of the new balance of power that had arisen in the Peninsula in the two centuries following the collapse of the Umayyad Caliphate, with the incorporation of sizeable communities of Muslims and Jews into areas under Christian rule (70). But, among other factors, it also stemmed from “the universalizing doctrine of ecclesiastical sovereignty that had been promoted by the reformist papacy and its supporters (…) from the second half of the eleventh century” (72). On the other hand, for Muslims and Jews, these boundaries also “constituted a vital mechanism by which the very stability of the multicultural societies of Iberia was preserved” (75). Chapter 3 (“Damsels in Distress”) analyzes how the focus on Christian women as the perceived victims of interfaith sexual mixing was repeatedly deployed by chroniclers, hagiographers and other literary exponents, from the twelfth century on. Within “an extraordinary range of texts”, the subject of “damsels in distress” loomed large in the consciousness of Christian writers in Iberia, just as it did in that of numerous lawgivers during the same period. Christian women, as the perceived victims of interfaith sexual mixing, and as a potent image of the vulnerable “damsel in distress”, sought to elicit pity and indignation in the hearts of their coreligionists in the Peninsula, “in order to foster solidarity among their intended audience” (108). The legend of the “Tribute of the Hundred Maidens” deeply reflected this anxiety, and was to prove as “spectacularly effective – in cultural as well as fiscal terms – and so remarkably long-lasting” (108). In fact, the forgery of the Privilegio del Voto within the Santiago de Compostela program of self-affirmation in Christendom—a fiscal privilege pretentiously given by Ramiro I to the Church (and only abolished in 1834)—is explained as the result of the victory at the Battle of Clavijo, with the miraculous assistance of St. James, by which the king suppressed the humiliating tribute of the hundred maidens, which until then was to be paid to the Islamic powers. But not all the narratives were configured in this way. Chapter 4 (“Lust and Love in the Iberian Frontier”) deals with a wide range of literary texts that related the details of interfaith sexual liaisons. In some, it was the Christian women themselves who were the

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 129 Barros Barton, Simon. Conquerors, Brides and Concubines protagonists, seeking out their own Muslim sexual partners. This was the case, for example, with the legend of “the treacherous Countess” (la condesa traidora). In other instances, Muslim women surrendered their bodies to Christian men and might even have converted to Christianity. Though there is nothing in common with the protagonists and narratives analyzed (except that the sexual partners were of another faith), a common ideological thread runs through them all, reminding us of “the symbolic importance of the relationship between sex, power and cultural identity” (142). The transgressive sexuality of the liaisons of Christian women with Muslim men undermined the patriarchal society and threatened the “very independence of Christian rule”; on the contrary, the relations that took place between Muslim women who converted and Christian men, implied a symbolic submission to a new power – a “conquest-by-seduction” as Sharon Kinoshita defined it (142). The introduction starts with the present day, with a reference to the feast day of St. Froilán, which is still celebrated today in the city of León on the Sunday before October 5. This popular festival known as “Las Cantaderas” commemorates exactly the suppression of the supposed “Tribute of the Hundred Maidens” (1), analyzed in Chapter 3. The symbolic importance of this tribute, both in the past and in the present, is also underlined in the translation of the forged charter of the “Privilegio del Voto” in the Appendix (153-63). The conclusion, which perfectly complements both the purposes and the structure of the introduction, also closes with a reference to the present, in the summary analysis of the festivals of Moros y Cristianos and the phenomena of Maurophilia and Maurophobia, which still shape the identity and outlook of Spaniards today (149-51). As in other works by Simon Barton, the methodology is exemplary and his mastery of both the sources and the bibliography is impeccable. The theoretical framework is a solid one, calling upon anthropology and sociology, and adopting a postcolonial approach to the subject. Moreover, the author offers an original view of medieval Iberian society by studying the relationship between sex and power, in a broad analysis that encompasses the whole of Iberia, and, let us not be afraid to point this out, also the Portuguese kingdom, which is so often ignored by some historians of the Iberian Peninsula. The multiple and complex ways in which interfaith sexuality, power, and group identity intersected with one another (from the Muslim exogamy to the sexual boundaries established by the Christian powers, and changeable throughout the medieval period) are historically contextualized in a dynamic perspective. As the author puts it, “sexual contact was undoubtedly the one that carried the greatest ideological “charge” and stirred up the highest level of anxiety” (143).

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 130 Barros Barton, Simon. Conquerors, Brides and Concubines

Chapter 1, devoted to Al-Andalus, challenges the theory of Pierre Guichard about the “Eastern” patterns of kinship maintained by Arabs and Berbers, according to which patrilineal descent and endogamous marriages remained the norm (23-25). Simon Barton, in keeping with other authors, considers that Muslims did indeed mix with Christian women, as he argues throughout this chapter, which contrasts with the post-Guichard approach to the Al-Andalus, which is currently deeply marked by the concept of the “Easternization” of the Iberian structures. Nevertheless, one question still remains to be asked about Muslim reality, such as it is presented in this book. In fact, the analysis proposed by the author in Chapter 1 is based on a limited conception of Al-Andalus that, in general, is restricted to the end of the Umayyad Caliphate. The next chapters are totally dedicated to the Christian territories, although they do consider their interaction with Muslim ones. Did the level of anxiety over sexual interfaith mixing not arise later in those societies, as a reaction to the Christian attitude? How did the Almoravids and Almohads, and above all the Nasrid Kingdom of Granada, respond to this issue? It is understandable that the different characteristics of written sources and, above all, the lack of bibliography about this matter, may have prevented the author from extending his comparisons into all of these domains, which, it must be recognized, are quite complex to fully master. Even so, Conquerors, Brides and Concubines is a fascinating book (for social scientists just as much as for common readers) and represents an invaluable contribution to Iberian historiography, introducing new perspectives for research and, above all, challenging us to continue the pursuit of our own investigations within the theoretical framework proposed by its author.

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 131 Catalonia and Portugal: The Iberian Peninsula from the Periphery. Ed. Flocel Sabaté and Luís Adão da Fonseca. Bern: Peter Lang, 2015. ISBN 978-3-0343-1650-7.

Robert Patrick Newcomb1

The volume Catalonia and Portugal: The Iberian Peninsula from the Periphery, edited by Flocel Sabaté (University of Lleida) and Luís Adão da Fonseca (University of Porto), builds from a 2012 academic conference held in the Catalan city of Lleida under the auspices of the European Science Foundation project Cuius Regio, which focuses on the study of eight European regions, including Portugal and Catalonia. As Dick de Boer, the Cuius Regio project leader, notes in the volume’s epilogue, Catalonia may be viewed as Portugal’s “counterpart” or, I would add, its reverse image. Portugal and Catalonia occupy geographically peripheral positions on the Iberian Peninsula’s Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts. Their histories have been shaped in dialogue with, and opposition to, Castile and the Spanish kingdom that it came to dominate. Perhaps most notably, Portugal’s restoration to independence in 1640 after sixty years of dynastic union under the Spanish Habsburgs coincided with—and benefited from—a contemporaneous, ultimately unsuccessful Catalan revolt against Madrid, the Guerra dels Segadors (1640-52). And while Portugal’s rebellion against the Habsburgs resulted in independence, the Catalan conflict provided the Spanish crown with the impetus to further centralize authority in Madrid and strip Catalonia of its traditional privileges. Given these similarities and differences, it makes a great deal of sense to offer side- by-side analysis of Portugal and Catalonia as European – and Iberian – regions. This is the stated—and achieved—aim of Catalonia and Portugal, which features twenty chapters on Portuguese and Catalan history, ordered chronologically from the eighth through the twentieth century, and divided more or less evenly between the two focal areas, with a slight preference for Catalonia. The editors suggest several structural comparisons between the Portuguese and Catalan cases, by pairing topically related chapters. For instance, Maria Cristina Pimenta and Vicent Josep Escartí analyze ideas of “Iberia” and “Spain” in early modern Portugal and Catalonia, and Maria da Conceição Meireles Pereira, and Giovanni C. Cattini and David Cao, examine the use of history in nineteenth century Portuguese and

1 Associate Professor, Department of Spanish and Portuguese, University of California, Davis. E-mail: [email protected] Newcomb Catalonia and Portugal

Catalan national discourse. Where the volume could have gone further, in my view, is in examining how the histories of Portugal and Catalonia have conditioned each other directly, as in 1640, or around the turn of the twentieth century, when Portuguese and Catalan Iberianists came into direct dialogue with one another.2 Sabaté and Fonseca’s introductory chapter, and especially Òscar Costa’s contribution “Re-imagining the State: Pan-Iberianism and Political Interventionism in the Context of Catalan Nationalism,” which skillfully analyzes the “Catalan gaze” toward Portugal in the context of nineteenth and twentieth century Catalan Iberianism, offer this sort of integrated analysis. However, these are exceptional cases. Beyond these broad issues of comparison, Catalonia and Portugal makes a number of useful scholarly contributions. I should specify here that unlike many of the contributors to this journal, my training is in literature as opposed to historical studies, and my assessment may reflect this training. First, several chapters of Catalonia and Portugal demonstrate that what Sabaté and Fonseca refer to as the “social awareness” of Portuguese and by implication Catalan identity dates back to the late Middle Ages. This may seem an obvious point, but it makes for an instructive lesson for those of us trained in literature, and who work on more recent periods. In my field, a simplistic reading of influential texts on the birth of nationalism (see Anderson and Hobsbawm, among others) sometimes leads to the erroneous assumption that because the nation-state can be said to date from the nineteenth century, it follows that national feeling is an essentially “modern” phenomenon.3 Fonseca and Sabaté note that, hundreds of years prior to the nineteenth century heyday of European nationalism, personal, emotive identification played a crucial role in building what, paraphrasing Anderson, we might term the Portuguese or Catalan “imagined communities.” This sense of identification breathed life into the institutional architecture of the Portuguese kingdom and Catalonia’s successive political configurations (County of Barcelona, Principality of Catalonia, Crown of Aragon)—so much so that, referring to Catalonia during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Sabaté and Fonseca write that “the Catalan nation referred to a shared cultural perception.” Moving westward across the peninsula, they affirm: “There is also an evolution in Portugal where this ‘sense of belonging’ is reinforced throughout the ages […] This feeling, which expresses a real belief, is, in its origins, a problem of the domain of the imaginary; that is to say, of the way we

2 See Thomas S. Harrington, “Catalanism in the Portuguese Mirror: Skirmishes between ‘Unitarians’ and ‘Pluralists’ for Control of the Movement (1900-1925),” Revista de Estudios Hispánicos 35 (2001): 257-80. 3 Cf. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 1991); Hobsbawm, Eric. “Introduction: Inventing Traditions.” The Invention of Tradition. Ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1983). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 133 Newcomb Catalonia and Portugal see.” In a separate contribution, Fonseca and Paula Pinto Costa provide evidence for an early awareness of Portuguese identity, and describe a vigorous debate that took place in Portugal between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, in texts like the Livro Velho de Linhagens, the Crónica Geral de Espanha de 1344, and the Louvor da Hispânia, concerning the degree to which Portuguese identity was conditioned by the Iberian whole. Second, Catalonia and Portugal demonstrates that just as textual evidence of Portuguese and Catalan identity dates back centuries, so too does the debate between peninsular intellectuals on the extent to which these “peripheral” peninsular identities are compatible with the broader idea of “Spain”—a category that Castilian chroniclers would present as mostly or entirely synonymous with Castile. Fonseca and Costa argue that in the Livro Velho de Linhagens, a genealogical text probably written in the 1280s, and which describes the Portuguese nobility’s connections with Castile, Leon, and Galicia, “the Portuguese nobility and, through it, Portugal, is appointed—or better [said] theorized—a Hispanic destiny.” Yet they also cite the Crónica Geral de Espanha de 1344, which in the words of Luís Krus, evinces a “systematic hostility” toward the Castilian monarchy. It would be interesting to compare these documents, which present competing “Hispanic” and “national” visions for Portugal, with late nineteenth century pro- and anti-Iberianist texts, such as Oliveira Martins’ História da Civilização Ibérica (1879) and Tomás Ribeiro’s Dom Jaime ou a Dominação de Castela (1862), which engaged in a similar debate regarding what, for lack of a better term, we might describe as Portugal’s “Spanish-ness.” In their chapters, Vicent Josep Escartí, Antoni Simon, and Eulàlia Miralles describe a similar debate occurring in Catalonia. Escartí, covering the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, cites the writer Joan Margarit i de Pau, whose Paralipomenon Hispaniae (1545) defines Spain in both geographic and political terms, and the Valencian writers Ausiàs March and Joanot Martorell, who in their poetic and prose works evince a “purely geographical acceptance of the word Espanya.” Simon compares a Catalan-Aragonese literary and historiographical tradition that “considered ‘Spain’ […] a designation of origin that encompassed all the inhabitants and kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula,” and that thereby allowed for Catalan-Aragonese political separation from Castile, with Castilian attempts to assert their kingdom’s preeminence as what Gregorio López Madera would in his Excelencias de la Monarchía y Reino de España (1597) refer to as the “‘head of Spain.’” And Miralles, in her fascinating chapter “National history, own language and otherness: Catalonia in the 16th-18th Centuries” demonstrates how Francesc Tarafa in his volume De origine ac rebus gestis regum Hispaniae liber (1553), evidently eliding the issue of Portugal, adopts

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 134 Newcomb Catalonia and Portugal a binary division of the peninsula into Espanya citerior, represented politically by the Crown of Aragon, and Espanya ulterior, represented by Castile. She also cites several sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Catalan writers who affirmed the dignity of the Catalan language as the proper vehicle for what Cristòfor Despuig in the mid-sixteenth century described as the task of illustrating and defending Catalonia’s “naturalesa pròpia.” We may compare this sentiment with that expressed by the Barcelona poet and journalist Joan Maragall, who in his 1898 “Oda a Espanya” reflects on his decision to address the Spanish nation in his native Catalan and notes that, “[e]n ‘questa llengua – pocs t’han parlat;/ en altra, massa.” Finally, the contributors to Catalonia and Portugal affirm the value, for those of us interested in analyzing the literary expression of Iberian identities, of adopting a broad definition of the category of “literature.” Depending on one’s period of focus, there may be solid historical reasons for taking this view. Writing on Catalonia in the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries, Miralles explains that she will analyze texts that are “literature in the broadest sense of the term, as understood by the men of these centuries: as a synonym of written culture and not only restricted to the field of creative literature as we understand it nowadays.” As D.R. Kelley notes in his excellent study The Descent of Ideas: The History of Intellectual History (2002), this more expansive definition of literature as “the total accumulation of humanity’s written remains” prevailed until the late eighteenth century. Further, there are specific benefits to focusing on what, risking anachronism, we might term literary non-fiction (treatises, chronicles, letters, essays, articles, speeches, etc.) in addressing some of the thorny but crucially important questions concerning the meaning of “Portugal” and “Catalonia” as categories, and their relationship to broader geographic and political ideas of “Spain” or “Iberia.” These are questions that, for the most part, do not lend themselves to a lyrical poem or an allegorical novel. 4 As Escartí notes in his contribution, “if we want to find out the meaning of the concept Espanya in Catalan literature in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, we basically have to look at historiography. This is where the best-known ideologues positioned themselves with the changes of focus for the application of a word to an entity that was defined to different degrees.” His judgment seems broadly applicable. In conclusion, Catalonia and Portugal: The Iberian Peninsula from the Periphery offers scholars a rich assortment of contributions that address several aspects and periods of Portuguese and Catalan history, from the Middle Ages to the recent past. The volume

4 Exceptions include Miguel Torga’s collection Poemas Ibéricos (1965) and José Saramago’s novel A Jangada de Pedra (1986). e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 135 Newcomb Catalonia and Portugal suggests several fruitful comparisons between the Portuguese and Catalan cases, and makes a number of solid scholarly contributions.

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Erik Lars Myrup, Power and Corruption in the Early Modern Portuguese World. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2015. ISBN - 978-0-8071-5980-4

Paulo Cavalcante1

Understanding and explaining the formation of the Portuguese colonial possessions, their functioning, their dynamics and the forces that would turn them into a cohesive whole in modern times, has been a major challenge for generations of historians of different nationalities. Among these numerous studies, those which focus their attention on what we might call a renewed political and institutional history have recently gained greater consistency and consolidation. One might describe history as having been “renewed” in the political field, because these historians are no longer obsessed with state power. Political power, its practice and its scope, is not confined to state boundaries. In fact, if we follow the path opened up by Michel Foucault, political power is coextensive with social power. Seen from this perspective, the concept of the state has been subjected to rigorous questioning. Indeed, after the studies undertaken by António Manuel Hespanha, the specificity of the state in the modern period, or rather under the Old Regime (Ancien Régime), is now very clear, contrasting starkly with the state resulting from the transformations that took place in the Age of Revolutions (Eric Hobsbawm) and from those that were introduced, in particular, by liberalism. Furthermore, history has also been renewed in the institutional field, because it is no longer a question of formally investigating an institution based on its legal statutes and other regulations, leaving the social actors in the background. The central problem of the history of institutions has become a matter of recovering the network of individuals and the social and power relations that constitute an institution or a group of institutions, permeating them and causing them to interact (Jean Pierre Dedieu). By linking these cornerstones and the approach that emerges from them with the impact of the foundational and fertile studies by Charles Boxer, Vitorino Magalhães Godinho, AJR Russell-Wood, Dauril Alden and Stuart Schwartz on different facets of the

1 Associate Professor at the Federal University of the State of Rio de Janeiro – UNIRIO, Brazil. E-mail: [email protected]

Cavalcante Erik Lars Myrup, Power and Corruption

Portuguese overseas empire, we will succeed in assembling the frame of references that is necessary for understanding this important book by Erik Lars Myrup. Nine years after defending his doctoral thesis (To Rule From Afar: The Overseas Council and the Making of the Brazilian West, 1642-1807, Yale University, 2006), Myrup gives us this Power and Corruption, a thought-provoking, up-to-date and especially relevant title. In his own words: “In this book, I argue that the Portuguese empire was brought together by an evolving web of human relationships that lay beneath the surface of formal colonial government. More specifically, I show how the powers of the colonial state were both magnified and diminished by informal networks of patronage and power that not only facilitated corruption and exchange, but also ensured the survival of empire in times of crisis and decline” (3). This is the crucial point of the analysis, namely the relationship between the formal and the informal aspects of the reality investigated. In other words, the author strives to produce and operate a dynamic view, linking together two complex webs, namely the State and its network of interconnected institutions, and a web of personal connections. Likewise, the emphasis, i.e., the most substantial and effective explanatory power, is placed on those interpersonal relationships that were subject to state influence, through laws and regulations, discourses and practices. Bringing this set of informal (and sometimes illegal) relationships to the fore and highlighting their importance is, in my view, the most important contribution that this book makes to our understanding of the Portuguese overseas empire. Power and Corruption therefore remains undazzled by the brilliance of the state and its legitimizing discourses. Indeed, it even dares to make irony of them. At one point in the text, and in the midst of the necessary explanation of the application by the Portuguese monarchy of the concepts of justice, graces and favors, and the system of mercês (a system of royal compensation for the rendering of services), all directly inspired by the teaching and spread of religious beliefs, the author, with the aim of remembering how rich reality is and how far removed it is from its suggested idealizations, ending up by stating: “In practice, of course, kings were not gods, and in this sense were not limited by the laws that governed deity” (99). To put it simply, the social and personal practices of the political power, even not disregarding the established limits, is nonetheless able to surpass them. This sophisticated observation of Myrup’s is essential for anyone seeking to relate the formal and the informal, the licit and the illicit, the center and the periphery, the metropolis and the colony, order and disorder. To relate does not mean to take one side

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 138 Cavalcante Erik Lars Myrup, Power and Corruption and to ignore the other. To relate means to travel along the different axes and bends in a changing reality that moves toward or deviates from these reference points. Extremes are artificies. The story takes place in the meanders. He who says meanders could also say garrets, deviations and disorders. Thus, the benefits received from the exercise of colonial positions not only rewarded zealous service, loyalty to the king and the total “disinterest and clean hands” (desinteresse e limpeza de mãos) of a governor, a comptroller or any other official. According to Myrup, “corruption, bribery, and smuggling all flourished during this period, and, significantly, the very officials who were supposed to prevent such crimes were often among the chief instigators” (4). And, most importantly, this cannot be overlooked; otherwise, we shall be ignoring a significant part of the social reality. It should be emphasized that the decision to investigate what is not formally instituted presents major problems and challenges for every historian, since it calls into question moral issues both past and present that may, for instance, hinder the true understanding of the role played by corruption and smuggling, resulting in the researcher adopting two modes of conduct. The first of these is to adopt an attitude of outright censure, summarily expelling such considerations from the list of relevant social practices that deserve study; the second is to regard such practices as natural and normal, eliminating corruption and smuggling from the reality studied by denying their very existence as illegal practices, claiming that these are everyday activities inherent in all times and, consequently operating its subsumption to other lawful practices. Myrup does not fall into either of these traps, which is no mean feat. The book is divided into three parts (Europe, South America and Asia), each consisting of two chapters. In the first chapter (Captivity, Redemption, and the Birth of the Royal Council), through the narration of the life of the first president of the Overseas Council, Jorge Mascarenhas, and the analysis of the context of his time, the book examines the different roles played by social networks in the constitution and functioning of the court in Lisbon. In parallel, it also presents to the reader the informal level of the social reality of that time, made up of informal networks of patronage and power operating below the formal level, and interacting intensely with it. In the second chapter (Kings, Colonies, and Councilors), the personal connections of Overseas Councilors are examined from the point of view of their collective histories in order to examine the global nature of the Portuguese social networks. Because of its composition and its mode of operation, the Overseas Council facilitated and supported the creation of a complex web of social

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 139 Cavalcante Erik Lars Myrup, Power and Corruption networks that radiated from Lisbon and reached into the most remote areas of the Portuguese possessions. In the second part, South America, the third chapter (Centers and Peripheries in the Luso-Brazilian World) shows how the patron-client networks connected distant and unexplored parts of Brazil to the colonial administrative structure based in the metropolis of Portugal proper. Through the study of the achievements and the times of Antonio Raposo Tavares, the author provides a decentralized view of the personal connections that supported the formal administrative network from its very base. In this sense, it shows how the explorers of the hinterland and other settlers on the edges of the empire took advantage of this official network and, at the same time, strengthened the power and the reach of the Portuguese State. In fact, the author maintains that personal connections were, after all, far more important in the making of colonial Brazil than were any formal institutional links. In turn, the fourth chapter (Gambling Governors and Gilded Lead) centers its analysis on the role of the governor of São Paulo, Rodrigo César de Meneses (1721-1728), and the challenges that were faced in the establishment of royal authority in the most distant and conflict-ridden parts of Brazil, namely the mines that were discovered at that time in Cuiabá. In such faraway places, where the royal power was necessarily very weak, and in the midst of a gold rush, social networks and personal connections played multiple roles in determining the relationship between the Colony and the Crown. Thus, in many ways, the story of Governor Rodrigo César provides a counterpoint to the central authority of the Overseas Council, contributing to an understanding of the negotiated nature of the State. Although the Council was a powerful metropolitan institution, its powers were curtailed both by other institutions of the State itself and by colonizing agents such as governors, judges, military personnel, and municipal councilors, among others. In the third part, Asia, the fifth chapter (One King, Two Crowns) examines Portuguese-Spanish relations in East Asia during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Specifically, the chapter explores the formal and informal connections that linked the Portuguese in Macau to the Spanish in Manila, showing how the Iberian world was connected by social networks that united and divided the two most powerful European empires. As in other chapters, the main argument explores the idea that the Portuguese- Spanish interaction in those parts of Asia preferentially operated beneath the formal structures of government, sometimes bringing these two empires together, sometimes decidedly pushing them away from each other. Furthermore, the networks were able to guarantee that Macau had a strong Portuguese identity, despite the geographic distance and

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 140 Cavalcante Erik Lars Myrup, Power and Corruption the colony’s numerous commercial and political connections with the Spanish empire. The sixth and final chapter (The Case of the Missing Men) particularly attracts the reader with an account of a criminal investigation into the disappearance and murder of two Chinese by Portuguese barbarians in Macau. In this part of the planet, reports say that the Portuguese were the cannibals, not the local population, as opposed to what was happening in South America. This leads to a complete about-turn in terms of perspective, causing the personal connections and social networks that operated beneath the surface of the formal relations between the Portuguese and the Chinese to be seen from the outside and showing how colonial administrators, traders and missionaries were perceived by the bureaucracy of the Chinese Empire. The memorial left by the Chinese viceroy, largely based on the information provided by the researcher Zhang Rulin, and the one that was left by the viceroy Pedro Miguel de Almeida e Portugal are cleverly explored and compared with other documents. The outcome of this comparison not only surprises us, but also reveals the tremendous interweaving of interpersonal relationships among such different worlds, without neglecting the role of fraud, smuggling and corruption in the history of the Portuguese colonial world. In the concluding words of the author, revealing his ability to think about the past in the light of the present, an attribute that makes this book particularly attractive for the contemporary reader: “The personal networks that spanned Portugal’s colonial empire— begetting such things as patronage and paternalism, cross-cultural communication, commercial networks, corruption, and fraud—continue to play themselves out today, not only in Portugal and Brazil, but also in Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Goa, Macau, and a myriad of other places around the globe” (178). Finally, yet importantly, and without showing any special favor, we wish to place it on record that the printed knowledge contained in this book is outstanding in its accuracy, the breadth and depth of its research, its precise explanations, its hands-on evidence, and above all its clarity of exposition, leaving it, fortunately, within the grasp of every reader that is genuinely interested in history.

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Kammen, Douglas, Three Centuries of Conflict in , Singapore: NUS Press, 231 pp, 2016. ISBN: 9789971698751.

Anthony Soares1

Douglas Kammen’s study represents an invaluable contribution to scholarship on the . Three Centuries of Conflict in East Timor fills a critical gap between general histories that capture the overarching currents of colonial and post-independence experiences, and studies of discrete historical examples of violence within specific East Timorese localities. What Kammen offers the reader is an analytical focus on a single location—Maubara—that interprets events over a period spanning the years between 1712 and 2012. This counters what the author sees as the prevailing scholarly temptation of “conflating violence—whether that committed by foreign invaders, indigenous resistance to foreigners, or fighting between local actors—with nationalism” (7). Over seven chapters Kammen employs a range of archival and oral sources to disturb interpretative notions of local instances of violence in East Timor as reflections of a wider historical narrative composed of brave East Timorese resistance to external forces that eventually results in national independence. The opening chapter is constructed around the first appearance in the historical records of an identified ruler of the northern region of Maubara in 1712, and recounts an origin story that tells of the arrival of three royal brothers from Suai Loro on the southern coast of Timor and how the territory of Maubara was divided between them by local leaders, with three local “lieutenants” nominated to assist them. These “stranger” origins that inform the construction of lines of traditional authority in Maubara are interwoven with the commercial activities of the Portuguese, as Kammen recounts how a 1712 trading mission from Macau led to “the names of the owners and their ships pass[ing] to the indigenous rulers with whom they traded” (32). Increasing Portuguese encroachment on Maubara’s position “at the nexus of long-distance maritime trade and coastal-hinterland exchange” (19) sees local rulers forge alliances with the Dutch based in Kupang at the western end of the island of Timor. Chapter 2 provides a detailed account of the intense diplomatic activities between the Dutch and the Doutel family—one of the lines of traditional rulers of Maubara—with the author arguing that this period of the

1 Centre for Cross Border Studies, Northern Ireland. E-mail: [email protected]

Soares Kammen, Douglas, Three Centuries of Conflict region’s history is neglected in the oral tradition because it “did not fit within the imperial narratives promoted by the Portuguese during late colonial rule or the nationalist narrative that took root in 1975 and has been reinforced since 1999 of 450 years of Portuguese colonial rule” (60). With the second chapter recording the decline of Dutch involvement in Maubara in the early nineteenth century that resulted in the territorial trade deal completed with the Portuguese in 1859, the next three chapters analyse the recurrence of violence under Portuguese colonial rule until 1974. Chapter 3 shows how Dutch withdrawal from Maubara severely undermined the position of the Doutel family who were deeply hostile to the Portuguese presence and the rise to power of rival indigenous rulers such as Dom Carlos of Vatuvou allied to Portugal—hostility which frequently led to outbreaks of violence. Kammen sees the recurrence of violence as the inevitable result of a weak Portuguese colonial presence that opted for a form of indirect rule through local traditional rulers. Chapter 4 analyses the context for and the course of the failed plot to throw out the Portuguese and obtain Dutch protection in 1893, which in turn led to a devastating military response in Maubara by the Portuguese authorities and their local allies. As Chapter 5 shows in rich detail, Maubara’s trading and political structures were then deeply affected by a more direct form of colonial rule that sought to maximise the economic returns to be obtained from with, for example, the intensification of coffee production. According to the author, and “In contrast to both imperial and nationalist narratives of colonial rule in twentieth century Timor constructed around colonial glory and nationalist resistance,” Chapter 5 “focuses on the more mundane processes by which late colonial rule transformed local elites and marginalized the populace from the land” (96). This is in line with the general thrust of Kammen’s study, which is claimed to offer a micro-historical corrective to the predominance of macro-histories that are seen as furnishing either an imperialist or nationalist narrative of East Timor. The book’s final chapters cover the period from 1974 until 2012, with Chapter 6 analysing how the formation of East Timorese political parties in the wake of Portugal’s was reflected in Maubara, and how the region was affected by the brief civil war in 1975 that pitted the UDT (União Democrática Timorense) against (Frente Revolucionária do Timor-Leste Independente). As Kammen neatly summarizes the situation during this period: “Over the course of fifteen months the old colonial order had been shattered and the people of Maubara had been thrust into the whirlwind of decolonization and political competition” (125). The same chapter then provides a detailed

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 143 Soares Kammen, Douglas, Three Centuries of Conflict account of the violence of the Indonesian occupation from 1975 to 1998, and how the population of Maubara either resisted or “as occupation became a fact of life, competition arose over recognition and positions in the Indonesian regime” (139). The concluding chapter begins with the violence perpetrated by the Indonesian military and their local militias in the run-up to and in the wake of the 1998 referendum that finally set the path for East Timorese independence that would become a reality in 2002. It also analyses the UN period of administration (1998-2002) and attempts to address the legacy of past violence, as well as the extent to which post-independence electoral politics have impacted on the standing of traditional ruling families in Maubara. What Kammen describes in this book’s introduction as “an experiment in using a combination of thin archival sources and potentially endless oral interviews to reconstruct the history of violence in a small, far-flung place” (21) can certainly be considered successful in terms of highlighting how distinct local motivations driving economic and political relations can be masked by colonial and nationalist narratives. That undoubted success, however, in certain instances can also be seen to in itself mask scholarship on East Timor that should not be included, for example, in what Kammen describes as the “now numerous studies on the missions in East Timor, the building of state institutions, and postconflict development [that] treat independent Timor-Leste as a ‘blank slate’” (144). Moreover, and despite the qualification that this has been the case “Until quite recently” it is somewhat problematic that the author suggests that “there has been a consensus among scholars of Timor that the indigenous population was generally hostile to European encroachment and opposed colonial rule” (42). According to Kammen this consensus is the result of two schools of thought that both adopt macro-historical perspectives: one comprised of “Portuguese historians” who highlight “Portuguese ambitions and imperial grandeur” (42), and the other of “a handful of non-Portuguese scholars” who focus on “the nation-to-be” (42). This is a generalization that unfairly ignores more nuanced work undertaken by Portuguese and non-Portuguese scholars alike. It could be argued that instances such as these point to the continuing need to bridge a gap between academic disciplines. Scholars involved in postcolonial studies, for example, have done much to undercut the notion of “imperial grandeur” and to highlight the complex relations between Timorese communities and a weak Portuguese colonial presence, as well as the reverberations of the past in post-independence East Timor that deny the possibility of seeing it as a “blank slate”. Scholarship on East Timor that takes a postcolonial studies approach is informed by and depends on the work of historians—but

e-JPH, Vol. 14, number 1, June 2016 144 Soares Kammen, Douglas, Three Centuries of Conflict it also draws from other academic fields and from East Timorese narratives that are not necessarily contained in archival records. For example, in reading Kammen’s invaluable study of the complex relations between local and supra-local experiences that may be written out of imperial and nationalist narratives, what may come to mind is the description of the 1975 civil war offered in a novel of East Timorese authorship: “Rixas entre familiares que se acantonaram em facções opostas para ajustarem contas antigas que tinham mais a ver com as posses das terras e as desavenças familiares do que com as perturbações de ordem política ou partidárias” (Cardoso, 37). Kammen’s study is undeniably rich and essential reading for those interested in understanding Timor-Leste, but that richness should not hide a wealth of scholarship that lies outside the boundaries of a particular academic discipline.

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References

Cardoso, Luís. A Última Morte do Coronel Santiago. Lisbon: D. Quixote, 2003.

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