Bourbon Peru 1750-1824 0853239088, 9780853239086, 9781846312687

Citation preview

BOURBON PERU 1750–1824

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

1

9/2/03, 12:30

Liverpool Latin American Studies

1 Business History in Latin America: The Experience of Seven Countries Carlos Dávila and Rory Miller eds 2 Habsburg Peru: Images, Imagination and Memory Peter T. Bradley and David Cahill 3 Knowledge and Learning in the Andes: Ethnographic Perspectives Henry Stobart and Rosaleen Howard eds 4 Bourbon Peru 1750–1824 John Fisher

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

2

9/2/03, 12:30

Liverpool Latin American Studies, New Series 4

Bourbon Peru 1750–1824 John Fisher

LIVERPOOL UNIVERSITY PRESS

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

3

9/2/03, 12:30

First published 2003 by Liverpool University Press 4 Cambridge Street Liverpool L69 7ZU Copyright © 2003 John Fisher The right of John Fisher to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publishers. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A British Library CIP Record is available ISBN 0–85323–908-8 Typeset in Plantin by Koinonia, Bury Printed and bound in the European Union by Biddles Ltd, Guildford and King’s Lynn

Bell and Bain, Glasgow Bell and Bain Ltd, Glasgow

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

4

9/2/03, 12:30

Contents

Abbreviations Preface and Acknowledgements

vi vii

Introduction

1

1

Antecedents: The Viceroyalty of Peru Prior to 1750

9

2

Government, Defence and the Church

26

3

Economy, Demography and Finance

51

4

Society, Ethnicity and Culture

80

5

Resistance, Revolts and Rebellions

94

6

Royalism, Patriotism and Independence

106

7

Conclusion and Epilogue: The Bourbon Legacy

138

Appendices 1 2 3 4 5 6

The Viceroys of Peru in the Bourbon Period The Visitadores Generales The President-Intendants of Cusco The Regents of the Audiencia of Lima The Regents of the Audiencia of Cusco The Intendants

147 162 167 174 178 181

Glossary of Spanish Terms Archives and Bibliography Index

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

5

198 202 219

9/2/03, 12:30

Abbreviations

ADA

Archivo Departamental de Arequipa, Arequipa

ADC

Archivo Departamental del Cusco, Cusco

AES AGI

Anuario de Estudios Americanos Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla

AGMRE AGN

Archivo General del Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Lima Archivo General de la Nación, Lima

AHM AHMH

Archivo Histórico Municipal, Lima Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Hacienda y Comercio, Sección Colonial, Lima

AHN BL

Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid British Library, London

BMP BNP

Biblioteca de Menéndez Pelayo, Santander Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima

HAHR

Hispanic American Historical Review

JLAS RH

Journal of Latin American Studies Revista Histórica

RI

Revista de Indias

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

6

9/2/03, 12:30

Preface and Acknowledgements

In one sense I have been thinking about writing this book for over 30 years, for it was in the (English) summer of 1968 that I first travelled to Peru to undertake the extended period of research in Lima – mainly in the Biblioteca Nacional, the Archivo Nacional (now, of course, the Archivo General de la Nación), the Archivo Histórico Municipal, the Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Hacienda y Comercio, and the Archivo General del Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores – that enabled me to turn my 1967 University of London MPhil dissertation on the Bourbon reforms of local government in latecolonial Peru into my first major monograph, published in 1970.1 Despite its grandiose title – Government and Society in Colonial Peru – this book was, in fact, a relatively narrow study of the aims, details, and consequences of the reform of provincial administration in the viceroyalty of Peru in the lateBourbon period, centred around the introduction of the intendant system in 1784. The work raised as many questions as it answered, at least in my own mind, particularly about, on the one hand, the true nature of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru of 1780–1783 (which, although repressed with great severity by the colonial authorities, actually helped Charles III and his ministers to overcome resistance within Peru to the application of their programme of administrative reform for Spain’s American empire) and, on the other, the conditions of the viceregal economy, following the loss of Upper Peru in 1776 to the new viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, and the definitive introduction of free trade in most parts of the Hispanic world in 1778. My serious output on the first of these themes has been limited to one article, first published in 1971 (and reproduced with some minor alterations in 1972 and 1976).2 However, subsequent research visits to Peru in 1970 and 1971 enabled me to produce a relatively significant study of the mining industry in the period 1776–1824, which led, first, to the award of my PhD at the University of Liverpool in 1973, and, after further work in Lima in 1974, to the completion of a series of publications, including two substantial articles that appeared in 1975–1976, and my second major book in 1977.3 By the mid-1970s my eyes had been fully opened to the enormous opportunities available in Peruvian archives to a scholar working on colonial history,

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

7

9/2/03, 12:30

viii

  ‒

particularly if, as in my case, it proved possible, as a consequence of generous funding from government to promote the development of Latin American Studies in the United Kingdom, to combine prolonged periods of research in Peru with work in more accessible (at least for me) repositories in Spain (principally the Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla). In some respects this combination of opportunities for archival research gave me – and other British historians who had begun to undertake research on colonial Spanish America in the 1960s – a more privileged position than the majority of Spanish historians (who were unaccustomed to going beyond the AGI, and whose publications, therefore, tended to describe crown policies rather than the results of their application in Spanish America) and, indeed, many Spanish American historians, for whom access in the opposite direction to Spanish repositories was often too expensive and difficult to arrange; it also provided a sharp contrast with the experiences of British historians working on Spanish America up to and including the 1950s, for whom archival research in Spanish America had been a rare experience, with the consequence that their research had tended to focus upon the broad features of either Spanish imperial policy (but, often, not upon its consequences) or British diplomatic and/or business interests in the region, themes capable of being studied largely on the basis of archival research in Europe.4 Of course, working with material in Peru that is largely uncatalogued – for example, the 81 legajos in the AGN detailing the activities of the Tribunal de Minería, which constituted the basic source for my mining monograph and related publications – has disadvantages as well as benefits, including one’s concern as a researcher about how to handle documents that literally fall to pieces when touched. The freedom that I soon acquired as a trusted researcher to wander around the stacks of documents in Peruvian repositories and, occasionally, to remove items from the archives – once, in Cusco, for example, so that I might take a secret report from the audiencia to viceroy José de La Serna to a photocopying shop in the centre of the city, since the archive had no copying facilities; on other occasion in Huancavelica, to sit on a bench in the plaza to read material because the room in the cabildo building in which documents were stored had neither a light nor a table and chair – contrasted sharply with the rigid security controls imposed upon investigators in, for example, the Department of Manuscripts of the British Library, where taking notes with a pen rather than a pencil is considered a high crime. These and other bizarre experiences – including walking daily past armed guards in the basement of the Palacio de Justicia (they were there to prevent prisoners rather than researchers from escaping, but I sometimes wondered if they would be able to tell the difference in the half-light) to get to the Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Hacienda y Comercio – all became part of the mosaic of rich experiences that made a visit to Peru exciting and unpredictable as well as academically rewarding. Throughout this early period as a young researcher in Peru I had only one potentially serious brush with authority, in 1970: having acquired permission, after much persistence, including having to present a formal petition on

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

8

9/2/03, 12:30

  

ix

stamped paper (old colonial habits die hard), to consult the colonial documents that had been brought together in the Archivo General del Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores as a consequence of Peru’s boundary disputes with neighbouring countries, I inadvertently left the Palacio de Torre Tagle at the end of my first day in its library with my security pass still in my pocket. When I returned the following day I was detained for some time by the security police who were very keen to know who might have borrowed the pass overnight and for what purpose. Their concern, reflecting in part the growing difficulties of the Velasco régime with revolutionary groups, seemed to grow rather than diminish when they discovered that I was staying with Pablo Macera – in itself a rich cultural experience – but eventually Félix Denegri came to my rescue, assuring the authorities that, like them, I was a staunch believer in capitalist values, despite an occasional tendency to resort to revolutionary rhetoric, a weakness shared with many of Velasco’s ministers. In those days I walked with impunity in parts of Lima, Callao and beyond where tourists – and until recently even limeños – subsequently feared to tread; in all my visits to Peru I have had my pocket picked only twice, losing nothing more than a handkerchief on the first occasion (in Callao) and a 10 soles banknote (on the train from Lima to Huancayo, now, unfortunately, no longer running). In Callao greater dangers came from eating cebiche in the market, and, on one occasion from trying to photograph the modern guns installed at the Real Felipe fortress: they point symbolically towards Lima (unlike their eighteenthcentury predecessors which aimed towards the sea, with a view to keeping out the English) and the guards persuaded me very firmly that it would be a mistake for me to use my camera to record this contrast. Like other visitors to Peru from the well-ordered but rather conventional Britain of the 1960s, I quickly learned not to take anything for granted. My very first night in Peru in 1968 was a strange affair, for two reasons: first, I had arranged in advance to spend the first few nights of my prolonged visit in a student residence at the University of San Marcos pending finding suitable family accommodation for my wife and son, who were due to join me several weeks later. I had assumed, perhaps naively, that conditions at the San Marcos hostel would be similar to those in a University residence in Liverpool, not realizing that the infrastructure was basic in the extreme and that I was expected, for example, to supply my own blankets and pillow. I survived one night there and moved the next day to the Pensión Alemana in Avenida Arequipa, becoming convinced after a short time there that the owner was the long-lost Martin Bormann. My even more immediate difficulty was that, having arranged on my first evening in Lima to have dinner with a former Liverpool student who had managed to obtain a junior post in the Law Faculty of San Marcos – the individual concerned acquired some notoriety shortly thereafter when he killed his mistress’s boyfriend by shooting him through a bathroom door, having been found in a compromising situation with the shared object of their passions – I discovered that the director of the British Council had also arranged for me to have dinner on the very same day with

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

9

9/2/03, 12:30

x

  ‒

Pablo Macera. To avoid giving any offence to either host, I ate two dinners during my first evening in Peru, first with the future assassin, and on the second occasion surrounded by Pablo’s students, who were allowed to sit at the table to observe the principal parties eating and listen to their conversation, but without themselves sharing in either experience. The British Council had led me to expect a comfortable life in Peru, but not one that involved two dinners a night. Its 1967 ‘Record of Living Conditions’, supplied to those about to embark for Peru (normally British businessmen rather than relatively impoverished junior academics), accurately described Lima’s climate as ‘unhealthy to the extent that it is the reverse of invigorating’, but made reassuring remarks about the availability of servants – ‘one servant is enough for a married couple … In addition, one needs a washerwoman… a gardener… and a man to clean the floors once or twice a month’. ‘Shopping’, I learned, ‘is usually done by wives, but servants can help’ – how times change – and ‘local forms of etiquette are the same as in Europe, except that times are seldom adhered to’. The student residence of San Marcos, and, indeed, the Pensión Alemana were somewhat removed from the hedonistic vision conjured up by this information. However, wherever I went in Peru, and whenever I went, I was – and remain – enormously grateful to Peruvian friends and colleagues for their generous hospitality and, alongside that, the warmth of their academic welcome. At the risk of forgetting some, I should like to record my gratitude to in particular Félix Denegri, recently deceased, whose magnificent library was opened every weekend to me and other researchers temporarily resident in Lima; to Pablo Macera, who opened his house to me for two months in 1970, following his visit to the University of Liverpool in 1969, to Heraclio Bonilla (who also spent some time as a Visiting Fellow in Liverpool), to Franklin Pease (also deceased), Javier Tord (with whom I stayed at La Punta for several weeks in 1978), Juan Ossio, whose generous hospitality in San Antonio-Miraflores has been a highlight of my recent visits to Lima, Guillermo Lohmann Villena, Eusebio Quiroz Paz-Soldán (my ever-generous host in Arequipa), Scarlett O’Phelan Godoy, and many others. I have been able to respond in kind to a small extent, by assisting a number of them to come to Liverpool, but I am conscious that the hospitality scales remain extremely unbalanced in my favour. On the academic front my first publications in Peru – my 1968 edition of the relación de gobierno of the second intendant of Arequipa, Bartolomé María Salamanca, and my 1975 edition of the matrícula of the miners of Peru – were reproduced in an amazingly short time by the Seminario de Historia Rural Andina of the remarkable Macera.5 Both works, I understand, have become collectors’ items – it is amazing, sometimes, what people will collect – despite being mimeographed; my more substantial books, published in 1977 and 1981 by the Instituto de Estudios Peruanos and the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú respectively, would not have appeared in print in Lima without the encouragement of Heraclio Bonilla and José Matos Mar in the case of the former, and Franklin Pease in the latter case. Others to whom I am enormously grateful include Miguel

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

10

9/2/03, 12:31

  

xi

Maticorena – already a fixture in the Archivo General de Indias when I took my first nervous steps in Sevilla in 1965, who taught me a lot about Peruvian history, perhaps without realising it, during long, late-night conversations in the Bar del Duque, pausing only to light yet another cigarette – and, at a different level the directors and staff of the archives in Peru where I have worked over the years. They include Mario Cárdenas Ayaipoma of the AGN, Guillermo Galdós Rodríguez, director of the Archivo Departamental de Arequipa, the former directors of the Archivo Departamental del Cusco, Horacio Villanueva Urteaga and Jorge Polo y La Borda, and Roberto Cáceres Olivera, also of the ADC. A further prolonged research visit to Peru in 1978 enabled me to pursue a growing interest in investigating late-colonial conspiracies and, more generally, the interplay of royalism, regionalism, and racial tensions in Peru in the second decade of the nineteenth century, themes which loomed large in my published output in the period 1979–1982.6 However, although I returned to Lima and Peru in 1980 – in part to participate in the bicentennial colloquium devoted to Túpac Amaru – my research had already begun to move towards the broader field of Spanish imperial policy towards America as a whole in the late-Bourbon period, with particular reference to the question of the consequences for Hispanic trade in general of the introduction of comercio libre in 1778–1789.7 To some extent this research grew out of my interest in Peruvian mining, for in 1976 I had drawn attention to the relationship between the expansion in mining output at Cerro de Pasco in the 1780s and the market there for imports from Spain as well as locally-produced goods.8 In the event, what had been intended as a limited piece of research on Charles III’s commercial policy, undertaken in the Archivo General de Simancas in 1977 for incorporation into one chapter of a general book which I planned to write (but have still not written) on the reign of Spain’s third Bourbon king, Charles III (1759–1788), turned into a major project that dominated my academic output in the period 1979–1998, during which I published no less than three books, and twenty essays and journal articles exclusively on Spanish-Spanish American trade in 1778–1820, and a further two books on the broader issue of economic relations during the colonial period as a whole.9 Throughout this time I was particularly attentive to the possibility of concentrating my attention upon the relative importance of the viceroyalty of Peru in the imperial commercial system, publishing one article and one essay on this theme.10 Moreover, in 1985 I convened with Allan J. Kuethe and Anthony McFarlane a symposium at the 45th International Congress of Americanists in Bogotá (comparing the viceroyalties of Peru and New Granada in the Bourbon era) which led in due course to the publication of an important collection of essays in 1990 which explored the links between imperial reform and revolutionary activity in these regions.11 The appearance of this book, which took rather longer to get through the publisher’s arcane procedures than I had anticipated, was preceded in 1989 by my bibliographical volume on Peru in the World Bibliographical Series, thereby seeming to confirm the hypothesis that historians

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

11

9/2/03, 12:31

xii

  ‒

who have stopped doing serious archival research on a particular country turn first to its historiography before taking refuge ultimately in bibliography.12 Prior to my return to Peru in 1997, my final fling in Peruvian archives in this intermediate period of my career occurred in 1985 – following the Americanists meeting in Bogotá – when I was able to explore the recently-catalogued Fondo Vega Centeno of the ADC, an experience which enabled me to publish the first of two essays on cultural and political identity in Peru during the independence period and beyond with particular reference to the tension between the metropolis (Lima) and the southern highlands represented symbolically by Cusco.13 The principal purpose of that visit, however, was not to undertake extensive new work on my own behalf but to enable me to check on the progress of a research project, begun in 1984 with the support of the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC), on ‘The Social History of Southern Peru: the Cuzco Region, 1750–1850’, for which the bulk of the archival work was being undertaken by one of my former doctoral students, David P. Cahill, who had been awarded his PhD at Liverpool in 1984 for a thesis on the diocese of Cusco in the period between the rebellion of Túpac Amaru and the later movement of 1814–1815, begun by dissident creoles but now commonly known as the rebellion of Pumacahua.14 Cahill was the fourth of my doctoral students, but the first to work exclusively on Peru. Earlier I had supervised, in a rather benign way, students writing doctoral dissertations on topics as diverse as ‘A Provincial Response to the Mexican Revolution: State Sovereignty and Highland Caudillismo in Oaxaca, 1910–1920’ and ‘British Protestant Missions to Spanish South America, c.1840–1890’, and, with a greater degree of expertise on my part, ‘Urban Popular Society in Colonial Quito, c.1700–1800’.15 The last of these, by Martin Minchom, was eventually turned into a fine book, a pioneering work of social history, that focused on subordinate social groups – mestizos, poor Spaniards, female Indian traders, artisans, and vagrants – in the city of Quito, analysing social, religious, and economic trends against a background of demographic change and endemic social unrest.16 Notwithstanding the contribution made by the late Alberto Flores Galindo to the analysis of the social history of Lima from 1760, a parallel study of non-élite groups in the viceregal capital of Peru remains to be written.17 Cahill, however, was the first of my research students to be entrusted with a project that, ideally, I should have liked to research and write up myself, but was unable to do so partly because of my continuing preoccupation, referred to above, as a researcher with the topic of imperial commercial policy in the Hispanic world as a whole, and partly because of the demands made upon my time by my increasing administrative responsibilities in the University of Liverpool, including six years as Dean of the Faculty of Arts (1986–1992) and, most recently, three years as Pro-Vice-Chancellor in 1995–1998. Cahill, in fact, produced better work on the late-colonial society of Peru, particularly in the Cusco region, than I could have done, in part because of his expertise in anthropological theory, publishing not only excellent articles

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

12

9/2/03, 12:31

  

xiii

derived from his doctoral dissertation on clerical involvement in revolutionary activity but also, arising from our ESRC-funded project (which continued until 1987), a series of penetrating analyses of the social history of Cusco during the late-colonial/early-republican periods.18 Subsequently, as my absence from Peru grew inexorably longer – following my 1985 visit I did not return until 1997 – further research students were entrusted with topics that ideally I might have taken on board myself but was unable to do so because of the other commitments already referred to. Again, this was a happy accident as far as I was concerned, for both Monica Zaugg’s study of the textile industry in late-colonial Peru, and Adrian Pearce’s analysis of imperial policy and viceregal administration in the early-Bourbon period, completed in 1993 and 1998 respectively, are models of incisive scholarship that have already begun to lead on to the publication of significant articles.19 Throughout the twelve years of my absence from Peru after 1985, I continued to be regarded, somewhat to my embarrassment, as something of an expert on Peruvian history in the Bourbon period. My occasional efforts to resist invitations to write contributions to edited volumes on the grounds that I had not done any recent research, except on the question of trade, were often interpreted as an expression of undue modesty – or an indirect request for further praise – and I usually succumbed to the blandishments of editors; their gratitude suggested in some cases that they had either not read the books I had published in the 1970s, or, if they had, had forgotten what they contained, thereby enabling me to regurgitate old material.20 Increasingly, however, I saw myself in historiographical terms as an analogue of a modern miner who, having lost the will and/or the skill to prospect successfully for new veins of silver, turns to the reprocessing of the debris left behind by the less efficient refining processes of an earlier period, perhaps producing from the spoilheaps the historiographical equivalents of zinc and tin rather than precious metal. One by-product (to pursue the mining metaphor) of the fact that my research on Spanish-Spanish American commercial relations in the late-colonial period was forcing me, somewhat reluctantly, to shift my attention away from an exclusive interest in Peru to other parts of Spanish America was that I was able to undertake research-related visits during my prolonged absence from Peru to Puerto Rico (1987), Ecuador (1991, 1992), Chile (1992), Argentina (1994), and (in part under the guise of recruiting students) Mexico (1997, 1998), as well as to a remarkable number of cities or regions in Spain that were anxious in the run-up to the 1992 celebrations of the fifth centenary of the ‘discovery’ to convene symposia concerning the history of their economic and commercial links with Spanish America.21 My archival research on commercial relations between Spain and Spanish America has now been completed, and, following the publication in 1998 of the article referred to in note 9 and of a Spanish translation of it in 1999, I have no plans to write anything further on the subject (unless, of course, a publisher makes me an offer I cannot refuse or a symposium is convened in a tropical paradise that I have not yet visited).22 Perhaps somewhat incautiously, I

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

13

9/2/03, 12:31

xiv

  ‒

secured in 1999 a large grant (£126,000) from the Arts and Humanities Research Board for a major research project on ‘British Trade with the Hispanic World, 1763–1824’, which seeks to examine not only the commercial intercourse that occurred through legal channels but also the much more complex question of contraband trade; as with the ESRC-funded project referred to above, the bulk of the archival work for this extremely challenging topic, as well as the writing of the substantive monograh which will result from it, was undertaken by a post-doctoral research fellow.23 Coupled with my emancipation in 1998 from my triennium as Pro-Vice-Chancellor, this recourse to working with a collaborator means that I now find myself free (in a relative sense) to attempt to pick up the threads of my research activity in and on Peru that were left dangling for twelve years following my 1985 visit. In the interim, I had not entirely abandoned original research on late colonial Peru, but had confined myself to work in the AGI, notably in 1995, when, with the financial support of the British Academy, I consulted documentation relating to Spanish imperial policy towards Peru during the second constitutional régime (1820–1823), the results of which are incorporated in chapter 6 of this book.24 As on many previous and subsequent occasions, my work in Sevilla was facilitated by the co-operation of the staff of the AGI, and the Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, and by the friendship and hospitality of many academic friends there, including María Luisa Laviana Cuetos, José Luis Mora Mérida, Julián Ruíz Rivera, Manuela Cristina García Bernal, Antonio Gutiérrez Escudero, Juan Marchena Fernández, Carmen Gómez Pérez, Carlos Martínez Shaw, Marina Alfonso Mola, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar. A special word of thanks is due to José Hernández Palomo of the Escuela, who generously made available to me biographical information relating to Manuel de Abreu, who was despatched as peace commisioner to Peru in 1820 by the restored liberal government in Spain, and whose ‘Diario político’, located in the AGI, constitutes a hitherto untapped source of great significance on relations between José de San Martín and viceroy José de La Serna in 1821.25 The first opportunity to go back to Peru after my long absence came in 1997, when I combined a visit to Quito (mainly to participate in the 49th International Congress of Americanists) with a rather nostalgic return to Lima, Cusco, and Arequipa. Despite the efforts of the Dutch airline KLM to deprive me of my baggage – which followed me around the sierra for an eventual reunification in Arequipa six days after I had left Amsterdam (minus the items that had been stolen – almost certainly in Schipol airport rather than in Callao – in the meantime) – the experience was extremely rewarding, both personally and academically. A particularly memorable occasion was the sumptuous dinner party provided by Juan Ossio and his wife Celia, which enabled me to renew contact with Peruvian friends whom I had not seen for many years – they included Miguel Maticorena and Franklin Pease – as well as others (including Scarlett O’Phelan Godoy and Teodoro Hampe), whose thirst for academic travel had brought them to Liverpool more recently. In Arequipa I once again enjoyed drinking pisco and eating cuy with Eusebio

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

14

9/2/03, 12:31

  

xv

Quiroz, and was able both to renew contact with Guillermo Galdós in the new location of the ADA, and admire the excellent organization of the Archivo Arzobispal being undertaken by Alejandro Málaga Núñez Zeballos, the son of my late friend Alejandro Málaga Medina. My appetite for a serious return to Peruvian things having been whetted, I accepted with alacrity an invitation in 1998 from the Departamento de Economía of the Universidad Católica to participate in its seminar on ‘El estado y el mercado en la historia del Perú’. I found this to be an especially rewarding experience for a variety of reasons: first, it enabled me to renew contact with Peruvian scholars (for example, Heraclio Bonilla) whom I had known for 30 years; second, it brought back to Lima several (relatively) younger Peruvian historians who had passed through Liverpool on various occasions en route to eventual academic careers in the United States (they included José Deustua and Alfonso Quiroz); third, it enabled me to renew and strengthen bonds with Peruvians who had undertaken their doctoral research in Britain (notably Scarlett O’Phelan, Margarita Suárez, and Rafael Varón); fourth, it brought together a variety of scholars, from Peru and elsewhere, whom I had met at various times on the conference circuit or as visitors to Britain: they included Carlos Contreras, Luis Miguel Glave, Nils Jacobsen, Kendall Brown, and my good friends from Madrid, Alfredo Moreno Cebrián (whose generous hospitality and friendship has enlivened visits to Santiago, Lima and Cusco, as well as Madrid) and Ascensión Martínez Riaza. It was during this seminar that I finalized the arrangements to write the Spanish version of this book with Marcos Cueto, the then Director de Publicaciones of the Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, and also confirmed the arrangements for a longer visit to Peru in July–August 1998, primarily to enable me to complete the archival research in Cusco that I considered necessary to enable me to write the section of chapter 6 that concentrates upon the establishment and functioning of the viceregal court in Cusco in 1822–1824. As ever, I was overwhelmed by the generosity, both academic and personal, of Peruvian friends during these most recent visits. Once again, within hours of landing in Lima in 1998, my wife and I were wining-and-dining in style at Juan Ossio’s house, trying to forget the six hours’ time difference between Lima and Liverpool. In Cusco I was especially grateful for the assistance given to me in the ADC by Donato Amado González, who is cataloguing the invaluable ‘Periódicos’ holdings, and once again Roberto Cáceres Olivera. Our visit to Ayacucho in 1998 was made unforgettable by the lavish attention bestowed upon us by the then Rector of the Universidad Nacional de San Cristóbal de Huamanga, Enrique González Carré – whom I had met for the first time a few weeks earlier during a most enjoyable evening at the home of Marcos Cueto – who not only turned up at the airport at 7 am to receive us (it would be most unusual for the Vice-Chancellor of a British University to do this) but arranged a full programme of escorted visits for us in and around the city (including a memorable one to La Quinua); Ulpiano Quispe Mejía provided us with a much-appreciated introduction to the city’s textiles,

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

15

9/2/03, 12:31

xvi

  ‒

examples of which now adorn our home. In Cusco I was grateful for an opportunity provided by Jorge Enrique Escobar Medrano to lecture to staff and students in the Departamento Académico de Historia of the Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad. In Lima I experienced contrasting features of the academic world, lecturing at both the Universidad Inca Garcilaso de la Vega (thanks to Luis Alva Castro, president of Cambio y Desarrollo, whose daughter, Julia, had recently completed her undergraduate studies in Liverpool) and at the rather more traditional Instituto Riva-Agüero. On the latter occasion, I was greatly honoured to be incorporated as a Miembro Honorario of the Instituto, and should like to express my gratitude to Scarlett O’Phelan (who had acted as an intermediary in arranging the event), to the Subdirector, René Ortiz Caballero, who presided over the ceremony, and to the Coordinadora de Prensa y Promoción, María Cecilia Tello Pareja, who ensured that my achievements as a historian of Peru were exaggerated in El Comercio and Caretas. The finishing touches were put to my research for this book during a further visit to Lima in August 1999, arranged primarily to enable me to participate in the VI Reunión de Historiadores de la Minería Latinoamericana, organized with typical efficiency by Hector Noejovich. This book has been written partly for reasons of self-indulgence, in an attempt to enable me to pull together the somewhat diverse features of my prolonged interest in the late-colonial history of Peru – in particular its government and administration, society and race relations, mining and other features of the economy, insurgency, and the transition to independence – into a coherent whole. It also seeks to incorporate into its analysis the fruits of the excellent research undertaken during the last 25 years or so by relatively younger Peruvian scholars, who have succeeded in challenging and reshaping the traditional interpretations of the late-colonial period that characterized mainstream historiographical activity in Peru until the 1960s (and, in some cases, beyond)26. My basic aim is to provide what might be described as a general survey of the second half of the eighteenth century and the first quarter of the nineteenth century that, by incorporating the research findings of specialist historians, will inform and enlighten students without offending fellow-researchers. Throughout the process of writing the book I have been conscious of the academic debts that I owe to many other scholars within and beyond Peru, and the personal debts that I owe to the many friends and colleagues, particularly in Peru and Spain, with whom I have interacted during the last three decades. I apologize to any whom I have forgotten to mention in this Preface, and I emphasize, as is conventional, that I am fully and exclusively responsible for any errors, omissions, and/or misunderstandings that appear in the text.   Liverpool, August 2003

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

16

9/2/03, 12:31

  

xvii

Notes 1 J. R. Fisher, ‘The Intendant System in Peru, 1784–1814’, MPhil Dissertation, University of London, 1967. J. R. Fisher, Government and Society in Colonial Peru, London, Athlone Press, 1970; republished in 1981 as Gobierno y sociedad en el Perú colonial, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1981. 2 J. R. Fisher, ‘La rebelión de Túpac Amaru y el programa de la reforma imperial de Carlos III, AES, Vol. 28, 1971, pp. 405–21 3 J. R. Fisher, ‘Silver Production in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1776–1824’, HAHR, Vol. 55, 1975, pp. 25–43; J. R. Fisher, ‘Miners, Silver-Merchants and Capitalists in Late Colonial Peru’, Ibero-Amerikanisches Archiv, Vol. 2, 1976, pp. 257–68. 4 I elaborate on this theme in J. R. Fisher, ‘La historiografía de latinoamérica en Gran Bretaña durante los últimos 25 años’, in Problemas actuales de la historia: Terceras Jornadas de Estudios Históricos, ed. José María Nistal et.al., Salamanca, Universidad de Salamanca, 1993. 5 J. R. Fisher, Arequipa 1796–1811. La relación del gobierno del intendente Salamanca, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1968; J. R. Fisher, Matrícula de los mineros del Perú, 1790, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1975. 6 J. R. Fisher, ‘Royalism, Regionalism and Rebellion in Colonial Peru, 1808–1815’, HAHR, Vol. 59, 1979, pp. 232–57; J. R. Fisher, ‘La rebelión de Túpac Amaru y la conspiración de Aguilar y Ubalde de 1805’, in Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su Tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión Emancipadora de Túpac Amaru, 1982, pp. 261–70; J. R. Fisher, ‘Regionalism and Rebellion in Late Colonial Peru: the Aguilar-Ubalde Conspiracy of 1805’, Bibliotheca Americana, Vol. 1, 1982, pp. 45–59. 7. The project as a whole is summarised in J. R. Fisher, El comercio entre España e Hispanoamérica (1797–1820), Madrid, Banco de España, 1993. 8. J. R. Fisher, ‘Miners, Silver-Merchants and Capitalists’. Subsequently, this theme was developed by M. Chocano M., Comercio en Cerro de Pasco, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1982. 9. J. R. Fisher ‘Commerce and Imperial Decline: Spanish Trade with Spanish America, 1797–1820’, JLAS, Vol. 30, 1998, pp. 459–79 is my most recent and, I intend, final word on trade; the most recent general work is J. R. Fisher, The Economic Aspects of Spanish Imperialism in America, 1492–1810, Liverpool, Liverpool UP, 1997. 10 J. R. Fisher, ‘El impacto del comercio libre en el Perú, 1778–1796’, RI, Vol. 48, 1998, pp. 401–20; J. R. Fisher, ‘The Effects of Comercio Libre on the Economies of New Granada and Peru: a Comparison’, in Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, ed. J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990, pp. 147–63. 11 Fisher, Kuethe, y McFarlane, Reform and Insurrection. 12 J. R. Fisher, Peru, Oxford, Clio Press, 1989. 13 J. R. Fisher, ‘Cultural and Political Identity in Late Colonial and Early Nineteenth Century Peru’, in Essays on Cultural Identity in Colonial Latin America, ed. J. Lechner, Leiden, Vakgroep Talen en Culturen van Latijns Amerika, 1988, pp. 1–13; J. R. Fisher, ‘Local Power and National Power in Late Colonial/Early Republican Peru’, in Nation Building in Nineteenth Century Latin America, ed. H. J. König and M. Wiesebron, Leiden, CNWS Publications, 1998, pp. 189–200. 14 ESRC ref. G00232117; D. P. Cahill, ‘Crown, Clergy and Revolution in Bourbon Peru: the Diocese of Cuzco 1780–1814’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1984. 15 M. Minchom, ‘Urban Popular Society in Colonial Quito, c. 1700–1800’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1984. The authors of the other dissertations, Paul

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

17

9/2/03, 12:31

xviii

16 17 18

19

20

21

22

23

24 25

  ‒

Henry Garner and Edward Nicholas Tate, are now, respectively, Professor of Spanish and Latin American Studies at Goldsmiths College, University of London, and Headmaster of Winchester College, so some transferable skills resulted from their activities. M. Minchom, The People of Quito 1690–1810: Change and Unrest in the Underclass, Boulder, Westview Press, 1994. A. Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe: Lima 1760–1830, Lima, Mosca Azul, 1984. D. P. Cahill, ‘Curas and Social Conflict in the doctrinas of Cuzco’, JLAS, Vol. 16, 1984, pp. 241–76. Arising from the latter project, see, for example, D. P. Cahill, ‘Una visión andina: el levantamiento de Ocongate de 1815’, Histórica, Vol. 12, 1988, pp. 133–59, and D. P. Cahill, ‘Repartos ilícitos y familias principales en el sur andino, 1780–1824’, RI, Vol. 48, 1988, pp. 449–73. M. Zaugg, ‘Textile Production and Structural Crisis: the Case of Late Colonial Peru’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1993, and M. Zaugg, ‘Large-scale Textile Production in Late Colonial Peru’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas, Vol. 35, 1998, pp. 101–28; A. J. Pearce, ‘Early Bourbon Government in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1700–1759’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1998; A. J. Pearce, ‘Huancavelica 1700–1750: Administrative Reform of the Mercury Industry in Early Colonial Peru’, HAHR, Vol. 79, 1999, pp. 39–72, and A. J. Pearce, ‘The Peruvian Population Census of 1725–1740’, Latin American Research Review, Vol.36, 2001, pp. 69–104. For example, J. R. Fisher, ‘Attempted Technological Innovation in the Late Colonial Peruvian Mining Industry, 1776–1824’, in In Quest of Mineral Wealth: Aboriginal and Colonial Mining and Metallurgy in Spanish America, ed. A. K. Craig and R. C. West, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1994, pp. 329–42; J. R. Fisher, ‘Tentativas de modernizar la tecnología minera en el virreinato del Perú: la misión minera de Nordenflicht (1788–1810)’, in Minería y metalurgía: intercambio tecnológico y cultural entre América y Europa durante el período colonial español, ed. M. Castillo Martos, Seville/ Bogotá, Muñoz Moya y Montraveta Editores, 1994, pp. 329–48. Occasionally these activities produced relatively important publications, including: J. R. Fisher, ‘Free Trade between the Canary Islands and Spanish America’, in Actas del VI Coloquio de Historia Canario-Americana, ed. F. Morales Padrón, Las Palmas: Cabildo Insular de Gran Canario, 1987, pp. 387–404; J. R. Fisher, ‘Relaciones comerciales entre España y la cuenca del Caribe en la época del ‘comercio Libre’, 1778–1820’, in Primer Congreso Internacional de Historia Económica y Social de la Cuenca del Caribe, 1763–1898, ed. R. E. Alegría, San Juan de Puerto Rico, Centro de Estudios Avanzados de Puerto Rico y El Caribe, 1993, pp. 209–58; J. R. Fisher, ‘Els resultats des comerç lliure per a les relacions comerciales entre Espanya i Amèrica amb referència especial al cas català: preguntes i algunes respostes’, in 2nes Jornadas d’Estudis Catalano-Americans, ed. C. Martínez Shaw, Barcelona, Comissió Catalana del Cinquè Centenari del Descobriment d’Amèric, 1987, pp. 121–36. J .R. Fisher, ‘El comercio y el ocaso imperial: el comercio español con Hispanoamérica, 1797–1820’, in Relaciones de poder y comercio colonial, ed. E. Vila Vilar and A. J. Kuethe, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispanoamericanos, 1999, pp. 173–93. AHRB ref: AH/RG/AN1128/APN8282. My former student, Dr. A. J. Pearce, held a Research Fellowship in connection with this project for the period 1 March 1999–31 August 2002. British Academy ‘Small Personal Research Grant’ (ref: BA-AN1128/APN/1282). ‘Diario político del capitán de fragata Don Manuel Abreu, como comisionado pacificador por S. M. C. de los reinos del Perú y Chile; principia el 21 de enero en Puertobelo, de donde di parte al gobierno de la separación de mi compañero Don José de Arias, brigadier de la armada nacional’, 18 June 1822, AGI, Lima, leg. 800. The activities of Abreu in Peru are discussed in chapter 6.

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

18

9/2/03, 12:31

  

xix

26. Good overviews of recent advances by both established Peruvian scholars and current research students specialising on the Bourbon period are provided by El Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999, and La independencia del Perú: de los borbones a Bolívar, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2001.

EUP_BPeru_00_Prelims

19

9/2/03, 12:31

Introduction

In many respects 1750 was a rather unremarkable year for the viceroyalty of Peru. Indeed, the author of one chronological history of the country could find only two events worthy of mention in that year (apart from the births of, among others, José Baquíjano y Carrillo, Francisco de Miranda, Alejo Toribio Rodríguez de Mendoza, Hipólito Unanue Pabón, José Pastor de Larinaga, and James Monroe, the future president of the future United States of America): the discovery on the beach at Huacho by fishermen of a crucifix venerated as ‘La Cruz del Sr de Varas’, and the hanging and quartering of the leaders of an Indian revolt at Huarochirí.1 Although he was correct in drawing attention to the importance of the last event – which was driven by not only indigenous discontent but also the resentment of local mestizos at the attempts of crown officials to lower their status by classifying them as tributaries – a more perspicacious observer might also have commented upon the significance for Peru of the unsuccessful attempts of Spain and Portugal to settle their long-standing boundary disputes in South America.2 The Treaty of Madrid of 1750, which sought for the first time since the late-fifteenth century to define realistic boundaries between the American territories of the Iberian states, was of direct significance for Peru in legitimising Portuguese (and, hence Brazilian) possession of vast tracts of Amazonia that nominally belonged to Spain under the terms of the 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas; its indirect significance was even more substantial, first in setting in train the complex series of events that would lead in 1767 to the expulsion of the Society of Jesus from Peru (and, of course, other parts of Spanish America as well as Spain itself). More crucially still, because of their failure to resolve definitively territorial disputes in the Río de la Plata between the two powers, the negotiations of 1750 also led eventually to the separation of Upper Peru from the old viceroyalty in 1776 primarily in an attempt by the Spanish crown to guarantee the financial viability and, therefore, the defensive integrity against further Portuguese intrusions of the newly-established viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata.3 It is probably accurate to suggest that the events of 1776 – those referred to briefly above and a series of related innovations in metropolitan policies

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

1

9/2/03, 12:33



  ‒

towards the viceroyalty of Peru – constitute a more important watershed for Peruvian historiography than the rather notional 1750. The other major features of imperial restructuring that profoundly affected the viceroyalty in and immediately after this year in which Upper Peru was detached from the viceroyalty included the commissioning of Antonio de Areche to initiate the visita general of Peru that would continue until 1785; the definitive confirmation in 1778 – with the promulgation of the reglamento de comercio libre – of the loss of Callao’s monopoly of South American trade with Spain (a profound shock to the morale of Lima’s consulado, even though the decision merely legitimised what had already occurred de facto); the wholesale reform of internal administration in 1784, with the introduction of the intendant system; and, internally, the prolonged indigenous rebellion of 1780–1783 initiated by the cacique of Tinta, José Gabriel Túpac Amaru. Historians of colonial Spanish America have tended to recognise this logic in their periodisation of the Bourbon era, with the consequence that the years 1776–1784 feature, overtly and implicitly, as the chronological focus for a considerable number of key studies of late-colonial Peru.4 However, this propensity to identify 1776 and the years immediately following as the turning-point in Peru’s latecolonial history inhibits the possibility of placing the changes of the 1770s in their proper context. It also clearly reflects a long historiographical tradition of examining the past of Peru through the eyes of the imperial authorities in Madrid, thereby allowing metropolitan projects and policies to determine the framework for the analysis of historical structures and processes that were shaped to a considerable extent by internal Peruvian factors rather than ministerial decisions taken in the distant metropolis. The legitimacy of this Madrid-centred approach in determining the context for an analysis of the history of Peru in the late-colonial period is relatively uncontroversial when it comes to deciding where to stop. The key word here is ‘relatively’, for, although it has become part of Peru’s historiographical mythology to identify the declaration of independence by José de San Martín in Lima on 28 July 1821, as the defining moment in breaking the bonds with Spain, the royalist régime not only survived in the sierra for a further three-and-a-half years but, by establishing the viceregal court in Cusco following the evacuation of Lima, gave a powerful boost to regional identity in southern Peru that would be of enduring significance for many years after the formal surrender of royalist forces following the 1824 battle of Ayacucho. These themes are considered in some detail in chapter 6, which focuses upon the history of Peru between the collapse of metropolitan authority in 1810 and the patriot triumph at Ayacucho in 1824; they also feature in the concluding chapter 7, which emphasises the enduring significance of colonial structures and traditions in the new republic during the first two decades after the royalist capitulation in 1824. It is impossible – and undesirable – of course, to attempt to write a meaningful historical analysis of Peru in the late-colonial period without constant reference to the imperial context, for the major policy initiatives undertaken in

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

2

9/2/03, 12:33





Madrid in the course of the eighteenth century had profound effects upon the territorial extent and the economy of the viceroyalty, as well as many other key features of its historical development. Therefore, following a setting-of-thescene in chapter 1, which briefly surveys the principal features of developments in Peru in the period 1700–1750, chapter 2 of this book provides a conventional overview of first, the broad thrust of Spanish imperial policies towards Spanish America in the Bourbon period and, second, a more specific analysis of their impact upon Peru in terms of both government in the viceregal capital and local administration in provinces often far-removed from effective metropolitan scrutiny and control. Chapter 2 also considers the themes of defence and military reorganisation, arguing that structures devised primarily to protect the viceroyalty from the largely imagined threat of foreign attack were employed in practice increasingly to preserve order within Peru in the face of the interlocking factors of endemic rural violence, ethnic resistance to the exploitation of the indigenous population, and nascent anti-peninsular conspiracies. At a different level, this chapter also explores the role of the Church in the governmental structures of the viceroyalty. Appendix 1, which provides a summary of the careers of the 18 viceroys who presided over the government of Peru in the Bourbon era – in some cases rather superficially, in others much more meaningfully – again reflects the somewhat traditional assumption that the occupants of the palace of government in Lima were more than mere figureheads in the complex administrative structures of the viceroyalty. In this second chapter, as in the three that follow, the starting date of 1750 is intended to be an approximation, not least because it falls within the extended period of office of viceroy José Antonio Manso de Velasco, Conde de Superunda (1745–1761).5 Appendices 2–6, which provide biographical details of other key figures in the superstructure of political and judicial administration during the last half-century of the colonial period – the visitadores generales, the presidents of Cusco, the regents of the audiencias of Lima and Cusco, and the intendants – are also of particular relevance to the discussion in chapter 2. A more traditional starting point than 1750 for some prominent scholars of both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries who have written about Peru in the eighteenth century – and about other parts of Spanish America and Spain itself in the Bourbon period – is 1700, the year of the accession of the first of Spain’s Bourbon kings, Philip V, following the long-expected demise of the last Habsburg ruler, Charles II. I confess that I, too, initially assumed that this would be an appropriate point of departure for this book on Bourbon Peru. However, on reflection, I decided against it, despite the superficial illogicality of adopting a temporal framework that excludes the first 50 years of the Bourbon era. The reason is relatively straightforward, and, one hopes, persuasive: although from the standpoint of the metropolis there is some lingering justification for seeing 1700 as a defining year in changing imperial policy – there is conclusive evidence, for example, that at least from the end of the War of the Spanish Succession in 1713, if not in 1700, Philip V was able to take

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

3

9/2/03, 12:33



  ‒

several modest steps in the direction of improving imperial administration, including, in 1714, the creation of the Ministry of Marine and the Indies, which took over the executive functions of the inefficient Council of the Indies, as well as addressing some of the structural barriers within Spain itself to economic growth – it is now clear that it was not until the late 1720s, with the appointment of José de Patiño to head the new ministry (1726–1736) that a shift of emphasis began to manifest itself in imperial policy.6 Even then, change was patchy and inconsistent, with the consequence that some commentators suggest that it was not until the reign of Ferdinand VI (1746– 1759) that a more structured approach towards imperial government began to emerge in Madrid.7 It is primarily in this mid-century period, therefore, not in the reign of Philip V, that one can begin to identify with some clarity the preamble to the dynamic programme of change implemented in Spanish America by Charles III (1759–1788) following Spain’s humiliation at the hands of England during the Seven Years War (1756–1763).8 Therefore, chapter 1 of this volume, which concentrates upon the antecedents of the impact upon Peru of the more coherent reform programmes of the second half of the eighteenth century, is based upon the assumption that in the short term the dynastic shift from Hapsburgs to Bourbons in 1700 was of relevance to Peru only in terms of certain very specific aspects of colonial legislation – for example, the grant of permission in 1704 for French ships to enter Peruvian ports – and that in more general terms the accession of the new dynasty had virtually no immediate effect upon most features of the viceroyalty’s history. One is conscious, however, that once historiographical myths take root, it is often exceedingly difficult to eradicate them, in part because they tend to feed upon not only dogma but also a degree of reality, no matter how distorted or misunderstood. Their eradication requires patient investigation, analysis, and elucidation rather than dramatic denouements. This book is written in part, therefore, if not to refute at least to question the pervasive myth that the advent of the Bourbon dynasty in 1700 ushered in a century of unfettered progress and prosperity for Peru and the Hispanic world in general, with the implementation of a rational reform programme that would awaken Spain and America from their Habsburg slumber. The book also suggests that it is a mistake to assume too readily that one unintended consequence in due course of the Bourbon reforms was to give Spain’s American subjects the maturity and confidence required for the transition to independence. On the contrary, more than a century later, it is argued in chapter 6, the majority of Peru’s creole inhabitants, far from coming forward to fight for independence, identified fidelismo – the insistence upon the maintenance of Peru’s subordinate relationship with metropolitan Spain – as a safer vehicle than separation from metropolitan control for both the preservation of the privileged position within the viceroyalty of españoles (whether born in Peru or in the peninsula), and, in more general geopolitical terms, the sought-after restoration of the viceroyalty’s pre-eminence in South America as a whole. As chapter 2 seeks to show, the viceroyalty of Peru undoubtedly did

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

4

9/2/03, 12:33





experience a major upheaval in its government and administration during the reign of Spain’s third Bourbon king, Charles III, particularly in the period 1776–1784. Nevertheless, it is necessary to bear in mind that most recent scholarship on the imperial reforms of the Bourbons recognises that the socalled reform process engineered by José de Gálvez on behalf of his royal master was less structured, less coherent, less deliberate and, above all, slower than most previous commentators have argued. Indeed, there are grounds for suggesting that the mythology surrounding the Bourbon reforms, initially invented by the self-satisfied ministers of Charles III to justify their actions in the eyes of Charles IV (1788–1808), following the demise of both Gálvez (1787) and Charles III, was embellished by uncritical historians of the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries.9 These latter groups included Spanish American historians (virtually all of whom were conservative members of élite families) who were deeply afraid of the prospect of popular insurgency and social change in countries dominated by large, non-Spanish speaking masses, and who idealised and sought, therefore, to preserve the vestiges of the stable colonial society of their forebears – whether real or imagined – within which the Indians, blacks and castes had recognised and on the whole accepted their subordinate status. Although academic politicians in the post-independence era from countries beyond Peru were particularly prominent in painting a negative image of Spanish America in the decades after independence and contrasting it with an idealized eighteenth century, characterised by political stability and material growth – the most prominent were the Mexican Lucas Alamán, the Venezuelan Andrés Bello, and the Argentinian Domingo Faustino Sarmiento (for whom not only the Indian but also the uncivilized gaucho literally represented rural barbarism) – Peruvian commentators, too, were slow to abandon the myth of progress and prosperity in the eighteenth century, a tendency which served, of course, to provide a contrast with the perceived instability and impoverishment of the immediate post-independence era. In fact, as chapters 2 and 4 reflect, most historians now writing about Spanish America in general and about Peru in particular in the late-colonial period are much more aware than previous generations of scholars that the final decades of the Bourbon era were characterised by the relative impotence of the principal agents of metropolitan authority, by the pervasiveness of local violence (and in the case of Peru of one large-scale popular uprising – that of Túpac Amaru – if not of a genuine conspiracy for independence), by the relative harmony of relationships between creoles and peninsulares, and by the continuing flexibility of informal economic relationships that functioned alongside the rigid controls theoretically imposed by metropolitan legislation. In this historical (and historiographical) context independence came to most countries as a result not of the strength of nationalism but in the wake of the collapse of Iberian authority, and, when first identified as a possible goal, was opposed by most colonists in the first instance. In the particularly hierarchical societies of New Spain and Brazil independence was eventually accepted with some reluctance

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

5

9/2/03, 12:33



  ‒

by élite groups of European descent in order to preserve established society in the face of metropolitan political instability, rather than because of deep dissatisfaction with traditional structures of imperial control within America; in the even more conservative Peru, by contrast, even this cautious process seemed too radical and too dangerous for many – perhaps most – creoles, with the consequence that independence from Spain was imposed by invaders from Colombia and Chile, concerned primarily with eradicating the risk of royalist reconquest from the old viceroyalty. The principal conclusion of a reevaluation of both the efficacy of the Bourbon reforms and the traditional negative image of the immediate post-independence era is that even in the political sphere (and, of course, in the social and economic), it is possible (and necessary) to think of the collapse of Spanish imperialism in terms of continuity rather than abrupt change, notwithstanding the obvious fact that by the 1820s local élites were more fully in control of their political futures than had been the case during the long period of formal imperialism. Chapter 3 explores the reality of Peruvian economic structures in the lateBourbon era, with some concentration upon the mining industry because of its particular importance for the overall economic life of the viceroyalty of Peru, coupled with an attempt to assess the current state of historical understanding of the somewhat less prominent – or, at least, less researched – manufacturing, agricultural, and commercial sectors. The general picture that emerges from this analysis is that the viceroyalty as a whole, far from experiencing economic decline (a thesis postulated by traditional interpretations but increasingly questioned by modern research) experienced economic growth after 1750, albeit of a steady rather than explosive nature. The expansion of economic activity that did occur, it is argued, was hampered more by the relatively limited internal demand of a small population and by isolation from European markets than by the consequences of imperial restructuring during the final decade of the reign of Charles III. This chapter also surveys the state of crown finances in the late-colonial period – the condition of which, like that of the broader economy, was determined to some extent by the size and ethnic composition of the viceroyalty’s population – as a prelude to the more detailed discussion in chapter 4 of social structures and ethnic relations, which is accompanied by a brief consideration of cultural life and influences in Peru in the Bourbon era. The analysis of cultural activity, such as it was, is set to some extent in the broad context of an increasing thirst in eighteenth-century European intellectual circles for information about the history, the natural resources, and the inhabitants of South America, a curiosity for knowledge first stimulated by the gradual opening-up of the sub-continent by Spain’s Bourbon kings to non-Iberian scientific travellers. Works such as Amédée Frézier’s 1716 account of his exploration of the coasts of Chile and Peru in 1712–1714, and the classic 1748 account of the scientific travels in South America in 1735–1744 of Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa first opened the eyes of enlightened thinkers in eighteenth-century Europe to the need to incorporate into their view of the world a growing body of information about

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

6

9/2/03, 12:33





the structures of non-European societies.10 Precisely in this period the influential Prussian priest, Cornelius de Pauw, anticipated a nineteenth-century stereotyped view of Spanish Americans when he argued in 1768 that creoles were physically and intellectually inferior to Europeans.11 The vigorous rejection of this argument by Francisco Clavijero, an exiled Mexican Jesuit, in a work published in Italy in 1780 [where his surname was expressed as Clavigero], attracted considerable interest in European intellectual circles, and in 1786 dominated several issues of the prominent Weimar periodical, Deutsche Merkur.12 In the same period, a series of major scientific works appeared in Spain itself – they included the influential geographical-historical dictionary of the Ecuadorian Antonio de Alcedo – where, perhaps not surprisingly, the natural curiosity of the Spanish intelligentsia in things American was consolidated by the belief of government ministers that the dissemination of scientific information about the resources of the country’s overseas kingdoms was capable of assisting the process of fuelling economic growth in Spanish America.13 The rôle of Lima’s Mercurio Peruano, published in 1791–1794, in both reflecting and encouraging these currents – and perhaps even in inculcating an embryonic sense of national identity in the minds of the viceroyalty’s creole elite – is also considered in chapter 4.14 Chapter 5 takes us away from the relative sophistication of the salons of Lima to both the poverty and deprivation that characterized popular society in the less salubrious neighbourhoods of Peru’s urban centres and the endemic violence of rural society in the largely-Indian interior of the viceroyalty. As noted earlier in this introductory discussion, the disturbances in Huarochirí in 1750 provide one argument, however feeble, in favour of regarding the mideighteenth century, rather than 1700 (or 1776, etc.) as a suitable date for beginning the substantive discussion of the history of Peru in the period that would culminate 75 years later in the definitive rejection of Spanish imperial authority. Therefore, particular attention is paid in this chapter, perhaps unsurprisingly, to the background, nature, and consequences of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru of 1780–1783, as well as to relatively less well-known conspiracies and protests in other places and at other times in the viceroyalty in the period prior to 1810. The links between, first, the pre–1810 movements and conspiracies that have been identified and, second, the more substantial manifestations of insurgency in Peru in the second decade of the nineteenth century are considered, of course, in chapter 6, which is intended to provide a substantive analysis of the factors that led to the declaration of the independence of Peru by San Martín in Lima in 1821, and the definitive creation of the new republic by 1824, following the royalists’ last stand at Ayacucho. The concluding chapter 7 attempts not only to pull together the conclusions of the preceding chapters but also to consider briefly the question of whether the securing of independence from Spain in 1824 represented a comprehensive watershed in the historical development of Peru or merely a minor change in its political superstructure.

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

7

9/2/03, 12:33



  ‒

Notes 1 L. Costa Villavivencio, Historia cronológica del Perú, Lima, Editorial Universo, 8 vols., 1950, vol. 6, pp. 31–39. 2 A clear summary of the Huarochirí revolt is provided by S. O’Phelan Godoy, Un siglo de rebeliones anticoloniales: Peru y Bolivia, 1700–1783, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Rurales Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’, 1988, pp. 111–16. 3 On the Treaty of Madrid and its repercussions see J. Lynch, Bourbon Spain 1700–1808, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1989, pp. 179–86. A detailed discussion of the factors leading to the incorporation of Upper Peru in the new viceroyalty is in J. Lynch, Administración colonial española, Buenos Aires, Editorial Universitaria de Buenos Aires, 1962, pp. 11–50. 4 See, for example, J. R. Fisher, Minas y mineros en el Perú colonial, 1776–1824, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1977; G. Céspedes del Castillo, ‘Lima y Buenos Aires’, AES, Vol. 2, 1946, pp. 669–874; S. Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén en América, Jaén, Instituto de Estudios Giennenses, 1991. 5 A good, recent study of Superunda’s period of office is provided by A. Moreno Cebrián’s introduction to J. A. Manso de Velasco, Relación y documentos, Madrid, Instituto Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, 1983. 6 A. Béthencourt Massieu, Patiño en la política internacional de Felipe V, Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid, 1954. 7 On Spain, for example: W. Coxe, Memoirs of the Kings of Spain of the House of Bourbon, London, Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1815; Lynch, Bourbon Spain; W. N. Hargreaves-Mawdsley, Eighteenth-Century Spain 1700–1788, London, Macmillan, 1979. On Peru, for example: S. Lorente, Historia del Perú bajo los Borbones, 1700–1821, Lima, Gil y Aubert, 1871; R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general del Perú, Lima, Carlos Milla Batres, 6 vols., 1966. 8 C. Pérez Bustamante, ‘El reinado de Fernando VI’, Revista de la Universidad de Madrid, Vol. 3, 1954, pp. 491–514. 9 The celebrated instrucción reservada completed by the principal minister of Charles III, the Conde de Floridablanca (José Moñino y Redondo) on 8 July 1787, although prepared at the request of Charles III, falls within this tradition, and the new king attended meetings of the Junta de Estado at which it was discussed: Lynch, Bourbon Spain, 302. The full document is in Conde de Floridablanca, Obras originales del conde de Floridablanca, ed. A. Ferrer del Río, Madrid, Biblioteca de Autores Españoles, 1952, pp. 213–72. 10 A. F. Frézier, Relation du voyage de la mer du Sud, Paris, J.-C. Nyon, 1716; J. Juan y Santacilia y A. de Ulloa, Relación histórica del viaje a la América meridional, Madrid, Antonio Marín, 4 vols., 1748; J. Juan y Santacilia and A. de Ulloa, Noticias secretas de América, London, R. Taylor, 1826. Modern Spanish editions include Madrid, Editorial América, 1918, ed. R. Blanco-Fombona; Buenos Aires, Ediciones Mar Océano, 1953 (which is that used for the quotations in this study); Madrid, Historia 16, ed. L. J. Ramos Gómez. An excellent modern edition in English is J. Juan y Santacilia and A. de Ulloa, Discourse and Political Reflections on the Kingdom of Peru, ed. J. J. TePaske, Norman, University of Oklahoma Press, 1978. 11 C. de Pauw, Recherches philosophiques sur les americains, Berlin, G. J. Decker, 2 vols., 1768–1769. 12 F. S. Clavigero, Storia antica del Messico, Cesena, G. Biassini, 4 vols., 1780–1781. 13 A. de Alcedo, Diccionario geográfico histórico de las Indias Occidentales o América, Madrid, B. Cano, 5 vols., 1786–1789. 14 A detailed analysis of this work is provided by J.-P. Clément, El Mercurio Peruano 1700– 1795, Frankfurt, Vervuert, 2 vols., 1997–1998.

EUP_BPeru_01_Intro

8

9/2/03, 12:33

 

Antecedents: The Viceroyalty of Peru Prior to 1750

Just as conservative historians writing in many parts of Spanish America in the turbulent post-independence era looked back with nostalgia to the lateBourbon period as a golden age of prosperity, order, social stability and respect for the Church, so the Bourbon reformers of the 1760s and 1770s tended to depict the unreformed fiscal, administrative, judicial and military structures of Spanish America prior to the reign of Charles III (1759–1788) in terms of fraud, inefficiency, incompetence, and corruption. Broadly speaking, twentieth-century scholars have followed this somewhat uncritical – perhaps a better adjective would be hypercritical – line of argument. Indeed, they have tended to consolidate it by emphasizing the continuities rather than the contrasts between the late-Hapsburg period of the second half of the seventeenth century and the early-Bourbon era of the first half of the eighteenth century, depicting the century or so as a whole prior to 1759 in terms of financial and administrative decadence, social and racial injustice, and the inability or unwillingness of colonial officials and their subjects to defend Spanish America from both the economic intrusions and the armed depredations of other nations hostile to Spain.1 A conventional and influential point of historiographical departure for many scholars seeking evidence to sustain their negative depiction of the unreformed state of government in the viceroyalty of Peru before the despatch in 1776 of the visitador general, José Antonio de Areche, to reorganize its government and finances, is the oft-cited report on political corruption and maladministration completed in 1749 for the Marqués de Ensenada by the young Spanish naval officers, Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa, the work known to posterity as the Noticias secretas de América.2 To some extent it might be argued that their geographical focus during the 10 years (1735–1744) that Juan and Ulloa spent in the Indies – the kingdom of Quito – was peripheral to the viceroyalty of Peru and, in a strict sense, no longer part of it from 1739 as a consequence of the crown’s decision to incorporate the region into the newlyestablished viceroyalty of New Granada. However, it also has to be borne in mind that both men spent considerable periods of time in the viceroyalty of Peru proper in the period 1740–1743, and again in 1744 prior to their

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

9

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

departure in October of that year for Europe.3 Moreover, as advisors on military and naval matters to José Antonio Mendoza, Marqués de Villagarcía (viceroy of Peru, 1736–1745), with whom they had sailed from Cádiz to Cartagena in 1735, they were in a good position to familiarise themselves with the functioning of colonial government at the very highest level, at least as perceived from the viceregal court. The question of whether even this experience made them reliable, first-hand witnesses to corruption and misrule in Peru during the early-Bourbon era is currently the theme of historiographical debate. One persuasive suggestion is that it had the subtly different effect of distorting their analysis by bringing them into contact with ‘the discourses of reform and renovation’ already in vogue in Lima and Madrid by the 1740s – in part as a consequence of the activities at the Spanish court during the previous decade of Hispanicized representatives of the indigenous elite of the Andean region (such as Vicente Morachimo of Lambayeque) who were determined to paint a negative picture of conditions in South America – thereby inducing them to appropriate and endorse the existing demands of the proyectistas (including Jerónimo de Uztáriz, José de Campillo y Cossío, and Bernardo Ward) for fundamental administrative and economic modernization in Spain’s American territories.4 This thesis does not necessarily invalidate the accuracy – and, even less, the influence – of Juan and Ulloa’s indictment of the fraud and inefficiency that characterised the ‘colonial political culture’ that they encountered in both Peru and Quito.5 It remains valid, therefore, for analyists of the state of government in the Andean region prior to the reign of Charles III to continue to rely upon them as apparently credible witnesses to both the exploitation of the region’s indigenous population by local officials and clergy, and the pervasive corruption at various levels of the colonial bureaucracy.6 However, it is also legitimate for the historian to speculate whether Ulloa – the principal author of the Noticias secretas – in particular set out to produce a truly objective analysis of conditions in Peru or a negative report which he anticipated being well-received by Ensenada, just as 30 years later visitador general Areche was able to find abundant evidence of corruption and incompetence in Lima that he knew would appeal to the prejudices of the virulently anti-creole minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez. Ulloa’s return to Madrid, and the patronage that he received from Ensenada (who dominated Spanish domestic politics in the period 1743– 1754), coincided almost exactly with the onset of the reign of Ferdinand VI (1746–1759), a period described by one authoritative commentator as ‘a time of transition’ for Spain and its American possessions.7 Despite – or perhaps because of – the king’s personal weaknesses, successive groups of powerful advisors – led initially by Ensenada and José de Carvajal y Lancaster, and subsequently by Ward and the Duque de Huéscar – were able, notwithstanding their personal rivalries, to lay the foundations for both the fiscal and administrative restructuring of peninsular Spain itself, and the promotion of the ‘imperial project’ that would seek to define and apply in America a ‘governing ideology’ for the purpose of facilitating the exploitation of colonial

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

10

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



resources for the benefit of the Bourbon state.8 Ensenada’s primacy in Madrid coincided for almost a decade with the prolonged term of office as viceroy in Lima (1745–1761) of José Antonio Manso de Velasco, Conde de Superunda.9 As I shall explain in more detail in chapter 3, Manso was able to initiate a significant process of fiscal reform in Peru – including the establishment of the tobacco monopoly in 1752 – despite having to cope with the major drain of treasury resources caused by the destruction of Lima and Callao as a consequence of the devastating earthquake of 1746, and he was also conspicuously successful in imposing some regulation upon the commercial activities of the corregidores in the viceroyalty’s Indian communities, albeit for fiscal rather than humanitarian reasons.10 Moreover, as befitted an experienced professional soldier – Manso had served as captain-general of Chile for seven years before his promotion to Lima – this viceroy was ready to deal decisively with the sporadic but, according to some interpretations, increasingly frequent manifestations of popular discontent that disturbed rural society, including the aforementioned Huarochirí revolt of 1750, although like his predecessor, Mendoza, he was obliged to contain rather than extirpate the prolonged indigenous rebellion, led by Juan Santos Atahualpa, that afflicted the eastern fringe of the more remote Jauja region in the period 1742–1752.11 In some respects the 1744 decision to transfer Manso from Santiago to Lima – he was formally installed there as viceroy in 1745 – can be depicted as representing the initiation of a Bourbon policy of placing viceregal office in Peru (as in other viceroyalties in this period) in the hands of powerful individuals with practical experience of naval or military service at the expense of the jurists, courtiers and churchmen who had dominated appointments to high office in earlier periods. In fact, the thesis is not entirely accurate – despite the fact that all of Manso’s successors in Peru, up to and including its last viceroy, José de La Serna (1821–1824) had military or naval backgrounds – for the new trend had been initiated two decades earlier, with the appointment as viceroy of José de Armendáriz y Perurera, Marqués de Castelfuerte, who held office in 1724–1736. However, in the intervening period (1736–1745) the prolonged but relatively ineffectual term of office of Mendoza – an authentic representative of the interlocking grandee families who had almost monopolized appointments to high office in America in the seventeenth century – reflected the inconsistent approach of Philip V and his ministers to the making of colonial appointments. Moreover, Mendoza’s tenure of office coincided with not only the definitive crown decision, taken in 1738 and implemented the following year, to establish on a permanent basis the viceroyalty of New Granada (thereby separating the kingdoms of Quito, Panamá, and New Granada from the jurisdiction of the viceroy in Lima) but also with the outbreak of the War of Jenkins’ Ear and the consequential incursions into the Pacific of hostile British naval forces under George Anson.12 As noted, one consequence of these renewed Anglo-Spanish hostilities was the summoning of Juan and Ulloa to Lima to advise the viceroy on defensive measures –

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

11

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

thereby providing them with their first opportunity to familiarize themselves at first hand with the heartland of Peru – a decision that exemplifies the continuing vulnerability of the health of the Peruvian exchequer and economy to international conflicts over which both the governors and the governed of the viceroyalty had little control. That unfortunate state of affairs seemed to be resolved in 1748 with the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, which ushered in a period of peace between Spain and England that would last for more than a decade, and, more significantly still, by the determination of Ensenada to preserve Spanish neutrality in the event of further Anglo-French conflict. However, as we shall see, the eventual inability in 1762 of Spain’s third Bourbon king, Charles III, to resist the determination of his advisors to enter the Seven Years War, underway since 1756, on the French side would bring in its train, first, the military/naval humiliation of Spain at the hands of the British and, second, a major overhaul of the defensive structures of Peru during the viceregency of Manuel de Amat (1761–1776). If the period of office of Mendoza – a lethargic, indolent individual remembered by posterity for little more than a morbid interest in supporting the anti-heretical campaigns of the Lima Inquisition – reflected the negative aspects of the contradictory features evident in the American policies employed by Spain during the latter years of the reign of Philip V, that of his predecessor – Armendáriz (or Castelfuerte, as he is more commonly known) – is generally seen as a clear reflection of the determination of his patron, José de Patiño (Minister of the Indies, Navy and Treasury, 1726–1736), to pursue the quest for efficient government in America at the expense, if necessary, of entrenched creole interests. The quarter-century prior to Castelfuerte’s appointment – and, indeed, the preceding decade, given that the tenure as viceroy of Melchor Portocarrero, Conde de la Monclova (1689–1705) spanned the dynastic change in 1700 – had represented the nadir of Spanish imperial authority in the viceroyalty of Peru. Portocarrero had been, in fact, the last of the viceroys appointed to Lima who had served previously in Mexico, albeit for merely two years in his case, and his transfer reflected the last flickering of the dying tradition that Peru was perceived in Madrid as being more important, strategically and economically, than New Spain. The diminishing status of Peru in the imperial hierarchy by the end of the seventeenth century was reflected by – and was also a consequence of – the progressive fall in the income of the central viceregal treasury in Lima from 1660, and, more seriously still, at least from the crown’s perspective, for an increasing proportion of this income – 95 per cent in the 1690s, compared with 55 per cent in the first decade of the century – to be spent within the viceroyalty, primarily on defence.13 It does not necessarily follow, of course, that the fiscal crisis that began in the late-seventeenth century represented an absolute decline in the health of the Peruvian economy. In fact, the reverse is true for, although the mining sector experienced a long recession from the 1650s through to the 1740s, at least in so far as it is possible to measure output on the basis of registered

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

12

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



production and taxes at the principal centre of silver production (Potosí), there is ample evidence available to confirm that what the viceroyalty was actually experiencing in the century or so prior to 1750 was a process of economic transition, characterised by a gradual but inexorable shift away from an economy dominated by silver mining towards a more diversified structure incorporating solid growth in agricultural production, regional trade, and textile and artisan manufacture.14 The crown’s continuing fiscal crisis – which saw the revenues of the Lima treasury fall from 16.9 million pesos in 1701–1710 to nine million in 1711–1720 – reflected, it is true, the gradual decline in mining production and the stagnation of Atlantic trade through official channels, but it was also caused by its failure to devise and implement a new system of taxation capable of tapping to the same degree the new sources of colonial wealth that had emerged in the seventeenth century.15 The 1720s and 1730s brought some very modest improvement in income compared with 1711–1720 – to 14.2 and 12.7 million pesos respectively – and Castetlfuerte was able to respond to unambiguous orders in 1728–1729 from Patiño to remit bullion to Spain by raising 2.2 million pesos from a variety of extraordinary contributions.16 However, the onset of more substantial recovery – treasury income reached 18.4 million pesos in 1751–1760, compared with 15.1 million in 1741–1750 – did not come, as we shall see in chapter 3, until Manso began to tackle in a more radical way the basic structure of exchequer organization and administration. Prior to 1750 a limited number of significant initiatives were taken in Lima and Madrid, particularly in the 1730s, to promote economic growth even at the cost of causing short-term fiscal loss: they included the 1735 decision, implemented in the viceroyalty the following year, to halve the principal tax on silver production from one-fifth to one-tenth. Coupled with successful attempts, initiated by Castelfuerte, to improve the supply of mercury from Huancavelica to Potosí, this measure immediately stimulated a revival in silver output which, in the longer-term, also benefited royal finances: revenue at Potosí from the new diezmo, a mere 183,000 pesos in 1737, rose steadily thereafter to a peak of 400,000 pesos in 1780.17 Similarly, a general census of the viceroyalty’s non-Spanish population, begun by Castelfuerte as soon as he took office in the aftermath of a plague in 1718–1723, which had devastated the indigenous population of the highlands, thereby complicating both the collection of tribute and the functioning of the mita, brought about an increase of 60 per cent in the value of tribute revenues to some 680,000 pesos a year.18 The arrival in Peru of the aged Mendoza as viceroy in 1736, although incapable of reversing the structural changes implemented by his predecessor, led to an immediate dilution in reform initiatives in favour of a return to the lethargy that had characterized viceregal administration during the first quarter of the seventeenth century. Mendoza did succeed, it is true, in raising nearly two million pesos for the exchequer, initially to meet the increased expenditure on defence made necessary by the outbreak of the War of Jenkins’ Ear in 1739, by imposing a new tax – the nuevo impuesto – on internal trade,

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

13

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

but his successor, Manso, eventually abolished it in 1752 in the face of sustained popular opposition in Lima and other urban centres.19 The War of Jenkins’ Ear, precipitated in part by English resentment of zealous Spanish attempts to curb contraband in the Caribbean – hence the cutting-off the ear of the unfortunate Jenkins – was fought almost entirely as a naval war in the Caribbean. From 1739, with the appointment of Sebastián de Eslava as first viceroy of the restored New Granada, the defence of the Caribbean coast was no longer the direct responsibility of the viceroy in Lima, although Mendoza was ordered in 1740 to send 300,000 pesos as a subsidy towards defensive preparations in Cartagena, where the British under Edward Vernon were repulsed in 1741.20 Mendoza also encountered difficulties nearer to home, with the sacking and burning of the northern port of Paita in 1741 by Anson, despite elaborate and costly defensive precautions taken by the viceroy.21 In the event, Anson’s departure from Peruvian waters for Panama early in 1742 ended direct British attacks on Peru not only during the current war but also in subsequent conflicts, but a squadron including ships commanded by Juan and Ulloa was despatched from Callao for Chile in December 1742 to guard against possible new incursions.22 Moreover, memories of earlier hostile intrusions into the Pacific – by British, Dutch and (until 1698) French naval vessels and privateers – were sufficiently strong in Peru to generate costly defensive preparations (the arming of militia, the repair of fortifications, the manufacture of weapons, and the reinforcement of naval squadrons) whenever Spain went to war with Britain, as it would do, often for prolonged periods, in 1762, 1779, 1796 and 1804.23 For the Peruvian economy and exchequer an even more insidious problem in times of war than high defence expenditure and the fear (or reality in some cases) of foreign attack was the disruption of trade – and, hence, in due course of mining and other productive sectors – caused by the inability or reluctance of merchants to put to sea without naval protection. Given the parlous state of the Spanish navy at the end of the seventeenth century, this meant that the only way of maintaining at least some commercial intercourse between Peru and Europe during the devastating War of the Spanish Succession (1702–1713) was for the new king, Philip V, to open up the hitherto exclusive imperial commercial system of the Hispanic world to the merchant ships of his native France. French ships had already appeared in the Pacific in 1700 carrying contraband traders: for example, the Compagnie Royale de la Mer Pacifique, formed in 1698 following the signing of the Treaty of Ryswick between Spain and France, had despatched from La Rochelle in the same year an expedition under Jacques Gouin de Beauchesne, which, although receiving a mixed reception from Peruvian officials, had succeeded in selling some textiles in Callao, Pisco and Ilo, returning safely to its home port by August 1701.24 In the following year, 1702, Philip V took the momentous decision to transfer to the French Guinea Company the coveted asiento de negros, formerly in the hands of Portuguese shippers, a decision which gave Spain’s new ally the exclusive right to supply slaves from Africa to Spanish America. Although

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

14

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



justified, and, indeed, made necessary in general terms by Spain’s perennial inability to satisfy the American demand for slaves from its own resources – the country had no possessions in those parts of Africa from which slaves were traditionally obtained by European traders – and specifically by the probability that the supply from both Portuguese and British traders would dry up in the event of anticipated hostilities in the Americas, the 1702 agreement essentially represented a surrender to persistent French pressure for commercial concessions. This measure gave first French and from 1713 (when the Treaty of Utrecht transferred the asiento to the British South Sea Company) British traders indirect access to the Peruvian market via Buenos Aires, Portobelo and Cartagena, where the legitimate presence of ships carrying slaves provided a cloak of legality for widespread contraband activity. The grant of the asiento to the French in 1702 – in return for promised French naval protection of Spain’s trans-Atlantic shipping – accelerated the outbreak of formal hostilities in that year between Britain and a united France and Spain. This development, in its turn, led to the appointment in 1704 of French advisers to a high-powered committee, established by Philip V in Madrid to consider the whole question of the future of the Carrera de las Indias. Its principal decision was to allow French merchant ships to sail directly into the Pacific via Cape Horn to trade with Chile and Peru. Even before this formal legitimization, French ships were trading with relative impunity in Pacific ports, initially illicitly, but gradually with some degree of official support from both Madrid and Lima, especially when, as in the Peruvian case, the intruders insisted that their ultimate aim was to continue their voyages across the Pacific to China, or offered their assistance to local naval forces in the pursuit of British privateers. Although some of the initial expeditions from La Rochelle made a loss, the majority of the 168 ships that sailed for the Pacific between 1698 and 1726 (by the latter year, Castelfuerte was able and willing to enforce with draconian measures the orders of a more assertive Philip V to curb the trade) returned with considerable profits.25 By 1705, for example, the East India Company calculated that a typical cargo taken to Peru would yield a profit of 300 per cent.26 The passivity with which successive viceroys of Peru prior to Castelfuerte permitted – and in at least one case, outlined below, openly encouraged – the French to flout the regulations that sought to impose some restrictions on their commercial activities reflected in part the extremely unstable structure of viceregal authority in Lima in the first quarter of the eighteenth century. The aged and ineffectual Portocarrero died in office in September 1705, having taken very few initiatives for almost a decade, following the receipt of confirmation from Madrid in 1695 that he would be permitted to retire; he had remained as a ‘lame duck’ only because a series of accidents and illnesses had prevented several nominated successors from reaching Lima.27 His demise did nothing to puncture the general air of indecisiveness in the viceregal capital, for interim authority reverted to the president of the audiencia,

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

15

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

pending the arrival in mid-1707 of a substantive appointee, Manuel Oms de Santa Pau, Marqués de Castelldossríus. The new viceroy – whose principal claim to fame was that as Spanish Ambassador to France in 1700 he had actually uttered to Louis XIV on 11 November (when news reached Versailles of the accession to the Spanish throne of Philip V) the famous words sometimes attributed to the Sun King himself – ‘Il n’existe plus de Pyrénnées’ – took a close but extremely venal interest in the commercial question, and is widely regarded as being personally responsible for the failure of the Portobelo trade fair of 1708.28 The ships that made up the galeones that tried to trade at Portobelo in 1708 – one of them actually transported Oms – left Cádiz in March 1706, arriving without incident at Cartagena by the end of April. However, they were unable to proceed to Portobelo until the new viceroy had travelled in a leisurely fashion to Lima, and then spent the second half of 1707 establishing himself in office instead of completing the arrangements for the despatch of the Peruvian fleet from Callao to Panamá for an eventual meeting of its merchants with the Spanish at Portobelo. In the meantime, Oms allowed French ships to sell their cargoes in the port of Pisco to a company in which he had personal interests, primarily through his nephew, Ramón de Tamarit, who commanded his personal guard. The outcome was that when the Portobelo fair was eventually celebrated in May 1708 – the first since 1696, and, as it turned out the only one to be held during the War of the Spanish Succession – it was characterised by a low volume of activity, compounded by administrative confusion and fiscal fraud.29 Worse was to follow. With the end of trading, most of the ships which sailed for Cartagena from Portobelo were sunk or captured in June 1708 off Cartagena by a British naval squadron commanded by Admiral Charles Wager. The Peruvian merchants were also attacked by British pirates both while crossing the isthmus, and again at sea by Woodes Rogers and William Dampier. The Peruvians’ greatest problem, however, was that when they eventually straggled back to Lima with the remnants of their goods, they found the local market saturated with illegal French merchandise, imported with the connivance of Oms and his associates, for sale at prices much cheaper than those which they had paid for those acquired legally in Portobelo. The problem had grown particularly acute precisely since May 1708 – that is when the Peruvian merchants had begun their long and hazardous trip back from Portobelo – with the entry into Callao of a French warship, under whose protection a number of French merchant vessels were allowed to sell their cargoes. According to one authority, when the French ships returned to Port Louis in May 1709, they carried with them 30 million pesos, primarily in gold and silver bars.30 Even allowing for possible confusion in the conversion of pesos to piastres (other sources use the latter denomination when citing the 30 million), the inescapable qualitative point about the French presence in the Pacific in this period is that the penetration of the Peruvian market by French merchandise during the War of the Spanish Succession was of such an intensity that those

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

16

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



local merchants who stood aloof from it faced ruin, and the hard-pressed viceregal and metropolitan treasuries were deprived of the customs revenue that should have accrued from legal trade. The vicious circle of economiccommercial and administrative incompetence continued, as an interim viceroy of Peru, Diego Ladrón de Guevara (bishop of Quito) – Oms had died in office in 1710 – allowed a large number of French merchant ships to enter Callao in 1712 (under the pretext that they would help defend the port against an expected English attack), again releasing a further flood of contraband goods, at precisely the time that another, smaller galeones convoy (of a mere four ships) was preparing to sail from Cádiz for Cartagena-Portobelo. The small fair held in Portobelo in 1713–1714 (it dragged on from 3 December 1713 until 21 April 1714 while awaiting the arrival of treasure from Callao) was a commercial and administrative nightmare, and, after further delays in Havana, the returning ships were sunk in a hurricane in the Bahama Channel in 1715.31 It was patently obvious by 1715, if not before, that the increasing popularity of direct European trade with the Pacific – whether legal (Spanish and French subject to certain restrictions) or contraband (British and Dutch) – had made redundant the traditional exchange of Peruvian products for European manufactures via Portobelo and Panama. However, no initiative for radical measures came from Lima, where indecisive viceregal government continued during the terms of office of Carmine Nicolás Carácciolo (Principe de Santo Buono), 1716–1720, and Diego Morcillo Rubio de Auñón (Archbishop of Charcas), 1720–1724.32 In Madrid, too, despite an awareness of a need for fundamental reform, there was a reluctance to confront the vested interests of Cádiz merchants, who were optimistic that the advent of peace in 1713 would allow the recovery of the galeones (and, of course, of the flotas that traded with New Spain through Veracruz). Thus, a small trade fair was held at Cartagena in 1716 by four merchant ships that had escorted viceroy Carácciolo from Cádiz, although the presence of the British ‘annual ship’ – the Treaty of Utrecht had also granted to the South Sea Company the right for 30 years to send a ship of 500 tons to each trade fair – meant that it attracted little business. More seriously, the so-called ‘royal project’ (produced by Patiño in 1720 at the conclusion of two years of formal hostilities between Britain and Spain, 1718– 1720) confined itself to simplifying the taxes charged on colonial trade and a commitment to ensure the regular despatch of fleets on a properly-organised basis.33 The initial results seemed to be promising as a relatively large galeones – 13 ships with 2,000 tons of cargo – left Cádiz for Cartagena in June 1721, only eight months behind schedule, with the aim of celebrating the first proper Portobelo fair since 1708. However, the events that followed their arrival in the Caribbean revealed that, despite the virtual collapse of formal links with Cádiz during the previous decade, the viceroyalty of Peru had been reasonably well-supplied with European goods by a combination of French merchant ships (which were still being allowed by local officials to dispose of cargoes in

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

17

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

Peruvian ports in 1720, despite specific decrees to the contrary), occasional Spanish register ships, and British asiento ships which supplied contraband goods primarily through Buenos Aires. The merchants of the consulado of Lima, although ultimately obliged to observe viceregal orders to cooperate with the despatching of the Callao-Panama fleet, protected by the armada del mar del sur, did so with considerable reluctance, and it was not until April 1722 – eight months after the galeones had put into Cartagena – that the Peruvians reached Panama, with the crossing of the isthmus still to be accomplished. When the trade fair finally got under way in June 1722, the merchants who had travelled from Spain encountered their second, more specific problem: the presence of the South Sea Company’s ‘annual ship’, the Royal George (which had arrived despite the Spanish crown’s failure to issue the necessary permit), with 1,000 tons of high-quality, attractively-priced merchandise (made even more attractive by the willingness to sell it on partial credit), and, even more insidiously, the presence of over 20 additional foreign merchant ships in unguarded coves and inlets near Portobelo, which were able to trade with the Peruvian merchants under the cloak of semi-legality offered by the Royal George.34 The British ship even took over responsibility for shipping private bullion back to Spain – issuing letters of credit for a fee of 8 per cent – thereby facilitating the use in commercial transactions of unregistered bullion. The inevitable outcome was that when the fair ended in August 1722 a large proportion of the goods brought from Cádiz remained unsold, and the consulado of Cádiz, upon receipt of this news, immediately put a brake on preparations for the despatch of the next galeones, planned for 1723. The crown’s advisers, led by Patiño, tried to insist, however, that the ‘royal project’ (which stipulated a departure date of 1 September 1723) should be observed. The result was that, although the exact date slipped, the next fleet, consisting of 18 ships with 3,100 tons of merchandise, eventually left on the last day of 1723, reaching Cartagena in February 1724. There the sorry charade of 1721– 1722 was repeated, primarily because of the presence of the South Sea Company’s ‘annual ship’ with another huge cargo of goods. When the Portobelo fair finally opened in June 1726, over two years after the arrival of the galeones in Cartagena – the long delay was caused by the difficulties faced by the new viceroy, Castelfuerte, in finding funds to equip the naval squadron to escort the merchant ships from Callao to Panama – the merchants of Lima who attended spent their accumulated silver in illegal rather than legal trade.35 The 1726 galeones, in reality the last of the traditional fleets in view of the desultory nature of subsequent sailings, found themselves marooned in the Indies for two further years – following, first, the fear of war with England which surfaced while the trade fair was being held, and the outbreak of formal hostilities in 1727 – eventually getting back to Cádiz early in 1729, more than five years after their departure. Further small fairs were held at Portobelo in 1729 and 1731, with the latter turning out in fact to be the last one, although the formal decision to abandon them in favour of register ships was deferred until 1740. The presence of the British ship was, thus, a major factor in the

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

18

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



demise of the Portobelo fairs, partly because of its direct impact, in pricing Spanish manufactures out of the market, but primarily because it provided a smokescreen behind which the Peruvian merchants, who travelled up to Portobelo via Panama, could trade almost openly with the contrabandists who were accustomed to assembling near Portobelo when a trade fair was expected. At the Portobelo fair of 1731 the Peruvian merchants who had arrived from Callao eagerly spent half of the nine million pesos which they had brought to the isthmus on the 1,000 tons of merchandise supplied by the South Sea Company’s ship the Prince William. They had to be forced, however, to accept a consignment of cloth from the royal factory of Guadalajara, and many of the Cádiz merchants remained behind when the fleet departed for Spain, to roam through New Granada and Peru until 1737, attempting in vain to sell their wares in a glutted market.36 In the meantime, a resigned Madrid government decided in 1735 to suspend the despatch of further convoys to Portobelo, ostensibly on a temporary basis, in favour of sending individual register ships to both that port and Cartagena, if the market seemed to require them. A number of register ships did set out, in fact, for Portobelo in 1737, with the intention of dealing with Peruvian merchants, who finally sailed for the isthmus in June 1739 with 12 million pesos to spend on imported goods. The eagerly-anticipated rendezvous was thwarted, however, by the destruction of the fortifications of Portobelo by a British force led by Edward Vernon early in 1740, following the declaration in October 1739 of The War of Jenkins’ Ear, which would continue until 1748. The Peruvians hurriedly returned to Callao from Panama with the silver that had not been invested already in contraband goods, while Vernon moved from Portobelo to mount an attack on Cartagena in March 1741. This action turned into an abject failure from the British point of view and a glorious victory for the defenders led by the Peruvian mariner Blas de Lezo and the incoming viceroy of New Granada, Sebastián de Eslava.37 Despite the activities of Anson along the coast of Peru in 1741, which have already been discussed, the viceroyalty suffered few direct consequences from the conflict of 1739–1748, which was fought mainly as a naval war in the Caribbean and as a land war in mainland Europe. Moreover, the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle of 1748, which ended it, ushered in a decade of cooperation on the international front between Spain on the one hand and Britain and Portugal on the other from which Peru (like other parts of Spanish America) benefited. The year 1750 – the nominal point of departure for the next four chapters – was of particular significance as a result of the success of negotiations in Madrid which in 1750 terminated the asiento – which, in any case, had been granted for only 30 years in 1713 – in return for a payment by Spain to the South Sea Company of £100,000. The signing in the same year of the Treaty of Madrid with Portugal – a process helped by the fact that Ferdinand VI (1746–1759) was married to María Bárbara de Braganza – attempted for the first time, as we have seen, to define the boundaries between Portuguese and Spanish territory in the Río de la Plata, returning the contraband-dominated

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

19

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

outpost of Sacramento to Spain but granting Brazil seven Spanish missions north of the newly-established boundary as well as vast regions in Amazonia. A particularly interesting, if idealistic, feature of the treaty was its attempt to deny the logic and reality of international relations in the eighteenth century by invoking ‘the doctrine of the two spheres’: the argument that even in the eventuality of war between Spain and Portugal in Europe, peace would be maintained in South America. In fact, quite the reverse was to occur: when Spain and Portugal entered the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763) on opposite sides in 1762, Spanish forces captured not only Sacramento – which the Treaty of Paris (1763) restored to Portugal – but also the Brazilian province of Río Grande do Sul, where they remained until the Treaty of San Ildefonso (1777) imposed a territorial settlement which was to endure until the Independence period of the early-nineteenth century. Territorial disputes in the Río de la Plata in 1750–1776 reflected the fact that, even after the separation of New Granada in 1739, the viceroyalty of Peru remained too extensive for the authorities in Lima to exercise effective control over the most far-flung of the provinces that remained within its jurisdiction. The same point might also be made with respect to conflicts that did not involve other powers: war on the Araucanian frontier of southern Chile, for example, was a constant drain on meagre exchequer resources, overland travellers from Buenos Aires to Peru were often in danger of attack from the Indians of Tucumán, and the Santos Atahualpa rebellion of 1742– 1752 checked attempts to spread settlement and evangelisation into the central Peruvian montaña.38 Moreover, if Juan and Ulloa were to be believed – and there were many influential ears in Madrid only too ready to listen to them – in the ‘civilized’ provinces away from the frontiers the standards of provincial administration were abysmal, primarily because of the involvement of their corregidores in both the administration of justice and commercial activities with Indian communities through the repartimiento, a corrupt combination that denied legal remedies against abuses and encouraged violence and rebellion.39 In other respects the viceroyalty of Peru in 1750 offered a more positive prospect for both its governors and its governed than in 1700. Although the port of Callao and the city of Lima were still partially in ruins as a consequence of the devastating earthquake of 1746, viceroy Manso’s patient oversight of the rebuilding and his judicious decision to ease the burden of taxation seemed to be winning public support.40 The destruction of the old forts and wall of Callao, (the upkeep of which had been hitherto a constant drain on treasury resources), although not completed until the viceregency of Amat, was something of a blessing in disguise, for it provided an opportunity for the construction of the impressive Real Felipe fortress which still stands as a monument to the thoroughness of its design.41 At the higher echelons of government, viceroys after Manso would continue to be accused from timeto-time of corruption and excessive deference to powerful creole interests – his immediate successor Manuel de Amat (1761–1776) was widely believed to have sold appointments to corregimientos but was absolved by his juez de

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

20

9/2/03, 12:36

:       



residencia – but Peru in general was blessed with competent viceroys from the second half of the century, with the possible exception of Manuel de Guirior (1776–1780).42 The insistence of Juan and Ulloa that even zealous viceroys were thwarted by the corruption of powerful creole families who dominated the consulado and the audiencia – they alleged, for example, that the judges conspired to hold up the sale of merchandise brought to Lima by Spanish register ships in 1743 while their merchant friends and relatives disposed of their previous stocks – has been substantiated by modern research into the composition of the latter body.43 By 1750 a long policy of selling appointments, coupled with the desire of members of the limeño elite to consolidate their commercial success by securing high office, meant that the audiencia of Lima was dominated by Peruvian-born ministers. By this year no less than 13 of its 18 members were ‘native sons’, sitting alongside two additional creoles from other regions and merely two peninsulares.44 Although Ensenada and other ministers in Madrid, inspired in part by Juan and Ulloa’s revelations and by the agenda for reform articulated by José de Campillo in 1743 in his ‘Nuevo sistema de gobierno para la América’, were aware by 1750 of the need to redress this imbalance, ‘native sons’ would remain in the majority in Lima until 1780.45 On the economic front the portents by 1750 were somewhat mixed. Mining output, which had declined from an estimated 6.4 million pesos a year in 1650 to merely four million in 1700, had begun to recover in the 1730s. In the course of the eighteenth century as a whole, registered output in Peru and Upper Peru reached a peak of 10 million pesos (an increase of 250 per cent on the 1700 figure), but in relative terms the 600 per cent increase in production in New Spain in the same period relegated Peru to a clear secondary position.46 The agricultural sector was hampered by relatively low external demand for all but very specialized products unavailable elsewhere in Spanish America – cascarilla and vicuña wool, for example – and the traditional production in the north of sugar and grain for the urban markets of Lima and other cities, badly hit by a major earthquake as long ago as 1687, was coming under further threat from the growing import of wheat into Lima from Chile, as well as the supply of Brazilian sugar to Chile and the Río de la Plata through Buenos Aires.47 Trade with Spain – legally, of course, the only trans-Atlantic trade permitted after the Madrid government cancelled at the end of the War of Jenkins’ Ear fresh licences that had been issued to French ships following the signing in 1743 of the Second Bourbon Family Compact – seems to have been on the verge of modest growth in 1750. The crown stood firm in resisting pressure from the consulados of Cádiz and Lima for the restoration of isthmian fairs after 1748, and there is some evidence that the mercantile community of Cádiz showed considerable initiative in purchasing foreign-built vessels to enable them to send register ships into the Pacific (as well as using warships for the return of silver to Spain).48 Detailed figures of the value of trade between Spain and Peru (and, indeed, other parts of Spanish America) prior

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

21

9/2/03, 12:36



  ‒

to 1778 are elusive, primarily because the available sources tend to express the details of cargoes in terms of weights and quantities, rather than values. It is clear, nevertheless, even on the basis of the crude calculations which can be made, that the index of tonnage of total Spanish-Spanish American trade increased from a base figure of 100 at the beginning of the century to 160 in the period 1710–1747; in 1748–1778, by contrast, the index was to rise to 300, a result which leads the principal Spanish authority on the subject to observe that ‘la tendencia de crecimiento progresivo y continuo, aunque comparativamente mas lento en la primera etapa, es la caracteristica del siglo XVIII’.49 This broad conclusion is echoed by a recent study of the activities of the consulado of Lima, which contrasts ‘el desconcierto y falta de equipamiento de los navieros para la navegación a Perú’ in 1740–1750 with trends after midcentury when ‘con la paz el tráfico aumenta progresivamente hasta alcanzar su apogeo en 1760–1770’.50 Perhaps in very general terms this conclusion on trends in trade in the eighteenth century – some modest improvement following the War of the Spanish Succession, particularly in the late 1720s and early 1730s, and the onset of more rapid change after 1750 – might be applicable to the overall conditions of the viceroyalty of Peru in the Bourbon period. The aim of this chapter has been to provide an overview of the principal contours of developments in the government, finances, economy, and defence of the viceroyalty in the period prior to mid-century, with particular reference to 1700–1750. One obvious conclusion is that the advent of the new dynasty in 1700 had little impact, if any, upon most of these features of the functioning of the viceroyalty until the viceregency of Castelfuerte. Moreover, the subsequent viceregency – that of Mendoza – reflected the unwillingness in both Madrid and Lima prior to mid-century to carry structural changes through to their logical conclusions. The four chapters that follow will concentrate upon the period 1750–1810 when for both internal and external reasons a greater degree of urgency, reaching a peak in 1776–1784, made itself evident in many areas of activity within the viceroyalty. Notes 1 The opening chapter of Fisher, Government and Society, for example, is entitled ‘The Decadent Viceroyalty’. 2 A detailed analysis of the work is provided by J. J. Tepaske’s introduction to Juan and Ulloa, Discourse and Political Reflections (pp. 3–33). The title of this work is a direct translation from the Spanish original: Discurso y reflexiones políticas sobre el estado presente de los reinos del Perú; su gobierno, régimen particular de aquellos habidadores y abusos que se han introducido en uno y otro; Dase individual noticia de las causales de su origen y se proponen algunos medios para evitarlos. 3 Ibid., pp. 16–23, provides details of the itineraries of Juan and Ulloa in 1735–1744, and, of their circuitous returns to Madrid in 1744–1746 via Paris (Juan) and London (Ulloa) respectively. 4 K. J. Andrien, ‘The Noticias secretas de América and the Construction of a Governing

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

22

9/2/03, 12:36

:       

5 6

7 8

9

10

11

12

13

14



Ideology for the Spanish American Empire’, Colonial Latin American Review, Vol. 7, 1998, pp. 180–81, 184–86. On the activities of indigenous representatives at court, see M. C. García Bernal, ‘Política indigenista del reformismo de Carlos III y Carlos IV’, Temas Americanistas, Vol. 13, 1997, pp. 8–16. Andrien, ‘The Noticias secretas’, p. 175. As Andrien observes – Ibid., p. 176 – a recent study of political corruption in Spanish America in the Bourbon period (A. McFarlane, ‘Political Corruption and Reform in Bourbon Spanish America’, in Political Corruption in Europe and Latin America, ed. W. Little and E. Posado-Carbó, London, Institute of Latin American Studies, 1996, pp. 41–63) regards them as an authoritative source and cites them extensively. Lynch, Bourbon Spain, p. 157. Ensenada’s ubiquitous authority led one contemporary to describe him as ‘secretary of everything’: Ibid., p. 160. Andrien, ‘The Noticias secretas’, pp. 185–86. Lynch, Bourbon Spain, pp. 157–95, provides a clear and convincing analysis of the principal features of imperial policy during the reign of Ferdinand VI. An articulate overview of current debates about Bourbon imperial policy as a whole is provided by H. Pietschmann, ‘Conciencia de identidad, legislación y derecho’, in Dulce et decorum est philologiam colere. Festschrift für Dietrich Briesemeister zu zeunem 65 Geburstag, ed. S. Grosse and A. Schönberger, Berlin, Domus Editoria Europaea, 1999, pp. 535–54. The introduction, by Moreno Cebrian, to Manso, Relación, provides a good summary of the viceroy’s activities and achievements: see especially pp. 59–129. For a summary of Manso’s career, see Appendix 1. A comprehensive analysis of the latter process is provided by A. Moreno Cebrián, El corregidor de indios y la economía del siglo XVIII, Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 1977. Details of the Huarochirí revolt are provided by K. Spalding, Huarochirí, Stanford, Stanford UP, 1984, pp. 270–92. There is no comprehensive analysis available of the Santos Atahualpa rebellion, but a sound synthesis is provided by M. Castro Arenas, La rebelión de Juan Santos, Lima, Milla Batres, 1973. See, too, A. E. De la Torre y López, ‘Juan Santos: ¿El Invencible?’, Histórica, Vol. 17, 1993, pp. 239–66. The phenomenon of rural/indigenous protest as a whole in the Bourbon period is addressed by O’Phelan, Un siglo de rebeliones. Details of both the abortive attempt in 1719–1723 to establish the new viceroyalty and of its definitive creation in 1738–1739 are provided by A. McFarlane, Colombia before Independence, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1993, pp. 191–97. Some discussion of the background to and the consequences of the decision to incorporate the kingdom of Quito in New Granada is contained in K. J. Andrien, The Kingdom of Quito 1690–1830, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1995. The best analysis of the functioning of the treasury in the seventeenth century is provided by K. J. Andrien, Crisis and Decline, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, 1985, despite the author’s reluctance to relate his findings to the broader ‘depression thesis’ first enunciated by Woodrow Borah in the 1950s. For purposes of comparison see J. J. TePaske and H. S. Klein, ‘The Seventeenth-Century Crisis in New Spain’, Past and Present, Vol. 90, 1981, pp. 144–61. It remains remarkably difficult to locate accurate data on actual mining production – as opposed to taxation revenue (from which it can be extrapolated) – prior to 1776 for not only secondary mining centres in Lower Peru but also the major centres (primarily Potosí and Oruro) in Upper Peru. The best sources for Potosí production are P. J. Bakewell, ‘Registered Silver Production in the Potosí District, 1550–1735’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte von Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft Lateinamerikas, Vol. 12, 1975, pp. 67– 103, and E. Tandeter, Coacción y mercado, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Rurales Bartolomé

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

23

9/2/03, 12:36



15

16

17

18

19 20 21

22

23

24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

  ‒ de Las Casas, 1992. For an overview of Peruvian production as a whole, see D. A. Brading and H. E. Cross, ‘Colonial Silver Mining: Mexico and Peru’, HAHR, Vol. 52, 1972, pp. 545–79. Revenue figures are taken from J. J. TePaske and H. S. Klein, The Royal Treasuries of the Spanish Empire in America, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 4 vols., 1982–1990, vol. 1. It is recognized, of course, that the income of the Lima treasury gives only a very crude indication of not only economic activity but also the state of the exchequer in the viceroyalty as a whole. For some comments on the pitfalls awaiting careless researchers using treasury accounts, see J. R. Fisher, ‘Commentary on Public Expenditure Financing in the Colonial Treasury’, HAHR, Vol. 64, 1984, pp. 313–19. Patiño demanded remissions of a million pesos a year which makes Castelfuerte’s total of 2.2 million during his twelve years in office seem rather modest at first sight; in fact, they were the largest since the 1680s. Details of remissions for the period 1651–1739 are in M. E. Rodríguez Vicente, ‘Los caudales remitidos desde el Perú a España por cuenta de la Real Hacienda’, AES, Vol. 21, 1964, pp. 1–24. Tandeter, Coacción y mercado, pp. 5–6, 10–11, also draws attention to the stimulus to production provided by the growth in international trade – both legal and contraband – which stimulated demand for American silver. T. Hampe Martínez, ‘Visita a los indios originarios y forasteros de Paucarcolla en 1728’, Revista Española de Antropología Americana, Vol. 15, 1985, pp. 209–40 provides a good example of how the process operated in one particular province (Paucartambo); Pearce, ‘The Peruvian Population Census’ gives an excellent overview of the process as a whole. Many of the tribute registers produced as a result of this exercise were still in use some 50 years later: Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 June 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1097. Pearce, ‘Early Bourbon Government’. p. 120. McFarlane, Colombia before Independence, pp. 199–200. In his account of his voyage Anson explains why he decided not to attack Callao and to abandon the rather naive plan of persuading the Indians of Peru to revolt against the Spanish: G. Anson, A Voyage Round the World in the Years MDCCXL, I, II, III, IV, London J. & P. Knapton, 1748, pp. 15–33. Details of Anson’s activities, and of the defensive measures initiated by Mendoza are in R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Virreinato (Siglo XVIII), 1700–1790, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1956, pp. 189–95. P. T. Bradley, The Lure of Peru, Basingstoke, Macmillan, pp. 194–95. To give but one example, in 1782 preparation of the Peruvian navy in anticipation of a British attack (which did not actually materialise) cost 684,000 pesos, although even this substantial sum was overshadowed by the 2.6 million spent on munitions, supplies and wages of troops as a result of the Túpac Amaru rebellion: Escobedo to Gálvez, 5 Feb. 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1104. Bradley, The Lure of Peru, pp. 181–82. Ibid., pp. 182, 187. C. D. Malamud Rikles, Cádiz y Saint Malo en el comercio colonial peruano (1698–1725), Cádiz, Diputación de Cádiz, 1985, pp. 146–47. For further details of the careers of this viceroy and others in the Bourbon period, see Appendix I (in which viceroys are listed according to their surnames rather than their titles). G. J. Walker, Spanish Politics and Imperial Trade 1700–1789, London, Macmillan, 1979, p. 34. Full details of the 1708 fair are in Ibid., pp. 34–49. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Virreinato (Siglo XVIII) 1700–1790, p. 25. Details of the 1713 fair are in Walker, Spanish Politics and Imperial Trade, pp. 60–63.

24

9/2/03, 12:37

:       



32 Vargas Ugarte entitles a chapter on the period 1710–1720 as a whole ‘inestabilidad de virreyes’: Historia general, Vol. 4, p. 95. 33 ‘Proyecto para galeones, y flotas del Perú, y Nueva España y para navios de registro y avisos’, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 652; copies are also located in several other legajos. 34 Walker, Spanish Politics and Imperial Trade, p. 146. 35 Ibid., p. 155. 36 Ibid., pp. 177–88, provides details of the 1731 fair. For details of the Guadalajara enterprise, see A. González Enciso, Estado e industria en el siglo XVIII, Madrid, Fundación Universitaria Española, 1980. 37 For details of the siege see A. J. Kuethe, ‘La batalla de Cartagena de 1741’, Historiografía y Bibliografía Americanistas, Vol. 18, 1974, pp. 18–38. 38 Useful sources on Indian resistance in Chile and Tucumán include L. León Solís, ‘Malocas araucanas en las fronteras de Chile, Cuyo, y Buenos Aires, 1700–1800, AES, Vol. 44, 1987, pp. 281–324 and A. J. Tapson, ‘Indian Warfare on the Pampa during the Colonial Period’, HAHR, Vol. 42, 1962, pp. 1–28. 39 Juan y Ulloa, Noticias secretas (1953), pp. 189, 193–96, 198–99. Strikingly similar complaints made in 1778 about the abuses attendant upon the repartimiento in the diocese of Arequipa are in BNP, C4129. 40 Further details of the earthquake are in the section on Manso in Appendix I. 41 For further details, see J. M. Zapatero, ‘El castillo Real Felipe del Callao’, AES, Vol. 34, 1977, pp. 703–33. 42 See Appendix I. Details of Amat’s residencia are in E. Dunbar Temple, ed., ‘Un informe del obispo don Baltasar Jaime de Compañon’, Documenta, Vol. 2, 1949–1950, pp. 652– 55. 43 Juan and Ulloa, Noticias secretas, 1953, pp. 366–67. 44 M. A. Burkholder and D. S. Chandler, From Impotence to Authority, Columbia, University of Missouri Press, pp. 64–67, 154. 45 Ibid., pp. 84, 154. On Campillo, see M. Artola, ‘Campillo y las reformas de Carlos III’. See, too, L. G. Campbell, ‘A Colonial Establishment’, HAHR, Vol. 52, 1972, pp. 1–25. 46 Fisher, The Economic Aspects, pp. 186–89. 47 On the effects of the 1687 earthquake, see S. E. Ramírez, Provincial Patriarchs, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, p. 174. A detailed comment on the loss of markets for sugar was provided by Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 Jan. 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1100. 48 The decision not to revive the galeones is described as ‘a watershed in the development of colonial trade’, in D. A. Brading, ‘Bourbon Spain and its American Empire’, in The Cambridge History of Latin America. Volume I: Colonial Latin America, ed. L. Bethell, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1984, p. 411. 49 A. García-Báquero, Cádiz y el Atlantico (1717–1778), Sevilla, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 2 vols., 1976, vol. 1, p. 542. 50 C. Parrón Salas, De las reformas borbónicas a la república, San Javier, Imprenta de la Academia General del Aire, 1995, p. 303.

EUP_BPeru_02_Ch1

25

9/2/03, 12:37

 

Government, Defence and the Church

By the second half of the eighteenth century the viceroyalty of Peru had undoubtedly lost its primacy in Spain’s overseas empire to the more prosperous and populous viceroyalty of New Spain. By the last third of the century – that is in the years that followed the conclusion of the Seven Years War in 1763, when the crown gradually evolved an imperial reform programme that would reach Peru in the period 1777–1785 – influential voices within the viceroyalty, led by the officers of the consulado, began to suggest that Peru had been pushed even further down the imperial ladder, behind Cuba and the Río de la Plata, as the increasing preoccupation of the metropolis with improved security in the Caribbean and the South Atlantic, coupled with the quest for economic and fiscal growth in hitherto peripheral regions in America, induced the crown to implement commercial and administrative reorganization that seemed to threaten the vestiges of Peru’s traditional prestige and authority.1 The accuracy of this negative assessment of the impact upon Peru of key elements of the Bourbon programme of imperial reform will be discussed in particular detail in chapter 3. However, it is relevant to bear it in mind in the present chapter, which describes and evaluates the structures of political, military and religious organization in the viceroyalty in the post-1750 period, in view of the overriding importance in these areas of activity of the broad structures and policy initiatives imposed upon Peru from Madrid. As has already been mentioned in the introduction to this study, one of the fundamental questions currently being debated by historians of Spanish America in the Bourbon period is how to interpret Spanish colonial policy in the second half of the eighteenth century in terms of not only its aims and implementation but also its consequences. Were the imperial reforms of the Bourbon kings of Spain as structured, as coherent, as smooth, as deliberate, and, above all, as prompt, as their apologists have argued? Or do they represent a historiographical myth, invented by the ministers of Charles III, and embellished by uncritical historians of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries who failed to distinguish between good intentions and the actual reality of their partial implementation? In other words, it is now asked with increasing frequency, should the Bourbon reforms in Spanish America be characterized

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

26

9/2/03, 12:50

,    



not as a cohesive and clear-sighted process of rational change, whose implementation initiated a long period of progress and prosperity, enabling Spain to use the untapped resources of America as the material and spiritual force for the regeneration of the metropolis, but as a halting, uncertain, and essentially incomplete programme, which succeeded only in bringing Spanish America to the levels of maturity and confidence required for its transition to independence in the second and third decades of the nineteenth century? This latter interpretation depicts the reform process not as the cause of Spanish America’s increased prosperity but, instead, as a reaction to the spontaneous economic growth which had begun to manifest itself in some parts of the empire (including Peru) in the early-eighteenth century as a reflection of both their internal dynamism and their closer, albeit unofficial, integration into the international, non-Iberian economy. In some respects the history of Peru during the third quarter of the century would seem to justify the more negative interpretation of Bourbon aims and achievements, for, despite a firm conviction in Madrid that the standards of judicial and fiscal administration in the viceroyalty were particularly poor, relatively few policy initiatives were imposed from the metropolis during the long terms of office of viceroys Manso (1745–1761) and Amat (1761–1776).2 For example, despite the detailed and damning indictment by Juan and Ulloa and other critics within Peru of the abuses suffered by Indian communities as a result of the repartimiento system operated by the corregidores, the regulation undertaken by Manso (and endorsed by the crown in 1756) was limited to establishing aranceles – with a total value of over five million pesos – as a basis for the payment of the alcabala.3 Similarly, his successor, although quick to criticise Manso in a secret report to the crown in 1762 for ‘el engaño que le causaron unos sacres solapados’, allowed the abuses of the system, and the inevitable consequential violence that they provoked, to persist throughout his period in office.4 This, of course, is just one example among many of an awareness (or perhaps belief would be a more accurate word) in both Lima and Madrid of a relatively urgent need for reform failing to provoke a remedy, either because viceroys were reluctant to upset local elites and/or because ministerial minds were concentrated upon other issues and problems, both at court and in other parts of America. It has already been argued in the preceding chapter that the period prior to 1750 in the viceroyalty of Peru was characterised more by contradictions and inconsistencies rather than by a process of radical – or even gradual – reform as an immediate consequence of the dynastic change in 1700. Clearly, the viceregency of Castelfuerte (1724–1736) was markedly different from those of his ineffectual predecessors and that of his immediate successor, Mendoza (1736–1745), reflecting to a considerable extent the relative dynamism introduced to imperial affairs during the decade (1726–1736) when Patiño was Minister of the Indies, Navy and Treasury. Similarly, the reinvigoration of viceregal government during the tenure of office of Manso – notwithstanding his failure to firmly grasp the repartimiento nettle – reflected the limited success

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

27

9/2/03, 12:50



  ‒

of the omnipotent secretary of state Ensenada in pushing Ferdinand VI (1746–1759) into a more progressive imperial policy, at least prior to the minister’s exile in 1754 and the king’s own subsequent decline into a terminal state of inactivity towards the end of his reign.5 Within this broad imperial context, it remains valid to regard the Seven Years War – which Spain entered on the losing side in 1762 – as a force of crucial importance for the history of Spain’s relations with its American possessions in the 50 years before the Napoleonic invasion of the Iberian peninsula, for it was from the trauma and humiliation suffered in the conflict that the third of its Bourbon kings, Charles III, and his ministers derived the sense of purpose and direction required for the formulation and implementation of the all-embracing process of modernization which historians refer to as ‘the Bourbon reforms’. To an even greater extent than the international struggles which preceded it in the eighteenth century, the Seven Years War was an American conflict, although on this occasion, despite continuing Spanish resentment about contraband and British incursions in Yucatán and Honduras, the principal sources of tension derived from Anglo-French rivalries. There were two main areas of tension: the Caribbean, where, ignoring Spain’s feeble claims, the two powers competed to occupy islands such as Dominica, Tobago, St Vincent, and St Lucia; and, more important, North America, where the French encouraged and supported Indian resistance to the westward expansion of the British colonies. Although the war began formally in Europe in 1756, it was preceded by clashes between British and French forces in the Ohio Valley in 1754, and in Nova Scotia and the Caribbean in 1755. The conflict went decisively Britain’s way – for example, British forces took Quebec in 1759, Montreal in 1760, and Martinique in 1761 – a process unhindered by Spain’s tardy entry on the French side in 1762: although Spanish forces invaded Portugal, Britain’s traditional ally, and also captured Sacramento, the Portuguese outpost opposite Buenos Aires, Charles III suffered the appalling humiliation of seeing Havana (and Manila) fall to British attacks. The subsequent Treaty of Paris (1763) restored Cuba to Spain, but confirmed British possession of Florida, a major loss, despite France’s decision to give her Louisiana in compensation by the separate Treaty of Fontainebleau. The restoration of Florida by the Treaty of Versailles (1783), following Spain’s support for the revolt of Britain’s North American subjects against colonialism during the War of United States Independence (1776–1783), initiated a decade – the final five years of the reign of Charles III and the first five of that of Charles IV – that witnessed, as we shall see, the high point of Spanish imperial recovery under the Bourbons: a period characterised in Peru as elsewhere by the strengthening of imperial defences, the rationalisation of provincial administration, the streamlining and expansion of revenue collection, the liberalisation of trade, and the introduction of many other reforms designed, first, to centralise imperial authority in the hands of a self-confident monarchy, and, second, to make America a real source of economic and strategic strength for the metropolis.

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

28

9/2/03, 12:50

,    



The focus for the introduction of this all-embracing process of change in the viceroyalty of Peru was, of course, the visita general, commissioned in 1776 by the Minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez, and entrusted to the leadership of José Antonio de Areche, who had served as a key subordinate of the minister during his own visita general of New Spain, undertaken in 1765– 1771.6 Prior to Areche’s appointment, a mass of evidence had accumulated in Madrid during the previous three decades about the perceived abuses and weaknesses inherent in the existing governmental structures of the viceroyalty of Peru. Particularly telling testimony had been provided in 1759–1762 by Antonio de Ulloa, who had served in a variety of administrative posts following his initial travels in Spanish America prior to his appointment as governor of Huancavelica – South America’s only significant source of mercury, the amalgamating agent essential for silver production – in 1758.7 Ulloa found himself entrusted with the virtually impossible task of reforming fiscal administration and production processes in the face of not only technical difficulties but also a network of corrupt local interests involving local treasury officials and the corregidor, as well as functionaries at the viceregal court and in the audiencia of Lima who provided the provincial administrators with judicial protection in return for financial favours.8 Drawing upon both his recent and earlier experiences in Lima, Ulloa explained in no uncertain terms to Julián de Arriaga – a former governor of Caracas, whose appointment as Minister of the Navy and the Indies in 1754 had put American policy in the hands of an experienced pragmatist – that the ministers of the audiencia regularly accepted bribes.9 However, Arriaga’s diminished influence following the wartime reverses of 1762–1763, coupled with effective resistance to Ulloa from viceroy Amat, meant that the governor’s evidence was simply added to the growing files on maladministration in Peru, while Charles III’s ministers in the mid– 1760s grappled with seemingly more urgent problems in Cuba and New Spain.10 The detailed instructions issued to Areche by Gálvez in May and June 1776 dealt separately with the need to reform the audiencia of Lima, the reorganization of exchequer machinery, and general administration in Peru.11 These broad responsibilities were clearly related to each other in the minds of both the outstanding team of ministers that the Conde de Floridablanca had assembled in Madrid to guide Charles III and the leaders of the complex networks of vested interests in Mexico, Lima and other American capitals that saw the Caroline reform programme as a wide-ranging attack upon established institutions and de facto creole autonomy. For example, the reform of provincial administration embraced within the gradual introduction of the intendant system – notably in Cuba in 1765, in Venezuela in 1776, in the Río de la Plata in 1782, in Peru in 1784 and, finally, in New Spain in 1786 – reflected not only the desire to replicate the success of the new system in doubling public revenues in Spain itself (from 18 million pesos a year in the 1750s to 36 million in the 1780s) but also a consistent policy of appointing to these powerful new positions peninsulares – many of them with military and

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

29

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

naval backgrounds – as the agents of metropolitan authority at the expense of the entrenched local interests that were thought to have dominated provincial government prior to its reorganization.12 As salaried officials – their predecessors, the corregidores, by contrast, had tended to rely upon nominal honoraria, coupled with fees and commissions, a system which had made bribery and fraud almost inevitable – appointed by and responsible to the metropolitan authorities, the intendants enjoyed similar powers to those of the intendants of peninsular Spain (oversight of the collection of taxes, military authority, and responsibility for the promotion of public works and economic activity) coupled, in the case of America, with important judicial functions and the exercise of the crown’s vice-patronage in the making of ecclesiastical appointments. Above all, they were seen by the rabidly anti-creole Minister of the Indies, Gálvez, whose low opinion of the integrity and honesty of Americans was shared by Areche, as the crucial weapon in his attempts to reverse the unplanned devolution of political authority which had occurred in the pre-1750 period in many parts of the empire to local elites of landowners, lawyers, merchants and churchmen, who had enjoyed considerable success in installing representatives of their interlocking family networks in the colonial bureaucracy. Creole domination of the American machinery of government was particularly marked by the mideighteenth century in the audiencia tribunals, where a combination of sale of office and administrative inertia, notably in the period 1740–1750, had produced a situation whereby the majority of the oidores were creoles; moreover, many of these American appointees were allowed to serve in the tribunals of their native territories, thereby making it virtually impossible for the crown to sustain the notion that they would administer justice impartially and defend royal interests when exercising their administrative roles.13 In the period 1730– 1750 more than half (52 per cent) of the 102 new ministers appointed to the American audiencias were creoles, and the attempts of Arriaga from the mid– 1750s to reverse this trend were hampered by a perhaps exaggerated respect for the rights of individuals already in post, and the fact that relatively few vacancies occurred. However, between 1751 and 1777 in America as a whole creoles secured only 12 of the 102 vacancies that occurred (12 per cent), and, although the deliberate pro-peninsular policy slackened somewhat in the reign of Charles IV, during the period 1778–1808 as a whole only 30 per cent of posts went to creoles. When, from 1810, following the collapse of government in metropolitan Spain, creole spokesmen from all parts of America demanded equality of access to public office from the Council of Regency and the Cortes, they were seeking not a new right, but the restoration of an old one which had been taken away from them after 1750. When Areche reached Lima in June 1777, the composition of the city’s audiencia mirrored the general picture described above: no less than 11 of the 12 judges were creoles, seven of them natives of Lima itself, and the only peninsular, Alfonso Carrión, was related by marriage to the Torre Tagle family.14 The crown’s intention of trying to curb the influence of American-

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

30

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



born magistrates was signalled by the simultaneous arrival of the tribunal’s first regent, Melchor Jacot Ortiz Rojano, a native (like Gálvez) of Málaga, who had served for a decade as an oidor in Valladolid: the office of regent was inaugurated throughout the American tribunals in 1776 precisely for the purpose of strengthening peninsular influence.15 Jacot remained in Lima until transferred to the Council of the Indies in 1787, and both his successors in the regency – Manuel Antonio Arredondo (1787–1816) and Francisco Tomás de Ansótegui (1816–1821) – were peninsulares with similar backgrounds.16 Similarly, the new audiencia of Cusco, established in 1787 in the aftermath of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru was throughout its relatively brief existence a thoroughly peninsular tribunal: its first regent José de la Portilla (1787–1804), a prominent peninsula-born member of the viceregal secretariat, was succeeded – on his appointment to the Council of the Indies in 1804 – by Manuel Pardo, a firm defender of peninsular interests in Cusco until 1821, despite his marriage in 1806 (after an initial refusal from Charles IV to grant the necessary licence) to Mariana Aliaga y Borda, daughter and heir of the Marqués de Fuente Hermosa.17. The first three oidores and the fiscal appointed in 1787 to serve under Portilla were all peninsulares, and, although creoles secured their first representation in the tribunal in 1806 – with the appointment as oidor of the arequipeño Pedro Mariano Goyeneche y Barreda – the Cusco audiencia was always regarded in the city and region as a guardian of metropolitan interests.18 The establishment of the Cusco tribunal as a bastion of peninsular authority and the transformation of the audiencia of Lima from a body dominated by creoles to one under the control of peninsulares – a process brought about by transfers of creoles to other tribunals, several forced retirements on grounds of advanced age and poor health, warnings to the four limeños who remained in the tribunal that they were under scrutiny, and the appointment of six peninsulares to fill vacancies in 1778–1779 – lay in the future, of course, when Areche reached the viceregal capital.19 In the short term, the audiencia was seen by Areche as a powerful and insidious obstacle to his commission, particularly in view of the alliance that its creole leaders promptly formed – according to Areche’s interpretation – with the new viceroy, Manuel de Guirior (1776–1780), recently-arrived from Santa Fe de Bogotá with his creole wife (María Ventura) and her retinue.20 Once the visitador had convinced himself that the viceroy had been seduced by the limeño elite, the inevitable outcome was a struggle between Guirior and Areche, initially over relatively trivial matters, such as the visitador’s plan to establish a Colegio de Abogados, against the background of a deepening pessimism about Peru’s prospects in the influential creole circles around the viceroy, as confirmation was received of the definitive incorporation of Upper Peru in the newly-established viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, the elevation of the kingdom of Chile to the status of a captaincy-general, virtually independent of Peru for most purposes, and the formal opening of Buenos Aires – soon to be followed, in 1778, by Valparaiso – to direct trade with Spain.21 In reality, as was so often the case with disputes about jurisdiction in

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

31

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

colonial Peru, the apparent superficiality of some of the specific issues that divided Areche and Guirior in 1777–1779 masked a significant struggle for power between conservative interests on the one hand and, on the other, selfconfident, inflexible reformers convinced of the need to crush opposition and promote structural changes at all costs. Matters took a more serious turn early in 1779 when Guirior – whose sole aim, according to Areche was ‘ser querido por estos Americanos porque creían en el y lo alababan como el protector de sus … libertades y privilegios’ – closely identified himself with resistance from local hacendados against Areche’s decision to increase the alcabala on Peruvian goods from four to six per cent.22 The viceroy’s stance led Areche to the conclusion that ‘nunca es aconsejable tener una autoridad tan poderosa en provincias tan distantes de España como estas’.23 Moreover, a year later he accused the viceroy and his advisers – ‘aquellos descritos aquí como la clase de la nobleza’ – of being directly involved in the violent disturbances that occurred early in 1780 in Arequipa, Cusco and a number of smaller Peruvian towns against the fiscal innovations introduced as a consequence of the visitador’s attempts to overhaul the machinery of exchequer administration, and, in particular, to increase the crown’s revenue from sales taxes and tribute.24 Gálvez accepted the veracity of Areche’s accusations against Guirior without question, informing the newly-appointed viceroy Teodoro de Croix (1784– 1790) in 1783 as he prepared to travel to Peru that the 1780 disturbances had been encouraged by the viceroy’s weak government, and that the king’s response to Guirior’s suggestion in 1780 that Areche should be recalled to Spain had been a firm decision in the opposite direction: ‘Su Majestad decidió destituir a D. Manuel Guirior del virreinato para evitar que continuara su ayuda e inmoderado apoyo a la conmoción causada por sus difamaciones contra las medidas de este Ministro’.25 In the period between the recall of Guirior in 1780 and the arrival in Lima of Croix in April 1784 the office of viceroy was exercised by Agustín de Jáuregui, an experienced soldier who had served previously as captain-general of Chile.26 Jáuregui reached Lima in July 1780 and was already having to cope with the high costs of strengthening coastal defences in preparation for possible British attacks, following Spain’s entry into the War of American Independence, when, five months later, extensive areas of the southern sierra were thrown into turmoil by the outbreak of the general indigenous rising – the rebellion of Túpac Amaru – that many observers had been predicting as an inevitable consequence of the viceregal authorities’ failure to curb the fiscal excesses imposed upon Indian communities by the corregidores.27 The historiographical debate about the fundamental aims of the rebellion continues to divide scholars – as chapter 5 explains in more detail, it is possible to interpret it variously as a reformist movement, seeking specific improvements in the structure of government, as a genuine, if precocious, bid for independence, and as an ambiguous protest with an ill-defined political programme – but what is not in doubt is the impact that it had in accelerating the process of fundamental administrative reform in the viceroyalty of Peru that had begun

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

32

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



to stagnate because of the conflict between Areche and the vested interests ranged against him in Lima.28 Areche was already convinced by early-1780 that the anti-fiscal protests in Arequipa and elsewhere had been encouraged by corregidores opposed to his well-advertised plans to impose stricter controls over the repartimientos and to curb fraud in the collection of tribute: ‘los corregidores’, he complained in April 1780, ‘secretamente han hecho y están haciendo la guerra a las aduanas’.29 Despite a general inability to work with Areche, the new viceroy, Jáuregui, clearly agreed with him on this particular point.30 Within days of receiving news from Cusco of the scale and nature of the indigenous rebellion that had begun on 4 November 1780, with the detention of the corregidor of Tinta, Antonio de Arriaga (and had entered a new phase with Arriaga’s ritual execution on 10 November) Jáuregui decreed the abolition of the repartimiento system, in view of ‘las injurias y daños que causaban a los indios, cuyas quejas inundaban los tribunales’.31 Other leading peninsula-born administrators, civilian and military, endorsed the viceroy’s bold action, and, although committed in the short-term to the unrestricted use of military force and reprisals to crush the rebellion, were steadfast in their determination that the repartimiento system in particular and the corregidores in general must not be restored in the wake of the pacification of the sierra. An especially firm position was adopted by Gabriel Avilés – a future viceroy of Peru (1801–1806) – who commanded the main military force despatched to southern Peru to quell the insurgency: drawing upon not just his recent experience but also a decade’s residence in Peru prior to 1780, he informed Gálvez in no uncertain terms in 1782 that ‘la mayoria de los corregidores, cegados por la codicia y llevados por el incentivo de las ganancias usureras, creian justo forzar una esclavitud tiránica de los indios’.32 He was preaching, of course, to the already converted, for Gálvez had formed a similar view many years earlier on the basis of not just written testimony but also his own observations in New Spain. Now, the scale and intensity of the disturbances in southern Peru, coupled with the fear – not entirely paranoid – that Britain might consider attacking the coast of Peru in the hope of exploiting internal discontent, gave the problem of eradicating provincial maladministration a new urgency, and Gálvez gave unambiguous instructions to both the new visitador, Escobedo, and the incoming viceroy, Croix, to proceed without delay or distraction with the permanent abolition of the repartimiento as an integral part of replacing the corregidores throughout Peru with intendants and subdelegates.33 Bolstered by further unambiguous testimony from Avilés early in 1783 that corregidores returning to their devastated provinces were likely to provoke new disturbances because of their insistence on collecting old debts from rural communities and making new repartimientos, Gálvez decided in March, first, to remove Jáuregui from office for his ‘ineptitud’ – Avilés had criticised both his indecisiveness in pursuing the military campaign against the surviving insurgents in 1782 and his partiality towards the Lima merchants who were pressurising the corregidores to pay for the repartimiento merchandise issued to

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

33

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

them on credit prior to the outbreak of the rebellion – and to take immediate steps to extend the intendant system to Peru.34 Prior to 1780, the minister informed Croix, ‘en el Perú la atención se prestaba solamente a la extorsión del pobre indio para toda posible ganancia temporal … Alrededor de ellos veían sólo tiranos …’.35 The introduction of the intendant system, by contrast, ‘por medio de la efectiva y única medida de abolir los corregimientos y nombrar en las provincias magistrados selectos con salarios adecuados’, would result in the viceroyalty of Peru being ‘librado, de un golpe, de su antigua anarquía, confusión y desorden’.36 The task of translating Gálvez’s fine aspirations into action fell to Escobedo. By the time that Croix reached Lima – in April 1784 – the visitador had completed virtually all the preparatory work to divide the viceroyalty of Peru into seven intendancies, with their capitals in Arequipa, Cusco, Huamanga, Huancavelica, Tarma, Trujillo, and Lima.37 Escobedo’s final proposals were submitted to the viceroy three months later, and on 7 July 1784 Croix decreed that immediate steps should be taken to put the scheme into practice.38 The first meeting of the junta superior de real hacienda, presided over by Escobedo, was held in Lima on 13 July, and on the same day the six provincial intendants provisionally appointed by Escobedo and Croix (Escobedo himself was to serve as intendant of Lima) swore oaths of allegiance and prepared to leave for their seats of government.39 One significant point is worth mentioning at this stage: all the appointees except one – Nicolás Manrique de Lara, who was to go to Huamanga – were peninsulares. Despite Escobedo’s explanation that he had deliberately chosen this prominent limeño for the ‘motivos políticos’ of giving the creoles of Lima some token representation, Gálvez refused to confirm his appointment, thereby ensuring that creoles were entirely unrepresented in the hierarchy of the new system of government.40 The efficacy, or otherwise, of the reformed system of government in improving the administration of justice in Peru will be considered later in this chapter. First, it is appropriate to provide some discussion of military and ecclesiastical affairs, which were inextricably related to and of enduring relevance for the attempts to alter the overall structure of government in the viceroyalty in the post-1750 period. Prior to the concerted attempts of the Bourbon reformers to make metropolitan influence and authority more effective throughout America, the most striking feature of royal authority in Peru – as in other parts of the empire – more than two centuries after the conquest was its superficiality rather than its strength. It is true that the agencies of centralised authority were visible and reasonably effective (despite frequent reports of all-pervasive corruption) in Lima and other major cities and towns, but away from these cores – in the remote villages of the sierra and in the vast empty spaces between settlements on the frontiers of empire – the control of society and, in a vague sense, political authority were in the hands not of easily-identifiable agents of colonial authority but of local landowners, priests and militia officers who struggled to contain endemic social and ethnic

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

34

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



violence. When the colonial state intruded in an overt way into their activities, it tended to appoint as its representatives in these areas – as tax collectors, corregidores, subdelegates, commissioners – not trustworthy peninsulares, of whom basically there were few to be found away from the principal centres of colonial life, but local creoles, who, out of ingrained tradition, would look to the grant of office as an opportunity for personal gain. Even in the larger provincial settlements which became capitals of intendancies in the 1780s, peninsular officials found themselves under great pressure – for social, political, and even economic reasons – to establish close links with local elites. Despite this relative weakness of the colonial state, especially away from the principal centres of administrative and economic activity, there is evidence of a concerted attempt to improve the efficiency of government in Peru in a general sense and of defences in particular by means of a systematic approach towards military reorganization during the second half of the eighteenth century. Strategic issues lay at the heart, of course, of the territorial reorganization that led to the definitive separation from the old viceroyalty of Peru of both New Granada and the Río de la Plata, for both new entities were designed to counter the perceived dangers of British territorial and naval ambitions in the Caribbean and the Río de la Plata respectively. The massive investment in the rebuilding of the defences of Callao during the viceregency of Manso was also designed to provide an impregnable physical defence against the threat of British attacks on Lima itself, although, in the event, the impressive fortifications of the Real Felipe were not put to the test until San Martín led the Chilean invasion of Peru in 1820.41 His successor, Amat (1761– 1776) – who landed in Callao from Chile a mere two months before Spain’s calamitous entry into the Seven Years War (news of which reached him in May 1762) – took vigorous measures to complete the construction of the fixed defences and improve the efficiency of the battalion of troops that formed the garrison of Callao.42 However, his greatest claim to fame in the military sphere resided – as he stressed in his Memoria – in his feverish attempts in the course of 1762–1763 to supplement the viceroyalty’s regular army of a mere 600 men with no less than 50,000 trained militiamen, the majority of them organized into cavalry and infantry regiments stationed in the coastal provinces.43 Following the cessation of hostilities in 1763, the specific initiatives taken by Manso and Amat in Peru were incorporated into a general Spanish imperial policy of, first, improving physical defences in key locations – Havana, Cartagena, San Juan de Puerto Rico, Veracruz for example, as well as Callao – and, second, overhauling military organization and manpower.44 The most prominent features of the programme were the decisions to supplement the relatively small numbers of fijo regiments and battalions, raised and stationed in America on a permanent basis (eventually these contained less than 2,000 men in Peru, compared with 3,000 in New Granada and 6,000 in New Spain), with both Spanish units sent to America on a rotation basis and permanent militias, officered mainly by creoles – local landowners, miners and merchants – whose part-time commissions offered them social prestige and,

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

35

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

via the fuero militar, exemption from civil jurisdiction for not only military activity but also, in certain circumstances, civil crimes.45 There is some evidence from the viceroyalty of Peru to sustain the thesis, first articulated for New Spain by McAlister, that the military reform programme contributed to the devaluation of civil values, thereby helping to inculcate the praetorian spirit that marred political life throughout Spanish America in the post-independence era by encouraging the military to see itself as an organic part of the state apparatus.46 However, the seeds of militarism in early-republican Peru are more easily located in the militarization of society in 1810–1824 than in the extension of the fuero militar in 1763–1776, and it is also worth remembering that the first significant military golpe in nineteenthcentury Peru was that directed against viceroy Pezuela in 1821 by the peninsulares who had controlled the army of Peru from 1816.47 At the purely practical level, the first real test of the militia structure established in Peru by Amat in 1763–1776 – on paper, a total of nearly 100,000 men, including 24,000 in the cities of Upper Peru, was enrolled – came not from the sea but from the widespread insurgency that ravaged southern Peru in 1780–1783 during the rebellion of Túpac Amaru.48 The slaughter of 390 militiamen at Sangarará in mid-November 1780, coupled with frantic appeals from Cusco for reinforcements – Jáuregui’s initial response was to send Avilés with 200 soldiers from Lima’s Regiment of Mulattoes – raised doubts in both Lima and Madrid about not only the fidelity of cusqueños but also about the true state of readiness and utility of the highland militia units. Indeed, the 15,000-strong army despatched from Cusco in March 1781 under field-marshal José del Valle and other regular Spanish officers to attack the insurgents in their Tinta stronghold virtually excluded the city’s militia, instead consisting almost entirely of 14,000 Indian conscripts provided by caciques hostile to Túpac Amaru.49 Gálvez was so concerned about the fidelity of Peru during the latter stages of the rebellion that he despatched two Spanish infantry regiments – those of Soria and Extremadura – to the viceroyalty in 1783.50 When these forces eventually reached Peru via Panamá they garrisoned Arequipa and Cusco (as well as several cities in Upper Peru) prior to their disbandment in 1787 and the incorporation of those officers who chose to remain in Peru in the Royal Regiment of Lima, which was raised to a strength of three battalions with some 1,500 men. On paper from 1787 Peru had 1,681 regular troops: there were small detachments in Tarma and Cusco, and in Lima itself, in addition to the new regiment, an artillery company and a viceregal guard.51 These veterans were supplemented by a drastically-pruned militia of 40,000 men, largely located in the coastal provinces, of whom from 1793 a third were placed in a ‘disciplined’ category (that is, receiving regular training, and with access to the fuero militar).52 These, essentially, were the forces – supplemented in the case of Upper Peru by Indian conscripts – that from 1809 constituted the ‘army of Peru’ that fought for the royalist cause against insurgency in Quito, Chile, Upper Peru and, from 1820, within the truncated viceroyalty of

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

36

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



Peru. Elsewhere in Spanish America – notably in the Río de la Plata in 1806– 1807 – the success of the militia in defending their homeland against foreign invasions gave creole armies a strength and self-confidence that led directly to the rejection of Spanish authority in 1810. In Peru, by contrast, the creoles who not only led the militia units but also by 1810 dominated the regiment of regular troops in Lima believed, at least until 1820 – and in many cases until 1824 – that, in view of the ethnic and social composition of the viceroyalty, fidelismo offered a better guarantee than insurgency of their interests. In broad terms, the willingness of the Bourbon reformers to expand and grant privileges to the military in the late-eighteenth century contrasts sharply with their attitude towards the church, and specifically with their policy of curbing the fuero eclesiástico while extending the fuero militar. This process was inextricably bound up with the regio vicaratio doctrine developed by Spanish theorists such as Antonio Joaquín de Ribadeneyra y Barrientos, Antonio Alvarez Abreu (whose 1726 treatise Víctima real legal earned him a royal pension and the title Marqués de la Regalía) and Manuel Josef de Ayala. Put in simple terms, their thesis was that, quite apart from the patronato – the body of papal concessions made to the Spanish crown at the very beginning of the colonial period, under which it was able to scrutinise all ordinances, laws, and instructions issued for the management of the American church and control church organization and appointments – the monarch had also received directly from God the authority to act as vicar general, as an inherent element of the temporal sovereignty embraced in the divine right of kings. The simple purpose of the vicariato doctrine was to extend royal power over the church at the expense of papal authority, a point clearly articulated by the real cédula of 14 July 1765, officially sanctioning the regalist concept, which asserted that the authority of the pope in America had been devolved – by a combination of patronato and direct divine delegation – upon the king in all aspects of ecclesiastical jurisdiction other than the potestad de orden (the sacramental powers acquired by the clergy through their ordination, which, by their priestly nature, could not be transferred to laymen).53 Once the monarchy had clarified this thesis, it followed logically that the royal patron (or vicar) had a responsibility to provide for the material welfare of the church – ensuring, for example, that there were sufficient funds for the construction and upkeep of churches and cathedrals – and the right to exercise authority, through the bishops and the heads of regular orders, over the conduct of the clergy. As applied in America (and Spain) from the 1760s, this doctrine provided the state with an unprecedented degree of secular control over ecclesiastical discipline, notwithstanding the superficial policy of seeking (and almost invariably securing) the consent of ecclesiastical superiors for significant initiatives. It became commonplace for members of regular orders to be brought before secular courts for criminal offences, with ecclesiastical superiors confirming sentences routinely. Similarly, the crown showed no compunction in trying and sentencing before its own courts members of the secular clergy whose prelates refused to deal with them satisfactorily – from the crown’s

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

37

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

standpoint – before ecclesiastical courts. Obstruction from prelates on matters of discipline was, in fact, quite rare, although more resistance was shown to the intervention of subordinate vice-patrons in ecclesiastical appointments at the parochial or district level: bishops did not challenge in principle the right of the king to extend his rights of patronato to his local representatives, but there is considerable evidence that in Peru, as elsewhere, the devolution of such powers from viceroys to intendants in the 1780s caused resentment among prelates, who considered the requirement to make appointments with the intervention of intendants as a blow to their dignity and authority.54 During the reign of Charles III, the application of the regio vicariato went beyond the control of individual cases of ecclesiastical discipline into an attempt to apply a general programme of legislative and administrative reform of the American clergy following a decision in 1769 to despatch to each viceroyalty an ecclesiastical visitador. Each inspector was ordered to convene a provincial council in the viceregal capital, and was given a general instruction – the tomo regio – explaining both what these meetings should be asked to do as well as defining matters, including the basic questions of the regio vicariato and clerical immunity, that they should not discuss. Moreover, the approval of council decisions by the crown was required, before their implementation by crown rather than ecclesiastical officials. To some extent this programme was designed to bring about a genuine improvement in ecclesiastical discipline – through the establishment of a model seminary in each diocese, for example – but the principal aim was to establish and make manifest crown supremacy over the church. The Lima council, for example, like that of Mexico, promptly confirmed the crown ban on the teaching of Jesuit doctrine. However, to some extent, the insistence upon the need for royal endorsement of council decisions, introduced in order to protect the regalía, meant that some of the new rules, canons and regulations on clerical discipline produced by the provincial council celebrated in Lima in 1772–1773 – with the presence of the archbishop of Lima, the bishops of Cusco, Huamanga, Santiago, and Concepción, and apoderados of the bishops of Arequipa, Trujillo, Panamá, and Quito – disappeared subsequently into the bureaucratic morass of Madrid.55 Similarly, visitas of the regular orders also tended to fail to improve the standards of community life in the monasteries and convents, again in part because of the very insistence upon ultimate secular authority, under the vicariato system, over ecclesiastical affairs. Friars who wished to obstruct restrictions upon their activities proposed by the visitadores and their provincial superiors knew, for example, that they could appeal against them, initially through ecclesiastical courts, but ultimately as far as the audiencias and the Council of the Indies. It is difficult to determine if, in general terms, the subordination of the church to the crown was ultimately to the latter’s long-term advantage. As in the case of Mexico, there is some evidence that the clear onslaught on the independence of the church, in terms of both its general authority and its fuero, proved capable of providing some priests, particularly in the Cusco

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

38

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



diocese, with the incentive to support insurgency against continued Spanish rule, and with the means to recruit popular support for independence by use of the argument that not just the church but also religion had been endangered by the new regalism of the Bourbons.56 However, in the shorter term, control over the church did provide the crown with the opportunity to tap its enormous wealth, particularly during the first decade of the nineteenth century, when the consolidación decree of 26 December 1804 ordered the sequestration of charitable funds in America and their remission to Spain.57 The crown’s decision to seize this accumulated capital, much of which, having been used to provide mortgages on secular properties, was not easily accessible, although technically legitimate under the regalía conventions, created considerable financial, social and economic confusion in America. New Spain – which yielded two thirds of the 15.4 million pesos raised in 1805–1808 – was particularly hard hit, not least because many of the lower clergy were dependent upon the income from endowments to supplement their stipends. In Peru, where the junta superior de consolidación had collected almost 1.5 million pesos by the end of 1808 from capellanías and obras pías, overt criticism was less obvious, but there, too, the process contributed to a certain loss of the state’s moral authority in the eyes of lower clergy and small property owners, without whose continued support the crown would be ultimately incapable of preserving the imperial structure.58 The changes described above in the balance of power between church and state in the eighteenth century were introduced against the background of a relatively inflexible, outmoded structure of ecclesiastical organization within which the key element was the bishopric, an institution first introduced to America with the creation of the diocese of Santo Domingo in 1504, and then extended progressively to the mainland with the conquests of New Spain and Peru in the first half of the sixteenth century.59 Following the territorial reorganization of the 1770s, the viceroyalty of Peru was reduced to five dioceses, four of them sixteenth-century foundations (Cusco 1537, Lima 1541, Arequipa 1577, Trujillo 1577) with a fifth – Huamanga 1609 – dating from the earlyseventeenth century. A sixth diocese, that of Mainas, was nominally established in 1803 in the poorly-defined missionary territories that embraced northern Peru and the south of the kingdom of Quito, but the first incumbent spent most of his time in the city of Quito before returning to Madrid in 1822.60 Surprisingly, perhaps, in view of the crown’s overall policy towards the church, this organizational structure was a major impediment to the rationalization of provincial government in Peru. Indeed, the most significant consideration in Escobedo’s mind when he defined the boundaries of the intendancies was the need to fit them into existing ecclesiastical administration, in the hope of avoiding complications in the exercise of vice-patronage. He believed that both the northern diocese of Trujillo and that of Arequipa in the south were too large for single intendants to control effectively, but neither was large enough to be divided into two intendancies.61 However, more radical restructuring, such as adding the southern partidos of the Trujillo

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

39

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

diocese to the intendancy of Tarma, was ruled out because that would have offended the bishop of Trujillo, who would have insisted on keeping the diocese as a single administrative unit, as well as making life extremely difficult for the intendant of Tarma, in having to deal with both the bishop of Trujillo for the purposes of vice-patronage in part of his intendancy, and with the archbishop of Lima for the remainder. Consequently, although the extensive archdiocese was divided into the intendancies of Lima and Tarma – despite Escobedo’s fear that the archbishop, accustomed to dealing with the viceroy in matters of vice-patronage, would resent having to work with a mere intendant in Tarma – the dioceses of Arequipa and Trujillo became single intendancies.62 That of Huamanga, however, was divided into two – the intendancies of Huamanga and Huancavelica – despite being the smallest in the viceroyalty, because the visitador wanted one intendant to be able to give his virtually undivided attention to the mercury mine of Huancavelica. In the event it was precisely in the diocese of Huamanga that the greatest difficulties over vice-patronage were encountered, particularly during the incumbency as intendant of Manrique.63 The bishop, Francisco López Sánchez, in post since 1783, had already clashed with Huamanga’s secular cabildo over his alleged interference in 1784 in the election of alcaldes sympathetic to his attempts to improve the conduct of corrupt clergy; this, in its turn, led to complex disputes over jurisdiction when the submissive alcaldes, accompanied by militiamen, broke down the door of the house of the administrator of the tobacco monopoly to arrest, at the bishop’s request, a priest who had taken refuge there to avoid trial before an ecclesiastical court.64 Similarly, the bishop tried to bring before the ecclesiastical court Indians from the village of Pausa (in the partido of Parinacochas) who had locked their cura out of his church, accusing him of charging excessive parochial dues, thereby provoking protests from Manrique that the matter fell within his jurisdiction. The bishop countered with a series of accusations against the intendant, including attempted interference in the case of a brother seeking annulment of his marriage in the local ecclesiastical court, and, more seriously still, of having permitted a large repartimiento of mules in the partidos of Huanta and Cangallo.65 Escobedo, fearful that the stream of charges and counter-charges was showing ominous similarities to the dispute between the corregidor of Tinta, Arriaga, and the bishop of Cusco, Juan Manuel Moscoso y Peralta, immediately before the outbreak of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, was forced to leave intendant Manrique in office, despite the crown’s decision not to confirm his appointment, until his successor – Menéndez – was free to travel to Huamanga.66 In the meantime, he tried, perhaps maladroitly, to calm the situation by appointing the intendant of Huancavelica, Márquez – a former alcalde del crimen of the audiencia of Lima – to investigate the dispute, despite further accusations from the bishop that, since the intendancy of Huancavelica was part of his diocese, the commissioner would almost certainly support his fellow-intendant.67 Despite his own difficulties in Huancavelica – culminating

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

40

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



in the collapse of the Santa Bárbara mine in September 1786 – Márquez gathered evidence as instructed in the first half of 1786, eventually producing a report declaring Manrique innocent of the bishop’s charges, and criticizing the latter for his lack of cooperation and haughtiness during the investigation.68 The audiencia of Lima endorsed his conclusions, threatening severe action against the bishop if he repeated his extraordinary behaviour.69 The last word came from the Council of the Indies, which in 1793 praised Manrique – by then back in Lima as contador mayor of the tribunal de cuentas – for his tact and moderation, and expressing regret that the death of López in 1789 meant that he could not be punished.70 Despite further short-term difficulties in Huamanga concerning the filling of benefices in 1790, the arrival of a new bishop, Bartolomé Fabro Palacios, in 1792 seems to have created a calmer atmosphere.71 In Arequipa and Trujillo there were relatively minor disputes over matters of etiquette and the filling of benefices, but without major political consequences.72 The diocese of Cusco was quite a different matter. There two major problems were encountered, the first structural, the second political. The former arose from the fact that the crown’s decision in 1784 to establish a ninth intendancy in the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, that of Puno, brought together three partidos in the diocese of Cusco – Lampa, Carabaya, and Azángaro – with two in the diocese of La Paz (Paucarcolla and Chucuito). Escobedo’s eminently sensible suggestion, made in 1785, that a new diocese should be formed, to embrace the whole of the intendancy of Puno and part of the over-large diocese (and intendancy) of Arequipa was rejected by the crown, which was simply not prepared to risk arguments with the bishops of Arequipa, Cusco and La Paz about reductions in their authority (and income).73 Given that the bishops of Cusco and La Paz owed general allegiance to the viceroys in Lima and Buenos Aires respectively, and that the jurisdiction of the new audiencia of Cusco covered the whole of the diocese (a further example of the importance of ecclesiastical boundaries) the intendancy of Puno was controlled to some extent by two superior governments, two bishops and two audiencias.74 Eventually, in 1796, the crown adopted Escobedo’s alternative suggestion that the entire intendancy of Puno be restored to the viceroyalty of Peru, and thus come under the jurisdiction of the audiencia of Cusco.75 However, an additional recommendation from the Council of the Indies that the intendancy of Arequipa should also be transferred to the audiencia of Cusco was rejected by the governor of the Council of the Indies, the Marqués de Bajamar, on the grounds that no further measures should be taken to reduce the prestige of the viceregal capital.76 Persistent nervousness in Lima and Madrid about the boundaries of the diocese of Cusco and, from 1787, the jurisdiction of the audiencia reflected in general terms continuing doubts about the loyalty of the city and its hinterland in the aftermath of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru. They also arose from specific concerns about the role played in the planning of the insurgency by the city’s arequipeño bishop, Moscoco, who was widely suspected of having

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

41

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

encouraged Túpac Amaru to execute Arriaga, with whom the bishop had had prolonged disagreements in the 1770s.77 Cusco’s first intendant, Mata Linares, was convinced of Moscoso’s complicity in the rebellion – and, indeed, that of several prominent creole families close to the bishop – arguing in 1784 that ‘mientras el señor Moscoso viva, o al menos permanezca en esta parte de América, habrán conspiraciones. Su corazón está lleno de odio a España’.78 Convinced that the authorities in Lima were not fully aware of the seriousness of the security situation in Cusco, Mata drew the conclusion in 1785 that ‘aquí se rien de las ordenes del rey’.79 The paranoid Gálvez was probably more convinced than Escobedo and Croix of the accuracy of these charges, but such was the symbolic and real authority of a bishop that he took note of Croix’s advice that hasty action ‘inflamaría y reviviría el grito de rebelión’.80 Moscoso was summoned to Madrid in 1786, therefore, but instead of being prosecuted was transferred in 1789 to the rich Spanish diocese of Granada. His replacement in Cusco, the Andalusian-born Bartolomé María de las Heras, a future archbishop of Lima, was precisely the sort of ‘eclesiástico diplomático e instruido, quien con su prudencia, tacto y afabilidad calmara las mentes de sus habitantes’ called for by Croix in 1786.81 Following the transfer of the belligerent Mata to the regency of the audiencia of Buenos Aires, relationships between his successors Corral and Ruiz, both of whom were peninsula-born military men, and the new bishop of Cusco were generally good: all three men saw themselves as essentially representatives of the crown, entrusted with repressing both indigenous insurgency and creole conspiracy.82 At the parochial level, during the disturbances of the early 1780s and to a greater extent in 1810–1824 some lower clergy emerged as champions of insurgency and, to some degree, of the lower classes. However, the majority continued to identify with the white minority of Spanish Americans, while the church as an institution, as represented by the predominantly peninsular higher clergy, recognized that its general role was to serve the colonial state. The crown for its part, although capable, as the consolidation policy of 1804– 1808 demonstrated, of taking this loyalty for granted, tended in return to respect at least the outward trappings of episcopal authority. At the macrolevel then, as we have seen, despite occasional confrontations with individual prelates, episcopal sensitivities were usually respected, and existing diocesan boundaries were a powerful constraint upon the ability of a regalist monarchy, even at the height of the implementation of its reform programme in the 1780s, to draw secular administrative boundaries along rational, coherent lines. At the micro-level each diocese was divided, of course, into parishes, each served by one or more curas, the more influential or ambitious of whom might aspire to appointment to the cathedral chapter of the diocesan capitals. By the late-eighteenth century, the doctrinas of the religious orders – which in the sixteenth century had provided the initial impetus for the conversion of the indigenous population – had been relegated to the more remote frontier territories (such as the vast region of eastern Peru entrusted from 1734 to the Franciscan missionary college of Ocopa), although the principal religious

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

42

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



orders – Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians, Mercedarians, and (until 1767) Jesuits – also had urban parishes, linked to their convents. In rural Peru the cura fulfilled a variety of rôles: his primary responsibility was to preach and administer the sacraments, but he also supervised moral behaviour, provided elementary education and social services, and in a vague way acted as the watchdog of the state over not only potentially disorderly indigenous communities but also other crown representatives – including caciques, corregidores, subordinate treasury officials, militia officers – for whom the formal apparatus of secular control provided few constraints. To some extent these various local officials acted as checks on each other as they competed to exploit and control the labour and resources of the rural population through the imposition of parochial fees and tribute, the intensification of the repartimiento, the alienation of community lands, and related devices. Detailed studies of how late-colonial society functioned at this level are rare. However, one persuasive analysis of the diocese of Cusco and its 136 parishes in the 1780–1814 period confirms the view that the competition for resources between curas and subdelagados in particular, within the wider context of the conflict between royal and ecclesiastical jurisdictions over issues such as the fuero eclesiástico, turned some clergy into supporters of insurgency by the earlynineteenth century but also, by dividing the local elite, weakened it as a creole and/or regional force against peninsular authority.83 The overall result of the intensification of absolutism in Peru in the 1770s and 1780s – the reform of the audiencias, the introduction of the intendancies, the consolidation of the militia structure, the regalist onslaught on church privileges and immunity, and so on – was to make metropolitan authority over Peru’s creole population more visible and more effective in the viceregal capital and, to a lesser degree, in other cities and towns. There is some evidence, however, that the process had the contradictory effect of weakening the crown’s moral authority in the eyes of creoles who saw their access to high office diminish as their technical qualifications for it increased.84 At a different level, there were also a series of well-publicised conflicts between the new officials and organizations and the old – audiencias, viceroys, cabildos, for example – over privileges, ceremonial, and jurisdiction. Prior to the death of Gálvez in 1787 – followed by that of Charles III in 1788 – the metropolitan government tended to uphold the authority of the intendants, but thereafter a certain decline in imperial government at its source set in, particularly during the primacy in Madrid of Manuel de Godoy in 1792–1798 and, again in 1801– 1808.85 Examples abound of an increasing tendency towards corruption and loss of direction in imperial policy, particularly during the second of these periods: in 1802, for example, in an echo of the sale of office of the earlyeighteenth century, the cabildo of Lima had restored to it powers removed by Escobedo to exercise full control over the collection and disbursement of municipal taxes (propios and arbitrios), five days before the treasurer in Madrid of the Philippines Company made on its behalf a donation of 100,000 pesos to the crown as a ‘demostración de su lealtad’.86

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

43

9/2/03, 12:51



  ‒

Beyond Lima, in the remote rural communities where the cura might be the only visible symbol of Spanish authority, there is some evidence that the first generation of intendants tried hard to prevent their subordinates – the subdelegados and their agents – from perpetuating the socio-economic abuses associated with the corregidores, most notably the repartimiento. They did so from the outset with two enormous disadvantages. The first was a tacit belief among administrators and merchants in Lima, shared to some extent even by Escobedo, that for economic reasons some mechanisms had to be preserved for the distribution to communities of merchandise on credit.87 The other was Gálvez’s decision, taken on grounds of economy, that, unlike the intendants who received annual salaries of 6,000 pesos, the subdelegados should not receive any remuneration other than three per cent of the tribute that they collected.88 Faced with a chorus of complaints from all parts of America about the consequential impossibility of enforcing the abolition of the repartimiento, the crown ordered viceroys in 1790 to draw up schemes for paying salaries to what would have become a subordinate group of professional administrators.89 Following extensive discussions in Lima, a plan submitted to Madrid in 1796 by viceroy Gil, proposing a three-tier structure of subdelegacies with annual salaries of 1,200, 1,800 and 2,400 pesos respectively was incorporated in the new ordinance of intendants of 1803, which was designed to update the original 1782 ordinance for the Río de la Plata, used hitherto as the model for the functioning of the intendancies in Peru and New Spain.90 However, while preparations were being made for the application of the new ordinance, it was abruptly withdrawn early in 1804, following inter-departmental disputes in Madrid about the articles dealing with the intendants’ military responsibilities.91 The inevitable consequence of the failure to provide subdelegates with salaries was that they continued to rely upon fees, commissions, and illegal earnings for their maintenance, as the Spanish government showed itself incapable of coming to grips with the problem of providing honest, efficient and progressive government at a local level. Examples abound of complaints that the repartimiento and other abuses persisted after 1784, perhaps even more intensively than in the earlier period, particularly as viceroys frequently refused to support intendants who tried to observe the letter of the law by seeking the dismissal of subdelegates who abused their positions. To give just one example: in 1797 viceroy Osorno (1796–1801) accused the intendant of Trujillo, Vicente Gil, of insubordination when he threatened to inform the Madrid authorities of the viceroy’s refusal to dismiss the subdelegate of Piura (Joaquín de Rosillo Velarde) for having imposed illegal taxes in his partido.92 In this particular case a new viceroy was probably trying to demonstrate his superiority over the nephew of his predecessor, but the general point remains that viceroys in general had a vested interest in trying to reduce the prestige of intendants. The Council of the Indies, for its part, decided in 1807 to issue no further declarations that the repartimiento was illegal, despite continuing complaints of its persistence, because it had already made its policy clear on

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

44

9/2/03, 12:51

,    



several previous occasions.93 The result of this abdication of authority in both Lima and Madrid, was that intendants, too, tended to resign themselves to the fact that subdelegados could not be controlled effectively, that their appointments were seen as opportunities for profit, and, inevitably, therefore, that the illegal sale of office also became once again a feature of local government in Peru. Viceroy Avilés, for example, complained in 1802 of the ‘comercio público y escandoloso’ whereby intendants sold nominations to subdelegacies for 4,000–6,000 pesos, the price varying according to the opportunities for subsequent profit at the expense of the Indians.94 Similarly, the president of Cusco, Francisco Muñoz (1806–1809) reported in 1808 that he had received several offers to purchase the vacant subdelegacy of Abancay, thereby receiving confirmation of the allegation that he had heard as he was travelling from Buenos Aires to take up his post that in Peru these appointments were sold ‘como peras en el mercado’.95 In 1810 the standards of local administration in Peru were little better – in some respects they were worse – than those which had caused widespread popular protest in the late-eighteenth century. The problem of providing honest, progressive and efficient government at a local level was one which the crown was unable to solve. To a considerable degree responsibility lay with the crown, due to its failure to face up to the fact that local officials denied adequate, legal incomes would obtain money by illegal means. It lay, too, with some intendants, who either governed corruptly themselves or tolerated corruption in their subdelegates. But those intendants who attempted to control the activities of their subdelegates by removing offenders from office found their freedom of action increasingly restricted by viceroys, more concerned with controlling patronage than with supporting the intendants’ efforts to improve administrative standards. In many cases attempts to discipline subdelegates turned into sterile trials of strength between intendant and viceroy, or intendant and audiencia. The consequence was that in Peru popular discontent with fiscal and judicial maladministration was a significant cause of the insurgency that occurred from 1810, particularly in the Cusco rebellion of 1814–1815. The only qualifications to make at this stage are, first, that the protection offered to the rural population after independence was even more inadequate than in the late-colonial period, and, second, that the socio-racial dimension of insurgency prior to 1824 had the perverse effect of strengthening Spanish authority by dissuading conservative creoles in Peru from giving wholehearted support to independence. Notes 1 In 1787, for example, the consulado of Lima complained bitterly that the opening of Buenos Aires to direct trade with Spain had led to the flooding of Peru with cheap European imports and the extraction of its circulating capital, and demanded a complete ban on trade between Buenos Aires and Peru: consulado to Escobedo, 5 May 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 1111.

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

45

9/2/03, 12:52



  ‒

2 An obvious exception was the military reorganization undertaken by Amat, which will be examined in some detail later in this chapter. 3 Sound coverage of this issue is provided by A. Moreno Cebrián, ‘La linea reformista peruana en la dotación de corregidores y extinción de repartos’, in Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su Tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión de Túpac Amaru, 1982, pp. 379–406. 4 Quoted in Moreno Cebrián’s introduction, p. 81, to Manso, Relación. In his own account of his period of office, Amat overlooked his own failure to impose further reform and blamed Manso for all abuses reporting that ‘Los Aranceles formados sólo sirven para el cargo de Alcabalas, pero de ningún modo para el arreglo de sus procedimientos, pues cada Corregidor reparte lo que le parece y a los precios a que le induce su mal reglado autoridad y arbitrio’: M. de Amat y Junient, Memoria del gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and F. Pérez Embid, Seville, Escuela de Estudios HispanoAmericanos, 1947, p. 189. 5 Pérez Bustamente, ‘El reinado de Fernando VI’ provides a coherent survey of these issues’. 6 See Appendix 2 for further details of Areche’s career. The standard account of his activities in Peru is provided by V. Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, AES, Vol. 3, 1946, pp. 271–376. 7 A good survey of his activities there is provided by M. Molina Martínez, Antonio de Ulloa en Huancavelica, Granada, Universidad de Granada, 1995. 8 The failure of earlier attempts to reform the mercury industry is explained in Pearce, ‘Huancavelica 1700–1759’. 9 Ulloa to Arriaga, 15 Aug. 1762, AGI, Lima, leg. 775. 10 Ulloa’s relations with Amat are discussed in Rodríguez Casado and Pérez Embid, ‘Estudio preliminar’ to Amat, Memoria, pp. xciii–cvii. 11 Gálvez to Areche, 17 May and 20 June 1776, AGI, Lima, leg. 1082. 12 A sound overview of the origins and aims of the intendant system is provided by L. Navarro García, Intendencias en Indias, Seville, Escuela de Estudios HispanoAmericanos, 1959. 13 Burkholder and Chandler, From Impotence to Authority provides an authoritative overview of this situation. 14 Campbell, ‘A Colonial Establishment’, p. 10. The appendix to this article (pp. 21–25) details the careers, connections and property interests of the judges, drawn largely from ‘Plan del tiempo de servicio que tiene cada uno de los señores Ministros de esta Real Audiencia’, 20 Feb. 1778, AGI, Lima, leg. 1082. 15 See Appendix 4 for further details of his career. 16 Ibid. The difficulty faced by the crown in keeping even these officials aloof from local interests is illustrated by the fact that both Arredondo and Jacot married into prominent Peruvian families, although in the case of the latter the ceremony was held by proxy (Jacot was represented at it by the prominent limeño merchant the Conde de San Isidro in his marriage to María López de Maturana) following his return to Madrid and the death of his first wife. 17 See Appendix 5 for further details. The creation of the Cusco tribunal together with the establishment in 1783 of new audiencias in Buenos Aires and Caracas, helped ease the promotion blockage resulting from the undisciplined sale of office in the earlier period. At a different level, the transfer of senior oidores from America to the Council of the Indies not only made the Council more efficient but also gave it an enhanced understanding of how judicial corruption had functioned in the past. 18 Burkholder and Chandler, From Impotence to Authority, pp. 386–87. As their summary of Goyeneche’s career shows (p. 151), it is facile, of course, to regard all creoles as

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

46

9/2/03, 12:52

,    

19 20 21 22 23 24

25 26 27

28 29 30

31

32 33

34 35



potentially sympathetic to local as opposed to crown interests: Goyeneche, who served as oidor in Lima (1813–1819) following his initial period of office in Cusco, and his family were staunch supporters of the royalist cause during the revolutionary period, and, like a considerable number of other conservative creoles, he retired to Spain following the 1821 declaration of independence in Peru. Details of the ‘transformation’ are in M. A. Burkholder, ‘From Creole to Peninsular: the Transformation of the Audiencia of Lima’, HAHR, Vol. 52, 1972, pp. 395–415. See Apppendix 1 for further details of Guirior’s career. Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, p. 25. The standard work on the background to and consequences of the separation of Upper Peru is Céspedes, ‘Lima y Buenos Aires’. Areche to Gálvez, 20 Jan. 1799, quoted in Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, p. 32. Ibid. Areche to Gálvez, 12 May 1780, quoted in F. A. Loayza, Preliminares del incendio, Lima, Domingo Miranda, p. 128. For further details of the 1780 disturbances see chapter 5 and D. P. Cahill, ‘Taxonomy of a Colonial ‘Riot’’, in Fisher, Kuethe and McFarlane, eds., Reform and Insurrection, pp. 255–91. Gálvez to Croix, 28 March 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640. See Appendix 1 for further details of his career. The bishop of Arequipa, for example, had warned in an informe of 10 April 1776 (AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1713) of the dangers of allowing the repartimiento system to continue, but Guirior’s complacent response to a royal order of 12 January 1777, to investigate his complaints had been an assurance that the reported abuses no longer existed: Guirior to Gálvez, 27 Oct. 1777, AGI, Indiferente General 1713. This version of events was contradicted by detailed reports supplied to the bishop of Arequipa in 1778 by curas throughout his diocese: the cura of Chivay informed him on 16 July 1778, for example, that the repartimiento not only led the corregidores into sin but also caused ‘grabissimas, lamentables y fatales consequencias para los miserables e infelices Indios’ (BNP, MS C4014). For more detailed discussion of this theme see Fisher, ‘La rebelión de Túpac Amaru’. Areche to Gálvez, 12 April 1780, quoted in Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, p. 45. Gálvez decided in September 1781 to recall Areche and transfer command of the visita general to Jorge Escobedo, who had been conspicuously more successful in fulfilling his commission as subdelegate of the visita in Potosí: ibid., pp. 50–55. See Appendix 2 for further details of his career. Jáuregui to cabildo eclesiástico of Humanga, 20 December 1780 (enclosing a copy of his decree of 18 December), AHMH, Colección Santamaría, MS 00126. An eye-witness account of the hanging of Arriaga was provided in 1783 by Antonio de Figueroa, a peninsular-born soldier held in the rebel camp: ‘… sumaria reservada resivida pr el s’or Oydor Dn Benito de la Mata Linares s’re averiguar el orig’n del Infame Josef Gabriel Túpac Amaru…’, AGI, Cusco, leg. 31. Avilés to Gálvez, 30 September 1782, AGI, Lima, leg. 618. There is some evidence that the exiled Peruvian Jesuit, Juan Pablo Viscardo y Guzmán, tried in September 1781 to interest British consular officials in Italy in the rather fantastic possibility of aiding Túpac Amaru in exchange for commercial concessions in an independent Peru: M. Batllori, El abate Viscardo, Caracas, Instituto Panamericano de Geografía e Historia, 1953, pp. 198–200, 204–11. See, too, B. Lewin, La rebelión de Túpac Amaru y los orígines de la independencia de Hispanoamérica, Buenos Aires, Libreria Hachette, 1957, pp. 277, 287–88. Avilés to Gálvez, 28 January 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 618; Gálvez to Croix, 28 March, 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640. Gálvez to Croix, 28 March 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640.

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

47

9/2/03, 12:52



  ‒

36 Gálvez to Avilés, 22 September 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640. 37 Croix, Memoria, pp. 70–71 in Memorias de los virreyes que han gobernado el Peru, ed. M. Fuentes, Lima, F. Bailly, 6 vols., 1859, vol. 5. 38 Escobedo to Croix, 1 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117; decree of Croix, 7 July 1784, AHMH, leg. 51. 39 Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. 40 Escobedo to Croix, 1 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. Gálvez’s first choice for Humanga, the peninsular Juan de la Piedra, died on his way to Peru, with the result that it was not until the following year that Manrique was recalled to Lima and replaced by another peninsular, José Menéndez Escalada: see Appendix 6 for further details. 41 For details of the defences, see G. Lohmann Villena, Las defensas militares del Lima y Callao, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1964. 42 L. G. Campbell, The Military and Society in Colonial Peru, 1750–1810, Philadelphia, The American Philosophical Society, 1978, pp. 24–42. 43 Amat, Memoria, pp. 701–819, deals with ‘De la atención, vigilancia y esfuerzo que merece este reyno para su defensa y seguridad y de algunas prevenciones conducentes al real servicio’. 44 Ibid., pp. 713–14; Campbell, The Military and Society, pp. 38–39. 45 The initiation and application of this process elsewhere is explained in several detailed studies, the best of which are A. J. Kuethe, Cuba, 1753–1815, Knoxville, University of Tennessee Press, 1986 and A. J. Kuethe, Military Reform and Society in New Granada, 1773–1808, Gainesville, University Presses of Florida, 1978. 46 L. N. McAlister, The ‘Fuero Militar’ in New Spain, 1764–1800, Gainesville, University Presses of Florida, 1957. 47 See chapter 6. 48 L. G. Campbell, ‘The Army of Peru and the Túpac Amaru Revolt, 1780–1783’, HAHR, Vol. 56, 1976, pp. 31–57 deals specifically with the Túpac Amaru rebellion. See, too, Campbell, Military and Society, pp. 99–153, and Campbell, ‘After the Fall: the Reformation of the Army of Peru, 1784–1816’, Ibero-Amerikanisches Archiv, Vol. 3, 1977, pp. 1–28. 49 Campbell, ‘The Army of Peru’, pp. 48–50. 50 Gálvez to Croix, 28 March 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640, enclosing ‘Informe del Rey a d’n Teodoro de Croix, instruendole de los principales acaecimientos en el Reyno del Peru…’. 51 Marchena Fernández, ‘The Social World of the Military in Peru and New Granada’, in Fisher, Kuethe, and McFarlane, eds., Reform and Insurrection, pp. 54–95 provides a detailed analysis of creole participation in the officer corps of the regiment. 52 The deployment of the militia – basically in three commandancies, each overseen by a group of regular officers – is shown by ‘Estado que manifiesta el pie y fuerza de los cuerpos de Milicias Provinciales Disciplinadas y Urbanas de Infantería, Caballería y Dragones, que hay en este Virreynato del Perú’, 19 July 1802, BNP, MS D4717. 53 There is a wide literature upon this topic. Good introductory guides are provided by I. Sánchez Bella, Iglesia y estado en la América española, Pamplona, Editorial Universidad de Navarra, 1990, and A. de la Hera Pérez-Cuesta, Iglesia y corona en la América española, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. The standard source on the Peruvian Church is R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú, Lima, Imprenta Santa María, 5 vols., 1953–1962. 54 Viceroy Croix devoted particular attention to this theme in a general 1789 attack on the intendancies and a call for the restoration of corregidores in Peru: Croix to Valdés, 16 May 1789, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1714. 55 The Upper Peruvian bishops attended a separate provincial council in La Plata. Details of the Lima council are in Amat, Memoria, pp. 79–85.

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

48

9/2/03, 12:52

,    



56 This theme is developed in Cahill, ‘Curas and Social Conflict’. See, too, M. J. Aparicio Vega, El clero patriota en la revolución de 1814, Cusco, Multi-Impresos, 1974. 57 A succinct summary of this complex process and a guide to sources for further information is provided by R. Liehr, ‘Endeudamiento estatal y credito privado: la consolidación de vales reales en Hispanoamérica’, AES, Vol. 41, 1984, pp. 553–78. 58 Ibid., pp. 569–72. Once salaries and commissions had been deducted, the crown received 14 million pesos from the consolidación, remitted to Spain in the form of libranzas. 59 By the late-eighteenth century there were 42 dioceses in Spanish America as a whole, of which 31 dated from the sixteenth century, five from the seventeenth, and six from the eighteenth; a final three, including Mainas (1803) were established by Pius VII in 1803– 1806: F. Morales Padrón, Atlas histórico cultural de América, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: Gobierno de Canarias, 2 vols., 1988, vol. 1, pp. 496–99. 60 The diocese was extinguished in 1843, and replaced by that of Chachapoyas: P. Castañeda Delgado and J. Marchena Fernández, La jerarquia de la iglesia en Indias, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992, p. 171. 61 Escobedo to Croix, 1 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. 62 In the province of Lima itself, the viceroy continued to act as vice-patron: Escobedo to Gálvez, 20 Apr. 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1103. Gálvez confirmed the visitador’s decision to transfer vice-patronage in the province of Tarma to the intendant – he argued that, without it, he would fail to command the respect of the province’s clergy – but it was restored to the viceroy in 1790: Gil to Antonio Porlier, 20 July 1790, acknowledging royal order of 5 January 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 695. 63 See Appendix 6. 64 Escobedo to Gálvez, 20 April 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1103; Croix to Gálvez, 16 November 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 599. 65 Informe of fiscal, 15 Sept. 1786, AHMH, Casa de Moneda, MS 14–63. 66 See Appendix 6. 67 Escobedo to Gálvez, 20 February 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 1103; López to Croix, 5 January 1786, BNP, MS C4555. Márquez, too, was reluctant to get involved, citing both his friendship with Manrique and his duties at Huancavelica as obstacles, but viceroy Croix supported Escobedo and insisted that he accept the commission: Márquez to Croix, 22 November 1785; decree of Croix, 6 December 1785, BNP, MS C4555. 68 See note 64. 69 Auto of real acuerdo, 2 May 1787, AHMH, Casa de Moneda, MS 14–63. 70 Informe of Council of the Indies, 11 March 1793, AGI, Lima, leg. 599. 71 Pedro de Tagle to Croix, 6 October 1790, BNP, MS C1288; acuerdo of audiencia, 24 January 1792, BNP, MS. C3558. 72 Croix, Memoria, pp. 86–88 provides further details, particularly of clashes between intendant Alvarez and successive bishops of Arequipa. 73 Escobedo to Gálvez, 20 January 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1101. 74 This was pointed out by the contador general in Madrid: Francisco Machado to Manuel de Nestares, 17 April 1789, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1713. 75 Real cédula, 1 February 1796, AGI, Lima, leg. 610. 76 Bajamar to Eugenio de Llaguno, 10 October 1795, AGI, Lima, leg. 599. 77 See R. Vargas Ugarte, Por el rey y contra el rey, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1965; L. G. Campbell, ‘Rebel or Royalist? Bishop Juan Manuel de Moscoso y Peralta and the Túpac Amaru Revolt in Peru’, Revista de Historia de América, Vol. 86, 1978, pp. 31–57. 78 Mata to Gálvez, 30 August 1784, AGI, Cusco, leg. 35. 79 Mata to Gálvez, 4 August 1785, AGI, Cusco, leg. 35. 80 Croix to Gálvez, reservada, 20 May 1786, AGI, Cusco, leg. 4.

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

49

9/2/03, 12:52

 81 82 83 84

85 86

87

88 89 90

91

92 93 94 95

EUP_BPeru_03_Ch2

  ‒ Ibid. See Appendix 3 for further details of the careers of Corral and Ruiz. Cahill, ‘Curas and Social Conflict’. An interesting case study is that of José Baquíjano y Carrillo, whose long – and eventually successful – quest for appointment to the audiencia of Lima is examined in M. A. Burkholder, Politics of a Colonial Career: José Baquíjano and the Audiencia of Lima, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, 1980. On Godoy’s career, see C. Seco Serrano, Godoy, el hombre y el político, Madrid, EspasaCalpe, 1978. Royal decree, 23 May 1802, AGI, Lima, leg. 622; certificate of chief accountant of Philippines Company, Madrid, 28 May 1802, AHMH, Libro de Cédulas 27, f.88. See, too, J. P. Moore, The Cabildo in Peru under the Bourbons, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1966, pp. 183–86. In 1784 Escobedo drew up with the consulado of Lima a scheme for socorros, whereby crown officials would distribute mules, iron, tools and other essential goods to Indians on credit: Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1099. However, he was forced to abandon it on the receipt of orders from Madrid ruling out any margin of profit for merchants: Escobedo to Gálvez, 1 April 1786, AGI, Lima, leg. 1107. Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. Royal order, 14 December 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 974. Ordenanza general para el gobierno e instrucción de intendentes, Madrid, Imprenta de la Viuda de Ibarra, 1803, arts. 44–46. Details of the scheme, drawn up for the viceroy by Joaquín Bonet, an official of the tribunal of accounts, are in Bonet to Gil, 29 December 1795, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1525. See, too, G. Morazzani de Pérez Enciso, Las ordenanzas de intendentes de Indias, Caracas, Universidad Central de Venezuela, 1972, and A. Moreno Cebrián, ‘La “Descripción del Perú” de Joaquín de Bonet y la Ordenanza de Intendentes de 1803’, RI, Vol. 149–50, 1977, pp. 732–88. Royal order, 11 January 1804, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1713. According to the intendant of Lima (Juan María Gálvez), it was ‘generalmente conocido’ in Peru that the true reason was Godoy’s annoyance that the new ordinance had been published without his consent: Gálvez to ‘V.A.’, 24 February 1809, Ibid. Vicente Gil to Eugenio de Llaguno, 26 January 1797, AGI, Lima, leg. 763. Informe of Council of the Indies, 7 February 1807, AGI, Lima, leg. 1119. Avilés to Minister of Grace and Justice, 26 October 1802, AGI, Lima, leg. 623. The original report has not been located, but it is referred to in Abascal to the intendant of Huancavelica, 28 June 1808, BNP, MS D10290.

50

9/2/03, 12:52

 

Economy, Demography and Finance

There is a general assumption in the historiography of the Spanish American economy that the eighteenth century witnessed the much closer integration of Spain’s overseas possessions in the material and economic culture of Europe, as well as a deepening of the intellectual and cultural exchange between the old world and the new.1 At the material level the Bourbon period was one in which substantial shifts occurred in the volume of commercial exchange between Europe and America, but primarily in its intensity and its regional distribution, rather than its fundamental nature. For example, the facts that in the early-eighteenth century sugar producers in northern Peru lost their market in Buenos Aires and its hinterland in the face of competition from Brazil, and that in the 1790s Brazil and Cuba supplanted St Domingue as the source of most of the American sugar consumed in Europe were of considerable significance for regional economies, but did not really alter European or American attitudes to the importance and the utility of that commodity.2 In the same way, the fact that in the eighteenth century the silver production of Potosí declined, whereas that of most Mexican mining centres increased, did not significantly affect European views of the intrinsic importance of precious metals (although it did influence the commercial and strategic policies employed in the hope of exchanging European manufactures for American products). For Europe in the eighteenth century, as in the sixteenth and seventeenth, America remained above all a source of the precious metals – mainly silver – which were essential for the functioning of modern capitalism, and for the financing of Europe’s trade with other regions of the world, notably the Far East. In the course of the century, as we shall explain in more detail later in this chapter, official Peruvian silver production remained fairly constant (although there was a relative shift of production from Upper to Lower Peru) at about 10 million pesos a year, while that of New Spain multiplied several times, reaching some 25 million pesos (two-thirds of all Spanish American production) by 1799. These figures exclude silver which was not registered – partly to avoid payment of duties, partly to enable it to enter contraband channels – which, according to contemporary estimates, ranged from 30 per cent to 50 per cent of registered production. Spanish trade with

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

51

9/2/03, 12:53



  ‒

America – theoretically, the only international trade permitted for Peruvians after the first two decades of the eighteenth century when French access to Pacific ports was curtailed – continued to be dominated by the importation through Cádiz of precious metals, even in the period after 1778 when the crown attempted to promote a more liberal policy of comercio libre, in the hope of generating economic growth in regions which had hitherto been neglected by traditional commercial routes, and turning them into sources of raw materials for Spanish industry, and consumers of its products.3 During the period 1782–1796, when the absence of major conflicts between Spain and Britain allowed Spanish merchants to trade with America without the fear of their ships being attacked, the value of Spanish exports to and imports from Spanish America increased dramatically compared with the levels achieved in 1778, the year of the proclamation of the reglamento de comercio libre: on average, in this period exports from Spain to America grew by 400 per cent, and imports into Spain from America by over 1000 per cent.4 Although the relative importance of precious metals in imports declined, gold and silver continued to represent no less than 56 per cent of the value of American imports into Spain in these years, followed (a very long way behind) by tobacco (14 per cent), cacao (eight per cent), indigo (five per cent), cochineal (four per cent), sugar (three per cent), hides (three per cent), and a bewildering array of other American products, including cascarilla, dye-wood, cotton, copper, vicuña wool, herbs and spices, and medicinal products. In the eighteenth century, as before, Cádiz – which continued to dominate trade with Peru, despite the grant of permission to other Spanish ports to trade directly with the Pacific – acted essentially as an entrepôt, in which these American goods were exchanged for the manufactured goods of the nonIberian world, which were then re-exported to America. The impact upon the material culture of Europe of American products unknown before 1492 – for example, tobacco, potatoes, tomatoes, chocolate, and maize – need not detain us here for their assimilation into the European diet had already occurred before the Bourbon period; the same is broadly true of products such as sugar and spices, which, although not entirely unknown in Europe before the discovery of America, gradually ceased to be luxuries and became items of popular consumption in the Hapsburg era. Some significant changes in European diet owing to American influences did occur in the eighteenth century, although perhaps for social rather than economic reasons: the increase in coffee consumption, for example. As contemporary observers never tired of pointing out, Peru was capable of producing excellent coffee and an enormous range of other agricultural goods, but the high cost of transporting them to the European market meant that the majority could not compete with those from other American sources.5 Overall, despite regional variations, Iberoamerica was able to intensify dramatically in the course of the eighteenth century the production and distribution to Europe – via both legal and contraband channels – of the raw materials urgently required by the expanding textile industries of England, France, Germany, and the Nether-

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

52

9/2/03, 12:53

,   



lands (and, within Spain, of Catalonia) – cotton, indigo, cochineal, dye-wood – and the other primary products, particularly cattle hides, required for consumption in societies which were shifting their socio-economic focus from the countryside to the town, thereby increasing the demand for factory production. The reverse of this equation was that efficient factory production in eighteenth-century Europe required not only guaranteed supplies of raw materials, but also access to overseas markets which would generate the profits to purchase raw materials (and permit the accumulation of capital, for both conspicuous consumption and investment). This motivation – the desire for access to American markets whether through Cádiz, through special permits for direct trade (the asiento de negros, for example), or through contraband – was, as we have seen, a significant factor in the major international wars and diplomatic struggles of the first half of the eighteenth century. However, with the benefit of hindsight we may be justified in concluding that its importance was exaggerated, for in reality the Spanish American market for European goods had a limited capacity, owing to its relatively small consumer population. One authoritative estimate suggests, for example, that by the end of the eighteenth century Britain was exporting 35–40 per cent of its total industrial production: of these exports 33 per cent were absorbed by the European market, 27 per cent went to the United States, and about 40 per cent (that is 10 per cent of total industrial production) went to ‘all parts of the world’, a vague category which included Africa and India as well as Iberoamerica.6 This meant that the Iberoamerican market, although important to Britain, was never so vital as to be of overriding significance in the definition and financing of commercial policy. The same argument applies with even greater force to other European countries – France and the Netherlands, for example – which were less dependent than Britain upon industrial production (and, therefore, export markets) in the eighteenth century. For Spain and Portugal, by contrast, America continued to serve even in the eighteenth century, despite some limited industrial development within the Iberian countries, essentially as a market for surplus agricultural and viticultural products. For Adam Smith, the detail was less important than the principle: in his famous book An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776) he described the discovery of America as one of the two greatest events in the history of mankind (the other being the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope). However, in his view, although the colonies established in America had become of economic importance to Europe, they were not necessary for the survival of European society.7 Montesquieu, and other thinkers of the early-Enlightenment disagreed: for them, as for Spanish arbitristas of the 1740s and statesmen such as Aranda and Gálvez, the essential function of the American possessions was to serve as economic off-shoots of the mother countries, providing them with taxation revenues and raw materials, and receiving their manufactures. It is appropriate, therefore, to give some attention

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

53

9/2/03, 12:53



  ‒

to the political and economic policies developed in Madrid in the eighteenth century in an attempt to turn this mercantilist dream into reality – and equally important, to consider Peruvian reactions to the fiscal and economic aspects of the new-style absolutism imposed upon the viceroyalty from above. The Bourbon reforms in Peru, as elsewhere in Spanish America, formed a complex mesh of administrative, fiscal, judicial and military changes. Although it is difficult to isolate particular features of imperial policy which might be considered of paramount importance, it is probably legitimate to suggest that the improvement of imperial defences was the major goal, particularly after the end of the Seven Years War in 1763, and that the generation of additional revenues for the crown was less an end in itself than a means of paying for the fulfilment of the primary aim of making the empire more secure against the threat of foreign intrusion. Even in New Spain, where external security was not perceived to be a major problem (except, of course, on the northern frontier), this linkage remained, for surplus revenues from this wealthy viceroyalty were used to pay for the defence of Cuba, Florida and other vulnerable outposts in the Caribbean. Additional revenues could be generated by both increased efficiency in the collection of taxation and by the promotion of economic growth: through the liberalization of trade; the modernization of the mining industry; and the stimulation of agricultural production, which for over two centuries had been regarded as of secondary importance by central government in Madrid if not by local interests in America. The one area of economic activity which was not regarded as a priority by imperial policymakers in the Bourbon period was industrial growth, for Spain, in common with the other colonial powers of the eighteenth century, looked to the ideal of making its overseas possessions sources of primary products for the mother country, and closed markets for metropolitan producers of both agricultural goods unavailable in America and industrial products. In this chapter, therefore, I will consider, first, both the results of the attempts of Spain to achieve these goals in late-colonial Peru through the relative liberalization of trade, and the impact of metropolitan economic and commercial policies upon the condition of agriculture and industry; second, the policies adopted towards the mining industry and their consequences; and, finally, the impact of growth in these various sectors of the economy, coupled with fiscal restructuring and innovation, upon the state of the viceregal exchequer. Before we look at these topics, it is relevant to provide a brief overview of demographic trends, which were of crucial importance in the expansion of internal markets and the labour force, and, therefore, in the generation of the economic growth which underpinned fiscal expansion. In colonial Spanish America – and to some extent even in the Spanish America of the late-twentieth century – the close correlation between population censuses and the collection of taxes means that official figures probably understate the real size of the population. For the adult males of the indigenous population in particular the direct relationship between being registered and having to pay the tribute, as well as becoming liable to perform either the mita

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

54

9/2/03, 12:53

,   



or some other form of labour service for the state and/or private individuals, also provoked widespread internal migration, which the colonial authorities were virtually powerless to quantify, let alone control.8 Consequently, the population figures available to the colonial authorities were at worst deliberately distorted (usually downwards) by local officials as a consequence of incompetence and fiscal fraud, or, at best, educated guesses. Despite this broad difficulty, however, there is a considerable amount of qualitative information available to indicate that the Bourbon period in Spanish America as a whole witnessed progressive demographic growth from a figure of approximately 10 million inhabitants in 1700 – of whom 700,000 (seven per cent) were defined as españoles, 500,000 (five per cent) as blacks, and the remainder as Indians and castes – to nearly 17 million at the end of the eighteenth century and 19 million by about 1820.9 Everywhere, population growth was particularly rapid from about 1750, at the rate of 0.8 per cent a year – roughly twice that in contemporary Europe – in part because of heavy immigration from Spain (by 1800 the number of españoles had grown by nearly 500 per cent to a total of over three million) but also because of the stabilization of the numbers of Indians, and the growth of the mixed race population: Indians and castes numbered nearly 13 million (compared with nine million in 1700) by 1800; by the same date the population of blacks, slave and free, was estimated at 776,000 (four per cent), but would grow to over two million by 1820 largely because of the rapid expansion of the African slave trade during the first decade of the nineteenth century.10 By the 1790s the truncated viceroyalty of Peru was in demographic terms – as in so many others – very much of secondary importance after New Spain. The viceregal-wide census, begun in 1791 and completed in 1792 during the viceregency of Gil, which was based to some extent upon the provincial visitas undertaken by the intendants and their subordinates after 1784, showed a total population of 1,076,122, of whom 608,000 (57 per cent) were categorized as Indians.11 The widespread belief among contemporaries that these figures were incomplete seemed to be borne out by more detailed statistics produced in 1795 by Joaquín Bonet, who provided information on the size, economy, and population of each partido – based upon the most recent revisitas of tributaries undertaken by local officials – as part of his plan to provide subdelegates with salaries related to the resources of individual partidos.12 Bonet’s figures showed a total population of 1,115,207, of whom 648,615 (58 per cent) were categorized as Indians, 244,313 (22 per cent) as mestizos, 140,890 (13 per cent) as españoles, and 81,389 (seven per cent) as blacks (of whom 40,385 were slaves and the remainder free).13 In global terms, the viceroyalty contained less than 20 per cent of the population of New Spain, but in relative terms the whites (españoles) were even more of a minority: in New Spain, as Humboldt showed, they made up 16 per cent of the total population, but Peru’s figure was closer to that for Jamaica (10 per cent).14. Moreover, in Peru the Indians, who made up 58 per cent of the total population, as opposed to 41 per cent in New Spain, had retained to a much greater degree both their racial identity, as

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

55

9/2/03, 12:53



  ‒

well as their spatial separation from the ‘Spanish’ population, which tended to be clustered on the coast rather than being spread evenly throughout the viceroyalty. One has to remember, of course, that these classifications represented social and even fiscal attitudes, rather than attempts to secure rigid measurements of the racial composition of society: an ‘Indian’ for example was required to pay tribute but not the ecclesiastical tithe; a mestizo, by contrast, was exempt from registration as a tributary (despite Areche’s injudicious order in November 1779 that cholos, mestizos, and other castes should be included in the new revisitas), but was obliged to pay other taxes.15 The classification of individuals reflected, therefore, the often arbitrary decisions of local officials about fiscal categories, particularly with respect to the status of mixed-race groups, rather than institutionalized racism.16 Nevertheless, it is relatively easy to understand both the disdain for the Indian and the socioracial isolation of the relatively self-contained 20,000 españoles who resided in the city of Lima in the late-eighteenth century, alongside 4,000 Indians, 5,000 mestizos, 10,000 free blacks, and 13,000 slaves. In some of the smaller cities of the highlands, however, españoles were literally surrounded by Indians and necessarily formed much closer social and economic relationships with them than did their fellow-whites on the coast: in the city of Huamanga, for example, a mere 300 españoles rubbed shoulders with 7,000 Indians and mestizos, and in another provincial capital, Tarma (which had 1,700 españoles, 19,000 Indians and 14,000 mestizos), the proportions were similar. Everywhere in Peru whites were outnumbered by Indians, castes and blacks, by a factor that ranged from a high of 20:1 in the province of Huamanga (5,507 españoles in a total population of 109,185) to a low of 3.5:1 in the province of Arequipa (138,136:39,587). The 1795 census – or to be more precise the 1792 population survey that formed the basis for it – has been used as the starting-point for the relatively few serious studies of Peru’s demographic evolution in the late-colonial and early-republican periods produced by twentieth-century scholars.17 It also underpinned the 1812 ‘census’ theoretically undertaken on the orders of viceroy Abascal, which seems to have relied less upon detailed recounting of individuals at the local level than upon simply reproducing the 1795 data for the non-Indian segments of the population, and manipulating those for the Indian population by applying suspiciously uniform multipliers to the 1795 figures for each group of subdelegacies within each of the viceroyalty’s intendancies: the consequential increases in the estimated provincial populations ranged from a low of three per cent in the intendancy of Cusco to a high of 134 per cent in that of Huancavelica.18 Similarly, the 1795 figures were reproduced with only minor variations for the southern departments of Peru in the country’s first republican census (that of 1836) – albeit with the incorporation of data for the province of Puno (whose total population was reported in 1836 to number 156,000, the vast majority – over 90 per cent – categorised as Indians) – which, as part of the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata in 1792/1795

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

56

9/2/03, 12:53

,   



had been excluded from the Peruvian count. In the event it would not be until 1876 that the country would undertake its first rigorous attempt to count its population, producing a figure (2,487,916) twice as large as that recorded in 1795.19 It is rather more difficult to make direct comparisons between the demographic profile of the viceroyalty in the 1790s and that of the early-eighteenth century, for, despite the ubiquity of information at the parochial level about births, marriages, confirmations and deaths in the Hapsburg period, and occasional attempts by colonial officials prior to 1792 to incorporate demographic information into general descriptions of the viceroyalty – for example, in the pamphlets entitled Conocimiento de los tiempos that the cosmographer Cosme Bueno published in Lima in 1763–1778, which contained population data presumably acquired by him from the corregidores – very few attempts were made to undertake general censuses of even the indigenous population until the crown embarked from 1776 upon a deliberate policy of initiating a series of population counts in Spanish America as a whole.20 The principal and most significant exception in Bourbon Peru to the general lack of interest in demographic enquiry prior to the late-eighteenth century was the census of the Indian population undertaken on the order of viceroy Castelfuerte between 1726 and 1739 in the wake of a prolonged (1718–1723) epidemic that killed at least an estimated 200,000 inhabitants in Peru and Upper Peru.21 Although this census, designed essentially to produce up-to-date lists of tributaries, was incomplete when Castelfuerte left Peru in 1736 – and ground to a halt in 1739 under Villagarcía – it covered virtually all the highland provinces of Upper and Lower Peru as well as two coastal provinces (Santa and Ica) with significant Indian populations, thereby embracing in total almost 70 per cent of the undivided viceroyalty’s territorial jurisdictions. Comprehensive comparisons between its data and those produced in the 1790s are difficult because of the incompleteness of the earlier survey, but where they are possible they confirm the general view that the indigenous population of the viceroyalty had reached its nadir – a total of 613,000 in Lower and Upper Peru – by the 1730s, before beginning from approximately mid-century a gradual process of recovery that would continue for the remainder of the colonial period and throughout the republican era.22 In the diocese of Cusco, for example, Manso reported a total Indian population of 127,569; the 1795 census, which excluded the three partidos in the intendancy of Puno (Azángaro, Carabaya and Lampa – which contained 27,000 Indians according to Manso’s table) showed 151,590, notwithstanding the reported heavy mortality in the region during the rebellion of Túpac Amaru. This increase of 50 per cent in the Indian population of the partidos of the diocese that remained part of the viceroyalty after 1776 was actually rather modest compared with that in the neighbouring diocese of Huamanga, where the mid-century figure of 46,897 Indians had increased to 111,158 (a growth of 133 per cent) by 1795. One direct and obvious consequence of the steady increase in the size of both the total indigenous population and, therefore, the registered tributary

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

57

9/2/03, 12:53



  ‒

population was a steady increase in the yield of tribute revenues, particularly in the period following the establishment in Lima of the contaduría de tributos by Escobedo during the visita general: between 1780 and 1811, as regular revisitas occurred in the partidos under the jurisdiction of the subdelegates and their agents, this tax yielded a total of 32 million pesos for the viceregal exchequer, with the annual income rising steadily from 630,000 pesos in 1780 to 1,277,000 in 1811, when it was formally abolished.23 Of course, as is wellknown, the egalitarian decision of the Cortes of Cádiz in 1811 to extinguish this basic source of income precisely at the time when viceroy Abascal was faced with the need to increase military expenditure was only partially observed in Peru – as was its subsequent decree of 1812 abolishing the mita and personal service – as local officials continued to collect the tax in the guise of a ‘voluntary contribution’ until its restoration in March 1815.24 The hardpressed viceregal exchequer, in fact, saw its income from the voluntary contributions and the collection of arrears of tribute outstanding from earlier years fall to 320,000 pesos in 1812 – a mere 25 per cent of the sum received in 1811 – but it is likely that the principal beneficiaries of the benevolent intentions of the Cortes were the subdelegates and their subordinates, who tried to continue making collections without passing on the proceeds to the exchequer, rather than the indigenous communities of Peru.25 The continuing pusuit of debtors in the two subsequent years yielded a further 300,000 pesos, but Abascal’s suggestion to the cabildo of Lima that additional taxes should be imposed on Peru’s non-Indian population to enable him to bridge the fiscal shortfall caused by the abolition of tribute provoked the blunt response that such a policy would turn the viceroyalty’s Spanish minority into a new class of tributaries.26 Precisely such a policy would be adopted after independence, of course, when in the period 1826–1854 the contribución de indígenas – essentially the old tribute – which underpinned the financial structure of the republic in the pre-guano era was balanced, at least in theory, by the imposition of the personal property taxes or income taxes on non-Indians, known collectively as the contribución de castas.27 The second, somewhat contradictory, result of the growth of the Indian population in the second half of the eighteenth century was a growing tendency for españoles – officials and private individuals alike – to insist upon the need to retain semi-coercive measures to incorporate this ever-more obvious Indian majority into the market economy, thereby preventing it from descending into a perceived state of idleness, with consequential damage to the viceregal economy. The tribute and the mita were clearly devices that required Indians to sell their goods and/or their services to meet their obligations to the crown and the state, as, indeed, were parochial dues of various types. The other institution that was justified and defended at one level by contemporary commentators as a means of promoting economic growth – legally until 1780, illicitly thereafter – was the repartimiento, which even officials like Escobedo (who was directly aware of the abuses inherent in the system) were reluctant to abandon entirely: hence his attempts, discussed in the previous chapter, in

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

58

9/2/03, 12:53

,   



1784–1785 to promote the idea of socorros (whereby the merchants of the consulado would receive official support for the distribution of goods on credit to rural communities) prior to receiving the crown’s definitive decision in 1786 that the Indians should not be required to purchase merchandise involuntarily.28 The widespread belief among officialdom in the viceroyalty that this was an unwise outcome was shared by not only the leaders of the consulado but also by some of the (relatively) enlightened officials and intellectuals associated with the progressive Sociedad de Amantes del País of Lima in the early–1790s: for example, in one article on ‘la gente vaga’, published in its journal, the Mercurio Peruano, Lequanda, referred to above, recalled that ‘el amplio permiso que estaba concedido a los corregidores en sus provincias para repartir efectos entre los indios … era otro artículo poderoso que fomentaba los miembros de este comercio’.29 The widespread belief at the very highest levels of the viceregal bureaucracy that the Indians would not be economically active if left to their own devices helps to explain why in practice the repartimiento system survived its formal abolition. In considering the condition of the Peruvian economy in the post-1750 period, as when discussing demographic trends, it is important to place the information available to the historian in the general context provided by recent scholarship on the overall state of the American and Spanish economies in the second half of the eighteenth century and the first decade of the nineteenth century. For the years from about 1810 until the disintegration of Spanish imperialism on the mainland, conversely, the differential impact in Spanish America of the French invasion of Spain and the consequential collapse of the Bourbon monarchy, coupled with the onset of insurgency and civil war in many – but not all – parts of the empire, makes the comparative approach to economic history both more difficult and less meaningful. The first, and most obvious, measure to which one can refer is imperial trade, already discussed briefly in the opening pages of this chapter. As explained, the general features of its expansion in the post–1778 period are now reasonably well-defined. However, attempts to assess it quantitatively in the period prior to the introduction of ‘comercio libre’ are complicated by the fact that the available primary sources – essentially documents relating to ships leaving and entering Cádiz, as well as the records of customs duties collected in American ports – tend to express the details of cargoes in a variety of confused and contradictory ways, recording weights, quantities, volumes, numbers of items, and so on rather than precise values.30 Nevertheless, there is some quantitative and abundant qualitative information available to confirm that in the Hispanic world as a whole the decade or so from 1748 – the year of the signing of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, which brought to an end the War of the Austrian Succession – was characterized by commercial expansion made possible by relatively friendly relations between Spain on the one hand and Britain and Portugal on the other. A major contributory factor was the success of negotiations in Madrid which in 1750 terminated the asiento – which, as noted earlier, had been granted for only 30 years in 1713 – in return

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

59

9/2/03, 12:53



  ‒

for a payment by Spain to the South Sea Company of £100,000. The same year also witnessed the signing of the Treaty of Madrid with Portugal – an event facilitated by the fact that the Spanish king Ferdinand VI (1746–1759) was married to a Portuguese princess, María Bárbara de Braganza – which attempted for the first time to define the boundary between Portuguese and Spanish territory in the Río de la Plata, returning the contraband-dominated outpost of Sacramento to Spain but granting Brazil seven Spanish missions north of the newly-established boundary. The breakdown of this delicate agreement during the Seven Years War (1756–1763), which Spain and Portugal entered on opposite sides in 1762, formed the background, of course, to the eventual formation of the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata in 1776, which would deprive the viceroyalty of Peru of Upper Peru. In the short-term, an immediate result of Spain’s temporary rapprochement with Britain (and Portugal) in the 1750s, and, to a degree, of the moderate regeneration of both financial administration and economic activity in peninsular Spain as a result of the patient restructuring undertaken during the reign of Philip V, was that the value of legal trade between Spain and America began to grow. Between 1710 and 1747, the index of tonnage had increased relatively modestly from a base figure of 100 at the beginning of the century to an average of 160, despite persistent hostilities with Britain, primarily as a consequence of the demand generated by economic growth in America itself. In 1748–1778, by contrast, the index was to rise to 300, a result which leads the principal Spanish authority on the subject to observe that: ‘la tendencia del crecimiento progresivo y continuo, aunque comparativamente más lento en la primera etapa es la característica del siglo XVIII’.31 As ever, precious metals, which represented 76 per cent of total imports in this latter period, were the key, with imports into Cádiz, primarily from New Spain, doubling from an average of 6.9 million pesos a year before 1748 to 13.7 million thereafter. However, an important contributory factor was the decision following the end of the War of Jenkins’ Ear to abandon definitively the galeones in favour of the policy of despatching register ships on a regular basis to Chilean and Peruvian ports, despite pressure from the consulados of Lima and Cádiz for the restoration of isthmian fairs.32 In fact, the crown was firm in resisting this pressure, and one consequence, much to the dismay of the consulado of Lima, of the greater use of the Cape Horn route after 1748 for direct trade with Chile and Peru was the increasing incorporation of Buenos Aires into the imperial trading system, despite its nominal exclusion, as Spanish merchants made some attempts to exploit the opportunities in the Río de la Plata provided by the 1750 abolition of the South Sea Company’s privileges. This was the period in which mercantilist writers such as José del Campillo, borrowing to some extent from the work of Gerónimo de Uztáriz, were calling for radical reorganisation of the imperial commercial system in the interests of tapping the potential of Spain’s American possessions as suppliers of raw materials to the mother country and consumers of Spanish manufactures, goals which could only be achieved, they

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

60

9/2/03, 12:53

,   



argued, by the outright abolition of the Cádiz monopoly and the fleet system.33 Although in 1754 the crown moved in the opposite direction, restoring biannual fleets for Veracruz and trade fairs at Jalapa for the supply of New Spain, the profound trauma and humiliation that Spain suffered during the Seven Years War – in particular the capture of Havana and Manila by British forces – gave the new king, Charles III, and his ministers the sense of purpose and direction required for the formulation and implementation of the allembracing process of modernization which historians refer to as ‘the Bourbon reforms’.34 Initially, Portugal, as Britain’s faithful ally, benefited from the Seven Years War, being allowed by the 1763 Treaty of Paris to retain Sacramento, its outpost opposite Buenos Aires, but, like its protector, was to receive a rude shock to its complacency following the outbreak of the War of United States Independence (1776–1783). As soon as the war commenced Spain took advantage of Britain’s preoccupation in North America and succeeded definitively in driving Portuguese forces back to Brazil, following the establishment in 1776 of the new viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, thereby both bringing about undisputed Spanish dominion over the estuary of the Río de la Plata and ensuring that ‘el virreinato del Perú fue desmembrado para siempre’.35 In this context, the parallel process of liberalizing trade, which had begun cautiously in 1765 and reached a climax in 1778 with the publication of the reglamento, coming as it did in the midst of the visita general and immediately before the outbreak of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, seemed to portend economic ruin for the remnants of the viceroyalty of Peru.36 Recent research indicates that this pessimistic conclusion was ill-founded.37 Some initial scepticism in Peru about the benefits – if any – to be derived from the partial deregulation of trade was understandable, for, although relatively successful in military and diplomatic terms, the entry of Spain in 1779 into the War of American Independence paralysed trade between the peninsula and the Pacific until 1783.38 Moreover, the cessation of hostilities brought in its train perceived problems of a different kind, as the merchants of Cádiz shipped large quantities of manufactures to Callao: in 1785–1787 goods worth 24 million pesos were landed there, and in the same period silver worth over 33 million pesos was shipped back to Cádiz, developments which led the consulado of Lima to complain bitterly in 1787 that the flood of imports had not only saturated the regional market, forcing down prices and profits to unsustainable levels, but was also extracting the viceroyalty’s circulating capital.39 However, the consulado had adopted a hostile stance to the introduction of free trade as early as February 1779, long before these post-war trends could even be anticipated, predicting pessimistically that, far from stimulating commercial activity, the opening of the Río de la Plata and the Pacific ports of Arica, Concepción, Guayaquil, and Valparaíso to direct trade with Spain would reduce the volume of Lima’s trade through Callao to a third of its pre–1778 level.40 The reality is that there were inevitable fluctuations from year-to-year – in 1785, for example, the merchants of Cádiz despatched to Callao cargoes with a registered value (expressed in terms of the official

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

61

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

valuations appended to the 1778 reglamento) of 130 million reales de vellón (6.5 million pesos), whereas two years later their value fell to twelve million reales (600,000 pesos) – but over the period of 12 years up to 1796 exports from Cádiz to Callao had an average wholesale value of 52 million reales (2.6 million pesos).41 The Río de la Plata, by contrast, although an undoubted beneficiary of the introduction of free trade, had despatched to it in the same period cargoes with a registered value of precisely 50 per cent of this figure (312 million reales); similarly, Venezuela was the destination of goods with a value of 293 million reales.42 There are certain difficulties in interpreting these figures – one is that they show only details of exports from Cádiz, and another is that they are expressed in terms of official, wholesale values rather than market prices in America – but they are sufficiently reliable to enable one to conclude that in the period up to 1796 the silver-rich Peruvian market was more important for the merchants of Cádiz (who maintained control of over 80 per cent of exports to and imports from America, despite the opening of other Spanish ports to direct trade) than the Río de la Plata and Venezuela combined.43 It is easy, and necessary, therefore, to refute the myth that the introduction of free trade destroyed the commercial importance of Callao as a destination and that of Lima as a distribution centre, despite the fact, recognised by Escobedo, that, with the opening of Montevideo and Buenos Aires, some European goods could be supplied more cheaply to the southern provinces of Peru overland from the Plate than by the Pacific route.44 An analysis of the return trade – imports into Cádiz from America – confirms the positive outcome for Peru, although less decisively than in the case of exports, for in the period 1782–1796 the viceroyalty’s share of this trade reached 13.8 per cent (of a total that grew more than tenfold compared with 1778), whereas the Río de la Plata secured 12.2 per cent, Venezuela 9.6 per cent and New Granada a mere 3.2 per cent.45 One obvious reason for Peru’s marginally less conspicuous role as an exporter is that whereas imported goods tended to be brought by sea to Callao, some of the silver to pay for them was exported to Spain via Buenos Aires. Peruvian commercial primacy in South America, as measured by trade with Spain, survived in the post-1796 period, too: a recent analysis of exports from Spanish ports to America in 1797–1820 shows that, although the value of registered trade with Pacific ports (of which Callao was by far the most important) declined in absolute terms in this latter period – as a consequence of prolonged warfare between Spain and Britain, the introduction of neutral trade in 1797, and the French occupation of Spain from 1808 – Peru remained a favoured market for Spanish exporters, with Callao alone absorbing 13.5 per cent of all exports and Pacific ports in general 17.4 per cent; the Río de la Plata, by contrast, received 11.5 per cent and Venezuela 6.1 per cent.46 Peru retained this attraction for Spanish exporters in 1797–1820, as in 1785–1796, primarily because of the continuing strength into the second decade of the nineteenth century of its silver-based economy, and the relative firmness with

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

62

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



which its viceroys resisted both contraband and the admission to its ports of neutral ships: Osorno, for example, was one of the few senior colonial officials to welcome the royal order of 20 April 1799, which revoked the 1797 grant of permission to conduct trade between America and Spain in neutral ships, informing the metropolitan government that he had received it ‘con mucho gusto’.47 Moreover, there is some evidence to suggest that the relative importance of Peru as a market increased after 1810 as revolutionary activity in the Río de la Plata encouraged the merchants of Cádiz to despatch their ships direct to Callao rather than via Montevideo or Buenos Aires.48 An analysis of the commodities shipped to Spain from Peru produces few surprises, but it does serve to confirm quantitatively the view of contemporaries about the continuing primacy of precious metals.49 In 1782–1796 gold and silver exports to Spain from the viceroyalty (most of it in the form of silver coins) had an average annual value of 4.4 million pesos, and represented 78.5 per cent of total trade.50 In overall terms exports of precious metals (52 million pesos) represented 78 per cent of registered silver production in the viceroyalty in the same period (66 million pesos), thereby confirming the general assumption of contemporaries that mining output was the key to the value of exports and the principal determinant of the capacity of the Peruvian market to absorb imports from Europe.51 Total exports to Spain in 1782–1796 were valued at 84 million pesos: after silver, cacao – most of which was obtained from Guayaquil in exchange for silver and imported manufactures – made up a further 11 per cent (9.6 million pesos), and cascarilla seven per cent (5.8 million pesos). Given that these three items – precious metals, cacao and cascarilla – accounted for no less than 97 per cent of all exports, it follows that other commodities (mainly copper, vicuña wool, and cotton) were relatively insignificant, though of considerable local importance in the areas where they were produced. Detailed studies of regional economies in late-colonial Peru are conspicuous by their absence. However, there is clear evidence of a dynamic relationship between the increase in silver production at Cerro de Pasco and the transmission there from Lima of imported European goods: as mining expanded, Peruvian regional economies benefited from increased demand for the cloth of Huamanga, the coca of Huánuco, the sugar and aguardiente of Jauja and Huaylas, the aguardiente of Ica, the chilies of Chiquián, and so on. By far the greatest beneficiary, however, was the mercantile community of Lima, whose exports to Cerro de Pasco, as recorded by alcabala accounts, of both imported goods – ‘efectos de Europa’ – and domestic products quadrupled from 101,000 to 417,000 pesos between 1786 and 1795. In 1795 imports from Spain accounted for 49 per cent and local goods for 51 per cent of the merchandise dispatched to the mining centre by merchants in the viceregal capital, so there is clear evidence that each sector benefited in equal measure.52 A similar pattern emerges from an analysis of trade with Hualgayoc, the second mining centre of Peru in the late colonial period. Although the rapid growth in silver production there in the last 30 years of the century

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

63

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

brought immediate and direct benefits for the general agricultural economy of the province of Cajamarca, which had few alternative outlets for its products, as well as for local obrajes, it was the importing sector that profited the most: Lequanda’s 1794 description of the province reports that imports into Cajamarca rose from a value of 50,000 pesos in 1768–1769 to 226,000 pesos in 1788, and that 74 per cent (168,000 pesos) of the latter figure represented imported European goods.53 The mining sector was thus a major consumer of the large volume of manufactured goods imported into Peru from Spain as well as the producer of the silver that underpinned the viceroyalty’s external trade. The reconciliation of this picture of a relatively buoyant viceregal economy in the last quarter of the eighteenth century with the persistent pessimism of the spokesmen of the consulado becomes easier if one recognises that in Peru, as elsewhere in Spanish America, there is some evidence that the profits of trade began to be diverted in the 1780s from established merchants to recent peninsular immigrants, particularly after 1784, when the Cinco Gremios Mayores of Madrid, an organization of Spanish craft guilds that exported textiles, jewellery, and other products to America, established an office in Arequipa and, two years later, one in Lima itself. The Arequipa merchants complained bitterly in 1790 that they were being ruined by the excessive imports of European manufactures for sale at lower prices than local merchants could offer; by 1796 the Arequipa representatives of the Cinco Gremios had expanded their business to such an extent that they were also taking over the distribution of local products – sugar, wines, brandy, and grains – to the still vigorous market in Upper Peru.54 The net result was that local production was stimulated, and the market for Spanish merchandise expanded, but at the expense of those creole interests unwilling to adapt to the new, more competitive environment. Throughout Peru, the greater availability and lower prices of imported manufactures in the 1780s stimulated commercial activity – the number of retail shops in Lima grew by a third, for example – and the production of foodstuffs for the increasingly affluent urban middle and lower classes.55 But what of the impact of free trade upon domestic industry? The consulado again was quite convinced that after 1778 the supply of manufactures through Buenos Aires had not only drastically reduced the Upper Peruvian market for Peruvian cloth, but had also undermined it within Lower Peru by encouraging a tendency for agricultural exports from Arequipa and Cusco to be paid for in part with European textiles, which were cheaper and of better quality than those produced by local obrajes.56 There is no doubt, in fact, that the consulado’s basic observation was accurate: the traditional obrajes of the Cusco region, producing woollen cloth for local consumption and for export to Upper Peru, did, indeed, decline in the last quarter of the eighteenth century, though in 1790 textiles still accounted for 60 per cent of the viceroyalty’s exports to the Río de la Plata (and sugar from Abancay for a further 16 per cent).57 It is also clear that competition from imports was a significant factor

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

64

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



in this decline. Internal factors, however, were probably of greater significance. These included the destruction of obrajes during the Túpac Amaru rising, a change in patterns of commercial activity as Peruvian capitalists shifted their attention from Upper Peru to the expanding mining zones of the centre and north of the viceroyalty, and the abolition of the repartimiento system.58 A further factor that has received less attention than it deserves is that in Peru, as in other parts of Spanish America, the old-style obraje, the large establishment with 200–300 workers, tended to decline in the face of competition from not only imports, but also that from smaller local establishments, chorrillos, producing cheaper cotton cloth for an expanding popular market.59 It is possible, in this context, to suggest that, although the traditional textile industry declined, partly because of the introduction of free trade, other forms of production expanded in response to general economic and commercial growth. This interpretation is borne out by a recent detailed analysis of textile production in the neighbouring province of Huamanga.60 There the obrajes underwent a period of crisis in the early 1780s, less because of the effects of free trade upon the demand for local products than as a result of disruption of the supply of wool from the Collao during the Túpac Amaru rebellion provoked by both insurgency and a simultaneous drought, which, by making pasture unavailable, prevented muleteers from undertaking their normal business. The obraje administrators obtained alternative supplies of wool from central Peru – mainly from Jauja – but its inferior quality caused production problems. These difficulties were compounded by the abolition of the repartimiento in 1780 because until that year 40–50 per cent of the cloth produced in Huamanga had been supplied to corregidores for distribution to Indian communities. The flood of imported textiles into Upper Peru certainly had repercussions for the Huamanga obrajes, but it was just one factor among many. Demand for their products in the mining centres of Upper Peru – where the workers normally received their wages partly in cloth – did decline, but not because of the influx of foreign goods, for imported cloth was a luxury beyond the reach of the labour force. The principal competition in the Upper Peruvian market came, therefore, not from European manufacturers, but from small-scale local producers of woollens and from chorrillos producing cotton goods, including those that proliferated in the period in the city of Arequipa.61 However, despite these setbacks, the Huamanga obrajes survived the shrinkage of the Upper Peruvian market by seeking and finding new outlets for their cloth, both within the sierra, where indigenous participants in local fairs apparently had the cash to make substantial purchases (possibly because the abolition of the repartimiento allowed them to retain their surplus for personal consumption), and in Lima itself, where the deregulation of trade allowed freer access to the urban market. In this context, it is relatively easy to understand why some sectors of the mercantile community believed that they were victims of the commercial reforms of the 1770s, whereas others were well-placed to take advantage of the general climate of economic expansion that characterised the last quarter of

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

65

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

the eighteenth century.62 In some parts of the viceroyalty – particularly the centre and the north – demographic recovery from the mid-eighteenth century, coupled with more rigorous fiscal demands from the state and the relative prosperity of the mining sector, stimulated regional economies; in the south the separation of Upper Peru and the relative stagnation of mining production at Potosí and Oruro in the late-Bourbon period created local economic difficulties, although, as contemporaries noted, the export of foodstuffs and aguardiente, ropa de la tierra, and imported manufactures to Upper Peru, mainly in return for silver, continued by 1790 to provide the truncated viceroyalty with its most profitable regional trade.63 However, as the consulado observed pessimistically in 1790, the prospects of increasing agricultural exports beyond this somewhat captive regional market were hampered by high transport costs even within the viceroyalty and the simple geographical problem – which would persist until the advent of the railway and the steamship, the opening up of the North American west, and the cutting of the Panama canal in the late-nineteenth/early-twentieth centuries – that Peru was on the wrong side of South America as far as access to markets in Europe and the eastern seaboard of the United States was concerned. Thus, despite the fact that the viceroyalty was capable of producing a very wide range of agricultural goods, including cotton, sugar, tobacco and other cash crops, their consumption was restricted to local and regional markets, while the contribution of Peruvian agricultural and natural products to overseas trade was limited to those which other parts of the empire were not capable of producing: essentially cascarilla and vicuña wool (and the re-exported cacao of Guayaquil). After 1750, as before, therefore, the key to the economic and commercial progress of Peru continued to be found in the performance of the mining sector, a state of affairs that would survive independence and persist until the onset of the guano boom in the 1840s.64 In Spanish America as a whole the relative importance of bullion – primarily silver – in international trade diminished in the late-Bourbon period, as the agrarian sector expanded both spontaneously and as a consequence of official efforts to stimulate economic and commercial growth in non-mining areas. However, although the dramatic growth in the production and export of sugar, hides, dyewood, cacao, cascarilla, indigo, tobacco, and so on, led to the relative share of precious metals in American exports to Spain slipping from 76 per cent of their total value before 1778 to 56 per cent after the introduction of comercio libre, the products of the mines of New Spain and Peru continued clearly to dominate overseas trade, both legal and contraband. Moreover, the Spanish monarchy, as the direct recipient of 11.5 per cent of registered production in the form of taxation, had both a fiscal and an economic interest in ensuring that the mining industry which produced it should continue to expand. Historians of mining in the Bourbon era now have a fairly clear picture of the levels of registered production that were achieved, although there is continuing debate about the significance and volume of unregistered activity, and, for New Spain in particular, about the interpretation

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

66

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



Table 3.1 Registered silver production in Lower Peru, 1770–1824 (millions of pesos, by quinquennia) Quinquennium

Production

Index

1770–1774 1775–1779 1780–1784 1785–1789 1790–1794 1795–1799 1800–1804 1805–1809 1810–1814 1815–1819 1820–1824

10.4 11.6 13.6 14.9 20.4 23.7 22.6 19.9 15.8 11.5 6.8

100 112 127 143 196 228 217 191 152 111 65

to be placed upon the figures. Between them, the two old viceroyalties expanded production fourfold from 8.3 million pesos in 1700 to 33 million pesos in 1800, with the most spectacular increases occurring in New Spain, where output expanded steadily from an average of 11.9 million pesos a year in the 1760s to 17.2 million in the 1770s, 19.4 million in the 1780s, and 23.1 million in the 1790s, a level maintained in the first decade of the nineteenth century (22.7 million pesos a year), before the onset of insurgency in 1810 caused a severe drop to an annual average of 9.4 million in 1810–1814 and even lower levels thereafter.65 In the peak year of 1804, production in New Spain reached 27 million pesos (two-thirds of all American production), and by this date the single Mexican centre of Guanajuato was producing as much silver as the viceroyalties of Peru and the Río de la Plata combined. Over the same period the relative importance of Peruvian production had gradually slipped – from 53 per cent in 1700 to 30 per cent in 1800 – primarily because, although output at Potosí had begun to stabilize in the 1740s, it stagnated at this legendary centre during the second half of the century at between three and four million pesos a year.66 However, the overall increase in output in the two Perus of 250 per cent to 10 million pesos by 1800 ensured that the economy as a whole grew despite the dislocation experienced in Lower Peru as a consequence of the division of the viceroyalty in 1776, a measure which suddenly deprived the old viceroyalty of 63 per cent of its registered mining output. Immediately after the loss of Potosí, Oruro, Carangas, Chucuito, and other mining centres in Upper Peru, output in the truncated viceroyalty fell in 1777 to its lowest recorded level, 2.1 million pesos. It remained low during the Anglo-Spanish hostilities of 1779–1783, when depleted mercury stocks hindered refining. Thereafter, however, as the table indicates in summary form, a gradual increase in output began in the mines of Lower Peru, led by

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

67

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

Cerro de Pasco and the recently-discovered Hualgayoc.67 Indeed, by 1804 Potosí was producing less silver than Cerro de Pasco in central Peru. It is impossible, unfortunately, to establish exactly what proportions of total output came from particular mining centres, for the figures to which we have access are derived from the registration process (i.e. the delivery of silver to exchequer offices for assaying, casting into bars and payment of taxes) and are distorted to some degree by the tendency of merchants to take crude silver from a variety of mining camps to Lima for registration. However, it is clear that by far the most important centre was Cerro de Pasco – in 1771–1824, 40 per cent of total Peruvian production was registered in the nearby town of Pasco; it was followed by the northern centre of Hualgayoc – the nearby Trujillo treasury registered 16 per cent; and Huarochirí, which accounted for much but not all of the 21 per cent of output registered in Lima. The three remaining treasuries – in Arequipa, Huamanga and Puno – accounted for 12 per cent, virtually all the residue. In the 1770s and 1780s the crown attempted to promote the development of mining throughout Spanish America by means of a series of institutional, juridical and technical innovations, including the despatch of teams of European specialists to teach new refining techniques. In the case of Peru, a team of 13 scientists, engineers and artisans landed in Buenos Aires in 1788, with the intention of continuing their journey to the old viceroyalty overland. The only Spanish speaker in the team, Isidro María de Abarca – the illegitimate son of the prominent limeño merchant Isidro de Abarca (Conde de San Isidro) – was recalled to Spain almost immediately, probably to spare his father the embarrassment of his arrival in Lima, leaving 11 Germans and the Swedish leader of the expedition, Thaddeus von Nordenflicht, to undertake the substantive mission.68 By 1810, when the Council of Regency formally ended the mission, only four of its members – Nordenflicht, two mining engineers and one artisan – remained in Peru, the others having died, deserted or secured licences to return to Europe. The background to the dispatch of the mission is relatively straightforward. At one level it reflected the culmination of a long process of inspection and reorganization of the mining industry in Peru, which had begun in 1777 with the arrival in Lima of Areche, whose comprehensive instructions included a somewhat vague requirement to stimulate mining; his principal practical measure was a 30 per cent reduction in 1779 in the price at which the crown monopoly supplied mercury to miners, although his attempts to increase production of this essential amalgamating agent at Huancavelica were unsuccessful. Areche’s abler successor, Escobedo, adopted a more rounded policy, which embraced the establishment of the mining tribunal and the mining guild in 1787, and the drawing up of plans, shelved indefinitely following his recall to Spain later that year, for the establishment in Lima of a mining college, capable of instructing the viceroyalty’s allegedly ignorant miners in modern technology.69 This same broad aspiration, although with a more precise focus, lay behind the Nordenflicht mission, which grew out of the

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

68

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



crown’s decision in 1781 to establish a Royal Metallurgical School in the Basque town of Vergara. As early as 1783 Gálvez had commissioned one of its researchers, Juan José de Elhuyar, to go to New Granada in an attempt to persuade its miners to abandon the patio process of amalgamation in favour of smelting, and the minister’s enthusiasm for innovation in this sphere intensified in 1786 when he received reports from Juan José’s brother, Fausto de Elhuyar, of the invention by the Austrian scientist, Inigo von Born, of a new method of amalgamation which apparently combined the benefits of the traditional patio process with modern technology. Essentially, Born’s ‘new method’, as he and many of his contemporaries described it, involved no new principles, but its use of efficient, modern machinery had proved capable at Schemnitz (Hungary) of compressing into three or four days a process which traditionally had taken a month or more, and in substantially reducing mercury consumption. Having been instructed by Gálvez to recruit mineralogists willing to go to America to disseminate this innovation, Fausto de Elhuyar recommended the appointment of Nordenflicht for the Peruvian mission early in 1788; less than a year later, with their arrival in Potosí on 24 January 1789, the proud Swede and his humourless Saxon colleagues came face-toface with the difficulties of persuading conservative entrepreneurs to abandon time-tested, if slow and primitive, technology in favour of expensive new machinery.70 The process employed at Potosí, as in all other American mining centres, for the refining of all but the highest-grade silver ores (which were smelted) was unchanged since the 1570s, and involved simply the mixing of crushed ore, mercury, and other ingredients in an open-air patio, followed eventually by the separation of the silver-mercury amalgam by washing, and the recovery from it of some of the mercury by sieving and heating in a condenser. The process was slow, inefficient, and labour-intensive, but it required little investment in equipment or the consumption of fuel, which was both scarce and expensive in most of the mining centres of Peru, which tended to be established at altitudes well in excess of 10,000 feet (Hualgayoc stood at 13,340 feet, and Cerro de Pasco even higher at 14,206 feet). European writers of the eighteenth century, whose romantic engravings of Potosí often showed palm trees and scantily-clad Indians, failed to appreciate the harshness of physical conditions in the treeless high Andes, and their ignorance was probably shared by many officials in Madrid. Nordenflicht’s experiences in Potosí need not detain us, except insofar as they established a pattern which would be repeated when he moved on in 1790 to Peru. Altogether he constructed four sets of barrel machinery at Potosí, three for individual miners and a fourth for the local mining guild.71 An investment in the latter of 40,000 pesos and a series of 31 tests, details of which were reported in Lima by the Mercurio Peruano, succeeded in producing silver yields only marginally better than those which would have been expected from the patio process.72 Although seven members of his team had been in Peru since January 1790, Nordenflicht’s first real opportunity to

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

69

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

demonstrate the new process there was delayed until 1793, following an inspection of the royal mercury mine at Huancavelica, and the somewhat uncoordinated dispersal of several of his colleagues on a variety of tasks at other mining centres, including Cerro de Pasco and Hualgayoc. The second set of experiments began at the end of 1793 in a new laboratory in Lima, the construction of which had consumed 35,000 pesos of the mining tribunal’s funds, derived from the real en marco levy on registered silver. They took the form of parallel tests, using identical consignments of ore, which Nordenflicht and his German assistants refined in their new machinery, alongside Peruvian specialists, recruited by the mining tribunal, who employed ‘el método nativo’.73 Amidst increasing acrimony between the rival teams, three tests were run, confirming the significant time saving secured by the barrel machinery and a better silver yield, but producing inconsistent results in terms of mercury consumption; in May 1794, overriding Nordenflicht’s protests, the viceroy cancelled a fourth comparative test, and endorsed the mining tribunal’s argument that Nordenflicht had failed to demonstrate that the new process could bring about significant improvements in refining.74 Whereas the members of the parallel mission to Mexico readily accepted that the Born process was inappropriate for American conditions and forged a new role for themselves in the mining college opened in 1792 by Fausto de Elhuyar, the unfortunate Nordenflicht and his men were left stranded in Lima, virtually forgotten by the crown. They were literally idle for over two years (1795–1797), much to the exasperation of the mining tribunal which was required to pay their salaries, amounting to 18,000 pesos a year, and, although granted several commissions thereafter – including a further survey of the royal mine at Huancavelica and the construction there of a new warehouse for storing mercury – made no contribution whatsoever to the rising curve of silver production in Peru in the 1790s.75 It might be argued that the presence of the Nordenflicht mission actually hampered the development of Peruvian mining in the 1790s, by diverting for its support funds that might have been used for more direct investment in the industry. This is not mere idle speculation, for it is clear that one of the principal reasons for the rapid growth in output at Cerro de Pasco in this period was the decision of the mining tribunal, taken in 1796, to invest its surplus funds – which grew, of course, as silver registration increased – in supporting the digging of a major drainage tunnel, the Yanacancha socavón, begun in 1794 with local capital.76 Between 1797 and 1821, when the wars of independence brought activity to a halt, the total invested in this project and in a deeper adit, the Quiulacocha socavón, reached a total of 247,000 pesos, much to the chagrin of miners in some of the smaller Peruvian deputations, such as Huamanga and Puno, who complained bitterly of having to pay the levy to support their richer colleagues elsewhere in the viceroyalty.77 In other major centres, such as Hualgayoc, increases in production can be explained primarily by local investment in drainage tunnels and, at a different level, by the greater availability of mercury, as a consequence of both the stabilization

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

70

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



of production at Huancavelica, which satisfied about 50 per cent of viceregal demand, and the shipment from Cádiz of large consignments of European mercury (most of it from the Spanish mine of Almadén), particularly in the periods 1788–1797 and 1802–1805.78 In reality the major technical problem faced by the miners of Peru was not the relative inefficiency of the patio process, but the rather more mundane one of the flooding of pits, which inhibited access to ores beyond superficial depths. The traditional way of dealing with flooding – the cutting of a sloping adit beneath the pits in the hope of draining off water – tended to provide short-term solutions, as increased activity brought extraction to the new water levels. This is precisely what occurred at Cerro de Pasco in 1812, as many pits reached the level of the Yanacancha adit, causing an abrupt fall of 68 per cent in output at Peru’s principal mining centre, and a fall in total viceregal production to the lowest level recorded since 1786. The mining tribunal took immediate steps to subsidize the cutting of a deeper adit – the Quiulacocha socavón – but this made slow progress, partly because of basic engineering errors, and remained uncompleted at independence. While it was being started, a group of Lima capitalists took the bold initiative of dispatching an agent to England, along with 30,000 pesos in capital, in the hope of persuading the inventor Richard Trevithick to supply high-pressure steam engines, which would be used to pump water up to the level of existing adits, thereby enabling surrounding shafts to be deepened by a proposed 110 feet.79 The first consignment of equipment, accompanied by Cornish craftsmen and an engineer, was landed in Callao in 1815, followed two years later by Trevithick himself, who supervised its installation at Cerro de Pasco and solved the fuel problem by initiating the working of nearby coal seams.80 By the end of 1819 three engines were working at Cerro de Pasco, and in the following year, 1820, silver registration there soared by 350 per cent to 2.7 million pesos, the highest level recorded since 1804, as drainage pits, from which water was pumped by the new engines, allowed the miners to deepen their shafts and obtain access to the rich ores that lay beneath the natural water level. It was precisely at this point, as we discuss in more detail in chapter 6, that patriot forces despatched from the coast by San Martín briefly occupied Cerro de Pasco, and destroyed some of the new machinery, as well as putting workers to flight.81 The inevitable outcome was a collapse in production, which remained negligible during the final stages of the wars of independence until the onset of a gradual recovery from 1825.82 The buoyancy of Peru’s mining-based economy for most of the last 50 years or so of the Bourbon period, reflected in the growth in overseas and internal trade and the consequential prosperity of some sectors of manufacturing and agriculture, enables modern scholars to refute the long-standing historiographical myth that the viceroyalty was the economic casualty of the Bourbon programme of imperial reform in South America.83 This healthy economy underpinned a substantial increase in viceregal treasury receipts in the 1760s and 1770s, compared with the 1740s and 1750s, and a massive

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

71

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

Table 3.2 Estimated Annual Treasury Income in Lower Peru, 1740–1809 (millions of pesos, by decades) Decade

Annual Income

Index

1740–1749 1750–1759 1760–1769 1770–1779 1780–1789 1790–1799 1800–1809

1,847,717 1,921,581 2,672,469 2,730,640 5,846,004 5,373,077 5,907,361

100 104 147 148 216 191 220

expansion in income in the 1780s which, despite a slight fall in the 1790s – primarily as a consequence of the renewal of warfare between Spain and Britain from 1796 – was sustained throughout the first decade of the nineteenth century. As the table (which is derived from the invaluable data on treasury receipts published by TePaske and Klein in 1982, and Klein’s 1998 analysis of them) shows, total treasury receipts grew by almost 50 per cent in the 1760–1779 period, but in the three subsequent decades they were over 200 per cent higher than they had been in the 1750s.84 To some extent these impressive yields from the 1780s reflected the success of the crown’s programme, embraced within the visita general and the introduction of the intendancies, of seeking to reform the outdated, inefficient system of exchequer administration inherited from the Hapsburg and earlyBourbon eras, so that taxes which had been evaded and revenues which had been usurped by dishonest officials would in future be collected honestly and efficiently, and new wealth created by economic expansion could be promptly tapped by the crown.85 From 1784, in each of the provincial capitals the control of exchequer affairs was the responsibility of the intendant, who was granted the exercise of the contentious jurisdiction, previously enjoyed by local treasury officials, in cases arising from exchequer matters. Each intendant was directly responsible to the superintendent in Lima – who also served, as noted in the previous chapter, as intendant of the province of Lima until 1787 – and he in his turn was responsible for fiscal matters to the Minister of the Indies in Madrid. In Lima the superintendent presided over a weekly junta superior de real hacienda, composed of the regent, fiscal and one oidor of the audiencia, the dean of the tribunal of accounts and the chief accountant of the viceregal treasury. The function of this powerful committee was to assist the superintendent in general economic and financial affairs, to coordinate for the whole viceroyalty the administration of justice in fiscal matters, and to supervise the financial aspects of military organization. Within the provinces the subdelegates served as judges of first instance in exchequer cases. Appeals from their decisions were made to the intendants, while appeals from the decisions of the intendants could go only to the junta superior. In his provincial

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

72

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



capital each intendant was required to hold a weekly junta de gobierno, attended by the chief treasury ministers of the province, for the examination of the management and progress of each branch of the exchequer. At the first meeting of each month the previous month’s accounts were examined, but the junta’s role was purely advisory, with responsibility for final decisions resting with the intendant. Further provision was made for the formation of a junta provincial de real hacienda, composed of the intendant, his asesor general, and the chief treasury officials, which was to meet only when the intendant sought to use provincial funds for extraordinary expenditure. Each province had a principal subtreasury, and a separate administración de rentas unidas de alcabalas y tabacos, to deal with the collection of alcabala and almojarifazgo (taxes on sales and trade) and with the revenues of the state monopolies of tobacco, powder, playing-cards and stamped paper. Provision was made for the establishment of subordinate offices in the partidos, where necessary. Supervision of these offices was just as much the responsibility of the intendants as was control of the subtreasuries. The powers of contentious jurisdiction previously enjoyed by customs officials were transferred to them, and they were to handle all cases arising from contraband, whether by land or sea. In Lima the contaduria de tributos was reformed and reorganized, its powers being extended from the simple examination of assessments to the general inspection of the collection, accounting and administration of this important branch of revenue. A separate organization, the tribunal of accounts, was supposed to collate the monthly and annual accounts submitted by the principal subtreasuries, verify their accuracy, and draw up annual general accounts for the whole viceroyalty. In fact, a combination of inefficiency and inexperience – for example, the inability of accountants to understand doubleentry book-keeping – meant that these estados generales, which are much easier to interpret than the treasury accounts, were produced in only two years, 1787 and 1812.86 However, despite this historiographical complication, there is abundant evidence that treasury receipts increased throughout Peru in the post–1784 period, in part as a consequence of the zeal with which the first generation of intendants sought to eradicate fraud, and in part because of the general expansion in economic activity. In the province of Arequipa, to give just one example, the income of the principal subtreasury virtually doubled in the first five years of the new régime – from 272,000 pesos in 1784 to 523,000 in 1788 – in part because of the vigorous collection of arrears, and, although it fell back subsequently, throughout the subsequent 25 years was always substantially higher (c. 350,000 pesos a year) than under the old administrative régime. 87 In this province, where mining was relatively unimportant, the principal determinants of exchequer income were taxes on trade and the tribute, which in the viceroyalty as a whole accounted for 14 per cent and 18 per cent respectively of total income between 1780 and 1809; the other major items in the bewildering array of individual sources of income were taxes on mining (13 per cent) and revenue from monopolies (nine per cent).88

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

73

9/2/03, 12:54



  ‒

The improvement in treasury receipts during the final decades of the eighteenth century was an empire-wide phenomenon, even more marked in New Spain than in Peru, made possible by the linked factors of economic growth and the crown’s success, via the intendant system, in collecting revenues which had been evaded or diverted under the unreformed system of local government. Considerable care has to be taken in analysing the data, for some income was counted twice (in provincial subtreasuries and again when surpluses were remitted to Lima), and it is important to differentiate between real income and notional income in the form of debts, loans, and internal transfers between different branches of the exchequer machinery.89 Moreover, as viceroy Avilés succinctly observed in 1806, ‘la menor turbación en la Europa produce el triste efecto de paralizar el giro mercantil de estos dominios, obligando a expendios que estrechan el Real Erario’.90 In some parts of the empire, especially those which were particularly vulnerable to the effects of the interruption of overseas trade upon their agricultural economies, the combination in 1796–1808 of even more rigorous fiscal exactions (for example, the consolidación de vales reales) and economic recession helped prepare the ground for the attempted rejection of Spanish authority from 1810.91 In Peru, by contrast, the relative ability of a commercial structure based upon the export of silver to withstand even prolonged interruptions of trans-Atlantic trade contributed to the viceroyalty’s emergence as a defender of peninsular authority in the second decade of the nineteenth century. This stance brought with it considerable fiscal burdens. For example, as the second estado general referred to above shows, the viceregal exchequer succeeded in 1812 in securing income of 5,271,000 pesos, (partly because of loans and donations of over one million pesos) but total expenditure – 5,353,000 pesos – exceeded income as a consequence of the substantial costs of military expenditure within the viceroyalty (approximately two million pesos) and subsidies of more than one million pesos sent to bolster royalist resistance to insurgency in Upper Peru, Chile and Quito.92 The situation grew worse as the decade advanced and Peru not only became increasingly isolated as a defender of royalism in neighbouring jurisdictions (Upper Peru, Chile, and Quito) but also began to experience major insurgency within its boundaries, with the Cusco rebellion of 1814–1815: fiscal expedients adopted in 1815 to help meet the costs of the consequential growth in military expenditure included increases of one per cent in the alcabala and other taxes on trade, a doubling of the prices of items sold by state monopolies, and heavy taxes on coffee houses and other recreational establishments.93 Further measures adopted by Pezuela on the eve of San Martín’s invasion included a forced loan of one million pesos imposed upon the consulado of Lima (400,000 pesos) and the city’s inhabitants (600,000).94 Despite these, and other, exactions, the majority of españoles in the viceroyalty remained loyal, even after the arrival of San Martín, to the preservation of royalist authority. The following chapters will try to explain why they adopted this stance, thereby preserving the Bourbon régime in Peru until 1824.

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

74

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



Notes 1 This theme is developed in several of the essays in K. J. Andrien and L. L. Johnson, The Political Economy of Spanish America in the Age of Revolution, 1750–1850, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, 1994, and in Brading, ‘Bourbon Spain’. 2 In 1784 the cabildo of Trujillo cited the illegal import of Brazilian sugar into Spanish America through Buenos Aires as a significant factor in the decadence of agriculture in northern Peru: Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 January 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1100. 3 The background to the commercial reforms of the 1770s is discussed in J. R. Fisher, Commercial Relations between Spain and Spanish America in the Era of Free Trade, 1778– 1796, Liverpool, Centre for Latin American Studies, 1985, pp. 9–19. 4 Fisher, The Economic Aspects of Spanish Imperialism, pp. 134–86, provides an overview of these results. Although the War of United States Independence continued in theory until 1783, major hostilities ceased in 1782. 5 An alphabetical list and description of Peru’s animal and vegetable resources is provided by ‘Idea succincta del comercio del Peru…’, BL, Egerton MS 771, ff. 96–113, 131–49. 6 J. Lynch, ‘British Policy and Spanish America, 1783–1808’, JLAS, Vol. 1, 1969, pp. 1– 30, provides details of British overseas trade in 1783–1803. 7 J. R. Fisher, ‘Adam Smith y la economía marítima del mundo hispano, 1776-c.1820’, in Actas del VII Congreso Internacional de Historia de América, ed. J. A. Armillas Vicente, Zaragoza, Gobierno de Aragón, 1998, pp. 1445–1450. 8 On internal migration in colonial Peru see, for example, A. M. Wightman, Indigenous Migration and Social Change, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1990. 9 By the latter date Brazil, by contrast, had four million inhabitants and Angloamerica (including the United States) nearly 12 million: M. Savelle, Empires to Nations, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1974, pp. 103–104. 10 Humboldt, Ensayo político, 35–97. Rich data on the late-eighteenth century population structure of New Spain, where Indians and castes constituted over 80 per cent of the population of six million, as well as comparative data on other regions is provided by A. de Humboldt, Ensayo político sobre el reino de la Nueva España, ed. J. A. Ortega y Medina, México, Porrua, 1966. See, too, M. A. Burkholder, L. L. Johnson, Colonial Latin America, New York, Oxford UP, 1994, pp. 274–76. 11 Fuentes, Memorias, vol. 6, appendix, pp. 6–9. 12 Ignacio de Lequanda, a former treasury official in Huamanga drew particular attention to the incompleteness of the 1792 figures in his ‘Estado geográfico del virreynato del Perú, sus intendencias, partidos, doctrinas, pueblos anexos y sus pobladores con distinción de clases y sexos’, BL, Additional MSS, 17,580, f.52. [His surname is occasionally given as Leguanda, although he also appeared as José Ignacio de Lecuanda in the Mercurio Peruano: ‘Discurso sobre el destino que debe darse a la genta vaga que tiene Lima’, Vol. X, núms 327–328, 20 and 23 February 1794, pp. 120–32]. 13 Bonet to Gil, 29 Dec. 1795, enclosing estado, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1525. A summary is reproduced in Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 251–53. 14 Humboldt, Ensayo político, p. 78. 15 There was a direct relationship between Areche’s attempt to widen tribute liability and the serious riots in the city of Arequipa in January 1780: Cahill, ‘Taxonomy’, p. 266; Lewin, La rebelión de Túpac Amaru, pp. 156–57. 16 On this theme, see D. P. Cahill, ‘Colour by Numbers: Racial and Ethnic Categories in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1532–1824’, JLAS, Vol. 26, 1994, pp. 325–46. 17 See, for example, G. Kubler, The Indian Caste of Peru, 1795–1940, Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1952; F. Pini Rodolfi, ‘La población del Perú a lo largo de un siglo:

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

75

9/2/03, 12:54



18 19 20

21

22

23

24

25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33

34

35 36

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

  ‒ 1785–1884’, in Informe Demográfico: Peru – 1980, Lima, Centro de Estudios de Población y Desarrollo, 1972, pp. 19–123; G. Vollmer, Bevölkerungspolitik und Bevölkerungsstruktur im Vize-Königsreich Peru zu Ende der Kolonialzeit (1741–1821), Bad Hamburg, Gehlen, 1967. ‘Estado de población del virreynato de Lima’ (1812), AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1524. Kubler, The Indian Caste, pp. 31–37, provides further details of the 1836 and 1876 exercises. A useful summary of when and where in Spanish America censuses were taken in this period is provided by D. G. Browning and D. J. Robinson ‘Census Legacy from the Spanish Empire’, The Geographical Magazine, Vol. 48, 1976, pp. 255–30. For Bueno’s parallel attempt to disseminate information on, amongst other topics, the population of each of Peru’s corregimientos, see C. Bueno, Geografía del Perú virreinal (siglo XVIII), ed. D. Valcárcel, Lima, D. Valcárcel, 1951. As Pearce shows in ‘The Peruvian Population Census’ p. 70, Castelfuerte himself reported in 1728 that the mortality reached the improbable figure of ‘más de un millón’, and other commentators have suggested figures of 300,000 and 400,000. Manso, Relación, 241–46, includes a ‘resumen de obispados’ showing the indigenous population for each province within the dioceses of Upper and Lower Peru, clearly based (as explained in Pearce, ‘The Peruvian Population Census’ pp. 96–7) on Castelfuerte’s revisitas. ‘Razón de lo que ha producido los Ramos de tributos y Hospital desde el año 1780 al de 1811, en que se extinguieron’, 13 February 1813, AGI, Lima, leg. 1133. The reincorporation of Puno into Peru led to a particularly significant increase in 1798 (1,180,000 pesos compared with 964,000 in 1797), but, even allowing for this, the constant trend was upwards. J. F. de Abascal y Sousa, Memoria de gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and J. A. Calderón Quijano, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 2 vols., 1944, vol. 1, pp. 288–89; acta of junta general de tribunales, 11 July 1812, AHMH, Colección Santamaría, MS 00216. Estado general, 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 1136. Acta capitular, 29 Oct. 1811, AHM, Libro de Cabildo 42, ff. 79–81. Kubler, The Indian Caste, pp. 5–7. Escobedo to Gálvez, 1 April 1786, AGI, Lima, leg. 1107. See note 12. For further discussion of sources, see J. R. Fisher, ‘Fuentes para el estudio del comercio entre España y América en el último cuarto del siglo XVIII’, Archivo Hispalense, Vol. 207–208, 1985, pp. 287–302. García-Báquero, Cádiz y el Atlántico, vol. 1, pp. 541–42. Brading, ‘Bourbon Spain’, p. 411. J. Campillo y Cossio, Nuevo sistema de gobierno económico para la América, Madrid, Imprenta de B. Cano, 1789; G. de Uztáriz, Theorica y práctica de comercio y de marina, Madrid, Imprenta de A. Sanz, 1742. The most immediate beneficiary was Cuba, restored to Spain in 1763 by the Treaty of Paris, but only in return for the transfer to Britain of Florida. As Kuethe notes, with the British capture of Havana, ‘the vulnerability of Spain’s vast empire lay exposed to the world’: Kuethe, Cuba, p. 3. Lynch, Administración colonial española, p. 44. A. J. Kuethe, ‘Towards a Periodization of the Reforms of Charles III’, Bibliotecha Americana, Vol. 1, 1982, p. 143, suggests that the primary motivation behind commercial reform was ‘the development of means to wage war successfully’.

76

9/2/03, 12:54

,   



37 The standard point-of-departure for the negative interpretation is, of course, Céspedes ‘Lima y Buenos Aires’. 38 The Treaty of Paris (1783) confirmed Spain’s military success in the Caribbean during the war – in May 1781 field-marshal Bernardo de Gálvez, the nephew of the minister of the Indies, had captured Pensacola, the key British strongpoint in the Gulf of Mexico – by restoring to it East and West Florida (albeit in return for the continued British occupation of Gibraltar). 39 Consulado of Lima to Escobedo, 5 May 1787, and Escobedo to Marqués de Sonora [Gálvez], 5 September 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 1111. 40 Consulado of Lima to Guirior, 10 February 1779, AGMRE, Sección Colonial, libro 2–2. 41 For further details see Fisher, ‘The Effects of Comercio Libre’, pp. 150–51. 42 Ibid., pp. 148–49. 43 It is relevant to note, incidentally, that the number of ships used in the various regions is meaningless: in 1791, for example, 16 ships despatched to the Río de la Plata carried goods with a total value of 22 million reales (1778 values), whereas only six ships that left for Callao had cargoes valued at 93 million reales. 44 Escobedo to Sonora, 5 September 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 1111. 45 Fisher, Commercial Relations, p. 120. 46 Fisher, ‘Commerce and Imperial Decline’, pp. 473, 477–78. 47 Osorno to Soler, 23 November 1799 (enclosing a copy of his decree of 29 July 1796, which had declared trade with foreigners a capital offence, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 2467. 48 Parrón Salas, De las reformas borbónicas, p. 336. 49 For further details, see Fisher, ‘The Effects of Comercio Libre’, pp. 154–57. 50 The bulk (an average of almost 4 million pesos a year: 70 per cent) was shipped by private individuals and the remainder (478,000 pesos a year: 8.5 per cent) by the exchequer. 51 See Fisher, Silver Mines, pp. 124–25, for details of registered silver production for 1771– 1824. 52 Fisher, ‘Miners, Silver Merchants and Capitalists’. See, too, Chocano, Comercio en Cerro del Pasco, pp. 18–19. On the initiation and growth of mining output at Hualgayoc, see C. Contreras, Los mineros y el rey. Los Andes del norte: Hualgayoc 1770–1825, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1995. 53 Fisher, Commercial Relations, p. 79. Detailed information on textile production in the Cajamarca region is provided by Zaugg, ‘Large Scale Textile Production’. 54 K. W. Brown, Bourbons and Brandy: Imperial Reform in Eighteenth-Century Arequipa, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, 1986, pp. 168. 55 On the Lima market, see M. Haitin, ‘Urban Market and Agrarian Hinterland: Lima in the Late Colonial Period’, in Jacobsen and Puhle, eds. The Economies of Mexico and Peru during the Late Colonial Period, Berlin, Colloquium Verlag, 1986, pp. 281–98. 56 Fisher, Government and Society, p. 135. 57 M. Moscoso, ‘Apuntes para la historia de la industria textil en el Cusco colonial’, Revista Universitaria, Vol. 51–52, 1962–1963, pp. 67–94; see, too, M. Mörner, Notas sobre los comerciantes del Cusco desde fines de la colonia hasta 1930, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1979, p. 7. 58 For detailed discussion of the expansion of manufacturing in northern Peru, see Zaugg, ‘Large-Scale Textile Production’. 59 This point was made by Ignacio de Castro in his 1788 description of Cusco: I. de Castro, Relación del Cuzco, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, 1978, p. 60. See, too, F. Silva Santisteban, Los obrajes en el virreinato del Perú, Lima, Museo Nacional de Historia, 1964, pp. 151–52.

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

77

9/2/03, 12:55



  ‒

60 M. Salas de Coloma, ‘Los obrajes de Huamanga en la economía centro-sur peruana a fines del siglo XVIII’, Revista del Archivo General de la Nación, Vol. 7, 1984, pp. 119–46. 61 Intendant Alvarez commented in 1792 on the rapid expansion in Arequipa of tocuyo production, in response to growing demand from the urban poor unable to afford to buy imported European goods: V. M. Barriga, ed. Memorias para la historia de Arequipa, Arequipa, Editorial La Colmena, 3 vols., 1941–1948, vol. 3, pp. 57–58. 62 For information about successful merchants in this period see A. C. Mazzeo, El comercio libre en el Perú, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1995; A. C. Mazzeo, ‘El comercio internacional en la época borbónica y la respuesta del consulado de Lima, 1778–1820’, Diálogos en Historia, Vol. 3, 1999, pp. 25–37, and A. C. Mazzeo, ‘Comercio “neutral” y comercio “privilegiado” en el contexto de la guerra de España con Inglaterra y con Francia’, Derroteros de la Mar del Sur, Vol. 6, 1999, pp. 25–37. See, too, J. A. García Vera, Los comerciantes trujillanos (1780–1840), Lima, Artex Editores, 1989, and A. W. Quiroz, Deudas olvidadas: instrumentos de crédito en la economía colonial peruana, 1750–1820, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1993. 63 R. Vargas Ugarte, ed., ‘Informe del tribunal del consulado de Lima’, RH, Vol. 22, 1955–56, pp. 266–310; many of the points and figures in the consulado’s 1790 representation were published in 1791 in the Mercurio Peruano: see, in particular, no. 24, 24 March 1791; no. 25, 27 March 1791, and no. 31, 17 April 1791. 64 The best analysis of the mining sector in the immediate post-independence period is provided by J. R. Deustua, La minería peruana y la iniciación de la repúblic, 1820–1840, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1986. The role of mining in promoting the development of agriculture and industry is articulated by C. S. Assadourian, El sistema de la economía colonial: mercado interno, regiones y espacio económico, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1982. A useful re-evaluation of the state of coastal agriculture, emphasising its relative prosperity in this period, is provided by I. Vegas de Cáceres, ‘Una imagen distorsionada: las haciendas de Lima hacia fines del siglo XVIII’, in O’Phelan Godoy, (ed.) El Perú en el siglo XVIII, pp. 97–125. 65 On New Spain, see J. H. Coatsworth, ‘The Mexican Mining Industry in the Eighteenth Century’, in Jacobsen and Puhle, eds., The Economies of Mexico and Peru, pp. 26–45, and R. L. Garner, ‘Silver Production and Entrepreneurship in Eighteenth Century Mexico’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas, Vol. 17, 1980, pp. 157–85. 66 Although the best survey of Potosí is in Tandeter, Coacción y mercado, detailed coverage of the post–1776 period is also provided by R. M. Buechler, The Mining Society of Potosí, 1776–1810, Ann Arbor, MI, University Microfilms International, 1981. 67 Unless otherwise indicated, the source for the discussion of mining in this period is Fisher, Minas y mineros. 68 J. R. Fisher, ‘El Real Seminario de Bergara y la expedición mineralógica al Perú de Thaddeus von Nordenflicht’, in Presencia vasca en América, ed. J. M. Pérez de Arenaza Múgica, Vitoria, Gobierno Vasco, 1994, pp. 237–45. 69 Fisher, Minas y mineros, pp. 49–69; M. Molina Martínez, El real tribunal de minería de Lima (1785–1921), Seville, Diputación Provincial, 1986, pp. 309–37; Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén, pp. 159–204. 70 Sonora to Floridablanca, 16 Feb. 1786, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1798; this legajo contains all the relevant documentation concerning the recruitment of the members of the expedition. 71 Full details are given in Buechler, The Mining Society of Potosí, pp. 65–108. 72 A commentary on the Mercurio Peruano’s attitude towards Nordenflicht is provided by Clément, El Mercurio Peruano, vol. 1, pp. 204–206. 73 Decree of Gil, 26 October 1793, AGN, Minería, leg. 49. 74 Details of the results were reported in Gil to Gardoqui, 23 May 1794, AGI, Lima, leg.

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

78

9/2/03, 12:55

,   

75

76

77

78 79 80

81

82 83

84

85

86

87 88 89 90 91

92 93 94



1361, and in José de Robledo to junta general de minería, 28 March 1795, AGI, Lima, leg. 1360; Gil’s order of 23 May 1794 to abandon the experiments is in AGI, Lima, leg. 1359. The patio process survived in Peru as the principal means of refining silver for a further 100 years: C. Contreras, ‘El reemplazo del beneficio de patio en la minería peruana’, Revista de Economía, Vol. 41, 1998, pp. 107–41. ‘Expediente promovido por el Subdelegado de Pasco, sobre q’e el exceso del R’l en marco se destine p’a el socabon de Yanacancha’, 17 September 1796, AGN, Minería, leg. 57. M. E. de Rivero y Ustáriz, Colección de memorias científicas, agrícolas e industriales, Brussels, H. Goemare, 2 vols. in 1, 1857, vol. 1, p. 121; Fisher, Minas y mineros, pp. 107– 109. Fisher, Minas y mineros, pp. 153–80, provides an overview of mercury supply. Details of the initiative are in Abascal to minister of finance, 13 October 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 1358. Gaceta de gobierno, 8 February 1815, AGI, Lima, leg. 1358; A. Caldcleugh, Travels in South America during the Years 1819–20–21, London, John Murray, 2 vols., 1825, vol. 2, p. 75. J. de la Pezuela y Sánchez Muñoz, Memoria de gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and G. Lohmann Villena, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1947, pp. 805– 807. Deustua, La minería peruana, p. 244. However, some relatively recent works reiterate the myth: for example, T. E. Anna, The Fall of the Royal Government in Peru, Lincoln, NE, University of Nebraska Press, 1979, pp. 2–4. See, in particular, H. S. Klein, The American Finances of the Spanish Empire, Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press, 1998, p. 38, which breaks down these figures by caja and region. For an overview of the reform process, see G. Céspedes del Castillo, ‘Reorganización de la hacienda virreinal peruana en el siglo XVIII’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español, Vol. 23, 1953, pp. 326–69 and Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 100–106. Estado general de real hacienda (1787), AGI, Lima, leg. 1068; estado general (1812), AGI, Lima, leg. 1136. The attempted introduction in 1786 of partida doble, and its abandonment in 1790, is explained in Croix, Memoria, in Fuentes, Memorias, vol. 5, pp. 306–307. Alvarez to Gardoqui, 20 March 1796, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120; ministers of Arequipa subtreasury to intendant, 8 August 1814, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 25. These figures are derived from Klein, The American Finances of the Spanish Empire, pp. 38–47. These complications are discussed in Fisher, ‘Commentary’. C. A. Romero, ed., Memoria del virrey del Perú, marqués de Avilés, Lima, Imprenta del Estado, 1901, p. 67. Recent work on other regions has tended to play down the theme of economic dislocation resulting from warfare. See, for example, M. P. McKinley, Pre-Revolutionary Caracas: Politics, Economy and Society, 1777–1811, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1985. Estado general (1812), AGI, Lima, leg. 1136. See, too, Abascal, Memoria, vol. 1, pp. 312– 14, 320–21. Informe of junta general extraordinaria, 28 April 1815, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 35. Certificate of contaduría of consulado of Lima, 27 November 1821, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 37.

EUP_BPeru_04_Ch3

79

9/2/03, 12:55

 

Society, Ethnicity and Culture

In a prophetic and revealing report sent to the minister of the Indies immediately after the outbreak of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, visitador general Areche underlined the tendency of españoles in Peru – creoles and peninsulares alike – to assume that the viceroyalty’s Indian majority was normally incapable of coherent political expression: ‘Josep Túpac Amaro’, he wrote, ‘ha sido capaz de introducir su nombre, aun que con abominación, en la sucessiva Historia de esta América, por los modos mas raros que pueden imaginarse y que muchos dudarían de la natural imbecilidad del común talento de los de su Nación’.1 Four months later, following the capture of Túpac Amaru himself together with ‘el gran catálogo de los de su Familia’, Areche expressed his somewhat contradictory conviction that ‘Túpac Amaru trató esta revelión con personas de esfera ó con los que protegan la iniqua livertad, la detracción, el odio de europeos’, adding that he was in no doubt ‘que no hay mal en las Provincias interiores que no está engendrado en Lima donde se fragua, abla, y siente de todo lo que no es su antiguo desorden, con una avilantez y franqueza extremada’.2 This perceived creole-Indian tendency to ally against the interests of European Spaniards was intensified, in the view of the paranoid Areche, by the fact that the Indians of Peru, unlike those of New Spain ‘todos deliran sobre descendencia R’l, sobre armas y privilegios’, a feature which certain ‘manos, traidores a la verdad’ in Lima encouraged.3 However, half a century later, commenting upon the composition of the royalist forces at the battle of Ayacucho, Jerónimo Valdés drew attention to the fact that the army which had fought until 1824 to maintain Spanish authority against ‘todos los Estados que ya se habian hecho independientes’ had been ‘muy escaso’ of European troops, with the consequence that ‘con soldados indios ha sido con los que sostuvimos los ultimos años de tan porfiada contienda’.4 The aim of this chapter is not to reach conclusions about either the true nature of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru or to explain why the majority of the royalist conscripts at Ayacucho were Indians – these themes will be embraced in the discussion in chapters 5–6 – but to provide an overview of the complexity of social and ethnic relationships in late-colonial Peru. In that context,

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

80

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



the observations of Areche written in 1781 and those of Valdés, which date from 1827, are useful in drawing our attention to the difficulty of reaching simplistic conclusions about social and racial attitudes in a society whose apparently rigid rules about ethnicity were often moderated and tempered by social, and even cultural, factors that blurred divisions and facilitated interracial sympathies and alliances. There is little real evidence, in fact, that alleged sympathy in Lima for the claims to Inca legitimacy of ‘el Indio José G. Tupa Amaro’, as viceroy Jáuregui described him somewhat dismissively, was ever likely to be translated into overt political support, despite some reports of conspiratorial activity.5 In Cusco, by contrast, a long tradition of creole intellectual sympathy for the Indians’ tendency to support incanismo – ‘una esperanza colectiva inalcanzable, desmedida, utópica de reconstruir un mundo indígena sin Occidente’, to quote Manuel Burga – as well as practical collaboration between the local leaders of different ethnic groups in economic and social terms, convinced Areche that Túpac Amaru had received ‘auxilios secretos’ from ‘otros poco menos traidores … qe intentan subvertir la Dominación, sino solicitar que prosigan sus antiguas libertades de no pagar al sagrado caudal de los fondos publicos ó erario, mas que aquello que quieren’.6 This attempt to link the rebellion with creole resistance to the fiscal innovations associated with the visita – a theme which will be discussed in more detail in the following chapter, particularly with respect to Arequipa – was taken up enthusiastically by Mata Linares, who, as both the judge who tried Túpac Amaru and Cusco’s first intendant, sought to persuade Gálvez that widespread encouragement and support for the insurrection had been forthcoming from not only the Arequipa-born bishop Moscoso but also prominent creole families in the city attracted in a vague way by the idea of identifying an Inca to lead a separatist movement.7 However, Areche’s parallel observation that the Indians who supported Túpac Amaru were ‘alucinados con que con su dominaz’n no habrá Iglesias, ni curas, tributos, corregidores, repartimientos, obrages, Mitas, Aduanas, ni chapetones ò Europeos’ explains why any such alliance was bound, for economic reasons, to be ephemeral, given that most of the enterprises that exploited Indian labour were owned by creoles rather than peninsulares.8 Areche – who arrived in Cusco in February 1781, accompanied by 400 troops from Lima and a further 200 raised in Huamanga – reflected the basic, but sometimes unstated, views of the majority of Peru’s españoles with his comment ‘el Indio solo respeta y tema a quien le amenaza, y si le enseñan recelo, que el entiende que es timidez, es osado’.9 As noted in chapter 2, the vast majority of the army that left Cusco in March 1781 to attack the insurgents in their Tinta stronghold consisted of Indian conscripts recruited by caciques such as Mateo García Pumacahua, who regarded Túpac Amaru as a usurper, and/or saw opportunities for personal advancement in supporting the repression of insurgency.10 Simultaneously, the first contingent of troops despatched from Lima to reinforce the ineffectual attempts of Cusco’s militia to contain the rebellion were free blacks, drawn from Lima’s Regiment of Mulattoes. The consequential juxtaposition

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

81

9/2/03, 14:19



  ‒

in and around Cusco in 1781 of these three ethnic groups – españoles, Indians and blacks – and the clear evidence of divergences of social and political attitudes within at least the first two of them provides a further reminder of the complexity of colonial society in the late-Bourbon period. Given the preoccupation of most historians with relationships between the viceroyalty’s minority of españoles and its majority of Indians, the significant role of blacks in the social and economic structures of late-colonial Peru is sometimes overlooked. According to the 1795 census, blacks made up 7.4 per cent of Peru’s total population, divided equally into slaves (40,385) and free (41,004). Although at first sight this percentage seems relatively small, it made blacks the largest single racial group in key areas of coastal Peru, not least in Lima itself where the city and its cercado had a total of 28,000 (10,000 free; 18,000 slaves) in a population of 63,000, outnumbering not only Indians and mestizos (15,000) but also whites (20,000).11 There was a similar concentration in the neighbouring partido of Ica, where 8,000 blacks lived alongside a mere 2,000 whites and 11,000 Indians and mestizos; the subdelegacies of Chancay and Cañete had between them a further 9,000 blacks (of whom 7,000 were slaves) and a mere 1,500 whites. In total the intendancy of Lima – which included, of course, the highland partidos of Canta, Huarochirí and Yauyos, which had only a handful of blacks – had 48,000 blacks (30,000 slaves and 18,000 free), representing 31 per cent of the total recorded population of 156,000; in the five coastal districts (Cañete, Chancay, Ica, Lima, and Santa), however, they represented 40 per cent of the total population. In the light of this latter figure, and in particular the ubiquity of free blacks in the city of Lima – where they were particularly prominent as tradesmen, artisans and labourers – it is perhaps not surprising that Juan and Ulloa described coastal Peru as an area dominated by blacks.12 Further north, the other major concentrations of blacks, primarily free rather than slaves (14,000:5,000) was in the intendancy of Trujillo, particularly in the coastal partidos of Lambayeque (5,000), Piura (6,000), and Trujillo itself (4,000). In the southern province of Arequipa, some 4,000 blacks lived in and around the capital of the intendancy, and a further 8,000 were distributed fairly evenly through the coastal partidos that specialized in the production of wine and aguardiente. Both pure-blooded free blacks (morenos) and those of mixed descent (pardos) – which the 1795 census did not differentiate – were recruited in considerable numbers in the 1760s and 1770s to serve in the disciplined militia companies established in the coastal provinces of Peru during the viceregency of Amat. There is some evidence that their proficiency as militiamen – not least during the Túpac Amaru rebellion – led some Spanish officials to express concern that they might become more skilled than their white counterparts in the use of arms, with consequential risk to political and social stability.13 Moreover, it is also clear that Areche’s maladroit attempts in 1779 to impose a ‘contribución militar’ – a special tax intended to raise funds to pay the salaries of regular officers designated to train the militia units – upon free blacks in Lambayeque’s militia company of free pardos provoked a threat of armed

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

82

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



resistance, coordinated by its officers, which forced the visitador to abandon the fiscal innovation.14 In Lima, by contrast, although ethnic tension and gratuitous violence were not uncommon in the late-eighteenth century the mutual antipathy within the lower sectors of society between the city’s Indians and blacks – Flores Galindo cites Osorno’s succinct comment ‘son irreconciliables’ – allowed the whites to retain effective social control of their urban space.15 Beyond the municipal boundaries of the capital – where a greater proportion of blacks were slaves rather than free – resistance to servitude was expressed from time-to-time overtly (for example, in the disturbances that occurred in 1779 at the hacienda San José La Pampa, near Nepeña in the corregimiento of Santa) and in escapes that led to the establishment of palenques, communities of runaway slaves defined by one source as a ‘forma defensiva de acción social’.16 Like slavery itself, the slave trade to Peru in the late-colonial period has attracted relatively little scholarly attention, with most historians tending to accept at face value the complaints of contemporaries that the relative decadence of agriculture, particularly in the coastal valleys of the north, was both a cause and an effect of the difficulty in securing new supplies of slaves from Africa to underpin an institution incapable of maintaining its numbers by natural reproduction.17 However, a recent study of the background to the eventual abolition of slavery in Peru suggests that substantial new imports, averaging 1,500 a year, reached the viceroyalty between 1799 and 1810 via Buenos Aires and Chile.18 Whatever the actual number of slaves in Peru by the early-nineteenth century – one source suggests 50,000 in 1824, another 89,000 in 1812, figures which are perhaps less incompatible than they might seem at first sight, given that the trade itself continued only until 1812, and considerable numbers were recruited by San Martín in 1820, in return for their freedom, to reinforce the army shipped to Peru from Valparaiso – what is certain is that the institution was of sufficient economic importance to the coastal élite to ensure that it survived for three more decades after the end of Spanish rule.19 When slavery was finally abolished in 1855, in return for substantial compensation for the owners, the 19,000 surviving slaves and a further 6,000 libertos – the children of slaves, nominally free but obligated to their parents’ masters – represented a little over one per cent of Peru’s estimated two million inhabitants.20 The places in Spanish America where black slavery had become important by the late-eighteenth century were primarily the cities, where for social and economic reasons the demand for bonded servants was virtually insatiable, and rural zones suitable for intensive agricultural production, but whose indigenous population had been eliminated or drastically reduced early in the colonial period. When international demand for sugar, coffee and other plantation crops grew in the eighteenth century, expanding dramatically the profitability of an agricultural sector hitherto producing primarily for internal markets, landowners, supported by their respective viceregal and metropolitan authorities, had no real option but to look to Africa for the provision of a

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

83

9/2/03, 14:19



  ‒

labour force. In some cases they were also able still to enslave ‘unpacified’ Indians on the frontiers of the empire – the Yaquis and Apaches of northern Mexico, the Araucanians of southern Chile, the dispersed tribes of the Amazon territories – arguing that their irrational refusal to accept peaceful penetration into their lands by missionaries and settlers justified their harsh treatment for strategic as well as economic and spiritual reasons. By the eighteenth century, however, the millions of Indians surviving in the highlands of Mexico, Central America, New Granada and Peru were no longer in danger of losing their personal freedom. The fact remained, nevertheless, that the españoles – the majority of them creoles – throughout these regions were economic parasites, dependent for the preservation of their stratified and unequal social order upon the exploitation of indigenous labour through a variety of semi-coercive institutions. Throughout Spanish America in the late-colonial period, rural society, which was largely indigenous, found itself under increasing pressure from both the representatives of the crown – notably local officials whose superiors expected them, for example, to increase the yield of the tribute – and from landowners, miners, and merchants anxious to preserve and intensify institutions and practices designed to integrate Indians, directly or indirectly, into the market economy, and thus, provide access to their labour.21 Everywhere the outcome of this process of intensified pressure was the greater likelihood of resistance, characterized by endemic local violence in the form of riots, murder of officials, and drunkenness, as well as other forms of open or semiopen resistance.22 Indian caciques, the sometimes elected, sometimes hereditary leaders of Indian communities, found themselves in a somewhat ambivalent position. On the one hand, they were often substantial landowners, enjoying close ties with local officials and merchants, and acting as agents through whom tribute was collected and labour service recruited; on the other, they had a responsibility to protect and represent their people against those members of the non-Indian society who sought to impose illegal demands upon native society.23 Again, the example is worth citing of Túpac Amaru, a substantial landowner and merchant in Tinta, enjoying close personal relationships with the bishop and prominent creole families in Cusco, some of which showed a cynical tendency to encourage indigenous discontent for personal and regional political motives. However, when he rebelled in 1780, the other curacas of the region (like the Indian caciques of Mexico in 1810– 1817) divided into two groups: those who supported the rebellion, eventually to be punished, and those who took up arms against Túpac Amaru as militia officers on behalf of the Spanish crown. The eventual decision in 1814 of the most famous of the latter group, Mateo García Pumacahua, to join dissident creoles in an open rebellion against the viceregal authorities has led some historians to conclude that the original goal of Túpac Amaru – bringing together Peruvians of all races and classes in a quest for social justice and political change – might have been realised if creoles elsewhere in Peru had been able in 1780 to overcome their deep-seated fear of the viceroyalty’s

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

84

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



Indian population. The reality, of course, was different, for, although creoles were occasionally prepared to combine with mestizos and Indians for specific protests against crown policy – for example, in Quito in 1765, briefly in Arequipa in 1780 (as we shall see in chapter 5), and during the 1781 Rebellion of the Comuneros in New Granada – they were not prepared, for obvious reasons, to support Indian risings which threatened white social supremacy.24 Consequently, although the 1814–1815 Cusco rebellion attracted widespread support from some sectors of creole society in the sierra because it held out the prospect of independence, more conservative elements within the region and the majority of creoles elsewhere rejected it because they saw it primarily (and correctly) as an indigenous protest against the intensified onslaught on community resources during the three decades since the Túpac Amaru rebellion.25 This broad consideration also explains, if we put the issue in a wider context, why the majority of the white population of Mexico fought against the mestizo and Indian peones and mineworkers who supported the Hidalgo revolt in 1811. Throughout Spanish America, creoles were prepared to use Indians, mestizos and blacks in the pursuit of their own efforts to achieve economic and political power, and to give expression to their growing sense of nationalism. However, wherever and whenever there appeared to be a danger of social upheaval, the creoles turned back to the peninsulares and joined them in a campaign to preserve established society. As we shall see in chapter 6, this was why most of Peru’s españoles opposed independence, even after the arrival of San Martín in 1820. From the very beginning of the colonial period in Peru, as elsewhere in Spanish America, the mestizo population grew rapidly as the first generations of largely-male conquistadores and settlers came into contact with Indian women, whether through formal marriage (as in the cases of Francisco Pizarro’s successive Indian mistresses, Inés Yupanqui Huaylas and Angelina Yupanqui, who eventually married Francisco de Ampuero and Juan de Betanzos respectively) or, more commonly, through casual unions.26 The process continued throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, despite the increasing migration of Spanish women to Peru, as the economic, religious, and cultural penetration of the highlands brought Spanish officials, miners, priests, and merchants into contact with Indian women in pueblos far from the supervision of the authorities in Lima.27 The consequence was that irresistible social pressure undermined the official crown policy of preserving the fictional existence of separate republics of Spaniards and Indians, based on the prohibition of foráneos residing in Indian communities.28 Promiscuity and its consequent increased racial fusion was further encouraged by the use of female Indian labour for domestic purposes. Personal slavery had been declared illegal for Indians by the mid-sixteenth century, but many migrated to the towns to escape tribute obligations, and female members of their families often entered the households of Spaniards, where, as in the late-twentieth century, their treatment and conditions of employment ranged from virtual enslavement at one extreme to benelovent

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

85

9/2/03, 14:19



  ‒

treatment at the other. In either case urban conditions were generally less arduous for the migrants than those they left behind in their rural communities, but an inevitable consequence of their physical proximity to españoles was a tendency for the mestizo population to increase.29 Prominent citizens sometimes legitimated their natural offspring – following the example of Francisco Pizarro who formally recognised his two children (Francisca and Gonzalo) born to his first Indian mistress – but the majority of mestizos carried throughout the colonial period the social inferiority associated with illegitimate origins.30 By the late-eighteenth century the more industrious and successful of this racial group had come to form a nascent lower middle-class, working as traders, clerks, skilled artisans, farmers, and so on, and with the capacity to overcome social discrimination if they succeeded in acquiring wealth. At another level, however, those in inferior or casual employment in urban centres formed, along with the diverse categories of mixed-race individuals produced by the further racial mixing that the colonial authorities insisted on categorizing – zambos, quarteroons, quinteroons, octoroons, etc. – an insecure plebe that acquired a reputation, rightly or wrongly, for undisciplined social behaviour and a propensity for participating in vaguely political violence.31 In Peru, as elsewhere in Spanish America, mestizos and castes were the only non-white racial groups to benefit from the end of colonialism, albeit indirectly, as the militarization of society during the final stages of the transition to independence, coupled with the enhanced role of the military in political life during the early decades of the republican period, provided further opportunities for upward social (and political) mobility for officers of mixed-race origins: the career of Andrés Santa Cruz, (the La Paz-born son of a white father and a wealthy Indian mother) provides one such example, although it is relevant to recall that his defeat at Yungay in 1839 reflected in part the unwillingness of limeños to remain within a political entity (the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation) controlled by an ‘Indian’.32 By 1795, according to that year’s imperfect census, mestizos constituted 22 per cent (244,000) of the viceroyalty’s total population – a substantially lower proportion than that estimated by Humboldt for Spanish America as a whole.33 The city of Lima had 4,900, and substantial numbers were also recorded for Arequipa (4,900) and Huamanga (4,700). However, it cannot be overemphasized that this categorization, although clear and absolute to contemporaries at its core, was very fluid at its points of contact, reflecting, for example, the social and economic status of individuals and/or the whims of colonial officials, rather than any scientific quest for precision. It makes sense, however, that the intendancy of Tarma was shown in 1795 as having the largest number and proportion of mestizos in Peru (78,560: 32 per cent of the viceregal total; 38 per cent of the province’s total population) for this was an area where mining, agriculture, and commerce had brought españoles and Indians into continuous contact with each other for 250 years. On the other hand, it was plainly ridiculous that the partido of Cusco – the city and its surroundings – was recorded as having only 53 mestizos in a total population of 25,000, alongside

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

86

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



7,100 Indians and 16,800 españoles. Here, as in the intendancy of Huancavelica – where the census showed only 4,500 mestizos in a total population of 45,000 – the mestizo population was deflated by, first, a tendency to define the more prosperous individuals of mixed descent as españoles, and, second, a blurring of the distinction between poorer mestizos and Indians. Many of Peru’s españoles, unless the offspring of recent immigrants, had some Indian blood, or in some cases a degree of black ancestry, by the lateeighteenth century. Despite this relatively relaxed approach to racial identity, which some peninsulares were prone to cite to denigrate the status of American Spaniards, as we have already established in the previous chapter, creoles were reckoned in 1795 to constitute only 12.6 per cent of the viceroyalty’s total population. In global terms the largest numbers of españoles were recorded for the provinces of Arequipa, which had 40,000 (28.6 per cent) – the majority of them (22,000) in the subdelegacy of Arequipa itself – in a total population for the intendancy of 138,000, and Cusco, with 33,000 (15.7 per cent) in a provincial total of 209,000. The less populous intendancy of Lima had 25,000 españoles – 20,000 of them in the city of Lima – making up 15.8 per cent of the provincial total of 156,000. The provinces of Arequipa and Cusco – and Tarma and Trujillo, too – had substantial numbers of españoles not only in the provincial capitals but also in the towns that served as the capitals of the subsidiary partidos – they included Moquegua (6,000), Camaná (5,000), Condesuyos (4,000), Aymaraes (4,000), Chumbivilicas (4,000), Cajamarca (6,000), Piura (3,000), Lambayeque (2,000), Huaylas (4,000), Jauja (2,000), and Huánuco (2,000). In the two intendancies formed from the diocese of Huamanga – Huancavelica and Huamanga itself – españoles were relatively few in number: 8,000 (5.1 per cent) in a total population of 156,000, with the largest group recorded in Andahuaylas (3,000) rather than in the diocesan seat. In the intendancy of Lima, by contrast, Ica, to the south of the capital, was the only secondary town with a substantial number (2,000) of españoles, while the remaining six partidos – Canta, Chancay, Cañete, Huarochirí, Santa, and Yauyos – had only 2,000 between them. The 20,000 españoles resident in the city of Lima, although outnumbered by blacks, constituted an omnipotent, self-contained, hierarchical élite. Like the city itself – largely rebuilt during the viceregencies of Manso and Amat in the aftermath of the 1746 earthquake – this society contained some prominent vestiges of the conquest era in families such as the Aliagas, whose ancestral home continued (and continues) to occupy the site a block away from the plaza de armas granted to Jerónimo de Aliaga in 1535.34 However, the top stratum of limeño society was primarily of Bourbon origin, a point illustrated by the fact that the overwhelming majority of the 411 noble titles granted to the city’s inhabitants during the colonial period dated from the eighteenth century. Manso had been authorized to distribute 14 noble titles to individuals who provided funds for the rebuilding of Callao and Lima, and, in subsequent decades ‘una verdadera inflación de títulos’, to quote Flores Galindo, had developed almost vertically, with the numbers granted, usually

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

87

9/2/03, 14:19



  ‒

to merchants, rising from eight in 1761–1765 to 53 in 1786–1790 and 91 in 1791–1795.35 A substantial minority of the recipients were recent immigrants from Spain: Flores Galindo suggests that peninsulares, the majority of Basque or Navarrese origin, constituted 30 per cent of the 50 ‘principales personajes de la clase alta limeña’ of the last third of the century.36 Newcomers from Spain, usually attracted by commercial opportunities or holding crown appointments, were rapidly absorbed by business and/or marriage into existing, overlapping family networks: a classic example is that of Domingo Ramírez de Arellano – a future prior of the consulado – who acquired ships, land, and urban properties by marrying the daughter and heiress of the Conde de Vista Florida.37 The splendid mansion that Rámirez de Arellano built in Lima – now the seat of the Instituto Riva-Agüero, the prestigious research institute of the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú – was just one of the magnificent family seats constructed in the third quarter of the eighteenth century in the increasingly sophisticated city whose major public monuments of the Bourbon era included the plaza de toros (1768), the Paseo de Aguas (1773), new city walls (completed in 1783), and at Callao the impregnable Real Felipe fortress.38 These constructions, like the new cafés and the impressive new warehouses of Callao, were the physical symbols of a self-confident urban élite, predominantly creole but capable of assimilating the constant stream of new immigrants from the peninsula and making common cause with them against any threats to social or political stability posed by the city’s plebe, the slaves who worked their nearby haciendas, or the scorned – and to some extent feared – Indians of the distant sierra. Attempts to categorise the españoles of late-colonial Lima by occupation are complicated by the fact that many members of the élite were landowners as well as merchants (or mineowners), and in some cases also held public office. This was also true of Arequipa, Cusco, and other cities, where prominent families had diversified interests. In broad terms, however, the city of Lima had almost 400 registered merchants, a similar number of crown employees and 1,900 ecclesiastics of various categories.39 Less privileged groups included 287 pulperos, 308 labradores (small landowners), 1,027 artisans, and a composite group of 600, defined by Flores Galindo as ‘intelectuales’, which included 21 doctors, 91 lawyers, 366 students, 56 surgeons, 13 notaries, and 58 clerks.40 For the élite groups, concentrated in Lima, among the viceroyalty’s population of españoles – the great merchants, landowners, and miners, related to each other through complex networks of family and business – wealth provided some compensation for the restricted access to public office for creoles that intensified with the late-Bourbon tendency to favour peninsulares in the making of senior appointments in the viceregal bureaucracy and judiciary. However, for the small landowners, lawyers, parochial clergy, traders, textile producers and similar occupational groups in the secondary cities and towns of the viceroyalty – who were constantly looking over their shoulders at the threat to their identity posed by upwardly-mobile mestizos – it was easier to focus their resentment and their aspirations upon the political and commer-

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

88

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



cial monopolies controlled by recent immigrants from Spain and their limeño allies. This latent tension began to be released in 1809, although in a less overt form than in other parts of Spanish America, as peninsulares and creoles alike in Peru reacted to the receipt of the news of the French invasion of Spain and the consequential collapse of the Bourbon monarchy.41 In this context, even the conservative, oligarchic cabildo of Lima gave vent to its pent-up frustration in the instructions that it provided in October 1809 to Peru’s newly-appointed deputy to the Junta Central, José de Silva y Olave.42 The demands that he was asked to put to the authorities in Seville included the provision of freer trade, the restoration of the corregidores and the repartimiento, and, above all, a guarantee for Americans of at least a half share in the government of the empire without them having to invest time, energy and money in either travelling to the royal court in Spain or appointing agents in Madrid to petition for appointment. However, deeply-felt though these grievances were, they were overshadowed by creole fears of caste and class disorder, which meant that the vast majority of Peru’s españoles were either ambivalent or actively hostile towards the prospect of revolutionary activity. The choice of Silva – a sexagenarian cleric, born in Guayaquil and serving in 1809 as rector of the University of San Marcos – to go to Spain was in part accidental, for his name was selected by lot (by viceroy Abascal’s daughter) from a list of three compiled by the viceroy from nominations submitted by each of the viceroyalty’s cabildos.43 His background and the identity of the two unsuccessful candidates confirm the generally-held view that Peru’s creole élite was profoundly conservative: one of the other nominees was the arequipeño officer José Manuel de Goyeneche, who had already left Lima for Cusco to assume office as interim president and take command of the royalist army which would repress the insurrections that had occurred in May and June 1809 in Chuquisaca and La Paz.44 The other was José Baquíjano y Carillo, the only limeño serving in the audiencia of Lima in 1809, whose long and expensive quest for appointment as an oidor, although finally successful in 1806, had provided a classic example of the difficulties faced by Americans in securing appointment to high office.45 Indeed, as early as 1793 Baquíjano had been commissioned by the cabildo to go to Madrid to press for privileges for the corporation, improved creole representation in the consulado of Lima, and a slightly more modest guarantee that one third of the oidores in Peru’s two audiencias should be creoles.46 Baquíjano’s career as a symbol of creole aspirations for high office came to an anticlimactic end with his death in Seville in 1817, following his journey to Spain in 1813 to take up a place on the Council of State a mere three months before Ferdinand VII disbanded the body in June 1814.47 Two decades earlier, shortly before his appointment to the chair of canon law at the University of San Marcos, he had been president of Lima’s Sociedad de Amantes del País in 1792–1793, and had published several important articles in its journal, the Mercurio Peruano under the pseudonym ‘Cefalio’.48 As a whole the articles that appeared in the Mercurio during the four years of its existence (1791–

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

89

9/2/03, 14:19



  ‒

1794) ranged widely over literary and historical themes, economic policy, agriculture, mining and communications, and, with the enthusiastic support of viceroy Gil, they tended to reflect the late-Bourbon emphasis on the acquisition of useful knowledge, rational enquiry, and economic growth. In a small way the journal’s preoccupation with almost exclusively Peruvian issues contributed to a tendency for creoles within the viceroyalty to lose sight of the importance of subordinating local needs and problems to those of the imperial structure as a whole. However, the implicit danger that this feature, coupled with the emphasis on rational enquiry and deduction, might lead them to the conclusion that the continuation of Spanish rule in Peru might be no longer desirable was outweighed by the social and racial prejudices of the creole scholars, administrators and writers who joined the Society. Like the peninsulares – administrators, churchmen, and merchants – who also wrote for and read the Mercurio, they were men of property, who shared rather than challenged the Bourbon view that agriculture, industry and commerce should be fomented by rational reform and enquiry. In that sense, the Society and the Mercurio served, in the short term at least, to tie Peru more closely to Spain, by increasing the efficiency of administration, rather than to promote separation. Here, at least – unlike, perhaps, different outcomes in booming Mexico and brooding Santa Fe – there is little evidence that the small scientific community manifested any overt, or even covert, criticism of Spain in their writings. Similarly, other manifestations of cultural development in late-colonial Peru – for example, the establishment of cafés, the opening of theatres, a degree of educational reform in the Convictorio de San Carlos and in San Marcos – were reflections of processes of officially-sanctioned modernization enthusiastically supported by the central government in Madrid for implementation not just in the imperial metropolis but also the other major cities of America.49 The common educational formation of young Peruvian creoles in this environment did give them a sense of social and intellectual cohesion, but in the case of the majority of limeños their group identity was expressed politically from 1808 in terms of a support for royalism rather than revolution. Beyond Lima, however, provincial creoles and less privileged racial groups were more prone to participate in overt resistance, as we shall see in the next chapter, which examines the extent and the nature of the conspiratorial and revolutionary activity that occurred in the viceroyalty prior to the collapse of the Bourbon monarchy in 1808. Notes 1 2 3 4

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

Areche to Gálvez, 22 December 1780, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. Areche to Gálvez, 30 April 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. Ibid. J. Valdés, Documentos para la historia de la guerra sepatista del Perú, ed. F. Valdés y Hector (Conde de Torata), Madrid, Imprenta de la Viuda de M. Minuesa de los Rios, 4 vols., 1894–1898, vol. 3, pp. 37–38.

90

9/2/03, 14:19

,   



5 Jáuregui to Gálvez, 15 February 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. See, too, ‘Relación suscinta de la conjuración de los yndios de esta ciudad…’, in L. A. Eguiguren (ed.), Guerra separatista: rebeliones de indios en Sur América. La sublevación de Túpac Amaru, Lima, Imprenta Torres Aguirre, 2 vols., 1952, vol. 1, pp. 176–86. 6 Areche to Gálvez, 1 March 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. On incanismo see M. Burga, Nacimiento de una utopia: muerte y resurrección de los Incas, Lima, Instituto de Apoyo Agrario, 1988, and A. Flores Galindo, Buscando un Inca: identidad y utopía en los Andes, Lima, Horizonte, 1984. 7 Mata insisted repeatedly that members of the Peralta and Ugarte families had conspired with the bishop and other ecclesiastical officials to support Túpac Amaru, but was frustrated by his inability to secure evidence that would satisfy the audiencia of Lima of their guilt: Mata to Gálvez, 4 August 1785, AGI, Cusco, leg. 35; Avilés to Gálvez, 1 January 1785, AGI, Cusco, leg. 2. 8 Areche to Gálvez, 1 March 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. Areche added, unconsciously picking up a Utopian theme, ‘y con que si alguno muere en la acción de coronarse y rendir lo demas del Reyno, le resucitará al tercero dia’. 9 Areche to Gálvez, 29 May 1782, AGI, Lima, leg. 1041. 10 At precisely the same time this famous cacique of Chinchero was extending his business interests by renting the hacienda of Sondor in Huaillabamba for the considerable sum of 470 pesos a year: M. Mörner, Perfil de la sociedad rural del Cuzco a fines de la colonia, Lima, Universidad del Pacífico, 1978, p. 45. 11 Figures from estado annexed to Bonet to Gil, 29 December 1795, AGI, Indif. Gen., leg. 1525. 12 Quoted in L. G. Campbell, ‘Black Power in Colonial Peru: the 1779 Tax Rebellion of Lambayeque’, Phylon, Vol. 33, 1972, p. 141. 13 Ibid., pp. 142–43. 14 ‘Relación de la negativa de los Pardos libres de Lambayeque hacer la contribución militar’, AGI, Aud. de Lima, leg. 1086. 15 Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe, p. 169. The second (posthumous) edition of this classic work carries the graphic main title La ciudad sumergida. 16 C. Lazo García and J.Tord Nicolini, El tumulto esclavo en la hacienda San José de Nepeña, 1779, Lima, Biblioteca Peruana de Historia Economía y Sociedad, 1978; C. Lazo García and J. Tord Nicolini, Del negro señorial al negro bandolero, Lima, Biblioteca Peruana de Historia, Economía y Sociedad, 1977, p. 3. 17 The crown granted a number of concessions in 1789–1798 to encourage the supply of slaves to Peru, including a 1796 decree that they might be imported duty-free (Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 148–49) but a common view was that those shipped via Buenos Aires tended to be sold there, even if officially destined for transhipment to Lima: see, for example, Avilés, Memoria, ed. Romero, p. 96. Studies of regional agriculture that deal indirectly with the institution of slavery include N. P. Cushner, Lords of the Land, Albany, NY, State University of New York Press, 1980; K. A. Davies, Landowners in Colonial Peru, Austin, TX, University of Texas Press, 1984; and Ramírez, Provincial Patriarchs. 18 P. Blanchard, Slavery & Abolition in Early Republican Peru, Wilmington, DE, Scholarly Resources, 1992, pp. 3–4. 19 Ibid., p. 1; Campbell, ‘Black Power’, p. 142. 20 Blanchard, Slavery and Abolition, p. 14. See, too, P. Gootenberg, ‘Population and Ethnicity in Early Republican Peru: Some Revisions’, Latin American Research Review, Vol. 26, 1991, pp. 109–57. 21 Detailed and satisfying studies of how rural society actually functioned in colonial Peru are relatively rare: a good model of how to approach its reconstruction is provided by

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

91

9/2/03, 14:19



22

23

24 25

26 27 28

29 30

31

32 33 34 35

36 37 38

39

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

  ‒ L. M. Glave and M. I. Remy, Estructura agraria y vida rural en una región andina. Ollantaytambo entre los siglos XVI y XIX, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Rurales Andinos ‘Bartolomé de las Casas’, 1983. As in other areas of social history, this theme has been explained in more detail for New Spain than for Peru: see, in particular, W. B. Taylor, Drinking, Homicide and Rebellion in Colonial Mexican Villages, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 1979. A subtle analysis of the sometimes ambivalent rôle of the cacique is provided by F. Pease G. Y., Curacas, reciprocidad y riqueza, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1982. See, too, W. Espinoza Soriano, ‘El alcalde mayor indígena en el virreinato del Perú’, AES, Vol. 17, 1960, pp. 183–300. An excellent analysis of the complexity of socio-racial rivalries and alliances in the city of Quito in the Bourbon period is provided by Minchom, The People of Quito. This process had included the insertion of espanoles as caciques by crown officials in place of indigenous leaders removed from office after the rebellion: see D. P. Cahill and S. O’Phelan Godoy, ‘Forging Their Own History: Indian Insurgency in the Southern Peruvian Sierra’, Bulletin of Latin American Research, Vol. 11, 1992, pp. 125–67. J. Lockhart, The Men of Cajamarca, Austin, TX, University of Texas Press, 1972, pp. 153–54. On the rôle of Spanish women in early-colonial society, see J. Lockhart, Spanish Peru 1532–1560, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1994, pp. 169–92. The classic analysis of this doomed attempt to impose physical (as well as legal) separation of Spaniards and Indians is provided by M. Mörner, La corona española y los foráneos en los pueblos de indios de América, Stockholm, Almquist & Wiksell, 1970. A broad overview of the process of mestizaje is provided by M. Mörner, Race Mixture in the History of Latin America, Boston, MA, Little, Brown, 1967. Apparently the two children resulting from Pizarro’s relationship with Angelina Yupanqui – Francisco and Juan – were not legitimated by him: Lockhart, The Men of Cajamarca, p. 154. A fascinating analysis of racial relationships in the city of Lima in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries is provided by J. A. Casamalón Aguilar, ‘Amistades peligrosas: matrimonios indígenas y espacios de convivencia inter-racial (Lima 1795– 1820)’, in O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), El Perú en el siglo XVIII, pp. 345–68. For further discussion of this theme, see chapter 6. Humboldt calculated that mestizos constituted 5,328,000 (32 per cent) of a total imperial population of 16,910,000: see chapter 3. J. Bernales Ballesteros, Lima: la ciudad y sus monumentos, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1972, p. 27; Lockhart, The Men of Cajamarca, p. 262. Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe, p. 73. A brief guide to noble titles in Peru is provided by R. Vargas Ugarte, Títulos nobiliarios en el Perú, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1965. See, too, G. Lohmann Villena, Los americanos en las órdenes nobiliarias (1529– 1900), Madrid, Instituto Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, 2 vols., 1947, vol. 1, pp. LXXV–LXXVI. A more general analysis of Lima’s social structure is provided by M. P. Pérez Canto, Lima en el siglo XVIII, Madrid, Universidad Autonóma-Instituto de Cooperación Iberoamericana, 1985. Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe, pp. 55, 74–76. Ibid., pp. 77–78. Ibid., p. 61; Bernales Ballesteros, Lima, pp. 314–15. Excellent photographs of these and other buildings erected in Lima and Callao in the Bourbon era are in M. Méndez Guerrero, C. Pacheco Vélez, and J.M. Ugarte Elespúru, Lima, Madrid, Instituto de Cooperación Iberoamericana-Cultura Hispánica, 1986, pp. 126–49, 180–85. ‘Plan demostrativo de la población comprehendida en el recinto de la Ciudad de Lima’,

92

9/2/03, 14:19

,   

40 41

42

43

44 45 46 47 48 49



5 December 1790, AGI, Indif. Gen., leg. 1527. An impression of how this society was organised is provided by H. Unánue, Guia política, eclesiástica y militar del virreynato del Perú para el año de 1793, Lima, COFIDE, 1985; its onomastic index (pp. 397–424) is particularly useful. See, too, Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe, pp. 71–72, 101. Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, p. 21, mistakenly describes the labradores as ‘labourers’. A sound guide to Peruvian reactions to the collapse of the monarchy is provided by A. Nieto Vélez, ‘Contribución a la historia del Fidelismo en el Perú, 1808–1810’, Boletín del Instituto Riva-Agüero, Vol. 4, 1958–1960, pp. 9–146. Cabildo to Silva, 11 October 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 802. Silva had got as far as Mexico, via Quito, when he decided to return to Lima on receipt of the news of the collapse of the Junta. Following his return to Lima in 1811, he was named as bishop of Huamanga in 1812; he took up his post there in 1813, but his consecration was delayed by the occupation of the city by the Cusco rebels in 1814–1815 and he died, in fact, in 1816 on his way to Lima for the ceremony: M. de Mendiburu, Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú, Lima, J. Francisco Sola, 8 vols., 1874–1890, vol. 7, p. 350. The arcane procedure – of which the first stage was for each cabildo to make three nominations and then select one by lot for forwarding to Lima – was approved by the real acuerdo on 19 September 1809: acta, AHMH, Miscelánea, MS 0001. Abascal to secretary of state, 23 August 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 625. See Appendix 3 for further details of Goyeneche’s career. Baquíjano’s career is given detailed scrutiny in Burkholder, Politics of a Colonial Career. J. de la Riva Agüero, ‘Don José Baquíjano y Carrillo’, Boletín del Museo Bolivariano, Vol. 12, 1929, p. 471. Burkholder, Politics of a Colonial Career, p. 124. Clément, El Mercurio Peruano, vol. 1, pp. 31–32. For further discussion of educational and cultural structures, see L. Martín and J. A. Guerín Pettus, Scholars and Schools in Colonial Peru, Dallas, TX, Southern Methodist University, 1973. A detailed, if somewhat laborious account of the history of the Convictorio de San Carlos – founded by the crown in the aftermath of the 1767 expulsion of the Jesuits as part of a broader programme of reforming higher education in Peru – is provided by G. A. Espinosa Ruiz, ‘La reforma de la educación superior en Lima: el caso del Real Convictorio de San Carlos’, in O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), Peru en el siglo XVIII, pp. 205–41.

EUP_BPeru_05_Ch4

93

9/2/03, 14:19

 

Resistance, Revolts and Rebellions

Aware that the second decade of the nineteenth century witnessed the beginning of the collapse of Iberian imperialism on the mainland of Latin America, historians of the independence period have searched assiduously in the late-eighteenth century for manifestations of resistance to colonialism in the hope of discovering the seeds of the desire for national self-determination. In the case of Peru this process has even led to some attempts to incorporate resistance in the 1730s in Cochabamba and Cotabambas to Castelfuerte’s revisitas of the Indian and mestizo population (for the purposes of revising tribute lists and reorganizing mita quotas) into a ‘first conjuncture’ of rebellions that also includes in its litany an abortive rebellion in Oruro in 1739, and further conspiracies and protest movements in Oruro, Lima and Huarochirí in 1750.1 Typical themes in these protests – as, indeed, in many of those of a similar nature which occurred in the second half of the eighteenth century – included straightforward Indian protests against a variety of abuses, the resistance of mestizos to the perceived threat of being reclassified as Indians (and thereby losing both status and exemption from the tribute), and the contradictory tendency for both mestizos and some provincial creoles to emphasize their Indian ancestry as well as their European origins in an attempt to secure indigenous support for their opposition to officialdom and fiscal exactions. Normally, a show of strength from the regional and/or viceregal authorities – such as the hanging and quartering in 1731 of ten Cotabambas rebels for murdering their corregidor (Juan Josef Fandiño), and the display for several months of their corpses in various villages – was sufficient to restore order. Similarly, the rebellion at Huarochirí in 1750 which began with the killing by armed Indians of the corregidor (Juan Joseph de Orrantia), his teniente and fourteen other españoles, was promptly nipped in the bud by exemplary executions of the ringleaders and the exile of others to the Juan Fernández islands.2 There are some grounds for inferring that the viceregal authorities, although not exactly welcoming local protests against corregidores, accepted endemic local violence as an almost inevitable feature of the rural landscape of highland Peru, provoked primarily by the understandable resistance of communities to

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

94

9/2/03, 13:33

,   



abuses imposed by officials preoccupied with operating the repartimiento instead of protecting their inhabitants from the fiscal and social abuses imposed by local clergy, hacendados, miners, and owners of obrajes.3 As Amat commented in his Memoria: Los excesos que juntamente cometen los Obrageros, Cañavereros, dueños de Coca, Mineros y demas Hazendados … cuyas desarregladas operaciones son publicas y notorias, no penden sino del perberso proceder de los Corregidores, quienes coechados con sus mismos tratos y negociaciones, no solo no pueden corregir las violencias y maldades que reconocen, temiendo ser acusados de mayores delitos, sino por salbar sus intereses, con quietud disimulan y apadrinan qualesquiera temeridades, saliendo por defensores de agenos procedimientos con el fin de oprimir la voz y queja de los infelizes y desbalidos vasallos de S.M. que viven muy distantes y apartados del Virrey y Tribunales superiores.4

Sixteen years later, the future viceroy of Peru, Avilés, although fully committed to the severe military repression of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, made the same point more succinctly with his comment that the majority of Peru’s corregidores ‘ciegos de la codicia, y llebados del cebo de unas ganacias usurarias, creen justa la práctica de una tiránica esclavitud de los Indios …’.5 Drawing upon this recent intelligence, as well as the extensive reports on provincial maladministration from Juan and Ulloa and others that had been accumulating in Madrid for the previous four decades, Gálvez reached similar conclusions, advising the viceroy-elect, Croix, in 1783 that in Peru: Sólo se cuidaba de sacar del infeliz Indio toda la utilidad temporal posible, sin ponerle religión, costumbres, utilidad, ni conocimiento, ni obediencia, y amor al Rey. Ellos no habian visto cerca de si sino tiranos Corregidores, iguales Curas, y por este método han sido todos los qe han tratado con ellos, consiguiendo hacerles malos hasta el punto que no pudiera llegarse a presumir.6

However understanding ministerial and viceregal officialdom might have been of the basic causes of indigenous rebellions and resistance, there was an implicit assumption in the corridors of power in both Madrid and Lima that such movements should be either repressed with vigour, if they threatened the security of areas settled by Spaniards, or contained – in part by occasional punitive expeditions – if they occurred on the frontiers of ‘civilized’ settlement.7 Manso reacted swiftly, therefore to the 1750 Huarochirí rising (which, he believed, had some disturbing connections with a conspiracy hatched in Lima in 1747 by Indian residents originally from the province), despatching a company of cavalry and seven of infantry – a total of almost 1,000 men – to repress it, because he simply could not afford to be seen to allow to go unpunished protestors who had set fire to the cabildo of an important provincial town, and were also threatening to destroy local haciendas.8 However, the more prolonged Juan Santos Atahualpa rebellion, which had begun in 1742 under his predecessor (Mendoza) in the montaña region to the east of Tarma, provoked a more defensive response, centred around the fortification of pueblos near the frontier, garrisoned by some 200 men whose principal function

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

95

9/2/03, 13:33



  ‒

was to deter Indian incursions into settled areas.9 The alternative strategy was eventually vindicated with the petering out of the rebellion in 1756 – probably as a result of the death of its leader – although the Campa Indians continued to resist the attempted settlement of the Apurimac region throughout the second half of the century. Despite the occasional tendency for Indian protesters to invoke a quasiUtopian justification for their protests, in part by adopting Incaic names – one of the leaders of the Huarochirí movement, Francisco García Jiménez, is referred to variously as ‘Francisco Inca’, ‘Francisco García Inga Ximenéz’ and ‘Francisco Ximenéz Inga’ – the viceregal authorities usually had little difficulty in repressing them, basically because regional officials could normally count on the support of local españoles, anxious to preserve social and economic order in the face of popular protests.10 Officialdom at all levels became more concerned, for obvious reasons, about rebellions that succeeded, even if only temporarily, in uniting Indians, mestizos and creoles in common campaigns against the agents of royal authority, for these were much more difficult to contain, and usually required concessions to be made in order to restore tranquillity, even though it was not uncommon for reprisals to be exacted once protesters had laid down their arms. The first really significant manifestation of this new threat in the post-1750 period occurred not in Peru proper but in the neighbouring kingdom of Quito (a region for which viceroys of Peru continued until independence, as we shall see in the next chapter, to feel some residual responsibility), when in 1765 the inhabitants of the city of Quito rose up in a major urban protest triggered by the attempts of viceroy Pedro Messía de la Cerda to increase revenue by removing the administration of both the alcabala and the aguardiente monopoly from private individuals and putting it in the hands of royal officials.11 What was very important was that the proposed changes offended both the hacendados who produced the sugar from which aguardiente was distilled, and the small householders and traders of the city’s popular barrios, who were particularly vulnerable to the threat of a more rigorous and efficient collection of the sales tax. The outcome was, initially, a peaceful protest movement among patrician political circles, which gradually attracted support from disparate social groups to become a general rebellion against fiscal change. It did not turn into a great regional movement, of the kind that were to occur 15 years later in New Granada and Peru, but it stands out as the first overt manifestation of regional resistance to the new phase of Bourbon reformism ushered in by the fiscal needs of Charles III. It is also important to draw attention to the fact that it was essentially an urban movement, which, like the much greater revolts of 1810 against the representatives of royal authority, showed how shared interests were capable of uniting patricians and populace against royal government. The revolts which broke out in Peru and New Granada in 1780–1781 shared many of the characteristics of the Quito rebellion of 1765, although it is important for the historian to distinguish between them, and to avoid the temptation to see them as part of a general conspiracy. Their context was the

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

96

9/2/03, 13:33

,   



Anglo-Spanish war of 1779–1783 (the War of United States Independence), which led the crown to demand greater fiscal surpluses from the visitadores generales despatched to Peru and New Granada to undertake general restructuring of exchequer and judicial administration. In Peru violent opposition to Areche’s fiscal innovations erupted in Arequipa in January 1780, and spread rapidly to Huaraz, Cerro de Pasco, La Paz, Cochabamba, and Cusco. The most important of these local protests was the Arequipa revolt which brought together patricians and townspeople to attack and destroy the customs house on 14 January, in protest at the insensitive attempts of its administrator, Juan Bautista Pando, to enforce Areche’s orders to increase the alcabala by two per cent (from four to six per cent) of the value of goods brought into the city, impose new taxes on aguardiente production, and generally to tax social groups and commodities which had hitherto been exempt from fiscal impositions.12 Many individuals of mixed descent in the city were also outraged by a decree of Areche of 16 November 1779, ordering that mestizos and cholos be registered along with Indians as tributaries.13 However, the local élite was soon made aware of the dangers as well as the advantages of mobilizing the masses to protest against increased fiscal burdens, for in the days which followed the destruction of the aduana mobs in neighbouring villages turned their attention to the corregidor, his business associates, and established society in general: for example, the corregidor’s house was sacked on 15 January and the gaol was attacked and prisoners released on the following day. At this many of the patricians who had secretly supported the attack on Pando took refuge in Arequipa’s convents and monasteries, while their braver members hastily assembled two militia companies first to beat off an attack on the city, and then to undertake a punitive expedition against the Indians, mestizos and other castes assembled in the nearby Pampa of Miraflores. Hundreds of prisoners were taken, and eleven of them were hanged in the centre of Arequipa on 17– 18 January before the disturbances subsided. In the long-term the Arequipa revolt demonstrated the vulnerability of Spanish control of Peru to a crossclass alliance, but it also made it clear that such an alliance could not easily be sustained in face of the drastic racial and social inequalities in American society. Nevertheless, like the Quito rebellion of 1765, it reminded the crown of the limits to its practical authority, even in the age of the intensification of absolutism. Ten months later, on 9 November 1780, the cacique of Tinta, José Gabriel Túpac Amaru, initiated the greatest protest movement in Spanish America before 1810 by arresting and subsequently hanging in the square of Tungasuca the corregidor of Canas y Canchis, Antonio Arriaga.14 Peruvian historians have tended to argue that the rebellion represents a continuation of the urban protests already referred to, and thus provides evidence of a multiracial resistance of Peruvians against Spanish rule.15 This interpretation is not entirely without foundation, for there is evidence that creole dissidents in Cusco had attempted earlier in the year, like their counterparts in Arequipa, to exploit and manipulate indigenous discontent against maladministration by

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

97

9/2/03, 13:34



  ‒

the corregidores and their subordinates to frighten the visitador into relaxing his programme of fiscal innovation.16 Areche himself encouraged this interpretation, arguing that Túpac Amaru had been scheming since the end of 1775 with various individuals, including ‘algunas de categoria’ as well as ‘personas de vaja clase’ to take up arms against the crown, although he doubted that the Indian leader’s creole supporters had intended ‘subvertir la Dominación’.17 However, in an initial report to Gálvez, designed perhaps to play down the significance of the rebellion and the threat that it posed to the programme of the visita general, Areche had drawn attention to the fact that summons from Túpac Amaru to surrounding provinces to aid the rebellion had not been issued until after Arriaga had been killed on 10 November rather than immediately after his seizure six days earlier, ‘lo que prueva que este paso no estaba preparado’.18 Guirior supported the conspiracy theory, which he believed also explained the disturbances in Huaraz in February 1780 (when 2,000 armed men protested against rumours that mestizos were about to be registered as tributaries) and a riot in Pasco in March, involving the stoning of the administrador de alcabalas, Miguel de Enderica, and the burning of his papers amidst rumours that new taxes were to be imposed on the sale of salt, coca, coal, and firewood.19 Eighteen months later in what amounted to a valedictory report on the rebellion – he was aware that he would be replaced by Escobedo as visitador within a few days – Areche, too, insisted upon the links between it and the earlier urban disturbances, describing the January 1780 events in Arequipa as ‘el primer chispaso de este alzamiento’.20 However, in the same document he provided a convincing analysis of the attitudes to the Indian rebels of some local creoles with the observation: Al principio es verdad que havia entre estos algunos Españoles y de otras castas mas diestros que ellos, pero hace dias que andan por lo regular quasi solos, guiados de uno u otro iniquo Aluzinador que les ofrece el vencimiento de los Españoles á quienes les ha hecho aborrecer el maltrato de Curas, de Correg’res, de obrageros y Hacendados, pero no por esto mas capaces de conseguir sus ideas ridiculos de acavar con los blancos.

Curiously, this interpretation was broadly in line with that offered to Areche a mere two months after the beginning of the rebellion – six days after Túpac Amaru abandoned his siege of the city of Cusco – by bishop Moscoso, who reported that ‘algunos de los españoles, y Mestizos que tenia en su compañia lo fueron desamparando, y se han retirado a sus vecindarios’.21 Some españoles, the bishop suggested, had initially been prepared to support the insurgents out of fear – ‘un terror pánico’ – but as the rebellion lost its initial impetus, had been able to reassert their loyalty to the crown. Jáuregui confirmed this point, citing the case of the peninsular Juan Antonio Figueroa – sergeant-major of the militia of Paruro – who had been forced to take command of the rebel artillery until he succeeded in escaping.22 In his subsequent testimony to Mata Linares concerning his precise rôle in the events of November 1780, Figueroa

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

98

9/2/03, 13:34

,   



provided fascinating details of events in the insurgent camp during the days leading up to Arriaga’s execution: he insisted that the delay in hanging him was due to the fact that Túpac Amaru was awaiting instructions from unknown accomplices (by implication they included the bishop) in the city of Cusco.23 He also reported, again to underline the rather confused religious dimension, that the scaffold was constructed from the timbers of the ruined church of Pampamarca, and that a speech delivered by a minor ecclesiastical official (an ayudante de sacerdote) at the hanging stated that Arriaga’s death should be seen as a lesson to those who defied the clergy, an obvious reference to the corregidor’s prolonged disputes with Moscoso.24 Other commentators were more cynical about both Moscoso’s protestations of loyalty once the rebellion began, and the attempts of prominent cusqueños to distance themselves from any responsibility for fomenting it. The cynics included the archdeacon of Cusco’s ecclesiastical cabildo – according to his own account the body’s only European member – who not only insisted in April 1781 that the November 1780 rebellion was a direct continuation of the disturbances that had begun in February of that year, but also claimed that all the creoles in the city’s ecclesiastical establishment, including the bishop himself, were praying for ‘la victoria del enemigo’.25 His stark conclusion was that ‘sin un gran exterminio de Indios, y Criollos, se perderá el Reyno … El Americano es hombre de servidumbre, y si se le extrae de ella, al punto quiere la Diadima del Reyno’. Although Gálvez himself shared this anti-creole attitude – in part as a consequence of his own experiences in New Spain in 1765–1771, from which he had returned convinced that only the restoration of peninsular control over the judiciary and bureaucracy would ensure sound administration in America – he adopted a slightly more positive view of the situation, which embraced a dual response. The first feature included the revocation of the pardons granted by Jáuregui in 1781 to Diego Cristóbal Túpac Amaru (José Gabriel’s cousin) and other members of his family, and a brutal repression of the Indians who supported the rebellion in its second phase in Peru and Upper Peru, following José Gabriel’s execution in May 1781.26 The second, more constructive, aspect, closely based upon advice received from Avilés, military commander of the royalist army, consisted of fundamental administrative reform, the principal features of which were the replacement of corregidores with intendants and subdelegates in 1784, and the 1787 decision to establish the audiencia of Cusco.27 The rationale here, as Gálvez explained to Avilés was ‘quitar p’a spre los males que padecia esa América, cortandolos de raiz por el medio eficaz, y unico de abolir los Correxim’tos y poner en las Provins’s Magistrados escogidos, y dotados con sueldos competentes’, so that ‘el Perú salga de una vez de su antigua anarquia, confusion, y desorden con que ha caminado precipitadan’te por tantos años a su precipicio, y ultima ruina’.28 In July 1783 the arrest and despatch to Spain of Diego Túpac Amaru and other surviving members of José Gabriel’s family was ordered by Gálvez, but the decision reached Peru too late to save the life of Diego, who had been executed and quartered precisely a week before it was issued, following his capture in

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

99

9/2/03, 13:34



  ‒

March 1783, ‘por reincidencia en el execrable crimen de la rebelión’, to quote the new viceroy Croix.29 The Comunero rebellion in the neighbouring viceroyalty of New Granada began with the eruption of violence in Socorro on 15 March 1781 – four months after Túpac Amaru took up arms in Peru – and turned into a full-scale show of defiance of royal authority two months later, as Juan Francisco Berbeo began a march to Bogotá at the head of an estimated 20,000 armed men. There is some evidence that the arrival in Socorro of news of events in Peru may have had an effect on the timing of the protest there, and one of its plebeian leaders, José Antonio Galán (son of a peninsular father and a mulatta mother) was subsequently described as ‘the Túpac Amaru of our kingdom’ by former collaborators anxious to distance themselves from him when he refused to compromise with the royal authorities.30 However, Phelan argues that the Comunero rebellion ‘would have taken place whether Peru was quiet or not’, and also draws attention to the fundamental differences between the two movements, the most significant of which was ‘the notable absence of violence’ in the New Granadan protest.31 In reality, the latter was not a movement for independence or even one which had the capacity to turn into a separatist revolution, but a widespread demonstration of protest against the harsh fiscal innovations imposed in New Granada by the regent and visitador general Juan Francisco Gutiérrez de Piñeres, who, instead of bargaining and compromising with local interests, as crown officials had traditionally done in New Granada, increased without consultation the rate of alcabala, reorganized the aguardiente monopoly, and began to eradicate the uncontrolled production of tobacco by small farmers in the interests of maximizing profits for the newly-installed tobacco monopoly. The Comunero rebellion bore striking similarities to the Quito rebellion of 1765 and the Arequipa protest of January 1780 in terms of its aims, but has understandably seemed to some contemporaries to be comparable to the Túpac Amaru rebellion because of both its scale and the widespread participation of mainly-Indian plebeians. It culminated, as is well known, on 31 May 1781 in a tense confrontation at Zipaquirá, a mere one day’s march from Santa Fe de Bogotá, between the rebels and commissioners from the capital led by archbishop Antonio Caballero y Góngora. Here, the protesters split – partly along regional lines (the 4,000 cavalrymen from Tunja distanced themselves from the more numerous but less-disciplined recruits, many of them Indians, from Socorro) – but primarily on the basis of class and to some extent ethnicity. The outcome, once the momentum of the march had been lost, was that the hacendado Francisco Berbeo and other middlesector creoles managed to wrest control of the movement from its more radical leaders, and agreed with the archbishop to return to Socorro and lay down their arms, in return for his promise to suppress the tobacco monopoly, restore the alcabala to its old level, provide greater access to office for Americans, and other concessions. One of these promises was immediately realized by Berbeo’s appointment as corregidor of Socorro. Again, the hopes of the masses for significant social improvement were realized to only a small

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

100

9/2/03, 13:34

,   



degree as the creoles who had taken control of their movement abandoned them. Galán, who refused to accept the Zipaquirá capitulations, was hunted down by his former associates, and, along with three other popular ringleaders, was sentenced to death – by hanging and quartering, followed by the traditional display of parts of his body in various places associated with his insurgency – by the audiencia of Santa Fe de Bogotá in January 1782. It seems clear that neither of these late-colonial protest movements was a direct antecedent of independence. The Comunero rebellion, like the Quito movement of 1765 and the early–1780 manifestations of discontent in Arequipa and other Peruvian towns and cities, can be seen as an outburst against the fiscal aspects of the intensification of absolutism during the reign of Charles III. The Túpac Amaru rebellion, by contrast, had more ambiguous aims – it can be seen, contradictorily, as both a demand for better government and an invitation to all Peruvians, whatever their ethnic origins, to unite against the peninsulares – but in terms of its rhetoric it contained the germ of a separatist movement. In one sense the parallel processes were contradictory for the anti-fiscal protests in New Granada and (in the case of Peru) those in Arequipa and elsewhere, drew attention to, perhaps even exaggerated, the contrast between the late-eighteenth century, when centralization, heavy taxation, and authoritarianism had become the norms and an idealised, illdefined earlier period when, according to popular consciousness, taxes had been evaded with the full knowledge of both local and central government authorities, and the consent of the governed had been considered essential before significant innovations were made in administrative and fiscal structures. There is some evidence that in New Granada a minority of the creole élite – whose support would be vital for the success of any attempt to break with Spain – might have been inspired to develop a sense of incipient nationalism by the collective action of 1781, but individuals such as Pedro Fermín de Vargas, Antonio Nariño, and Francisco Javier Espejo, who were prepared in the 1790s to at least contemplate revolution – but not to practise it – were exceptional; most creoles in New Granada and Peru responded to the intensification of absolutism with a sullen acceptance of the need for closer imperial control, as the price to be paid for economic growth and social stability in the late-Bourbon period. The Túpac Amaru rebellion, by contrast, can be seen as a demand for more efficient government rather than a reaction against it, a demand for the Spanish crown and its agents in Peru to provide the structures of support for the surviving members of the indigenous community implied by the colonial contract, and implement the protective measures that in theory went with the Indians’ acceptance of the obligation to pay their tribute twice a year. Within the viceroyalty of Peru the dual strategy of repressing insurgency with harsh reprisals, combined with an attempt to improve the standards of judicial administration by appointing peninsulares as intendants and oidores, ushered in a prolonged period of relative stability from 1784 until 1810. Memories of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru inevitably faded in the 1790s,

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

101

9/2/03, 13:34



  ‒

despite the tendency for individuals seeking favours from the viceregal or metropolitan authorities to cite their services to the crown during the insurgency, and the parallel trend for local officials to invoke memories of it when confronted by sometimes violent resistance to their administration.32 In 1792, for example, a commissioner appointed by viceroy Gil to oversee the activities of the notoriously unruly miners of Cerro de Pasco received such a hostile reception that he claimed to have discovered ‘una sublevación declarada’, a ‘tumulto ciego, violento, y ardiente’, which led him to invoke memories of ‘la de Tupamaro, la cual empezó por la resistencia de un Indio insolente, y atrevido à las or’nes de su Corregidor’.33 The first and – prior to 1814 – only serious indication that collective memories in the Cusco region might resurrect the somewhat idealized notion of identifying an Inca to lead a separatist movement occurred in 1805, when two creole conspirators, Gabriel Aguilar and José Manuel de Ubalde, sought to persuade the Cusco regidor, Manuel Valverde Ampuero (who claimed descent from Huayna Capac) to recruit support from the noble Indian electors of the alferazgo real for the proclamation of Aguilar (a miner from Huánuco) as Inca.34 The cautious Valverde – who was subsequently exiled to Spain for failing to report the conspiracy to the authorities – refused to get involved, with the result that Aguilar himself emerged as the Inca-elect, claiming that in a dream a ‘sierbo de Dios’ had told him ‘Vos S’or sois el que tiene Dios destinado para tomar el cetro de estos dominios’.35 Following the denunciation of the conspiracy to the audiencia in June 1805 by a Paucartambo militia officer who had been approached to provide armed support, the audiencia moved swiftly, sentencing Aguilar and Ubalde to be hanged in the main square of Cusco (the sentences were carried out on 5 December 1805, as posterity is reminded by a modern plaque fixed to the wall at the front of the former Jesuit church) and exiling other conspirators to Madrid and Lima.36 It is clear that in practical terms there was little indigenous involvement in the conspiracy. However, it depicted the readiness, indeed the desire, of some creole dissidents in Cusco and its environs to involve the Indians of the sierra in their anti-Spanish conspiracies, thereby setting a precedent (as we shall see in chapter 6) for the major insurrection of 1814–1815, and resurrecting a ghost that had haunted peninsular officials since 1780. The relationship between the 1805 conspiracy and the 1780 rebellion made a particular impression upon the fiscal of the Council of the Indies who commented upon the case in 1807: none other than Benito de la Mata Linares, the former judge of Túpac Amaru.37 Enthusiastically endorsing the opinion of the regent of the audiencia of Cusco, Pedro Antonio Cernadas, that ‘aqui huviera producido mas efecto la insurrección con un Inca proclamado que en cualquiera otra, ó acaso en todas las ciudades de estos Reynos’, Mata suggested that a permanent garrison of Spanish troops should be installed in the fortress of Sacsahuamán, and (invoking, perhaps unconsciously, the preconquest custom of bringing mitimaes to the centre of imperial power) that young cusqueños should be encouraged to come to Spain to pursue military or

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

102

9/2/03, 13:34

,   



literary careers, thereby serving in effect as hostages for the good behaviour of their families.38 What both men failed to realize – but what would be clearly demonstrated in 1814–1815 – was that the most effective factor in preserving Spanish authority in Peru was the abhorrence felt by the creoles of Lima and the coast towards any separatist movement that might succeed in not only elevating the status of the Indians but also in shifting political power to the sierra, represented literally and symbolically by Cusco.39 In view of the passivity, indeed the subservience, of the majority of Peru’s españoles in face of the intensification of absolutism in the late-Bourbon period, relatively little deserves to be written about separatist ideology. Some commentators have sought to exalt the rôle of Toribio Rodríguez de Mendoza – a contributor to the Mercurio Peruano, rector of the Convictorio de San Carlos, a member of Peru’s first national congress in 1822, and finally rector of San Marcos until his death in 1825 – in introducing ‘new ideologies’ to ‘the generations who would preside over the demise of the Spanish Empire’.40 It has to be remembered, however, that the creoles who taught in this preUniversity college, established in 1770 to replace the Jesuit colleges of San Pablo, San Martín, and El Principe, included not just the eventual supporters of independence but also many who would fight until 1824 to preserve imperialism.41 The expulsion of 2,500 Jesuits from Spanish America in 1767 abruptly deprived Peru of several hundred members of the Order who had been brought under heavy guard to the college of San Pablo from all parts of the viceroyalty to be sent into exile on a ship poignantly named El Peruano.42 Despite the distress felt by Peruvian families whose sons were affected by the abrupt expulsion, however, those Peruvians who grew rich from the purchase of confiscated Jesuit properties were able to be philosophical about it. The vast majority of Peruvians paid little heed, it seems, to the attempts of one of the exiles, Juan Pablo Viscardo (born in 1748 in Pampacolca, province of Arequipa) to promote the independence of Peru, initially by seeking to persuade the British government to send an expedition to aid the Túpac Amaru rising.43 This and later attempts to promote foreign intervention in Peru obviously failed, and Viscardo died in 1798, leaving behind his Lettre aux Espagnols-Americains, clearly stating creole grievances, and forcefully arguing the need for independence from Spain.44 The letter impressed the veteran Venezuelan dissident, Francisco de Miranda, who published it in 1799, and a few other isolated extremists, and was later recognized as an important step in the development of a revolutionary ideology among an increasingly restless creole intellectual élite that would come to the fore in articulating American resistance to continued Spanish rule in the second decade of the nineteenth century. However, before the outbreak of the independence struggle, Viscardo’s reflections were not widely circulated inside Spanish America, and thus, although capable of attracting attention subsequently, were of greater significance in providing a retrospective justification for revolution than in creating a revolutionary climate. In that sense, the descriptive works of more conservative creoles, anxious to reveal to their compatriots and to the wider world the

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

103

9/2/03, 13:34



  ‒

extent and nature of America’s resources and potential were almost certainly of greater importance in preparing men’s minds for the period when the collapse of metropolitan Spain in the face of the invasion of the forces of Napoleon Bonaparte would thrust upon them the responsibility for beginning to think about translating their vague concept of patria into the creation of independent nations. Even then, as we shall see in chapter 6, most españoles in Peru would choose to fight to retain Spanish imperialism. Notes 1 For further details of these movements, see S. O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), Rebellions and Revolts in Eighteenth Century Peru and Upper Peru, Cologne, Bohlau Verlag, 1985, pp. 74–97. 2 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general del Perú, vol. 4, pp. 249–51. 3 Details of persistent local disturbances, often involving the murders of corregidores and their subordinates – for example in Sicasica, Pacajes, Huamachuco, Chumbivilcas, Urubamba and Huamalíes – were reported to the crown by successive viceroys: Amat, Memoria, pp. 189, 194–95, 292–304; J. H. Rowe, ‘The Incas under Spanish Colonial Institutions’, HAHR, Vol. 37, p. 168. 4 Amat, Memoria, p. 194. 5 Avilés to Gálvez, 30 September 1782, AGI, Lima, leg. 618. 6 Gálvez to Croix, 28 March 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 640. 7 A useful general survey of the general phenomenon of Indian rebellions is provided by A. Barral, Rebeliones indígenas en la América española, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. 8 O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), Rebellions and Revolts, p. 95. 9 Introduction (pp. 61–63) to Manso, Relación. 10 Ibid. implies that Francisco García Jiménez and Francisco Inca were different individuals, whereas O’Phelan Godoy, Rebellions and Revolts, p. 95, suggests they were the same person. Spalding, Huarochirí, pp. 275–88 agrees with the latter, but calls him Francisco Jiménez Inca. 11 An outstanding analysis of the rebellion is provided by McFarlane, ‘The Rebellion of the Barrios’, in Fisher, Kuethe and McFarlane (eds.), Reform and Insurrection, pp. 197–254. 12 A detailed discussion of the Arequipa movement is provided by Cahill, ‘Taxonomy of a Colonial “Riot”’. 13 Areche denied that he had erred on this point, insisting to Gálvez ‘sempre se han matriculado los cholos’: Areche to Gálvez, 20 March 1780, AGI, Lima, leg. 1039. To some extent he was supported by viceroy Guirior, who stressed that the ‘gente vulgar’ had been protesting not against the requirement to pay taxes, but the ‘indiscreto modo de exigirselos’: Guirior to Gálvez, 2 February 1780, Ibid. 14 For a list of corregidores attacked and killed during the rising see ‘Lista de los corregidores que han muerto los indios sublevados, y otros acaecimientos’, BL, Additional MS 20,286. 15 See, for example, Loayza, Preliminares del incendio. 16 Areche had claimed in April 1780 that the ‘llamados Nobles’ of Cusco had sought to recruit Indian support for their campaign against an increase in the rate of alcabala, ‘persuadiendolos à que seles ba a recargar con nuevas imposiciones’: Areche to Gálvez, 20 April 1780, AGI, Lima, leg. 1039. 17 Areche to Gálvez, 20 March 1781, and 30 April 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. 18 Areche to Gálvez, 22 December 1780, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. 19 Guirior to Gálvez, 5 July 1780, and 18 July 1780, AGI, Lima, leg. 1039. In the second report, Guirior also reported on the exemplary execution of seven rioters in Cusco on 30 June 1780. 20 Areche to Gálvez, 29 May 1782, AGI, Lima, leg. 1041. 21 Moscoso to Areche, 16 January 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040. 22 Jáuregui to Gálvez, 15 February 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040.

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

104

9/2/03, 13:34

,   



23 ‘Sumaria reservada resivida p’r el S’or Oydor d’n Benito de la Mata Linares s’re averiguar el orig’n del infame Josef Gabriel Túpac Amaru, y descubrir las personas q’e ayudar’n a la sediz’n con su influxo, o cooperaz’n en que resultan culpados los Ugartes, año de 1783’, AGI, Cusco, leg. 31. 24 Lewin, La rebelión de Túpac Amaru, pp. 254–73. 25 Simón Ximénex Villalba to Gálvez, 13 April 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1039. 26 Areche described Jáuregui’s decision to pardon the rebels who laid down their arms as ‘exorvitante’ – Areche to Gálvez, 3 October 1781, AGI, Lima, leg. 1040 – and was particularly critical of the viceroy’s decision to grant pensions to Diego Túpac Amaru and other members of his family, which ‘les ha dado à su modo de Entender una señal viva de que son de la sangre de sus Emperadores, ó Ingas que nosotros lo conocemos’: Areche to Gálvez, 29 May 1782, AGI, Lima, leg. 1041. 27 Avilés to Gálvez, 30 September 1782, and 28 January 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 618. 28 Gálvez to Avilés, 22 September 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 618. 29 Croix to Gálvez, 12 April 1784, AGI, Lima, 1041. 30 J. L. Phelan, The People and the King: The Comunero Rebellion in Colombia, 1781, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1978, p. 60. Details of Galán’s trial and sentence are in pp. 206–10. 31 Ibid., p. 98. 32 For example, Manuel de Villalta, who served the mining tribunal in various capacities, was seeking preferment nearly 30 years after the rebellion by citing his services, as corregidor of Abancay, against ‘el vil Tupac Amaru’: Villalta to Floridablanca, 15 September 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 1357. See, too, the hoja de servicio of Miguel Espinach (AGI, Lima, leg. 1620) who claimed to have trained two militia companies for service against Túpac Amaru. 33 Manuel de Ijurra to tribunal de minería, 27 April 1792, ANP, Minería, leg. 56. 34 Details of the Aguilar-Ubalde conspiracy are in Fisher, ‘Regionalism and Rebellion’. 35 Ibid., p. 52. 36 ‘Causa instruida con motivo de la sublevación intentada en 1805, en la ciudad del Cuzco, 1805–12’, AHN, Consejos, leg. 21,266. 37 ‘Expediente obrado en el Cuzco sobre la sublevación maquinada p’r los traydores Gabriel Aguilar y José Manuel Ubalde’, AGI, Cusco, leg. 29. 38 Ibid.; report of Pedro Antonio Cernadas, Jan. 10, 1806, in ‘Causa instruida’ (see note 36). 39 Despite this judgement, I feel obliged to draw the reader’s atention to several works that deal with the relationship between Andean rebellion and the imagined ‘utopia andina’ that some eighteenth-century protesters wished to re-establish. A balanced view is provided by S. O’Phelan Godoy, ‘Repensando el Movimiento Nacional Inca del siglo XVIII’, in O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), El Perú en el siglo XVIII, pp. 263–77. More subjective arguments are advanced in J. Szeminski, La utopia tupamarista, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1983 and J. Szeminski, ‘Why Kill the Spaniard? New Perspectives on Andean Insurrectionary Ideology in the 18th Century’, in Resistance, Rebellion, and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant World, 18th to 20th Centuries, ed. S. J. Stern, Madison, WI, Madison UP, 1987, pp. 166–92. Several works by Ward Stavig are also worth consulting. They include W. Stavig, ‘Ethnic Conflict, Moral Economy, and Population in Rural Cuzco on the Eve of the Thupa Amaro II Rebellion’, HAHR, Vol. 68, 1988, pp. 737–70; and W. Stavig, The World of Túpac Amaru: Conflict, Community, and Identity in Colonial Peru, Lincoln, NE, University of Nebraska Press, 1999. 40 Martín, Scholars and Schools, p. 99. 41 See L. Martín, The Intellectual Conquest of Peru: the Jesuit College of San Pablo, 1568–1767, New York, Fordham University Press, 1968 for a survey of Jesuit education in Peru until 1767. 42 Ibid., p. 153. 43 For Viscardo’s 1781 letter to the British consul in Liorna, Italy, and other written reflections on Túpac Amaru see J. P. Viscardo y Guzmán, Obra Completa, Lima, Ediciones del Congreso de la República del Perú, 2 vols., 1998, vol.1, pp. 3–17. 44 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 205–18.

EUP_BPeru_06_Ch5

105

9/2/03, 13:34

 

Royalism, Patriotism and Independence

No matter how detached and objective historians try to be in evaluating the factors that brought a definitive end to Spanish rule in Peru by December 1824, it remains difficult to provide an analysis of this process without commenting upon shifting establishment ideology, popular consciousness, and the articulation of national identity in not only the new republic but also in the Peru of the late-twentieth century. At the risk of over-simplifying the issues it is probably legitimate to suggest that they are faced at the outset with the stark choice of choosing between two contrasting interpretations of how (and perhaps even when – 1821 or 1824?) Peru secured its independence. The first is that which characterizes the late-colonial period in terms of conservatism, lethargy and economic stagnation, and dismisses the rebellion of Túpac Amaru and other manifestations of discontent prior to 1810 as incoherent, rural protest movements which, far from uniting Peruvians of all races and regions behind a quest for national independence, had the contrary effect of alienating the viceroyalty’s creole minority and frightening it into supporting the maintenance of Spanish rule.1 Even Heraclio Bonilla’s iconoclastic 1972 study of independence, although sensitive to the need to differentiate between the interests and attitudes of the peninsula-oriented elite of the viceregal capital on the one hand and, on the other, those of the provincial elites, especially in Cusco and Arequipa, whose motivation often seemed to be to secure emancipation from Lima rather than Madrid, concludes that ‘toda coalición de los criollos … con los grupos más bajos de la sociedad colonial fue tentativa y efímera’.2 The alternative interpretation, which has grown in popularity in Peru during the last three decades, is that which identifies Túpac Amaru as the first of the great precursors of South American independence and depicts the 40 years that followed his execution in terms such as ‘casi medio siglo de incesante lucha por la libertad política’, a process that reached its natural and glorious conclusion with the entry of José de San Martín into Lima in 1821.3 What is not in doubt is that, despite some conspiracies in Lima in 1810–1814, and some armed movements in Tacna in 1811–1813 (further details of which are provided below) the related phenomena of insurgency and proto-nationalism

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

106

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



in Peru prior to the arrival of San Martín in 1820, manifested themselves primarily in the ‘Indian’ highlands – symbolically represented by the city of Cusco – rather than in aristocratic, creole Lima and its hinterland. Notwithstanding a certain tendency to exalt Peru’s Inca past, the leaders of the viceroyalty’s coastal élite – men such as Baquíjano – (and, in large measure, the creoles of the interior, too) had looked askance at the rebellion of Túpac Amaru of 1780–1783 and three decades later, as we shall see, the majority of creoles would actively support the suppression of the Cusco rebellion of 1814– 1815, more for what these movements seemed to symbolise, however feebly in the first case but very clearly in the second – the possibility of an independent Peru controlled from the Indian interior – rather than for what they actually threatened to creole hegemony, for both rebellions were conservative in terms of their basic social and economic goals. Similarly, as Cecilia Méndez has recently demonstrated, for the same reasons the limeño aristocracy would fight, with pen and sword, in 1836–1839 against the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation, using blatantly racist rhetoric to undermine the legitimacy of its president, Andrés de Santa Cruz, who was condemned as not only an invader from Bolivia but also as an upstart Indian.4 Ever since 1821, the identity of republican Peru has been associated in formal manifestations of nationalist ideology – what Méndez describes as ‘officialist historiography’ – with San Martín’s declaration of independence in Lima on 28 July 1821, and the perceived need to celebrate that event as the crucial moment in Peru’s fiestas patrias.5 By contrast, the battle of Ayacucho of 9 December 1824, following which the numerically superior royalist army surrendered to Sucre, is regarded more as a tidying-up operation than as the decisive moment in the establishment of Peruvian independence from Spain. This tendency to see Peru’s identity through the myopic eyes of the metropolitan élite, looking outwards to Europe and the United States, rather than towards the country’s interior, intensified, of course, rather than diminished from the mid-nineteenth century, as export-led economic growth provided the material legitimization for a deep-rooted cultural antipathy towards the increasingly marginalized southern highlands and their inhabitants, the vast majority of whom were excluded by their illiteracy from formal participation in political life.6 In the Hispanic world the celebration of significant historical anniversaries occasionally brings in its train a degree of historical revisionism. In Peru, the urge to mark the onset of the first centenary of independence from Spain made a small contribution to this process, with the publication of several studies of pre-revolutionary activity beyond Lima itself, mainly in Huánuco, Huamanga and Cusco.7 This process complemented the early-twentiethcentury attempts of several prominent writers of the Cusco school to revive the indigenismo promoted in the immediate post-independence period by cusqueño writers such as Narciso Arestegui, Pio Benigno Mesa, and Clorinda Matto de Turner, and later at the national level by Manuel González Prada.8 Despite their activities and the parallel efforts in the 1920s of José Carlos

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

107

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

Mariátequi to promote the discussion of national as opposed to purely metropolitan reality, the oligarchic control of political life – and, hence, an oligarchic view of Peru’s historical development – remained largely intact through the second quarter of the twentieth century, even if occasional compromises had to be made by co-opting potential dissidents into establishment structures. The collapse of oligarchic politics in the third quarter of the twentieth century brought with it a consequential shift in historiographical focus away from the traditional preoccupation with the metropolis and its élite groups towards a much clearer awareness of the need to examine the history of the interior of Peru in general and that of the Indian and the rural population in particular. To some extent this trend was imposed from above, particularly during the most radical period (1968–1975) of the Revolutionary Government of the Armed Forces, when the Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia sought to promote a reinterpretation of the late-colonial history of Peru that harmonized with the military’s new insistence upon social justice, racial harmony and nationalism in reconstructing Peru in the wake of the October 1968 revolution.9 To a small extent the process involved, perhaps almost unconsciously, a reconsideration of the definitiveness or otherwise of 1821 in securing national independence: for example, one volume of the vast Colección documental published under its auspices reproduced documents relating to the functioning of viceregal government in Cusco during the 1822– 1824 period.10 However, the commission’s principal thrust was in the opposite direction chronologically, with the exaltation of Túpac Amaru as an unlikely prophet of the agrarian reform and nationalization programmes of Velasco.11 Curiously, this trend (which revealed little about the historical reality of the late-colonial period but much about the superficiality of pseudo-historical scholarship in Peru in the 1970s) survived the 1975 shift to the right in military politics, partly because of the vigour with which a further official body, the Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión Emancipadora de Túpac Amaru, organised the bicentennial celebrations of the 1780 uprising.12 During the 1980s, the return to the presidency of Fernando Belaúnde Terry and, subsequently, the election of Alan García, brought in their train, at least at the rhetorical level, renewed interest in the need to devolve political power from Lima towards the highlands, and specifically in the possibility of creating a federal republic with Cusco as its capital, thereby providing a further reason for an intensification of interest in the historical roots of regional identity.13 The more sober political environment created in Peru in the 1990s by Alberto Fujimori restored a degree of reality to debates about the potential for the restructuring of the country’s political organization. Visitors to Peru now encounter apparently contradictory symbols. Real power is entrenched ever more firmly in Lima, notwithstanding the symbolic inauguration in 2001 of the country’s current president, Alejandro Toledo (a former shoe-shine boy from Cusco), in Machu Picchu. However, the (imagined) flag of Tawantisuyu flies freely in Cusco and, at the rhetorical level at least, the urgency of acknow-

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

108

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



ledging provincial and indigenous rights is recognized. Popular participation in at least the superficial levels of political activity is here to stay and, once aroused, popular expectations of structural change in both social and political structures might become difficult to control, particularly if reinforced by a revisionist historiography that denigrates Lima and its oligarchy. In this context, the modern media (notably television) are capable of projecting a distorted image of Peru’s present and past, and, in the annual build-up to the celebration of the fiestas patrias, specifically of how (and even when) the country secured independence from Spain. With these observations in mind, this chapter proceeds to discuss political and military events in Peru during the decade prior to the disembarkation of San Martín’s army in 1820, before going on to a more detailed analysis of both patriot strategy and royalist responses to it in the subsequent years. The viceroyalty of Peru was, of course, the largest administrative unit in Spanish America that did not experience a sustained attempt by disaffected creoles in 1810–1811 to seize political power, following the French takeover of peninsular Spain in 1808–1810.14 One of the fruits of revisionism since the 1970s, however, is that it is also now widely acknowledged that behind the facade of Peruvian royalism in the post–1808 period – when viceroy José Fernández de Abascal (1806–1816) was able to despatch royalist armies, led mainly by Peruvian rather than peninsular officers, to repress insurrections in Upper Peru, Chile and Ecuador – there was considerable local unrest, within the viceroyalty, manifested in attempted armed rebellion in both the south (Tacna 1811 and 1814; Arequipa 1813) and the centre (Huamanga and Huánuco 1812). To understand the context of these movements it is necessary, of course, to recall that in the period 1809–1814 the viceroyalty of Peru – like all other parts of Spanish America – faced, largely as a result of the French invasion of Spain, a general crisis of government, characterized by political uncertainty, economic dislocation, financial difficulties, and, above all, administrative confusion arising from the implementation of the reform programmes of the Junta Central and the Council of Regency.15 As early as 1809, as we have seen in chapter 4, Peruvians had been introduced to the idea of representation when provided with the opportunity of voicing their grievances to the deputy appointed to represent them before the Junta. Thus the instructions which the cabildo of Lima presented to José de Silva y Olave, the rector of San Marcos, in October 1809, as he was about to embark for the peninsula, constitute a formidable indictment of Spanish rule in Peru. The city’s elite, which the cabildo represented, was far from desiring independence, but it now forcefully demanded drastic revision of the fiscal structure, abolition of the intendancies, genuine free trade instead of the mercantilist version implemented after 1778, and equality of access to office for creoles and European Spaniards. The decision of the Council of Regency, heir to the Junta Central, early in 1810 to summon a Cortes (in which each cabildo would be represented by a deputy) led to the widening of this freedom of expression to an unprecedented degree,

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

109

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

and the actual elections again gave the municipal corporations as enhanced prestige and authority.16 Even greater disruption was caused by the second stage of the liberal programme, following the promulgation by the Cortes on 19 March 1812 of the famous Constitución Política de la Monarquía Española. Although he heartily disapproved of the code, viceroy Abascal, as a faithful bureaucrat, had no alternative but to agree to its application in Peru. Outwardly, of course, he professed approval for it, referring in the Gaceta de Gobierno of 30 September 1812, to the ‘obra inmortal de la sabiduría y patriotismo de nuestras Cortes … Codigo que va a ser la desesperación de los tiranos, y el más seguro garante de la prosperidad y las futuras glorias de todas las Españas’.17 His real view, expressed in 1816 in his Memoria, was that the separatist cause was greatly encouraged by the ‘opiniones y providencias peregrinas de los que ocuparon el Govierno en ausencia del Soberano’, an opinion shared by Baquíjano, who wrote in 1814 that ‘las proclamas y providencias de la Regencia, los debates y decisiones de las Cortes, y las escandalosas doctrinas que circulaban sin embarazo’ had all weakened royalist authority in Peru.18 Two aspects in particular of the application of the constitution – the replacement of the old, oligarchic cabildos by elected corporations and the election of deputies to the ordinary Cortes – provoked serious disputes in several Peruvian cities between creoles and peninsulares, culminating in some cases in violence; more seriously still, they raised creole expectations of reform which, it gradually became clear, could not be met within the context of continuing rule from Spain.19 Leaving to one side for the moment the question of what happened in Cusco, there is abundant evidence that in Lima the uncertainty and unrest caused by the implementation of the liberal programme was outweighed by the political advantage of giving the creole elite the illusion, at least until the restoration of Ferdinand VII, that meaningful reforms could be secured without resort to revolution. In the longer term, of course, it became clear to it that the intransigence of the Madrid authorities in the period 1814–1820, would make such an outcome unattainable. Even then the majority of its members – unlike their counterparts in other parts of Spanish America, who gradually realized that their preferred option of reform within the empire had become a chimera, thereby presenting them with the stark choice of supporting absolutism or insurgency – were persuaded by their social conservatism to remain loyal to the royalist cause. They did so, as the young José de la Riva Agüero – whom Abascal suspected as being the author of seditious statements published in the Lima press in 1810–1812 – succinctly observed because ‘es sabido que los que van á ganar en toda revolución son las gentes perdidas, y no las acomodadas’.20 With the restoration of Ferdinand VII in 1814 and the realization that the promised liberal reforms would not now be granted, the Lima liberals found themselves in an extremely weak position. Some of their most prominent leaders in the 1810–1812 period had died – Vicente Morales Duárez, Diego Cisneros, Manuel Villalta, and Francisco Calatayud for example – and others,

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

110

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



including Baquíjano and José Bernardo de Tagle, were absent in the peninsula. The majority of those who remained gradually became timid patriots, ready in spirit to accept independence if it were offered to them on the right terms, but not willing to take up arms for the cause. Moreover, even in the period up to 1814, the majority of the separatist conspiracies identified in Lima were isolated, unrepresentative movements, owing their recognition primarily to the viceroy’s inability – or unwillingness – to distinguish between incautious speculation and genuine subversion. The Anchoris conspiracy of September 1810, for example, which led to the arrent of a number of porteños resident in Lima, including a son-in-law of Martín de Alzaga and two nephews of Deán Funes, on suspicion of communicating with insurgents in the Río de la Plata, was certainly exaggerated by Abascal.21 A year earlier, he had acted decisively against a group of minor officials and merchants, led by the lawyer Mateo Silva, who were apparently discussing the possibility of emulating the recent seizure of authority by dissidents in Quito.22 Again there was no actual violence, and, although those arrested were treated harshly – Silva remained in prison until his death, and others were exiled to the Juan Fernández islands or Cartagena for varying terms – the affair was not significant, except as a demonstration of viceregal firmness.23 Superficially more serious was the conspiracy of José Matías Vásquez de Acuña, Conde de la Vega del Ren, which Abascal claimed to have uncovered in October 1814.24 Its potential gravity arose not solely from its alleged intentions, which were to suborn the Callao garrison, free insurgent prisoners and attack Lima, but also from the timing – in October 1814 the Cusco rebellion was seriously threatening royalist authority for the first time within Peru – and the fact that Vásquez was a recognized leader of the Lima aristocracy. His arrest on 28 October, in fact, provoked genuine indignation among his large circle of influential friends who believed that Abascal’s real motive was to seek revenge for the problems that Vásquez had caused as a member of the city’s constitutional cabildo in 1813, and ‘mas de sesenta titulos de Castilla’ signed a petition demanding his release.25 Faced with this demonstration of group solidarity and unable to produce any clear evidence to support his charges, the viceroy released Vásquez from detention in February 1815, although as a precaution he restricted him to the city, a penalty which persisted until 1819 when the crown completely exonerated him.26 A number of less influential suspects, including common soldiers, were less fortunate, receiving prison sentences of between one and five years, despite the fact that the conspiracy, if that is an accurate description, involved no more than incautious discussion and never reached the stage of violent activity. The viceroy’s vigilance, it might be argued, was partly responsible for the fact that this and other schemes were abortive, but the fundamental factor in their suppression was that the plotters formed a tiny minority of the population of Lima, and, in face of general apathy, lacked a clear strategy and organization. The unequivocal cooperation which he received from the majority of the population of Lima in 1814, as in 1810 when the danger of revolution also

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

111

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

seemed serious, enabled Abascal to retain control of Peru in the name of Ferdinand VII in spite of the damaging effects of the liberal hiatus. But it is crucial to a proper understanding of Peruvian independence to recognize that Lima, although sufficiently powerful to determine the future of Peru, was not representative of the viceroyalty as a whole. Although, as we have seen, the capital remained largely quiescent, the interior and southern provinces produced several movements which went beyond mere speculation to seek expression as armed uprisings. The active support that the creoles of Lima extended to the peninsular authorities in the suppression of these premature bids for independence represented in part their realization that indigenous participation in them posed a threat to the hierarchical social structure of Peru, as well as an awareness that they implied a regional challenge to the very identity of Lima as the capital of all the territory that would come to comprise the republic in 1824. The first significant attempt at armed rebellion in southern Peru was that led in Tacna in June 1811 by the local assayer, Francisco Antonio de Zela. The economic life of this partido in the south of the province of Arequipa was intimately linked not with Lima but with Upper Peru which it supplied with wine, aguardiente, oil, fruits, and rice as well as some foreign manufactures imported through Arica. The triumphal progress through Charcas in the first half of 1811 of the porteño army under Juan José Castelli and the circulation within Peru of his propaganda persuaded dissidents within the viceroyalty, who had seen normal economic intercourse abruptly suspended, that it was only a matter of time before the Argentine general crossed the Desaguadero river which he had reached in March. On 20 June 1811, anticipating such a move on what was, in fact, the very date of Goyeneche’s crushing defeat of Castelli at the battle of Huaqui, Zela and other inhabitants of Tacna seized the local militia barracks and declared for the junta of Buenos Aires.27 Their success was short-lived for, as news arrived of Castelli’s retreat, support for the insurrection quickly waned, and by the end of the month the subdelegate of Arica, Antonio Rivero, had arrested the leaders. However, despite its failure, Zela’s movement was important in clearly demonstrating the desire that existed in this region for reunion between southern Peru and Upper Peru. It also showed that rebellious creoles in the provinces, who were generally much closer to the Indians, both physically and socially, than their more refined fellow-whites in Lima, were willing to combine with indigenous leaders in their attempts to throw off Spanish rule. One of Zela’s closest allies was the Indian cacique Toribio Ara whose son, José Rosa Ara, led the attack on the Tacna cavalry barracks on 20 June, and Indian followers of the latter rubbed shoulders with whites and mestizos in the victory parade held in the town on 23 June. Far from persuading southern regionalists that their cause was hopeless, Zela’s efforts set an example which others in the intendancy of Arequipa attempted to follow while he languished in prison. Two years later, in almost identical circumstances, the French-born Enrique Paillardelle and the alcalde

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

112

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



of Tacna, Manuel Calderón de la Barca, who had been in close contact with Manuel Belgrano, commander of the second porteño army which had taken Potosí in May 1813, again seized Tacna with the aim of spreading the Buenos Aires revolution into Lower Peru. As before, the strategy was sound but the timing proved disastrous for, unknown to the conspirators, Belgrano had been routed by Pezuela at Vilcapugio two days before they arrested the subdelegate and persuaded the Tacna garrison to support their insurrection. Paillardelle succeeded in raising a force of 400 men in the town, but, with Belgrano incapable of sending aid, he was defeated at the end of the month by a smaller but disciplined force dispatched by the intendant of Arequipa. A similar fate befell the cusqueño Julián Peñaranda who, in what was obviously a concerted move, had simultaneously seized control of Tarapacá. Although Arequipa, the capital of the intendancy, remained outwardly loyal during these disturbances, there are suggestions that some of its influential residents offered tacit support to the insurgents. Manuel Rivero, whose son Mariano had gone to Cádiz to represent the city in the Cortes, was arrested on Abascal’s instructions in November 1813 on a charge of plotting rebellion, and another son, Antonio, was dismissed from his post of subdelegate on suspicion of communicating with the rebels in Upper Peru and allowing their propaganda to circulate.28 Earlier in the year the intendant of Arequipa, reporting on disturbances in Caravelí, had complained generally of ‘los movimientos de insubordinación que se van excitando en algunos Pueblos, funestas resultas del escandolo y mal egemplo que han recibido de esta capital’.29 In the meantime, Mariano Rivero had been arguing with great persistence in Cádiz for the entire province of Arequipa to be removed form the jurisdiction of the audiencia of Lima – he wanted its citizens to ‘verse libres’ from the stifling, peninsula-oriented bureaucracy of the viceregal capital – and be placed under that of Cusco, ‘antiguo capital del vastísimo Peru’.30 Although other arequipeños supported the alternative and contradictory objective of supplanting Cusco as the premier centre of administration in southern Peru – a view also advanced by the ministers of the Cucso audiencia itself, who argued in 1815 in the wake of the Pumacahua rebellion that the tribunal should be transferred for reasons of security to Arequipa – there is some evidence that Cusco’s long tradition of opposition to Lima made idealists such as the poet Mariano Melgar see it as the natural focus for the expression of regional identity in this period.31 The propaganda of Castelli is also seen by some commentators as one reason for the unrest which manifested itself in the provinces of Huamanga and Tarma in 1812, despite the fact that he had been driven out of Upper Peru some months before the distribution of broadsheets in these areas gave way to armed insurrection.32 The Huamanga conspiracy, uncovered by the intendant in May 1812, like those in Lima did not go beyond the posting of anti-European lampoons, but the rebellion of Huánuco, Panatahuas, and Huamalíes, which preceded it by three months was more serious, because, like the Tacna movement, it witnessed an eruption of anti-peninsular violence which united creole

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

113

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

and Indian dissidents.33 The rebellion began as a protest against the corrupt local government practised by subdelegates who had continued in this area to operate the illegal repartimiento system, a policy which offended both the Indians who were forced to purchase goods and the mestizo merchants who resented unfair competition.34 The timing of the protest was probably influenced by Indian frustration with the fact that the same officials continued to exact tribute, despite the abolition of the tax by the regency in March 1811, and by the circulation of rumours, emanating from Castelli, that a descendant of the Incas was about to arrive to liberate his people from oppression.35 Following the posting of lampoons, apparently provoked in part by creole fears of attempts to restrict the cultivation of tobacco, Indians from surrounding villages marched on the city of Huánuco, the symbol of Spanish authority in the region, on 22 February 1812.36 An improvised defence by a handful of troops enabled European residents to flee to Cerro de Pasco in the night, but the majority of creole inhabitants stayed in their homes and were unharmed when an Indian mob was allowed through the gates without further resistance on the following day. Some creole homes were sacked by the invaders, but according to Pedro Angel Jadó, a priest who witnessed the ensuing pillage, the principal targets were European-owned properties: ‘todas las casas de los europeos fueron saqueadas, aprovechando los indios solo los caldos y algunos retazos de las tiendas, y los huanuqueños de todo lo del valor’.37 From the outset prominent creole residents were ready to cooperate with the Indians and were, in fact, installed as leaders by them. The most prominent collaborator was the regidor Juan José Crespo y Castillo who had adopted the selfstyled title of subdelegate by the time that the intendant of Tarma entered Huánuco on 20 March, after inflicting a heavy defeat three days earlier on a 1,500-strong force of insurgents.38 Crespo and other leaders of the movement, creole and Indian, were hurriedly tried and sentenced in Lima. Three of them – Crespo, Norberto Haro, and José Rodríguez, an Indian alcalde – suffered execution by garotte and by the end of the year their heads were on display in Huánuco. Although there is no firm evidence to support the view that the rebellion was provoked by creoles, hoping to use Indian discontent to enable them to take advantage of the political vacuum created by events in Spain, there is no doubt about its significance in the wider viceroyalty: above all, it served as a further reminder to potential dissidents in Lima of the potential threat posed by such revolutionary activity to their privileged socioeconomic position. This consideration alone would probably have sufficed to turn the coastal elite against the Cusco rebellion of 1814. But of equal importance in determining its suppression was the realization in Lima that, if it succeeded, Cusco would emerge as the capital of an independent Peru.39 The background to the rebellion that began in Cusco on 3 August 1814, is well-known.40 It developed basically as a result of the failure of the viceregal authorities to implement fully the provisions of the 1812 Constitution (ironically, the restored Ferdinand VII had decreed its abolition three months earlier, in May, but news did not reach Peru until September), and also

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

114

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



reflected local economic difficulties caused by the drain of men and supplies to support the royalist campaigns in Upper Peru. However, the movement’s creole leaders – small landowners, lawyers, clergy and municipal officials – immediately made clear their demand not just for Peruvian independence but specifically to make Cusco the national capital, as they despatched hastilyassembled expeditions, manned largely by indigenous recruits, throughout southern Peru. By the end of 1814 the rebels controlled the cities of Puno, La Paz, Huamanga and Arequipa, before falling back to Cusco early in 1815, following the arrival through the port of Arica of a royalist force of 1,200 cusqueño officers and men hitherto fighting insurgency in Upper Peru. By March 1815 this force, led by general Juan Ramírez, deputy-commander of the royalist army in Upper Peru, had retaken Cusco, where the leaders of the rebellion were promptly executed; they included the cacique of Chincheros, Mateo García Pumacahua, whose participation legitimized the attempt of the viceregal authorities to dismiss the movement as merely a racial uprising of Indians against whites. Similarities between the Túpac Amaru rising (initially an attempt at a broad-based revolution, drawing some support from poor creoles and mestizos in southern Peru) and the 1814–1815 rebellion (started by non-Indians but rapidly taking on the character of a caste war against all whites) are obvious. The connecting thread, revealed most recently by the research of Cahill, is that the three decades separating the two movements had seen a sustained assault on indigenous traditional rights in the region, the most common features of which were the entry of creoles and mestizos into the cacicazgos, and the usurpation of community lands and other resources.41 The audiencia of Cusco had grappled with these issues throughout the 1790s, but, in the face of political opposition, locally and in Lima, had reconciled itself gradually to the inevitable abuses inherent in allowing outsiders access to community resources. In the event the tribunal had capitulated to the subdelegates, the local political authorities who replaced the corregidores in 1784, under whose aegis entry of the ‘new’ caciques had been permitted. The audiencia’s failure to control the exploitation of communities stemmed largely from its awareness that the new community officials were more efficient than their indigenous predecessors in collecting tribute revenues. This consideration also helps explain why the weakening of crown authority in southern Peru in 1814 provided an opportunity for not only the expression of creole political protest but also the revival of widespread indigenous insurgency.42 Conversely, the suppression of the rebellion by Ramírez in 1815 meant that the process of inserting outsiders as caciques continued unabated throughout – and beyond – the final transition to independence, with communities that resisted running the risk of being accused of sedition by the subdelegates.43 The savage reprisals undertaken in the aftermath of the 1814 rebellion in and around Cusco by the royalist forces – many of them local creoles who saw an enhanced opportunity to seize Indian community lands – ensured relative political tranquillity in southern Peru for the remainder of the second decade

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

115

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

of the nineteenth century. Within the viceroyalty as a whole, what insurrectionary activity there was from mid-1815 until the end of 1819 manifested itself primarily in guerrilla activity in the Mantaro Valley; it remains to be determined definitively whether this represented banditry, social protest, patriotism, or a combination of all three types of resistance.44 However, recent scholarship suggests that support in this period for the montoneras of central Peru came mainly from rootless groups particularly susceptible to economic fluctuations – ‘arrieros, vagabundos y jornaleros de las minas’, to quote one source – rather than community Indians with greater resources upon which to fall back in times of recession.45 In Lima itself economic and fiscal difficulties rather than overt revolutionary activity were the principal concerns, at least until 1820, of the new viceroy, Joaquín de La Pezuela, who succeeded Abascal in mid–1816, following service from 1813 as commander-in-chief of the royalist army in Upper Peru. Pezuela’s crowning moment in this role had occurred in November 1815, with his decisive victory at Viluma over José Rondeau, following his earlier successes at Vilcapugio and Ayohuma against Belgrano.46 Thereafter, the new viceroy’s preoccupation with maintaining a strong military presence in Upper Peru – where overall command of the royalist army was transferred in 1816 to the newly-arrived peninsular officer José de La Serna – is usually cited as a decisive factor in his failure to commit adequate forces to the defence of Chile against San Martín’s 1817 trans-Andean expedition.47 A point of relative detail, which would become a major bone of contention in due course between the respective apologists of Pezuela and La Serna, was that, following his landing at Arica in September 1816, the latter travelled directly to Upper Peru, rather than going first to Lima to confer with and take instructions from the viceroy, thereby allegedly undermining the authority of his superior.48 Although continuous warfare in Upper Peru from 1809 had imposed a heavy drain on the human and material resources of the southern Peruvian provinces of Arequipa, Cusco, and Puno – from which the aptly-named royalist ‘army of Peru’ was largely recruited – the full costs of the determination of most Peruvians to fight for the royalist cause did not become evident to limeños until 1818, with the definitive loss of Chile to the forces of San Martín. The earlier interventions from Peru of 1812–1814 to repress premature attempts to reject Spanish rule in Quito and Chile had been accomplished relatively easily, and with little loss of Peruvian lives. However, the patriot victory at Maipú in April 1818 over the royalist army commanded by Mariano Osorio – Pezuela’s son-in-law – caused heavy casualties among the 3,000-strong expeditionary force – half of whose members were Peruvians, and the remainder peninsulares recently-arrived from Panamá – that had been despatched to Chile from Peru at the end of 1817.49 The southern port of Valdivia would remain in royalist hands until its capture by Thomas Cochrane in January 1820 (and the island of Chiloé until January 1826), but Peruvian dreams of mounting yet another reconquest of Chile were rapidly dissipated after Maipú. A decisive blow was the capture in October 1818 in Talcahuano – the

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

116

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



naval base near Concepción abandoned by Osorio – by the fledgling Chilean navy of the Callao-bound naval frigate María Isabel and several transports carrying troops and arms from Cádiz.50 This single incident not only deprived Peru of 2,000 reinforcements but also provided the Chileans with the flagship (renamed the O’Higgins) of the seven warships that escorted the 4,500 troops of the liberating expedition from Valparaiso to Peru in August 1820.51 The following section of this chapter begins with a consideration of the royalist reaction to the landing of this force south of Lima on 8–10 September 1820. Thereafter, the discussion avoids pointless repetition of the extremely familiar details of events in Lima following San Martín’s declaration of independence on 28 July 1821, concentrating instead upon developments in Cusco, particularly in the period 1822–1824, when the city served as La Serna’s viceregal capital. Despite the fact that official statistics of troop strengths in late-colonial Peru, as elsewhere in Spanish America in this period, are notoriously unreliable, particularly with respect to the real numbers of men in militia regiments able and willing to go on active service, on the face of it Pezuela had substantial forces at his disposal in 1820 for the defence of the viceroyalty against both internal insurgency and external attack.52 The largest elements in his total forces of 23,000 were the ‘army of Upper Peru’ (10,000), commanded by Ramírez – who had returned to Upper Peru in succession to La Serna, following an interim period as president of Quito – and the 6,000-strong ‘army of Lima’, under the direct command of the viceroy himself.53 The garrison of Callao (1,000 men) and other detachments north and south of Lima increased immediately-available royalist strength to almost 9,000.54 Within hours of receiving confirmation that San Martín had begun to disembark his troops at Paracas, Pezuela withdrew the small force he had posted at Pisco, ordered Ramírez to move his headquarters from Tupiza to La Paz (i.e. nearer to Lower Peru), and repeated his instructions to hacendados south of Lima to move slaves, cattle, and horses to the interior, beyond the immediate reach of the invasion force.55 The viceroy’s general strategy of concentrating his forces in and around Lima reflected his apprehension about the vulnerability of Callao to attack by the superior naval squadron of the Chileans, whose control of the sea grew even more marked with the capture of the royalist flagship, the Esmeralda, by Cochrane, on 5 November.56 The following month the semi-phoney war was further punctuated by the occupation of Peru’s principal mining town, Cerro de Pasco, by a column despatched by San Martín to the interior of central Peru under the command of the Spanish-born Juan Antonio Alvarez de Arenales. Although Arenales (as he is commonly called) soon returned to the coast – leaving the montoneras and the citizens of Tarma and Huánuco who at his instigation had declared for independence at the mercy of the royalist reinforcements under Valdés and brigadier Mariano Ricafort – he did lasting damage to the viceregal economy by seizing large stocks of silver and sabotaging the recently-installed British steam engines that had brought production

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

117

9/2/03, 13:36



  ‒

at Cerro de Pasco to a record level in 1820.57 He also took with him back to the coast future president Santa Cruz, commander of the royalist cavalry at Cerro de Pasco, who had defected to the insurgents after being taken prisoner on 6 December. While San Martín’s strategy of waiting for the royalist régime to disintegrate rather than risking his troops in open battle seemed to be further vindicated in December 1820 by the declaration of independence in the northern city of Trujillo by its intendant, the Marqués de Torre Tagle, Pezuela’s political and military indecisiveness provided the backdrop to the famous military coup against him of 29 January 1821.58 In essence, the 19 principal officers in the royalist army camped at Aznapuquio accused Pezuela of a variety of defects (primarily an unwillingness to attack San Martín, accentuated by specific military errors, fraud, contraband, nepotism, and a tolerance of politically-suspect behaviour among his close advisors).59 Faced with an ultimatum that the army would march on Lima unless he handed power to La Serna within four hours, Pezuela informed a hastily-convened council of war later that day of his compliance, and left Lima for his country house at La Magdalena (preserved for posterity as the home of the Museo Nacional de Historia in the Lima suburb of Pueblo Libre).60 La Serna, for his part, promptly appointed Valdés as his chief-of-staff, promoted José Canterac to overall command of the army, and set about the strategic review that would lead five months later to the royalist evacuation of Lima and San Martín’s unopposed entry into the city on 12 July.61 The deposition of Pezuela, although subsequently condoned in Madrid (and indirectly sanctioned in advance by a royal order of 1820, authorizing La Serna to take over as viceroy ‘en caso de muerte, ausencia, o enfermedad’ of Pezuela) undermined the legitimacy of royalist authority in the eyes of many conservative Peruvians, who now felt able to support San Martín in good conscience.62 More seriously, it also became a matter of public debate in Madrid, with the publication there before the end of the year of not only the accusations against Pezuela but also his detailed refutation of them written at La Magdalena before his departure for Spain.63 The war of words would continue long after the independence of Peru had been secured, with Valdés’ response to Pezuela, written in 1827 but not published until 1894, and the publication in 1846 of a further pro-La Serna account by another signatory of the Aznapuquio proclamation, Andrés García Camba.64 The principal thrust of Pezuela’s manifesto was that he had been the innocent victim of ‘una insurrección puramente militar’ – organized by a tightly-knit group of peninsular officers who, ever since their arrival from Spain in 1816 (Canterac, in fact, came in 1818) had sought to ‘formar un partido’ – to which he had given way only to avoid ‘una guerra civil’.65 La Serna, he declared, had opposed him with ‘una taciturnidad invencible’ and an ‘arrogancia petulante’, García Camba was ‘uno de mis más acerrísimos enemigos’, and Canterac had dedicated himself to his ‘degradación’; similar charges were made against other leading members of ‘el partido de oficiales

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

118

9/2/03, 13:36

,   



europeos’, notably colonel Juan Loriga and lieutenant-colonel Antonio Seoane.66 These charges, coupled with evidence of the subsequent rift between La Serna and the then commander of the army of Upper Peru, Pedro Antonio Olañeta, following the 1823 abolition of the constitution, have led some commentators to explain the 1821 crisis in terms of a political conflict between liberal officers around La Serna, who believed that only the 1812 constitution could reconcile Americans to the maintenance of Spanish rule, and absolutists – creole and peninsular – deeply suspicious of constitutionalism.67 Pezuela himself went some way towards fostering this interpretation, suggesting, somewhat obliquely, that ‘la grande revolución ocurrida en la península’ had provided an opportunity for ‘los menos apreciables ciudadanos’ to ‘trastornar impunamente la autoridad’.68 He was more direct in his private correspondence, accusing La Serna of ‘hipocresía, artería, malignidad, ingratitud y cautela’, and describing him and his principal officers as ‘una rama masónica del Arbol que está en las Cortes, y ministros del día (y del t’po siguiente, si sigue el actual desgobierno de España)…’.69 La Serna, for his part, pointed out to the crown in March 1824, following the restoration of absolutism, that, although he had been required to pay lip service to the constitution during the previous three years, he had actually put a brake on its enforcement in Peru by decreeing in April 1822 that orders received from the liberal government in Spain should not be implemented without his specific authority.70 Any individual disobeying this order, he had declared, would be treated ‘como sedicioso y perturbador del orden público’.71 Referring directly to Olañeta’s refusal to obey him because of his initial reluctance to abolish the constitution without receiving explicit instructions from Spain, La Serna asked rhetorically if any of those trying to project themselves as ‘más anti-constitucionales’ than himself ‘se hubieran atrevido en mi lugar á tan clásicas violaciones y modificaciones cuando la Constitución se ostentaba protegida y recomendada por el mismo Monarca?’.72 In the light of Olañeta’s abolition of the constitution in the provinces of Potosí and Charcas, and the subsequent decision of Valdés – whom La Serna had despatched to repress his insurrection – to take similar action in the rest of Upper Peru, the viceroy finally decreed the restoration of absolutism in Lower Peru on 11 March 1824, despite still not having received specific authorization from Spain for this measure.73 The evidence available relating to relations between Pezuela and La Serna and their respective circles prior to January 1821 also tends to suggest that, although factions certainly existed within the military, they did not necessarily reflect deep-seated ideological disagreements. Rather more important were the broader cultural differences and arguments about tactics between longserving officers in America like Pezuela (whose service there went back to 1805) and Ramírez, who felt that only they understood the creoles, and the arrogant, self-confident peninsulares who arrived in Peru in 1816 determined to repress dissidence with their vigorous professionalism. One of the standard accusations against La Serna, for example, was that as soon as he reached

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

119

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

Upper Peru he disbanded two militia regiments from Cusco, including that which had defeated the Pumacahua rebellion, dispersing their men and officers to other units, in order to facilitate the promotion of his peninsular cronies.74 On the other side, there is clear evidence that La Serna disagreed fundamentally with Pezuela’s military tactics – notably in Chile in 1817 – to such an extent that he sought permission to resign his command and return to Spain.75 Approval in Madrid for his retirement – ostensibly on grounds of ill-health – was confirmed in 1818, and, having travelled to Lima, La Serna was actually within two days of leaving for Panamá when, somewhat surprisingly in view of subsequent events, Pezuela promoted him to the rank of lieutenant-general and persuaded him to remain in the capital, ready to step in as interim viceroy should the need arise.76 Pezuela’s original intention, it seems, was to restore La Serna to his command in Upper Peru – from where he would receive testimony in July 1820 of deep hostility between Ramírez and the ‘partido escandaloso’ of peninsulares led by Canterac – but this plan was overtaken by the arrival of San Martín and the consequential need to keep La Serna in Lima.77 Despite reservations about attributing the divisions among the royalists in 1820–1821 to ideological differences, it has to be recognized that the restoration of liberalism in Spain in 1820 profoundly affected developments in Peru, to the disadvantage of first Pezuela and subsequently of San Martín.78 The precise chronology is of some significance for, although Pezuela was aware by mid-July of the 1820 revolution, thanks to private correspondence with the Spanish ambassador in Rio de Janeiro, it was only on 4 September, four days before San Martín began his disembarkation, that he received a formal instruction to restore the 1812 constitution.79 The ceremony of swearing allegiance to the new code, held on 15 September, was preceded by an offer to San Martín four days earlier to arrange a cease-fire, following the receipt of complementary orders to take this step pending the arrival from Spain of peace commissioners entrusted with the task of persuading the insurgents that the restoration of the constitution would enable them to secure all their legitimate objectives within the Spanish fold.80 Although the viceroy’s initial letter was worded rather abruptly – he stated that the orders from Madrid had interrupted his plans to repel San Martín from Peruvian soil – his offer of talks was accepted, and they got under way outside Lima between respective pairs of delegates on 25 September.81 It was clear within a week that the gulf between the two sides was unbridgeable, not least because of San Martín’s insistence on the surrender of Upper Peru to his forces, and formal hostilities were renewed on 7 October, despite a last-ditch plea from San Martín to keep them going on the grounds that ‘una mala paz es mejor que la guerra más feroz’, a reference perhaps to Pezuela’s earlier observation that the long war in Upper Peru had caused only ‘muertos, miseria y ruina’.82 By the beginning of November, San Martín’s army, which had taken advantage of the cease-fire to secure food, horses and recruits from coastal estates (notwithstanding Pezuela’s order, referred to above, to evacuate them), had advanced to the outskirts of Lima, setting in train the events that would lead to Pezuela’s deposition in January.83

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

120

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



Against this background, ponderous steps were being taken in Spain to appoint, instruct, and despatch to various American destinations the peace commissioners promised in April 1820, a process that led eventually to the departure from Cádiz for Peru via Panamá of naval captain Manuel de Abreu and brigadier José Rodríguez de Arias.84 Arias got no further than Cartagena de Indias, where he resigned his commission on grounds of ill-health, citing rheumatoid arthritis.85 Abreu, however, stuck to his task, sailing to northern Peru and travelling overland to the insurgent headquarters at Huaura, where he made direct contact with San Martín on 27 March 1821.86 By the time he presented himself to La Serna in Lima on 30 March, following a preliminary meeting with Canterac at Aznapuquio, Abreu had begun to create the conditions that would lead to an armistice between the two sides, under cover of which the viceroy was able to plan his evacuation of Lima without fear of military action, thereby reversing the situation in which Pezuela had found himself in September 1820.87 Preliminary discussions between the respective sets of commissioners led to a formal armistice on 23 May 1821, initially of 20 days duration but subsequently extended until late-June; on 2 June, at the hacienda of Punchauca, La Serna and San Martín met face-to-face and the latter proposed the creation of a regency with La Serna as president, offering to go in person to Spain as part of a commission to arrange the independence of Peru under a Spanish prince. According to Abreu, La Serna, although diffident about accepting the presidency, was tempted by this offer, but, following discussions with Valdés and García Camba, rejected it because ‘los jefes del ejército se habían opuesto por no anteceder la aprobación de las Cortes’. By early-July it was clear, despite Abreu’s continuing optimism, that the gulf between the two sides could not be bridged, and La Serna and his army voted with their feet by marching out of Lima, despite a protest from the audiencia that the city was being cut off from ‘la integridad nacional’.88 The tribunal’s misgivings about the fate awaiting the city’s peninsulares were borne out before the end of the year by their persecution at the hands of San Martín’s Minister of War, Bernardo de Monteagudo, who boasted that he used ‘todos los medios que estaban a mi alcance para inflamar el odio contra los españoles: sugerí medidas de severidad, y siempre estuve pronto a apoyar los que tenían por objeto disminuir su número y debilitar su influyo público o privado’.89 Those expelled unceremoniously, following confiscation of the bulk of their property, included the archbishop of Lima, the bishop of Huamanga, five audiencia ministers, and prominent members of the consulado.90 By contrast, Abreu, who remained in Lima when La Serna left, deprived of his salary (350 pesos a month), was given 1,000 pesos by Hipólito Unánue in August, and was showered with presents and compliments by San Martín when he sailed for Spain, via Chile and Brazil, in December 1821.91 Not surprisingly, relations between Abreu and La Serna, who had maintained correspondence, had grown extremely frigid in the intervening five months: in November, for example, in response to a letter from Abreu which he dismissed as ‘un aglomeramiento de frases,

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

121

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

disgresiones, reflexiones y consejos insignificantes’, the viceroy suggested that his language ‘parece más bien el de un Agente de los disidentes que el de un comisionado por S.M.C.’92 In his reply, Abreu accused La Serna of having sabotaged any possibility of a reconciliation with the ‘disidentes’ because of his insistence on treating them as ‘traidores, alevosos y rateros’, thereby causing ‘el rompimiento escandaloso a que V.E. nos provocó…’.93 Monteagudo noted that Abreu’s efforts to reconcile the two sides had been ‘inútiles, but expressed the hope that, despite the obstruction of the royalist commanders of the ‘últimos restos del Ejército que mantienen en este territorio’, it was still possible ‘que una amigable transación sea el término de la actual contienda…’.94 Abreu left Lima still hoping that San Martín would send commissioners to Spain to negotiate the establishment of an independent monarchy in Peru.95 Despite a reluctance in Madrid to engage directly with Abreu following his return to Spain – he waited for four months in the north African enclave of Tarifa before receiving permission to come to court – several new peace commissioners were appointed to go to parts of America other than Peru in 1822, an indication that the constitutional government had not rejected the idea of a negotiated settlement.96 There is some evidence that San Martín, too, entertained similar optimism, at least until the end of 1821, a factor that possibly explains his unwillingness to engage Canterac’s force of 3,300 men in September when it evacuated the bulk of the royalist garrison left behind at Callao in July.97 La Serna, however, had clearly decided before Abreu left that a negotiated settlement was unattainable, and that the sierra was the best place from which to organize the armed defence of the viceroyalty against insurgency. In fact, the limeños had by no means seen the back of the royalists, for, in addition to Canterac’s return to Callao in September and his brief reoccupation of the city in June 1823, a mutiny in February 1824 of the patriot garrison of Callao led to the royalists retaking both the defenceless capital – which they evacuated again only days before the battle of Ayacucho – and Callao itself, which José Ramón Rodil refused to give up until January 1826.98 Among the several thousand civilian victims of the bitter siege of its fortresses imposed from December 1824 was the flamboyant publicist Gaspar Rico y Angulo, whose varied career in Peru had included work as an administrator of the Cinco Gremios Mayores and, from 1818, the management of the recentlyestablished lottery of South America.99 However, Rico’s main claim to fame, and his value to the historian, was that he had accompanied La Serna to the interior in July 1821, and for the next three years published, using a portable press, first in Huancayo and subsequently in Cusco, a series of periodicals and pamphlets that constitute one of the key sources for understanding royalist strategy during this period.100 Rico already enjoyed considerable notoriety prior to the evacuation. Abascal had expelled him from Lima in 1812, allegedly for abusing the freedom of the press to publish libellous material in El Peruano; Pezuela complained in April 1821 of his ‘ponzoñosas erupciones’ (including describing the constitution as ‘un aborto de la ignorancia’); and Abreu attributed the intransigence of La

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

122

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



Serna in the negotiations with San Martín to the fact that he was ‘gobernado por Valdés y el periodista Rico’.101 Their low opinion of Rico was accepted by post-independence commentators, including the editor of El Sol (Cusco), who described him in 1825 as ‘este loco’ and ‘el periodista más estrafalario que ha tenido el gobierno español’.102 La Serna, however, praised him as the only civil employee who had left Lima with him, and Rodil, who commented favourably on the editor’s ‘buen humor’, allowed him in 1825 to continue publishing El Depositario in Callao, regularly sending copies to Manuel Blanco Encalada (Chilean commander of the naval force blockading the fortresses).103 Following the evacuation of Lima, La Serna established himself initially in the central Peruvian town of Huancayo, which served as an excellent base for securing supplies from the fertile Mantaro Valley as well as attacking the montoneras for which the region had become notorious. Canterac’s army continued to use Huancayo as its principal base until 1824.104 However, within a very short period La Serna himself was persuaded to reside in Cusco, which he described in September 1821 as the ‘antigua capital del Perú, y centro de que podía dar impulso más facilmente en todas direcciones a las operaciones militares, y a las Providencias del Gobierno y Estado que convienen en tan extraordinarias circunstancias’.105 The idea of elevating Cusco’s status to that of viceregal capital was taken up with enthusiasm by its audiencia, which in November urged the viceroy to abandon ‘el obscuro pueblo de Huancayo’, which lacked ‘ciudadanos de rango, e ilustración’, in favour of ‘la Corte de los Yncas’.106 This invocation of the city’s indigenous tradition was particularly striking, given that three of the four ministers who signed this confidential letter were not only peninsular Spaniards but also hitherto long-standing advocates of the campaign to transfer the tribunal from Cusco, where, they believed, ‘los magnates’ had a long tradition of supporting revolutionary projects, to the more secure base of Arequipa.107 La Serna himself tended to play down the symbolic significance of his move to Cusco, concentrating instead on its practical benefits; he also attempted to minimize the pageantry associated with his formal reception in the city on 30 December 1821.108 The city council, for its part, wrote to the crown in April 1824, requesting the formal confirmation of Cusco’s status as viceregal capital, a move which, although made redundant in December by the outcome of the battle of Ayacucho, suggested that by the very end of the colonial period the civic leaders had identified royalism as a better guarantor than insurgency of their attempts to assert regional identity.109 The self-confidence of the municipal establishment was undoubtedly bolstered by La Serna’s success in establishing a complex administrative structure in Cusco in 1822–1824. Although he drew back from formally transferring the functions of the audiencia of Charcas to that of Cusco – fearing ‘una guerra de papeles tan perjudicial y de funestas consecuencias como la de las Armas’ – large areas of central and southern Peru (including the intendancies of Arequipa, Huamanga, Huancavelica and Tarma) formerly dependent upon Lima for judicial administration were brought under the

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

123

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

jurisdiction of the Cusco tribunal.110 In the wider political sphere, the difficulty of communication with the authorities in Spain, depicted by some commentators as a weakness suffered by La Serna, in the opinion of the audiencia gave his ‘sublime personage’ an enhanced authority in the eyes of royalist sympathizers in Peru.111 It certainly allowed him to be selective in deciding how far to go in implementing the provisions of the restored constitution, and to exert considerable control over, for example, local elections without the fear of reprimand from Madrid.112 The viceroy followed the example set by the president of Cusco, Juan Pio Tristán, in 1820–1821 of dealing harshly with deserters from the army, decreeing in May 1822 that, along with conspirators and those resisting arrest, they would be subject to summary jurisdiction before military courts.113 Similarly, considerable publicity was given in Cusco to the reprisals taken against insurgents. These included the burning of the town of Cangallo, described as ‘criminalísimo’ and ‘un asilo de asesinos y guarida de ladrones’, the exemplary display of the heads of prisoners captured during an unsuccessful guerrilla attack on the town of Chongos, and a series of executions and beatings of Indian alcaldes in the intendancy of Huamanga for either armed insurrection or passing information to the enemy.114 Similarly, a series of morale-boosting reports from colonel José Carratalá, describing his hounding of guerrillas in the province of Huamanga was published in May 1822.115 Some attempt was also made to retain the moral high ground by publicizing alleged atrocities committed against royalist prisoners by guerrillas professing allegiance to San Martín, albeit in the context of a threat from Canterac that he would respond to their atrocities by burning their towns and villages ‘como me ha visto en la precisión de hacerlo en Chacapalca, Huayhuay, y otros’.116 On the other hand, considerable care seems to have been taken to ensure that the rural communities ordered to supply the royalist army with horses, fodder, food, and billets for troops received proper payment.117 There are occasional hints of local resistance to the troops’ increasingly heavy demands – in February 1823 the viceroy reminded the subdelegate of Andahuaylas that ‘no es justo q’e estas valientas tropas carescan de quanto necesitan’ – coupled, however, with a determination to ensure that firm measures should be taken against abusive soldiers (‘delincuentes’) who seized livestock from communities without making proper payment.118 Even the collection in 1822 from private citizens of firearms and sabres was accompanied by the issuing of receipts, as well as the threat of conscription into the army as private soldiers and heavy fines for those who disobeyed.119 The broader issue of creating a financial machinery capable of generating sufficient income to meet military expenses and those of general administration (including the salaries of public functionaries who had fled to Cusco from enemy-held territory) was tackled with a similar combination of improvization, persuasion, and respect for established procedures.120 At the coercive end of the spectrum, La Serna authorized in February 1822 the seizure of all property of individuals, lay and ecclesiastical, who had remained in Lima or other

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

124

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



places that had declared for San Martín, with a rather vague promise that they might be reimbursed once order had been restored, subject to them not having engaged in what he called criminal activity in the meantime.121 To some extent this measure regularized a policy already in force, and of which one prominent victim was the leading Lima merchant, Pedro Abadía, from whose house in Cerro de Pasco unminted silver worth some 20,000 pesos was seized in late-1821.122 There is also evidence of the confiscation of unminted silver suspected of being used in contraband trade in the province of Arequipa.123 Other expedients included the raising of voluntary and forced loans, a moratorium on the repayment of existing loans, the confiscation of silverware from convents and churches, and the maintenance of the Indian tribute in the guise of the ‘única contribución de Naturales’, notwithstanding its abolition by the constitutional regime.124 Intendants and subdelegates were put under particular pressure to maintain the twice-yearly flow of funds to the treasury from this source, as well as to oversee the collection of church silver and the distribution of forced loans within their territorial jurisdictions.125 The crucial importance of the head tax as a source of income for the royalists is starkly demonstrated by the accounts of the Cusco treasury for 1821, when it provided no less than 60 per cent (273,000 pesos) of total income of 454,000 pesos for the ramos de real hacienda. This was more than four times the sum provided by the second largest item, namely the income from the alcabala and monopolies.126 The arrival of the royalist army in Huancayo brought with it a substantial increase in military expenditure with pay alone consuming some 40,000 pesos a month by mid-1822.127 To some extent it also brought benefits to the regional economy, particularly the textile sector, which experienced a surge in demand for the supply of uniforms.128 Moreover, despite the inevitable unpopularity of many of the measures taken to increase the income of the Cusco treasury – which grew by 43 per cent in 1823 from the previous year’s total – the city’s elite was conscious of certain symbolic benefits.129 One was the establishment of a mint, made necessary by the increasing difficulty in sending church silver and unminted silver from the mines to Potosí for coining.130 More important still was the fact that Cusco had assumed not only the responsibility for fiscal oversight of the treasuries of La Paz, Potosí, and Oruro, but also, by virtue of the presence of the viceroy in the city, control of ecclesiastical administration in Upper Peru.131 There is some evidence that by the end of 1823 this gradual process of consolidation of authority in Cusco was provoking a belief that an independent Peruvian entity, including Upper Peru, could turn its back on Lima and the coast on a more permanent basis. The best-known, and most overt articulation of this possibility appeared in verse-form in Rico’s El Depositario on 9 November 1823, under the title ‘Sueño anacreóntico’, which seemed to conjure up the vision of an independent empire, ruled over by La Serna, stretching from Tupiza (in the south of Upper Peru) to Tumbes in the north.132 Particular attention was focused upon the declaration that ‘O La Serna establece/el imperio peruano/o nadie lo preserva/de infinitos estragos’, and to

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

125

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

a statement in a later issue (26 November) that ‘los días se acercan, y acaso en el Cuzco se datarán unos actos que recuerden con gratitud las futuras generaciones’.133 Moreover, an intermediate issue (19 November) carried a reassuring message from La Serna about his military successes in Upper Peru during the previous three months, and a promise that the war would soon end ‘por medio de tratados o de operaciones militares’.134 La Serna himself, stung by requests from surrounding provinces to explain these remarks, as well as by Olañeta’s direct denunciation of his apparent intentions, informed the crown in March 1824 that the 26 November comment had been referring to nothing more than the impending opening of the mint, and that the invocation of the ‘Peruvian empire’ a fortnight earlier had been based on the assumption that it would continue to be ruled by Ferdinand VII.135 He conceded that he had been shown the offending text by Rico the day before its publication, but claimed to have paid little attention to it ‘porque no soy de los que se saborean ó reclamen con sus propias alabanzas’. A few days before sending this explanation, La Serna had written a separate despatch denouncing Olañeta’s insubordination and, perhaps more significantly, offering to resign his command to Canterac if he were required to come to Madrid to justify his actions during the previous three years.136 During the period between the publication of these articles in November 1823 and the viceroy’s attempts to play them down in March 1824, the principal treasury minister in Cusco corresponded with him in January about ‘el Préstamo de dos millones de pesos q’e V. Ex’a se propone solicitar de las Naciones extrangeras’.137 A passing reference was made to the unfortunate ‘guerra civil’ that had paralysed some traditional sources of income, but it was predicted that, even allowing for this circumstance, the treasury would be capable of raising an annual income of nearly three million pesos, to guarantee the principal and interest on the projected loan.138 Given that this plan was overtaken by events at Ayacucho, and might have proved unattractive in any case to potential foreign investors, it is impossible to determine its precise significance. Nevertheless, it provides further evidence of the growing belief – or delusion – in royalist circles in Cusco that a state independent of Lima (and Madrid?) might be carved out of the southern sierra. The editor of El Depositario, Rico, received a glowing testimonial from La Serna in April 1824 when he applied successfully for a licence to return to Spain: the viceroy described him as an ‘hombre de honor’, whose ‘impresos… han producido el descrédito de los rebeldes’, adding that ‘nadie sino Rico h’a impugnado con más tezón y decisión el sistema revolucionario’.139 These comments suggest that the viceroy bore him no ill will, and help substantiate the suspicion that La Serna had, indeed, been party to the floating of the idea of an autonomous entity governed from Cusco. Moreover, there is no doubt that Rico had been a very effective propagandist for the royalist cause, providing a platform for nearly three years for the publication of both news of military successes and often quite subtle political comments: in January-February 1823, for example, several issues of the Gaceta Extraordinaria carried detailed reports of the successes of Valdés and Canterac at and around Torata, while,

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

126

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



on the political front, José de la Riva Agüero was effectively denounced in May 1823 as ‘un criminal’, and president ‘de una república imaginaria’.140 By the middle of 1824, with Rico gone, the management of news in Cusco became less sure-handed. On 15 May, for example, the Gaceta carried news of La Serna’s wish to resign as viceroy, and three months later publicity was given to Bolívar’s proclamation of 15 August, announcing the patriot victory at Junín, and praising the ‘bravo Olañeta’, operating in Upper Peru ‘con en ejército verdaderamente patriota y protector de la libertad’.141 By September, with the viceroy having left the city to take personal command of the royalist army, the mood of senior administrators was becoming more pessimistic, and at a secret meeting the audiencia ministers, including three of the four who had urged La Serna to make Cusco his base three years earlier, decided to seek from president Alvarez guarantees of their own safety should rumours of an impending evacuation of the city turn out to be accurate.142 In the event the city of Cusco, like Lima and Arequipa, was still in royalist hands when Canterac surrendered to Sucre following the capture of the wounded La Serna at the ‘sangrienta y desgraciada batalla’ fought at Ayacucho on 9 December 1824.143 The large number of royalist prisoners, which included 60 senior officers, 500 junior officers and over 1,000 troops, were treated with some chivalry, a key feature of which was the choice of remaining in Peru or being repatriated to Spain. La Serna and other senior officers promptly made for the port of Quilca, from where they departed on 3 January 1825 on a long voyage, via Rio de Janeiro and Bordeaux, back to a bitter polemic in Spain about the reasons for the loss of Peru.144 Of greater relevance for Peruvianists is the fact that, although nearly 400 officers (and a similar number of ordinary soldiers) who surrendered at or immediately after the battle of Ayacucho exercised the right to be repatriated to Spain, a considerably larger number – 526 officers and nearly 1,000 soldiers – chose to return to ‘sus casas en el país’.145 Olañeta, whose failure to support La Serna was regarded by Valdés as the other major reason for the defeat at Ayacucho, resisted the patriots in Upper Peru until his death at Tumusla in April 1825, two months before the peninsular government, obviously ignorant of his fate, took the bizarre decision to name him viceroy of the Río de la Plata.146 In Cusco the initial response to the capitulation was a half-hearted show of defiance, with the audiencia naming as new viceroy the city’s former president, field-marshal Tristán, whose absence from Ayacucho made him the most senior royalist officer not in patriot custody.147 Tristán, it seems, was tempted to try to rally the royalist forces in Arequipa and Cusco, but having received assurances from Sucre that the safety of those who had capitulated would be guaranteed, coupled with threats that those continuing to resist would be subjected to summary justice – ‘castigados hasta con la capital’ – he stood aside to allow Gamarra to be sworn in as prefect and military commander of Cusco at the end of December.148 The campaign for independence was over, and Bourbon Peru ceased to exist, at least on paper. The concluding chapter will discuss briefly what this change meant in practice for the inhabitants of Peru.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

127

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

Notes 1 Fisher, ‘Royalism’, pp. 237–38, provides several examples of this stereotyping of Peru as a stronghold of royalist authority. 2 H. Bonilla and K. Spalding, ‘La independencia en el Perú: las palabras y los hechos’, in La independencia en el Perú, ed. H. Bonilla, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1972, p. 46. 3 F. Denegri Luna, Antología de la independencia, Lima, Comisión Nacional de la Independencia del Perú, 1972, p. vii. 4 C. Méndez G., ‘Incas Sí, Indios No. Notes on Peruvian Creole Nationalism and Its Contemporary Crisis’, JLAS, Vol. 28, 1996, pp. 197–225. In fact Santa Cruz was of mixed descent, the La Paz-born son of a minor colonial official and a wealthy Indian woman. Although he served briefly as president of Peru in 1827, following distinguished military service for the patriot cause under Sucre from 1820, like Juan Velasco Alvarado 140 years later, he was never also to shake off the disdain displayed by the Lima élite for a provincial officer whose racial origins were perceived to be dubious. A century after his death, one biography was sub-titled, probably with unconscious irony, ‘el condor indio’: A. Crespo, Santa Cruz: el condor indio, México, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1944. 5 Méndez, ‘Incas Sí, Indios No’, p. 202. 6 For further discussion of the background to the marginalisation of the sierra from the national life of Peru in the nineteenth century, see M. I. Remy, ‘La sociedad local al inicio de la repúlica: Cusco, 1824–1850’, Revista Andina, Vol. 6, 1988, pp. 451–84. 7 See, for example, L. A. Eguiguren, Guerra separatista del Perú: la rebelión de León de Huánuco, Lima, Sanmartí y Cia, 1912, and La revolución del 1814, Lima, La Opinión Nacional, 1914. 8 This theme is discussed in detail in J. Tamayo Herrera, Historia del indigenismo cuzqueño, siglos XVI-XX, Lima, Instituto Nacional de Cultura, 1980. 9 Fisher, ‘Royalism’, pp. 232–7. 10 Colección documental de la independencia del Perú, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario del Perú, 1971–1974, 87 vols. in 30 tomos, tomo 22, vol. 3: Gobierno virreynal del Cuzco, ed. Horacio Villanueva Urteaga. 11 This theme is developed in J. R. Fisher, ‘Imperialism, Centralism and Regionalism in Peru, 1776–1845’, in Region and Class in Modern Peruvian History, ed. R. M. Miller, Liverpool, Institute of Latin American Studies, 1987, pp. 21–34. 12 See, for example, Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión Emancipadora de Túpac Amaru, 1982. 13 Fisher, ‘Imperialism, Regionalism and Centralism’, p. 23. 14 A restatement of the reasons for the relative political conservatism of Peruvian creoles in this period is embraced in B. R. Hamnett, ‘Process and Pattern: a Re-Examination of the Ibero-American Independence Movements, 1808–1826’, JLAS, Vol. 29, 1997, pp. 279–328. 15 Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 201–32 provides an overview. 16 The activities of the Peruvian deputies in Cádiz are discussed in L. Alayza y Paz Soldán, La constitución de Cádiz: el egregio limeño Morales y Dúarez, Lima, Editorial Lumen, 1946, and Vargas Ugarte, Por el rey y contra el rey. 17 Quoted in M. L. Rivara de Tuesta, Ideólogos de la emancipación peruana, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 1972, p. 50. 18 Abascal, Memoria, vol. 1, pp.553–4; V. Roel, Los libertadores, Lima, Gráfica Labor, 1971, p. 58.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

128

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



19 Colección documental, tomo IV, vol. 2, provides details of the elections. 20 Carta reservada, José de la Riva Agüero, 12 March 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 1125. It has been clear to historians of Peru for over 30 years that the application in the viceroyalty of the 1812 Constitution aroused ‘in the hearts of critics and liberals hopes of reform which the restored Ferdinand proved unable to fulfil’ (Fisher, Government and Society, p. 218). More recent work on other parts of Spanish America – notably the viceroyalty of New Spain – has concluded that there, too, the majority of creoles wanted reform within the empire, not separation from it, in 1810–1814. See, for example, M. Rodríguez, The Cádiz Experiment in Central America, 1808 to 1826, Berkeley, CA. University of California Press, 1978, and J. E. Rodríguez O., The Independence of Spanish America, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1998, pp. 75–106. A detailed analysis of Mexican attitudes and responses is provided by M. T. García Godoy, Las Cortes de Cádiz y América: el primer vocabulario liberal español y mejicano (1810–1814), Seville, Diputación de Sevilla, 1998. 21 Nieto Vélez, ‘Contribución a la historia del fidelismo’, p. 139–40. 22 L. A. Eguiguren, Guerra separatista. La tentativa de rebelión que concibió el doctor José Mateo Silva en Lima, Buenos Aires, Imprenta López, 2 vols., 1957, provides exhaustive detail of the conspiracy. 23 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 121. 24 A detailed account of the plot is provided by C. Pacheco Vélez, ‘Las conspiraciones del Conde de la Vega del Ren’, RH, Vol. 21, 1954, pp. 355–425. 25 Ibid., p. 377. 26 Real cédula, 26 November 1819, AHM, Libro de Cédulas 31, ff.2–3. 27 A good survey of the 1811 and 1813 risings in Tacna is provided by R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú: Emancipación 1809–1825, Buenos Aires, Imprenta López, 1958, pp. 21– 31. See, too, R. Cúneo Vidal, Historia de las insurrecciónes de Tacna por la independencia del Perú, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1961. 28 Abascal to Cortes, 30 November 1813, AGI, Lima, leg. 745. 29 Josef Gabriel Moscoso to Abascal, 11 April 1813, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 35, cuaderno 35. 30 Representation of Mariano Rivero, 10 October 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 802. See, too, ‘Intervención de Ribero’, 10 December 1812, Colección documental, tomo VI, vol. 1, pp. 570–72. 31 ‘Expediente sobre traslación de la Audiencia del Cuzco a Arequipa’, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 10; G. Zegarra Meneses, Arequipa en el paso de la colonia a la repúlica, Arequipa, Cuzi, 1973, pp. 148–58. 32 Colección documental, tomo III, vol. 1, pp. xxiv–xxv. 33 On Huamanga, see G. Vergara Arias, El prócer Juan de Alarcón; el primer patriota que se descubrió en Huamanga, Lima, Universidad Nacional Federico Villareal, 1973. Exhaustive documentary coverage of the Huánuco rising is provided by Colección documental, tomo III, vols. 1–5, and by the report of the interim intendant (Francisco Paula Pruna), 25 August 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 649. 34 Following his suppression of the rising, the intendant of Tarma provided a detailed account of the abuses perpetrated by the subdelegates: José González de Prada to Ignacio de la Pezuela, 24 September 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 649. 35 Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Emancipación, pp. 32–33. Although the viceroy initially ordered – on 2 September 1811 – observance of the Cortes decision of 13 March 1811, to abolish tribute, this decision was revoked on 14 November 1812: Colección documental, tomo III, vol. 7, pp. 5–6. 36 Hünefeldt, ‘Etapa final del monopolio en el virreinato del Perú: el tabaco de Chachapoyas’, in Jacobsen and Puhle (eds.), The Economies of Mexico and Peru, pp.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

129

9/2/03, 13:37



37 38 39 40 41

42 43

44

45 46

47 48 49

50

51 52

53

54

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

  ‒

407–408, discusses the link between the rebellion and the receipt of the orders from Lima a few days earlier for the arrest of ‘traidores contrabandistas’. Colección documental, tomo III, vol. 4, p. 199. Report of González de Prada, 30 May 1814, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. Bonilla and Spalding, ‘La independencia’, p. 49. Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 225–29. For an exhaustive documentary survey, see Colección documental, tomo III, vols. 6–7. This theme is articulated in Cahill, ‘Repartos ilícitos’. C. F. Walker, Smoldering Ashes: Cuzco and the Creation of Republican Peru 1780–1840, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1999, p. 55, by contrast, argues that ‘the aftermath of the rebellion did not produce an unrestrained assault on Indians’ economic resources, a multiplication of their tax and labor burden, or a loss of their culture’. For further details, see Cahill and O’Phelan Godoy, ‘Forging their own History’. In 1822, for example, the subdelegate of Abancay accused the alcalde of the pueblo of Huanipa (Francisco Xavier Negrón) of insurrection because of his resistance to the appointment as cacique of the subdelegate’s nominee (Mariano Alzamorra); Negrón attributed the appointment to the payment of a bribe whereas the subdelegate accused Negrón of having encouraged the inhabitants not to pay their contribución: ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno, leg. 157. Useful sources on the phenomenon include P. Guardino, ‘Las guerrillas y la independencia peruana: un ensayo de interpretación’, Pasado y Presente, Vol. 2, 1989, pp. 101– 17’; R. Rivera Serna, Los guerrilleros del centro en la emancipación peruana, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1958; G. Vergara Arias, Montoneras y guerrillas en la etapa de la emancipación del Perú (1820–1825), Lima, Imprenta y Litografía Salesiana, 1979; and E. Beltrán Gallardo, Las guerrillas de Yauyos en la emancipación del Perú, 1820–1824, Lima, Editores Técnicos Asociados, 1977. See, too, Colección documental, tomo V, vols. 1–4. Alberto Flores Galindo, quoted in Remy, ‘La sociedad’, p. 482. A detailed account of the viceroy’s military career is provided by Pezuela, Memoria militar del general Pezuela (1913–1815), ed. F. Denegri Luna, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1955. J. Lynch, The Spanish American Revolutions 1810–1826, London, Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1973, pp. 125–26. Valdés, Documentos, vol. 1, p. 21. Exhaustive coverage of Peruvian participation in military activity throughout the viceroyalty and in Chile, Quito and Upper Peru during the independence period as a whole is provided by El ejército en la independencia del Perú, Lima, Ministerio de Guerra, 1984, tomo IV, vols. 1–3. See, too, J. Albi, Banderas olvidadas: el ejército realista en América, Madrid, Cultura Hispanica, 1990. The failure to maintain a military presence at Talcahuano after the battle of Maipú became another of the major complaints against Pezuela: Valdés, Documentos, vol. 2, p. 43. For details of the ships in the Chilean squadron, see Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Emancipación, pp. 156–57. An overview of the rôles of regular and militia troops in the royalist armies is provided by J. Marchena Fernández, Ejércitos y milicias en el mundo colonial americano, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. ‘Estado general de la tropa de artillería, infantería y caballería que existe en los ejércitos de Lima y Alto Perú, así como en las provincias dependientes de ambos virreynatos…’. BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuaderno 10. In February 1821, following desertions to San Martín (the most conspicuous of which was that of the 650-strong Numancia battalion), a British naval officer put royalist

130

9/2/03, 13:37

,   

55 56

57

58 59

60 61 62 63

64



strength at 7,000, including 2,500 Europeans: M. L. Woodward, ‘The Spanish Army and the Loss of America’, HAHR, Vol. 48, 1968, p. 592. Of the 33,000 troops despatched from Spain to all parts of America in 1810–1818, 6,000 had gone to Peru, the majority in 1815–1818: E. A. Heredia, Planes españoles para reconquistar Hispanoamerica (1810–1818), Buenos Aires, Editorial Universitaria, 1974, pp. 382–87. Pezuela to minister of war, 11 September 1820, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 10, cuaderno 5. On the same date, coincidentally, plans – in the event fruitless – were discussed in Madrid to send additional warships to Callao and Cartagena, ‘amenazados de nueva invación por las fuerzas rebeldes auxiliadas por los extranjeros…’: José Canga Argüelles to Overseas Minister, 5 November 1820, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1568. Fisher, Silver Mines, p. 111. San Martín protested to Pezuela on 6 January 1821 that, on entering Tarma, Ricafort had executed the wounded left there by Arenales; in his response – of 11 January 1821 – Pezuela denied this but made the counter-accusation that the insurgents had committed atrocities in Ica, Huamanga and Huancavelica, of which one of the most serious had been to allow black soldiers to rape Spanish women: ‘Conferencias en Miraflores y correspondencia con el general enemigo’, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 6. Neighbouring towns, including Piura, rapidly followed the example set by Trujillo, and by May 1821 much of northern Peru had declared for San Martín. For the names of the principal signatories, see Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Emancipación, p. 221. They were also listed in an anonymous pamphlet (in reality written by Pezuela’s nephew “Fernandito”): Ingenuo, Rebelión de Aznapuquio por varios jefes del exército español para deponer del mando al dignisimo virrey … J. de la Pezuela, Rio de Janeiro, Moreira y Garcés, 1821; Lima, Manuel del Rio, 1822, which made unflattering remarks about many of them: García Camba, for example, was described as ‘vano, orgulloso… bien ingrato’, La Serna as ‘de conocimientos escasos, fácil de ser engañado’, and Valdés as possessing a ‘trato grosero e insolente’. Initially, Pezuela was ordered to leave Peru within 24 hours, but La Serna relaxed this condition and he remained until June 1821. For an account of the background to this decision see Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, pp. 70–80. Printed royal order, 30 September 1820, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 81. J. de la Pezuela y Sánchez Muñoz de Velasco, Manifiesto en que el virrey del Perú Don J. de la Pezuela refiere el hecho y circumstancias de su separación del mando …, Madrid, Imprenta de D. Leonardo Nuñez de Vargas, 1821. A. García Camba, Memorias para la historia de las armas reales en el Perú, Madrid, Sociedad Tipógrafica de Hortelano y Compañia, 2 vols., 1846. The 1827 response of Valdés dealt with not only Pezuela’s 1821 accusations but also the post–1824 charges that La Serna and his officers – ‘los mal mirados’ – should not have surrendered at Ayacucho: ‘Exposición que dirige al rey don Fernando VII el mariscal de campo don Jerónimo Valdés sobre las causas que motivaron la pérdida del Perú, desde Vitoria, a 12 de Julio de 1827’, in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 2, pp. 17–137; it is preceded by his grandson’s introduction [1–15; see 8 for the ‘mal mirados’ reference], and is followed by a large number of ‘documentos justificativos’ (pp. 141–497). Another less direct but influential authority, Mariano Torrente, sometimes described as hostile to La Serna – Torata claimed (in his introduction to the third volume of Valdés Documentos, p. 8) that his work was influenced by ‘los Pezuelistas y Olañetistas’ – eulogised him as the only viceroy ‘que haya sellado con su sangre su fidelidad en el campo de batalla’, a reference to the wounds he received at Ayacucho: M. Torrente, Historia de la Revolución HispanoAmericana, Madrid, Imprenta de D. Leon Amarita, 3 vols., 1829, vol. 3, p. 508. Analyses of Spanish public opinion towards American independence include M.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

131

9/2/03, 13:37



65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

74

75 76 77

78

79

80

81

82

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

  ‒

Fernández Almagro, La emancipación de América y su reflejo en la conciencia española, Madrid, Instituto de Estudios Politicos, 1957 and L. M. Enciso Recio, La opinión pública y la independencia hispanoamericana 1819–1820, Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid, 1967. Pezuela, Manifiesto, pp. 10, 13, 144. Ibid., pp. 110, 125–26. See, for example, Woodward, ‘The Spanish Army’, pp. 602–604, and Lynch, The Spanish American Revolutions, pp. 171–172. Pezuela, Manifiesto, p. 126. Pezuela to La Serna, 22 February 1821, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 1. La Serna to Minister of Grace and Justice, 15 March 1824, AGI, Lima, leg. 762. Decree of La Serna, 11 April 1822, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno Virreinal, leg. 159. See note 50. Decree of La Serna, 11 March 1824, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, ff. 377–78. The royal decree of 25 December 1823, ordering this step, was published in Cusco on 31 July 1824: Ibid., fol. 401–402. Pezuela, Manifiesto, p. 113. See, too, García Camba, Memorias, pp. 223–24, who observes that the unwillingness of creoles to serve under peninsulares provoked many desertions of hitherto enthusiastic supporters of the royalist cause. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Emancipación, pp. 152–53. Pezuela to Minister of War, 14 February 1820, BMP, Pezuela, cuad. 8. Mariano de la Torre y Vera to Pezuela, 7 July 1820, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuaderno 9; La Serna to Pezuela, 30 September 1820, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuaderno 10. Despite more pressing matters, a lot of paper and time was wasted in deciding the actual date up to which he should be paid as commander of the army of Upper Peru (eventually determined as 5 December 1819), a matter of some concern to Lima treasury officials because of salary differentials: Pezuela to Secretary of State, 5 June 1820, AGI, Lima, leg. 762. Standard sources on Spanish politics in 1820–1823 include J. L. Comellas, Los realistas en el trienio constitucional (1820–1823), Pamplona, Gómez Gorriti, 1958, and Los primeros pronunciamientos en España 1814–1820, Madrid, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1958. Broader analyses of Spanish imperial policy are provided by T. E. Anna, Spain and the Loss of America, Lincoln, NE, & London, University of Nebraska Press, 1983; M. P. Costeloe, Response to Revolution: Imperial Spain and the Spanish American Revolutions, 1810–1840, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1986. Pezuela to ambassador Casaflores, 14 July 1820, acknowledging receipt of his letter of 11 May 1820: BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuaderno 6. See, too, Anna, Spain, pp. 234–39, and Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, pp. 159–61. Full details of Pezuela’s correspondence with government officials in Spain and with San Martín himself in the period 4 April 1820–20 January 1821, are in ‘Conferencias en Miraflores y correspondencia con el general enemigo’, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 6. The swearing of the constitution in the rest of the viceroyalty was arranged at a rather leisurely pace, occurring in Cusco, for example, on 15 October: decree of president of Cusco, 2 October 1820, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno, leg. 157. Details of Pezuela’s military tactics were discussed at meetings of his council of war held on 13 September and 22 September: BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuad. 10, fol. 88–91, 101– 104. During the Miraflores discussions Pezuela met personally with San Martín’s delegates, and the latter with Pezuela’s, but there was no direct meeting between the two leaders. San Martín to Pezuela, 1 October 1820; Pezuela to San Martín, 11 September 1820, Ibid. La Serna supported the view that the transfer of Upper Peru to San Martín was

132

9/2/03, 13:37

,   

83

84

85 86

87

88 89

90

91

92 93 94 95



out of the question, but, with remarkable prescience, he suggested that the Chileans might be satisfied if offered Tacna and Arica: La Serna to Pezuela, 30 September 1820, Ibid. The offer of emancipation to slaves who deserted from their haciendas to join San Martín attracted sufficient recruits to make good the losses caused by disease in the forces brought from Chile: García Camba, Memorias, p. 336. A parallel appeal to Peru’s Indian inhabitants, printed in both Spanish and Quechua, for their support in return for the abolition of tribute was less successful, at least in the short term: José de San Martín… a los Indios Naturales del Perú, 7 September 1820, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 5, cuaderno 10. Full details are in AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1568. Those originally chosen for Perú, captain Joaquín Goñi and captain Francisco Xavier Ulloa, managed to wriggle out of the commission, the first because of a dispute about his salary, and the second on the grounds that he had ‘tíos carnales en aquellos países y Gobiernos disidentes…’: Juan Tabot to Overseas Minister, 2 July 1820, Ibid. Arias to Abreu, 11 January 1821, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1569. The fullest account of Abreu’s activities, covering the period from his departure from Portobelo on 21 January 1821 until his arrival in Tarifa on 16 June 1822, is his detailed (55 pp.) ‘Diario Político…’, 18 June 1822, AGI, Lima, leg. 800. This report was misfiled until 1971 in the Audiencia of México (leg. 2330) section of the AGI. Consequently, many earlier investigators, although aware of Abreu’s activities, did not see his report, which contains much fascinating detail of his discussions with San Martín, La Serna, and other leading figures. Much of his correspondence is duplicated in AGI, Lima, leg. 800, copies having been brought back by a second commissioner, Pedro Fernández de Tavira (appointed in Lima as a substitute for Arias), who left Peru in November for the peninsula via Panamá, reaching Lisbon in March: Tavira to Overseas Minister, 15 March 1822, enclosing ‘exposición breve y sencilla’, Ibid. Abreu noted in his ‘Diario’ that at his first full meeting with La Serna, on 1 April ‘el virrey me habló con la frialdad propia de su carácter’; García Camba (Memorias, p. 388) commented that even at this early stage it was evident to the royalists that he had come as ‘un ciego apologista de los independientes’. García Camba (Ibid., p. 393) thought that the discussions were ‘inútiles y aún perjudiciales’, but Valdés (Documentos, vol. 2, p. 57) conceded that ‘una suspensión de hostilidades … nos interesaba’. Audiencia to La Serna, 5 July 1821, AGI, Lima, leg. 800. Monteagudo, Memoria, p. 10. García Camba (Memorias, p. 436) described Monteagudo as belonging to ‘la clase más ínfima de la sociedad como de origen africano … tenía todo el carácter pérfido y cruel de un zambo, con la imaginación ardiente y ambiciosa de la mayor parte de los mulatos’. Pedro Gutiérrez Cos, bishop of Huamanga, to Minister of Grace and Justice, 8 March 1822; ‘Relación de los sujetos que han salido de la ciudad de Lima para la península’, 15 March 1822, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1571. Hipólito Unánue to Abreu, 17 August. 1821, AGI, Lima, leg. 800. The presents included 2 large gold medals, and 25 large and 50 small silver medals struck to commemorate Peru’s independence; San Martín’s covering letter stated ‘para algún español servil sería un insulto la remesa de las medallas de la Independ’a… pero para un liberal no creo será un insulto, sino q’e las recibirá como una prueba de mi afecto, para q’e V. las reparta entre sus amigos’: San Martín to Abreu, 1 December 1821, Ibid. La Serna to Abreu, 2 November 1821, Ibid. Abreu to La Serna, 12 November 1821, Ibid. Monteagudo to Overseas Minister, 22 November 1821, Ibid. Abreu to San Martín, 2 December 1821, Ibid.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

133

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

96 Overseas Minister to Abreu, 13 October 1822, Ibid. Full details of their instructions are in AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1570. Those despatched to Buenos Aires, Antonio Luis Pereyra and Luis de la Robla, signied an armistice in July 1824 and tried in vain to secure permission for an emissary to go to Cusco to persuade La Serna to observe it: Torrente, vol. 3, pp. 408–409. By then, in fact, the initiative had been abandoned in Madrid: decree of Ferdinand VII, 26 January 1824, AGI, Indiferente General, leg. 1571. 97 Almost the reverse happened in June 1823, when Sucre withdrew to Callao, allowing Canterac to reoccupy Lima for a month: Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, pp. 217– 18. 98 A detailed account of the ensuing siege is provided by J. R. Rodil, Memoria del sitio de Callao, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and G. Lohmann Villena, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1955. 99 Rico died in February 1826, several days after Rodil’s capitulation, as a result of the privations suffered during the siege. 100 Their value is accentuated by the paucity of official documentation for the La Serna viceregency, a result in part of the loss of many of the papers of the viceregal secretariat, left in Callao in July 1821, and the ditching in 1822 off the coast of Brazil of official reports en route to Spain when the ship carrying them was attacked by Buenos Aires corsairs: Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, p. 269. 101 Ibid., pp. 67–69; Pezuela, Manifiesto, p. 128; Abreu, ‘Diario político’. 102 El Sol, no. 10, 5 March 1825, ADC, Periódicos, libro 2A, fol. 31v. 103 Rodil, Memoria, p. 261. Mendiburu later dismissed this organ as ‘en verdad un depósito de insulsas producciones de desvergüenzas y aún obscenidades’, containing ‘observaciones vulgares mezcladas con cuentos ridículos y sucios’: Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 7, pp. 75–6. A flavour of what upset Mendiburu is provided by El Depositario, no. 100, 9 November 1823 (reproduced in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 4, pp. 503–504) which insulted both Bolívar and Sucre by suggesting that the former, ‘el virote’, ‘será enterrado en mierda hasta el cogote/y el duelo de su entierro, bajo y sucio/ sólo lo podrá hacer Sucreprepucio’. 104 A valuable source for the army’s activities is the Boletín del Ejército Nacional de Lima (Huancayo and Jauja), 19 issues of which for the period 20 April–28 October 1822 are in ADC, Periódicos, libro 1. 105 La Serna to Secretary of Grace and Justice, 11 September 1822, AGI, Aud. de Lima, leg. 762. 106 Audiencia to La Serna, reservada, 11 November 1821, ADC, Real Audiencia, libro 3. 107 See note 31. The audiencia’s campaign in favour of the transfer began in 1815, a mere two days after its re-installation in Cusco following the supression of the Pumacahua rebellion: audiencia to Pezuela, reservada, 15 April 1815, ADC, Real Audiencia, libro 3. The ministers in office in 1821 were José Darcourt, Bartolomé Mosquera de Puga, Martín José de Mújica (all peninsulares) and the creole Santiago Corbalán: details of their careers are in M. A. Burkholder and D. S. Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers in the Americas, 1687–1821, Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1982, pp. 92, 98, 226–27, 231. 108 Audiencia to viceroy, 29 December 1821, ADC, Real Audiencia, libro 3. In this letter the tribunal objected to La Serna’s plan to hold certain ceremonies in his house rather than in the audiencia’s premises. Details of the substantial costs of the public ceremony are in ‘Cuadernos de los gastos imprendidos en la recepción del Ex’mo Sr. Virey’, ADC, Intendencia, Real Hacienda, leg. 225. 109 The original document has not been located, but a summary in AGI, Lima, leg. 1024 states: ‘Cuzco 8 de April de 1824. El Cavildo Real de la Ciudad Expone: Que para la seguridad de aquellos dominios y conservación de orden en ellos se hace indispensable

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

134

9/2/03, 13:37

,   

110 111 112

113

114 115 116

117

118 119 120

121

122



el que para el futuro se establezca en ella la Capital de aquel Virreynato que se há llamado de Lima, pues concurren en el Cuzco las circunstancias singulares de su seguridad local, de su abundancia, su sanidad, y establecida opinión; cuyo conjunto de ventajas tan especiales al intento, no reune otra alguna de las de aquel Territorio’. A note inside the summary records that the proposal was sent to the president of the Council of the Indias on 12 January 1825, ‘para q’e el Consejo consulte su parecer…’. See note 105. See note 106; the negative features of isolation in the highlands are stressed in Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, pp. 192–3, and Albi, Banderas olvidadas, p. 337. The subdelegate of Abancay referred in December 1822 to an order from the viceroy to ensure that any person elected to the post of alcalde should be ‘adicto a la justa causa, timorato…’: Josef M’a Bargas to diputación provincial, Abancay, 26 December 1822, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno Virreinal, leg. 159. Decree of La Serna, 17 May 1822, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 121. Two months earlier he offered substantial rewards – eight pesos per man – for the capture of deserters from the Burgos regiment: La Serna to subdelegate of Andahuaylas, 15 March 1822, ADC, Comunicaciones de La Serna, leg. 1. Details of Tristán’s measures are in ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno, leg. 157; García Camba, Memorias, pp. 386–7 details Tristán’s vigorous action against an 1821 barracks conspiracy. Gaceta del gobierno legítimo del Perú, no. 6, 22 January 1822; no. 81, 8 June 1822; unnumbered issue, 19 May 1822, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 87, 124, 131. Ibid., un-numbered, 19 May 1822; Gaceta Extraordinaria, no. 15, 5 May 1822, and unnumbered issue, 22 May 1822, Ibid., fol. 119, 123, 129. Canterac to San Martín, 8 February 1822, Gaceta, no. 11, 25 March 1822, Ibid., fol. 107. Occasionally one finds examples of humane treatment: for example, the release in 1824, in response to an appeal from his uncle, of a 14-year old boy, José Castro, brought to Cusco with other insurgent prisoners: Antonio María Alvarez, president of Cusco, to La Serna, 29 July 1824, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno, leg. 158. ADC, Comunicaciones de La Serna, leg. 1, contains a considerable number of orders from the viceroy to the subdelegate of Andahuaylas in 1822–1823 concerning the supply of animals, grain, potatoes and other foodstuffs, a common theme of which was the need to ensure that ‘arreglados y equitativos’ prices were paid. La Serna to subdelegate of Andahuaylas, 17 February 1823, and 30 March 1822, ADC, Comunicaciones de La Serna, leg. 1. Decree of La Serna, 28 October 1822, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 173. Such refugees were entitled initially to receive two-thirds of their salaries, subject to a further ‘descuento general’ ordered by La Serna in 1823 of 12 maravedis per peso for civilians and eight maravedis for the military (approximately 4.5 per cent and three per cent respectively): treasury minister to intendant, Cusco, 10 September 1823 and 25 October 1823, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 16. Oficio of La Serna, 6 February 1822, transcribed by Canterac to Gabriel Herboso, intendant of Huamanga, Huancayo, 22 March 1822, ADC, Comunicaciones de La Serna, leg. 1. Dionisio Marcilla to La Serna, 2 November 1821, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Ejército Realista, leg. 312. The peninsula-born Abadia had been one of the partners in the company that financed the purchase of English steam engines for Cerro de Pasco. However, as factor of the Philippines Company in Lima in 1806–1820, he had earned considerable notoriety in 1818 for his refusal to contribute on behalf of the company to a forced loan imposed on the mercantile community by the viceroy. See R. Flores, ‘Iniciativa privada o intervencionismo estatal: el caso de la Real Compañia de Filipinas en el Perú’, in O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), El Perú en el siglo XVIII, pp. 147, 176.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

135

9/2/03, 13:37



  ‒

123 Treasury minister to La Serna, 7 April 1824, (referring to the confiscation of unregistered silver which a German, Daniel Selnutt, was about to ‘embarcar clandestinamente’), ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 15. 124 Details of these (and other) measures are in ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libros 15–16; ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Ejército Realista, leg. 313 contains details of a substantial loan by the cura of Acobamba, Tadeo Valverde, to assist with meeting the ‘urgentes necesidades de la Nación’: Domingo Ximénez to Canterac, 30 August 1822. 125 ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Ejército Realista, leg. 315, contains details of the collection of church silver in 1823: Juan Antonio Rodríguez, ‘Relación que manifiesta la Plata labrada sacada de varias Iglesias…’, 21 December 1823; leg. 314 has correspondence between Canterac and the intendants of Tarma, Huamanga, and Huancavelica about the collection of forced loans. Gabriel Pérez to Canterac, 8 April 1823, refers to the difficulty of actually raising the cash from ‘este pobre vecindario’ of Huancavelica. 126 ‘Estado de las entradas de caudales de la Hacienda Nacional…’, 3 September 1822, ADC, Intendencia, Real Hacienda, leg. 225. 127 Monthly accounts for 1822 in ‘Relación del importe de los Presupuestos de los Cuerpos en el mes de la fecha…’ are in ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Ejército Realista, leg. 313. Other expenses detailed in this legajo include payments to spies, and those of establishing a military hospital in Jauja. 128 Treasury minister to La Serna, 12 March 1823, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 15, reported that he had provided 49,000 pesos in 1822 for ‘la construcción de vestuarios del Ex’to’. Details of the shipment of 42,500 varas of cloth for the royalist forces in Potosí in 1823 from the ‘fábrica de D’n Andrés Suárez de Villamil’ are in ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno Virreinal, leg. 160. 129 Treasury minister to La Serna, 21 February 1824, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 15, reported total income in 1822 (including that for the ramos propios, particulares y ajenos) as 936,000 pesos and in 1823 as 1,335,555 pesos. 130 Treasury minister to La Serna, 19 August 1824, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 16. 131 La Serna to Minister of Grace and Justice, 10 March 1824, AGI, Aud. of Lima, leg. 762, reported on measures taken in collaboration with the bishops of Charcas, La Paz, and Santa Cruz (as well as those of Arequipa and Cusco) to arrange selection meetings (concursos) for the filling of vacant benefices. He reported that all had gone smoothly except in Charcas, where ‘el criminal Olañeta’ had suspended the process on the grounds that it infringed ecclesiastical immunity. Further details are in ‘Relación de los eclesiásticos elegidos y mandados presentar para los curatos de la Paz’, 1824, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno Virreinal, leg. 160. 132 El Depositario, no. 100, 9 November 1823, in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 4, pp. 500–504. The article embraced disparaging remarks about ‘la república de los limeños’, and its ‘director político’ (Bolívar). 133 Ibid., no. 103, 26 November 1823, quoted in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 4, p. 115. 134 ‘El Virrey a los Peruanos’, 12 November 1823, El Depositario, no. 101, 19 November 1823, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 336. 135 La Serna to Minister of War, no. 127, 20 March 1824, in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 4, pp. 115–22. 136 La Serna to Minister of Grace and Justice, 15 March 1824, AGI, Aud. de Lima, leg. 762. The viceroy warned on 20 March that unless Olañeta came to heel, his former triumphs would be buried in the ‘hedionda tumba de los Pizarros, Almagros, Girones, Tupacamaros, Angulos…’: Valdés, Documentos, vol. 4, p. 122. 137 Treasury minister to La Serna, 3 January 1824, ADC, Tesorería Fiscal, Libros Varios, libro 15.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

136

9/2/03, 13:37

,   



138 The principal item of projected income – the ‘única contribución de Naturales ó Tributos’ – was shown as providing 1,250,000 of a total 2,870,000 pesos. 139 La Serna to Minister of State, 2 April 1824, AGI, Aud. de Lima, leg. 762. As noted, Rico got no further than Callao. 140 Gaceta Extraordinaria, no. 3, 26 January 1823; no. 31, 28 January 1823; no. 32, 31 January 1823; no. 33, 23 February 1823; El Depositario, no. 82, 6 May 1823, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 209–11, 235, 250–51. 141 Gaceta, no. 49, 15 May 1824, and proclamation of Bolívar, Huancayo, 15 August 1824, ADC, Periódicos, libro 1, fol. 388, 404. 142 Acuerdo of audiencia, 14 September 1824, ADC, Real Audiencia, Asuntos Administrativos, leg. 180. The three were Corbalán, Darcourt and Mújica, the fourth (Mosquera) having died in 1822; the other signatories on this latter occasion were Juan Nepomuceno Múñoz, Juan Antonio de Zavala, and Mateo Ximeno. 143 Canterac to president of Cusco, 11 December 1824, ADC, Periódicos, libro 2A, fol.1. A succinct account of the battle is provided by A. Nieto Vélez, Junín and Ayacucho, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 1974. 144 Details of the actual voyage, particularly illuminating on the ill-feeling between liberals and absolutists, are provided by A. Wagner de la Reyna, ‘Ocho años de La Serna en el Perú (De la “Venganza” a la “Ernestina”)’, Quinto Centenario, Vol. 8, 1985, pp. 37–59. When they reached Spain, Pezuela and his sympathizers led the attack against La Serna and Canterac, accusing them of cowardice and incompetence: ‘Diario de operaciones de la última campaña del Perú’, BMP, Pezuela, ms. 13. Valdés, who had comanded the vanguard division, emerged as the principal apologist for both himself his fellow-officers, blaming the defeat upon the perfidy of the common soldiers, whose front rank ‘volvió la espalda’ as soon as the fighting began, ‘llegando los más al extremo de arrojar las armas y algunos de hacer el fuego a los Jefes y Oficiales…’: Valdés, Documentos, vol. 1, p. 98. [In 1820, Tristán had noted that reinforcements for the 1st Cusco regiment were secured by rounding-up ‘desertores, vagos y mal entendidos de robustez y aptitudes para el servicio de las Armas’: Tristán to subdelegate of Abancay, Cusco, 15 March 1820, ADC, Intendencia, Gobierno, leg. 157]. 145 Their names, ranks and destinations are published in Colección documental, tomo 22, vol. 3, pp. 402–32. 146 García Camba, Memorias, p. 326. El Sol, a new Cusco periodical inaugurated on 1 January 1825, printed an account of the battle on 16 April 1825, and on 23 April a somewhat tardy report of the mutiny of the Cochabamba garrison against Olañeta on 13 January: ADC, Periódicos, libro 2A, fol. 43–46. 147 García Camba, Memorias, vol. 2, p. 285; Torrente, Historia, vol. 3, p. 507. 148 Decree of Gamarra, 30 December 1824, ADC, Periódicos, libro 2A, fol. 9. The details of the swearing of allegiance by the city council and other corporations are in Gamarra to José de Cáceres, 30 December 1824, Ibid., fol. 11.

EUP_BPeru_07_Ch6

137

9/2/03, 13:38

 

Conclusion and Epilogue: The Bourbon Legacy

As Sucre laconically informed the patriot Minister of War on 11 December 1824, the brief, bloody battle of Ayacucho fought two days earlier had effectively ended the struggle for South American independence that had begun 15 years earlier with the installation of creole juntas in the Upper Peruvian cities of La Paz and Chuquisaca: ‘la campaña y la paz de América se han firmado en este campo de batalla’.1 There was still some mopping-up of royalist resistance to finalize in Upper Peru, of course, and the remnants of the 2,500-strong royalist force under general José Ramón Rodil that had taken refuge in the fortresses of Callao, along with nearly 4,000 civilians, when Bolivar’s forces recaptured Lima on 4 December (Bolívar himself entered the city on 7 December) would hold out there until January 1826.2 Following the eventual surrender of the Real Felipe bastion, fewer than 100 of its 400 surviving defenders would choose to return to Spain with Rodil, implying, as Anna notes, that most of them were Peruvians, as, indeed, were most of the more than 2,000 royalist prisoners taken at Ayacucho.3 The suggestion made by Valdés (commander of the royalist vanguard division in the decisive battle) that the 500 royalist officers who had chosen to stay in Peru under the terms of the capitulation might serve as ‘una semilla … que podría dar algún dia frutos abundantes’ in the event of an attempted Spanish reconquest, although at first sight somewhat fanciful, seemed to be partially vindicated in 1826 with the outbreak of a rebellion in the province of Huanta, led by the self-styled ‘general in chief of the royal armies of Peru’, Antonio Huachaca, that called for the restoration of Spanish rule.3 However, despite bold words from Madrid for several years promising reconquest, the proposed restoration of Ferdinand VII in Peru in 1826–1828 was more of a ploy by wily peasants seeking relief from the payment of tribute and other fiscal demands made by the local agents of the new republican government than a coherent royalist reaction.4 In time-honoured fashion the relatively weak forces of the Lima government responded to it with a combination of force, court cases, and compromise – Huachaca, a semi-literate mulateer, emerged from the process as a local magistrate – leaving the Huanta peasants and their guerrilla leaders free during the confused period of caudillo politics in the 1830s to extract fiscal

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

138

9/2/03, 13:39

  :   



concessions from the government of both president Orbegoso (1833–1834), and the leader of the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation (1836–1839), Santa Cruz, in return for their support against the machinations of general Agustín Gamarra. With the expulsion of most civilian peninsulares from Peru by Monteagudo, the repatriation of La Serna and his generals in 1825, and the self-destruction of the cream of the old creole aristocracy in Callao in 1824–1825, the way was clear for ambitious Peruvians to take control of their own destinies once they had rid themselves in mid–1827 of their recently-elected life-time president, Bolívar.5 With the election by congress in June 1827 as president of general José de La Mar, ‘the country faced an uncertain future but it would be one shaped by Peruvians’, with a severely impaired sense of national consciousness fractured along lines of both race and regional identity (and to some degree by their Bolivian and Chilean neighbours).6 In this context, did independence have any deeper significance than the replacement of the relative political stability of the late-colonial era by the fragmented and divisive politics of warring caudillos?7 A recent analysis of the social and political impact upon Peru (and Mexico) of the transfer of authority from the royalist régime to the new republic suggests one answer with the rather sweeping statement that: el rasgo central unificador del período colonial tardío, las guerras de independencia, y las primeras décadas republicanas en América Latina fue la destrucción del orden político y económico colonial, gracias a una combinación de eventos de orden mundial y fuerzas internas que desbrozaron el camino para un desarrollo capitalista.8

In Peru, it is suggested, the wars of independence comprised ‘una larga e inconclusa guerra civil’, within which those who had benefited from the colonial system had supported the royalist cause, while an emerging bourgeoisie had not only led the insurgent forces but had succeeded in mobilizing ‘las clases populares’ whose support had been decisive in the defeat of the ‘españoles’.9 The political instability of the immediate post-independence period, it is concluded, reflected the simple fact that those marginalized by the colonial system, although capable of destroying the colonial state, had not possessed sufficient cohesion to establish ‘un proyecto nacional común y cohesivo’.10 However, ‘el conflicto continuó, y las montoneras negras en la costa y los campesinos en los Andes continuaron asedando a los regímenes conservadores durante las primeras décadas republicanas’.11 This interpretation, although reflecting wishful thinking in terms of popular participation in the shaping of republican Peru, is not entirely without substance, for the departure of the peninsulares and some prominent creoles to Spain had clearly opened the way for the new republic’s native entrepreneurs to exercise an unprecedented degree of political and economic authority, at least until they faced up to the difficulties of attracting foreign investment to fill the vacuum left by the lost capitalists.12 Even before the collapse of the

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

139

9/2/03, 13:39



  ‒

short-lived British investment boom in 1825 had led to the return to London of disillusioned businessmen anxious to publish negative impressions of Peru which would deter other potential investors, early foreign travellers to the region had been issuing stark warnings about the poor prospects for trade and investment there. Gilbert Mathison, who had travelled in Brazil, Chile and Peru in 1821–1822, for example, had warned starkly that ‘the prospect which South America displays is far less brilliant than the friend of humanity would desire, or than the generality of persons appear willing to believe’.13 Similarly, Edmond Temple, who travelled widely in Peru and Bolivia for the Potosí, La Paz and Peruvian Mining Association before its definitive collapse in 1826 published a jaundiced account of his experiences, blaming not only irresponsible and greedy Peruvian politicians but also ignorant and unrealistic shareholders at home for his misfortunes.14 The inevitable outcome was that prior to the onset of the guano era, the Peruvian export economy – far from attracting the unhealthy attentions of foreign capitalists decried by dependency theorists – experienced extremely slow growth, despite the improvement in the terms of trade brought about by the fall in the prices of European (mainly British) woollen and cotton goods. As Gootenberg has demonstrated, Peruvian statesmen were not entirely aimless and defenceless in their management of economic policy in the 1824–1850 period, but the principal determinant of their integration into the world economy after independence, as in the lateBourbon period, was the level of silver production, which recovered very slowly from the vicissitudes of the period of independence.15 In terms of its economy, the securing of independence was part of a process of slow transition for Peru, but in the short-term the economic conditions of the republic in the first two decades of its national existence barely differed from those encountered immediately prior to 1810. The physical appearance of the city of Lima, with its splendid Bourbon buildings, changed little in the early-republican period, for it was not until the new wealth of the guano era began to flow into public and private pockets that the neoclassical buildings of the eighteenth century began to be overshadowed by impressive new constructions, particularly during the presidencies of Ramón Castilla (1845–1851, 1855–1862) and José Balta (1868–1872).16 Continuity was less evident in terms of political behaviour during this early period, for the city’s mercantile élite that now enjoyed full access to political power to enhance its material wealth, was no longer able to look to the audiencia, the viceregal court, and the metropolis for the resolution of its internecine conflicts and difficulties. Hence, the notorious political instability of the pre-Castilla era in particular, with the ever-present threat of often incoherent military interventions, a feature of political life that might also be represented in terms of continuity with, rather than deviation from, the late-Bourbon era. Even in Lima, and to a far-greater extent in the other cities of the new republic, the dominant feature of the transfer of authority to the republican régime was continuity, within, of course, a new political environment that inevitably brought with it many changes of form and some of substance.17 The

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

140

9/2/03, 13:39

  :   



example of Cusco is instructive. Virtually the only significant change experienced in the city in the immediate aftermath of independence, following the installation of Gamarra as prefect, was the reopening in July 1825 of the university of San Antonio Abad, which had been closed in 1816 in reprisal for the alleged participation of many of its members in the rebellion of 1814– 1815.18 The audiencia was replaced in February 1825 by the corte superior de justicia, exercising virtually identical powers and even with some continuity of personnel.19 Rhetorical flourishes from Bolívar assured the ‘pueblo querido de los Incas … los remotos descendientes del Sol’ of their glorious future, prompting the editor of El Sol to publish an imagined reply from Manco Capac to the ‘ilustre rejenerador de mi patria, vengador de la sangre de mis hijos’, stating that he could now rest in peace ‘dejando a mi Perú descansando, Libertador, a la sombra de tus laureles’.20 This Incaic – one is tempted to call it archaic – theme was picked up by a number of foreign commentators, including the English traveller John Miller, whose narrative of the exploits in the patriot army of his brother, William, provides a brilliant account of the battle of Ayacucho.21 The resistance thereafter of Olañeta, in his view, was ‘additional evidence of the extraordinary perserverance with which the Spaniards endeavoured to retain … their pertinacious grasp on the    ,       ’.22 Behind the romantic rhetoric, the reality, of course, for the indigenous inhabitants of Cusco and surrounding provinces was that many of the measures taken by Bolívar in 1825 to give them nominal equality – including the division of community lands and the abolition of cacicazgos – accelerated the late colonial process of usurpation of community resources by non-Indians.23 A typical beneficiary of this trend was Pablo de Mar y Tapia, a former functionary of the audiencia of Cusco as well as cacique of Puroy – the latter rôle exemplified the intrusion of whites into indigenous communities in the late-colonial and early-national periods – who rapidly became one of the region’s largest landowners, and the representative of Paruro in the national congress, before securing appointment as treasurer of Cusco’s caja nacional in 1834.24 The dilemma faced by individuals such as Mar y Tapia was whether they should make do with socio-economic gains at the expense of the Indians, now that colonial legislation protecting their community resources had been swept away, or seek political power too. The next question was whether to identify with the metropolitan élite, striving somewhat unsuccessfully until the 1840s to centralize power in Lima, or with the regional forces that looked back to Cusco’s primacy in Peru in 1820–1824 and saw that as a basis for reuniting Peru and Bolivia. The crunch came in 1836–1839 with the creation of the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation, and the establishment of Cusco as the capital of the southern Peruvian state. Gamarra, by then identified with Lima and its élite following his first term as president (1829–1833), preferred to side with Chile in destroying the confederation in 1839, only to end his second presidency (1839–1841) with his death two years later in his punitive attempt to incorporate Bolivia into a Peru ruled from Lima.25 The more astute Tristán,

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

141

9/2/03, 13:39



  ‒

Cusco’s last royalist president, who had remained in his native Arequipa after 1824, graduated from the office as prefect there in 1832–1833 to become the confederation’s Minister of Foreign Affairs in 1836–1837 and provisional president of the southern Peruvian state in 1838–1839. Like many arequipeños, he decided soon after the battle of Yungay that southern Peruvian regionalism was a spent force, and that the future lay in retiring from politics and concentrating upon business in guano-rich Lima.26 By the time that he died there in 1860 most of the vestiges of the Bourbon era – including slavery – had been swept away. To conclude, if we wish to think in terms of periodization, Bourbon Peru as a coherent entity began about 1750 and, although it ended formally in 1824, many of its features survived until 1850. It was not until the end of Castilla’s first presidency that its successor entity, republican Peru, had begun to take definitive shape in substance as well as theory. Notes 1 Sucre to Minister of War, Ayacucho, 11 December 1824, ADC, Periódicos, Libro 11. During the 45 minutes of fighting the patriot army of almost 6,000 lost 500 killed and 600 wounded; the larger (9,300) royalist force lost 1,800 dead and 700 wounded: Nieto, Junín and Ayacucho, p. 15. 2 An estimated 2,700 civilians (and 2,000 troops) died during the siege, primarily from starvation. The victims included Peru’s second president, Torre Tagle, (who had succeeded José de la Riva Agüero in July 1823 before returning to the royalist fold in March 1824 following the re-occupation of Lima by royalist forces under general Juan Antonio Monet in February), his vice-president Diego de Aliaga, and other prominent members of the ‘old-line creole elite’, who made the wrong choice at the end of ‘their whole history of indecision and self-aggrandizement’: Anna, Fall of the Royal Government, p. 236. 3 Valdés, Documentos, vol. 1, p. 101. His admiration for the fidelity to Spain of the Peruvian officers among the capitulados – they included four generals, 29 colonels, 93 lieutenant-colonels, 150 captains, and 147 lieutenants – was tempered to some degree by the expression of relief that the majority of Peruvian ‘Oficiales del país de distintos colores’ had turned down the option of taking ship for Spain, because their racial impurity would have made them ‘inútiles en la Europa, aunque muy beneméritos allí por su fidelidad’: Ibid. 4 For further details of the 1826–1828 rebellion, see C. Méndez-Gastelmundi, ‘The Power of Naming, or the Construction of Ethnic and National Identities in Peru: Myth, History and the Iquichanos’, Past and Present, Vol. 171, 2001, pp. 127–60. 5 During the early months of 1825, Gaspar Rico, holed up in Callao, had published mainly in El Depositario a series of insulting articles about Bolívar, insisting that his ultimate aim was to subjugate Peru to the power of Colombia. If Callao fell to the insurgents, he argued ‘la inisgnia que se enarbolará en los castillos será la colombiana’. On 10 December 1824, he commented on Bolivar’s entry into Lima as follows: ‘Bolívar, el Libertador potroso, Simón Cirindico, y el Dictador febrifugo peruviano … ha declarado por un decreto imperial que ustedes son gentes muy sufridas, gente sin verguenza de quien no tiene confianza y además “cojudos”.’ Quoted in A. Martínez Riaza, La prensa doctrinal en la independencia del Perú 1811–1824, Madrid, Ediciones Cultura Hispánica, 1985, p. 315.

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

142

9/2/03, 13:40

  :   



6 Rodríguez, The Independence of Spanish America, p. 235. Relatively little research has been undertaken on the theme of Peruvian national consciousness in the late-colonial/ independence/early-national periods, but an interesting overview of the theme elsewhere (notably in Mexico) is provided by several of the essays in F.-X. Guerra and M. Quijada (eds.), Imaginar la Nación, Lit Verlag, Münster, 1994. See in particular A. Annino, ‘Otras naciones: sincretismó político en el México decimónico’, pp. 215–55. 7 An interesting analysis of the alternative political models discussed by the supporters of independence prior to the approval of the 1823 constitution is provided by J. Gálvez, ‘El Perú como estado: proyectos políticos independentistas’, in O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), La independencia del Perú, pp. 319–50. 8 P. Guardino and C. Walker, ‘Estado, sociedad y política en el Perú y México entre fines de la colonia y comienzos de la Repúlica’, Historica, Vol. 18, 1994, p. 27. 9 Ibid., p. 41. 10 Ibid., p. 58. 11 Ibid., p. 41. 12 An excellent survey of the abortive investment boom of 1822–1825 is provided by F. G. Dawson, The First Latin American Debt Crisis: the City of London and the 1822–25 Loan Bubble, New Haven, CT, Yale UP, 1990. 13 G. F. Mathison, Narrative of a Visit to Brazil, Chile, Peru and the Sandwich Islands during the Years 1821 and 1822, London, Charles Knight, 1825, p. 358. 14 E. Temple, Travels in Various Parts of Peru, Including a Year’s Residence in Potosí, London, Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 2 vols., 1830, vol. 2, pp. 270–74. 15 P. Gootenberg, Between Silver and Guano: Commercial Policy and the State in Postindependence Peru, Princeton, Princeton UP, 1989; on the recovery of mining, see J. R. Deustua, La minería. 16 Méndez Guerrero, Pacheco Vélez, and Ugarte Eléspuru, Lima, pp. 38–39. 17 Despite changes in nomenclature – the 1823 constitution replaced the intendancies with departments, administered by prefects – the basic structures of local administration remained unchanged both then and following the introduction of the subsequent 1828 code. See T. Hampe Martínez and J. F. Gálvez Montero, ‘De la intendencia al departamento (1810–1830): los cambios en la administración pública regional del Perú’, in Dinámicas del Antiguo Régimen y orden constitucional, ed. M. Bellingeri, Torino, Otto Editore, 2000, pp. 339–66. 18 Decree of Bolívar, Urubamba, 18 July 1825, in El Sol, no. 30, 23 July 1825, ADC, Periódicos, libro 2A. 19 Details of its membership are in El Sol, 19 February 1825, Ibid., fol. 26–27. The continuity was personified by Santiago Corbalán, oidor since 1817, who became one of the three ministers of the new court. El Sol reported that although he and its president, Vicente León, had been employed by the former régime, ‘no se familiarisaron con el despotismo’. A subsequent issue of El Sol (no. 46, 11 November 1825, Ibid., fol. 104) noted that Corbalán had been elected to represent Cusco in the national senate. 20 ‘El Jeneral en Jefe del Ejército Unido Libertador del Perú a los habitantes del Cuzco’, 29 December 1824, ADC, Periódicos, libro 11; El Sol, no. 29, 16 July 1825, Ibid., libro 2A, fol. 70–71. 21 J. Miller, The Memoirs of General Miller in the Service of the Republic of Peru, London, Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 2 vols., 1829. 22 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 212. 23 Decrees of Bolívar of July 1825 abolishing personal service, the mita, cacicazgos and communal ownership of land are in ADC, Periódicos, libro 2, fol. 67, 127. 24 J. A. Guevara Gil, Propiedad agraria y derecho colonial: los documentos de la hacienda Santosis Cuzco (1543–1822), Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1993, pp.

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

143

9/2/03, 13:40



  ‒

285–88; D. P. Cahill, ‘Independencia, sociedad y fiscalidad: el sur andino (1780–1880), Revista Complutense de Historia de América, Vol. 19, 1993, pp. 249–68. 25 A good coverage of the intricate national politics of this period is provided by C. Wu, Generals and Diplomats: Great Britain and Peru, 1820–21, Cambridge, Centre of Latin American Studies, 1991. Walker argues – Smoldering Ashes, p. 150 – that, despite his opposition to decentralization, ‘Gamarra created a strong base in Cuzco … favouring Cuzco whenever possible’. 26 As early as 1808, when he was alcalde of Arequipa, Tristán had formed a company to purchase the ship Buen Ayre and the cargo of guano it was carrying from Copiapó to Callao: ADA, Protocolos, Rafael de Hurtado (1808), fol. 55–59.

EUP_BPeru_08_Ch7

144

9/2/03, 13:40

        

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

145

9/2/03, 13:45

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

146

9/2/03, 13:45

 

The Viceroys of Peru in the Bourbon Period

1689–1705 1707–1710 1710–1716 1716–1720 1720–1724 1724–1736 1736–1745 1745–1761 1761–1776 1776–1780 1780–1784 1784–1790 1790–1796 1796–1801 1801–1806 1806–1816 1816–1821 1821–1824

Portocarrero Lasso de la Vega, Melchor (Conde de la Monclova) Oms de Santa Pau, Manuel (Marqués de Castelldosríus) Ladrón de Guevara, Diego (Obispo de Quito) Carácciolo, Carmine Nicolás (Príncipe de Santo Buono) Morcillo Rubio de Auñón, Diego (Arzobispo de Charcas) Armendáriz y Perurena, José de (Marqués de Castelfuerte) Mendoza Caamaño y Sotomayor, José Antonio de (Marqués de Villagarcía) Manso de Velasco, José Antonio (Conde de Superunda) Amat y Junient, Manuel de Guirior, Manuel de (Marqués de Guirior) Jaúregui y Aldecoa, Agustín de Croix, Teodoro de Gil de Taboada y Lemos, Francisco O’Higgins, Ambrosio (Marqués de Osorno) Avilés y del Fierro, Gabriel de (Marqués de Avilés) Abascal y Souza, José Fernando de (Marqués de la Concordia) Pezuela y Sánchez Múñoz de Velasco, Joaquín de la (Marqués de Viluma) La Serna y Hinojosa, José de (Conde de los Andes)

The Careers of the Viceroys Abascal (1743–1821)1 A native of Oviedo in northern Spain, Abascal pursued a military career and first visited America in 1767 as a junior officer assigned to the garrison of Puerto Rico. Following service in Spain, he returned to America with the 1776 expedition to the Río de la Plata, which captured the outpost of Sacramento on the eastern bank of the river from the Portuguese and established a new viceroyalty governed from Buenos Aires. After further service in Santo Domingo and Havana, he went to Guadalajara (Mexico) in 1799 as president

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

147

9/2/03, 13:45





of the audiencia. Appointed viceroy of the Río de la Plata, Abascal was transferred to Peru before he was able to take up his position in Buenos Aires; war-time complications delayed his arrival in Lima until 1806. Abascal’s fame derives primarily from his firmness in repressing conspiracies against continued Spanish rule in Peru during the period 1809–1810 (at a time when his counterparts in other viceregal capitals were meekly acquiescing to the demands of creole revolutionaries), and in raising expeditionary forces to put down the early independence movements in Chile, Ecuador, and Upper Peru. A firm royalist and absolutist, he obstructed the full implementation in Peru of the 1812 Constitution of Cádiz. Although disturbed in 1814–1815 by a serious insurrection in Cusco, Peru remained a bastion of royalism when Abascal retired to the peninsula in 1816. Amat (1704–1782)2 Born in Varacisas into a noble Catalan family, this second son of the Marqués de Castellbell pursued a military career in Europe and North Africa until becoming captain-general of Chile in 1755. In Santiago he promoted higher education and public order, but his efforts to subdue the Araucanian Indians were unsuccessful. As viceroy of Peru, Amat oversaw with ruthless efficiency the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1767, and, superficially at least, undertook a major overhaul of defences, fortifying ports and organising militia companies throughout the provinces. Although public revenues expanded considerably in this period, Amat’s viceregency was pervaded by corruption, according to his many critics, including Antonio de Ulloa, who served under him as governor of Huancavelica. He dealt firmly with popular discontent in and around Lima in 1764–1766. Following his return to Barcelona in 1777, the aged bachelor – whose picaresque private life had provoked much satirical comment during his period of office in Lima – married a young Catalan, and built for both her and posterity the splendid Palau de la Virreina on the Ramblas. Now a cultural centre, this magnificent baroque building betrays its Peruvian inspiration in its typical limeño double-patios. Armendáriz (1670–1770)3 A native of Rivagorza, Navarre, Armendáriz pursued a distinguished military career from an early age, serving in Flanders, Naples, Portugal, and Spain itself during the War of Succession, and receiving his title from Philip V for his decisive action at the battle of Villaviciosa. Appointed viceroy following service as captain-general of Guipúzcoa, he enjoyed good relations with José de Patiño (Minister of the Indies, Navy and Treasury, 1726–1736), with whom he had served in Italy in 1717–1718. He was the first of the archetypal military officials of the Bourbon period, identified with the quest for more efficient government rather than the protection of creole interests. He was particularly vigorous in his campaign against contraband along the Pacific coast and also imposed closer regulation of the Portobelo fairs, the last two of which (held in 1726 and 1731) occurred during his period of office. He acted

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

148

9/2/03, 13:45

       



decisively against any manifestations of discontent – including the mestizo rebellion of Alejo Calatayud in Cochabamba, and the attempt of José de Antequera, former oidor of Charcas, to separate Paraguay from viceregal control – and tried, less successfully, to curb abuses in local government by corregidores. On his return to Spain he received the unusual distinction of being decorated with the Order of the Golden Fleece (usually reserved for members of the royal family) and was given command of the regiment of royal guards. An austere individual, who never married, he enjoyed a reputation for scrupulous honesty throughout his long life. Avilés (1735–1810)4 Born in Asturias, Avilés served from 1768 in Chile as a cavalry officer on the Araucanian frontier before being transferred to Peru as commander of the viceregal cavalry. He played a prominent rôle in the suppression of the Túpac Amaru rebellion, combining military firmness with persistent denunciation of the social abuses and administrative corruption that had provoked the insurrection; the crown decision in 1787 to install an audiencia in Cusco, in an attempt to improve judicial administration there, owed much to the pressure exerted by him. He enjoyed the confidence of not only the visitador general, Jorge de Escobedo, and viceroy Croix but also José de Gálvez, and was rewarded in 1787 with promotion to the rank of brigadier and appointment as governor of Callao, before his return to Chile in 1796 to replace Ambrosio O’Higgins as captain-general. Shortly thereafter – in October 1796 – he was named viceroy of the Río de la Plata, but, because of wartime complications, he did not move to Buenos Aires until early-1799. His tenure there was brief (1799–1801), before he left for Lima to succeed O’Higgins (whose death in March 1801, following the June 1800 decision to allow him to retire but before the arrival of his successor, had created an eight months’ interregum). As befitted his military background, Avilés acted decisively in 1805 to order the execution of the leaders of the Aguilar-Ubalde conspiracy in Cusco; at a different level, he did much to promote the improvement of public health in Lima. He also oversaw the incorporation of Mainas and Guayaquil into the viceroyalty, following crown decisions in 1802–1803 to adjust Peru’s northern boundaries. Following the appointment of Abascal in 1806, he lived in retirement in Lima until 1810, when – having refused the offer of reappointment as viceroy of the Río de la Plata, following the May revolution – he left for Spain, getting as far as Valparaiso, where he died. Carácciolo (1671–1727)5 Descended from a prominent Neopolitan family, this cultivated, but ineffectual aristocrat was named viceroy of Peru in 1713 – after spending two years at the Spanish court – but did not sail from Cádiz until late–1715. The crossing was struck by tragedy when his wife died at sea after giving premature birth to their fourteenth child. When he eventually reached Lima in October 1716 – via the isthmus of Panamá – his principal and most urgent objective was

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

149

9/2/03, 13:45





already to secure a licence to return to Spain, eventually granted in 1719 after a mere three years in Lima. He sought, with some success, to implement crown orders to curb French contraband in Pacific ports, but was relatively impotent to stop the illegal export of silver from Potosí to Buenos Aires, where it was exchanged for goods brought in by English ships protected by the 1713 asiento. His term also witnessed the first, albeit premature, decision (in 1717) to establish a separate viceroyalty of New Granada; although revoked in 1722, this provided early warning that the Bourbon period would be one of territorial contraction for Peru. Carácciolo left Lima for Spain (via Acapulco-MexicoVeracruz) in January 1720 as soon as he received news of royal permission to do so, leaving interim viceregal authority in the hands of Diego Morcillo, archbishop of Charcas, who had also served in that capacity for several weeks in 1716, prior to Carácciolo’s arrival. On reaching Spain, he retired from public life and returned to his estates in Naples, where he died in 1727. Croix (1730–1791)6 Born in Lille, Flanders, into the family of the Marqueses de Heuchin, Croix embarked upon a military career at the age of 17. His career pattern developed rapidly with the appointment of his uncle, Carlos Francisco (Marqués de Croix), as viceroy of New Spain in 1765, and his acceptance of the invitation to accompany him to Mexico as captain of the viceregal guard. By 1771, when he returned to Spain at the end of his uncle’s term of office, he had reached the rank of brigadier and had served as governor of Acapulco. He returned to New Spain in 1772 as field-marshal and governor of Sonora and Sinaloa, remaining there until receiving instructions in 1783 confirming his appointment as viceroy of Peru in succession to Jaúregui. He assumed office in April 1784 precisely at the time when the visitador general, Escobedo, was putting the finishing touches to the new system of administration by intendants, a reform clearly identified – symbolically and in practice – with a reduction in the prestige of the office of viceroy. An austere, incorruptible individual – he never married and was reputed to be celibate – Croix enjoyed a cordial, if rather formal, relationship with Escobedo, despite his preoccupation with seeking to insist upon viceregal dignity at the expense of that of the superintendente de real hacienda, the appointment held by Escobedo following the formal termination of the visita in 1785. Croix succeeded in 1787 in having the superintendency transferred to himself, thereby undermining a key feature of the intendant system. His period of office in Peru was characterized by stable government, economic and fiscal growth, and recovery from the internecine squabbling between senior administrators that had marred the terms of his two immediate predecessors. Following the grant of permission for him to return to Spain, Croix handed over authority to Gil in March 1790, leaving Callao a month later. He died in Madrid a year later. Gil (1736–1809)7 A native of Santa María de Soto Longo (Galicia), Gil pursued a conventional

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

150

9/2/03, 13:46

       



naval career for nearly 40 years – entering the navy as a guardia marina at Cádiz in 1752 and rising gradually to the rank of jefe de escuadra – until being named viceroy of New Granada in 1788 following the appointment of Antonio Valdés (whom he had known in the navy) as Minister of the Indies. He delayed nearly a year before leaving for America, and when he reached Honda in 1789 he became aware of new instructions to go to Peru. In the event, he went first to Santa Fe, to collect the baggage and family members sent in advance; after a rather complicated journey via Cartagena, Panamá, Paita, and Trujillo, he eventually assumed office in Lima in May 1790. Despite the increasing political confusion in Madrid in the early 1790s, Peru experienced considerable cultural development during Gil’s term of office: the progressive Mercurio Peruano appeared regularly in 1791–1794, and the Society of Friends of the Country of Lima, which published it, sought, with viceregal support, to promote economic growth. Gil oversaw the production of a detailed census of the population in 1792, and a programme of public works, and sought to restore the prestige of viceregal authority at the expense of the provincial intendants. The latter were particularly active under his scrutiny in producing maps and undertaking provincial inspections. Although there is some evidence of nepotism in favour of his nephews – one (Vicente) became intendant of Trujillo and another (Francisco) commander of the viceregal guard – he was generally seen as a progressive disinterested individual, as befitted a caballero of the Orden de San Juan. On his return to Spain in early 1797 – having handed over viceregal authority to O’Higgins in June 1796 – Gil was appointed to the Supreme Council of War, becoming commander of the navy in 1799, Minister of Marine in 1805, and a member of Ferdinand VII’s Junta de Gobierno by means of which the latter forced his father to abdicate in March 1808. Following Ferdinand’s own abdication several months later, Gil refused to recognize Joseph Bonaparte as king of Spain and retired from office. Guirior (1708–1788)8 Born into a noble family in Aoiz (Navarre), Guirior pursued a distinguished naval career, primarily in the Mediterranean but with some Pacific experience, prior to taking up office in 1772 as viceroy of New Granada. During his period of office in Santa Fe he acquired a reputation for both firmness in dealing with ‘barbarous’ Indians on the frontier and, at a different level, for progressive economic policies and the expansion and reorganization of higher education. He took over command of the viceroyalty of Peru from Amat in 1776, shortly before the arrival in 1777 of the visitador general, José Antonio de Areche, entrusted with the implementation of a widespread programme of administrative, judicial, and fiscal reform. His service in Peru was further complicated by the imminent separation of Upper Peru from the old viceroyalty, the receipt in 1779 of news of the outbreak of war between Spain and Britain, which necessitated high expenditure on defensive measures, and a number of indigenous risings in 1776–1777 which led to the killing of corregidores. Towards the end of his brief period of office, there were also serious

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

151

9/2/03, 13:46





manifestations of popular discontent – primarily against new tax demands which had more to do with Areche than with the viceroy – in several urban centres, notably Arequipa and Cusco. Guirior frequently clashed with Areche over apparently minor matters of policy and protocol (which in reality marked more fundamental conflict over the limits of viceregal as opposed to ministerial authority). The crown – in the person of the Minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez – chose to support Areche, and in January 1780 ordered Jáuregui to replace Guirior; the formal transfer occurred in July and Guirior left Callao for Spain in October. Following a prolonged juicio de residencia that began in 1783 Guirior was exonerated by the Council of the Indies in 1785 of various charges of having abused his authority, and was given the title of Marqués shortly before his death in 1788. Jáuregui (1711–1784)9 Like his predecessor (Guirior) and his contemporary as viceroy of the Río de la Plata (Juan José de Vertíz, 1778–1784) Jáuregui was a native of the valley of Baztán (Navarre), close to the frontier with France. He pursued a military career from an early age, serving as equerry to Philip V and, subsequently, as captain of dragoons in North Africa. His American experience began with service in Cuba, Cartagena and Honduras in the 1740s. Following his return to the peninsula in 1749, he distinguished himself in conflict with Portugal in 1762, reaching the rank of field-marshal. He served subsequently as captaingeneral of Chile from 1773, paying particular attention to the reorganization of the army, the pacification of the Pehuenches, and educational reform in Santiago. In January 1780 he was appointed viceroy of Peru in succession to Guirior, who had fallen from favour because of his repeated clashes with the visitador general, José Antonio de Areche. Jáuregui formally took up his post in July 1780, a mere five months before the outbreak of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru. His period of office was further complicated by the high costs of coastal defence occasioned by the fear of British attacks against Peru during the War of American Independence, and the general uncertainty resulting from the administrative reorganization that led to the introduction of the intendant system in mid–1784. Replaced as viceroy by Croix on April 3, 1784, Jáuregui died later that month in Lima from apoplexy. Ladrón de Guevara (1641–1718)10 This rather naive, ostensibly well-intentioned individual was an interim appointee who headed one of no less than eight viceregal administrations in Lima (including three by the audiencia) between the death of Portocarrero (Monclova) in 1705 and the arrival of Armendáriz (Castelfuerte) in 1724. However, in view of the longevity of his tenure (five-and-a-half years) it seems appropriate to regard him as though he were a proprietary holder of office. Born in Cifuentes, he studied in Alcalá and Sigüenza before entering the church, serving as a canon in the cathedrals of first Sigüenza itself and then Málaga. His American experience began in 1689 with his appointment as

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

152

9/2/03, 13:46

       



bishop of Panamá, a rôle which also gave him his first taste of civil administration as interim president of the audiencia. He served briefly as bishop of Huamanga in 1700–1703 – his principal achievement there was the foundation of the University of San Cristóbal – before his promotion to the see of Quito. Following the death in office in 1710 of Oms (Castelldosríus), Ladrón de Guevara was summoned to Lima by the audiencia to become interim viceroy, pending a decision in Spain about the appointment of a sustantive successor; he was actually the third choice for this position, two previous nominees having died. He received permission to return to Spain in 1713, but he remained in office until March 1716 when he handed over power as interim viceroy to an even more senior cleric, Diego Morcillo Rubio de Auñón, archbishop of Charcas. Following this transfer, he stayed in Lima for two further years awaiting the outcome of his juicio de residencia. His attempts to defend himself against charges of corruption, permitting contraband, and incompetence in defending Spanish vessels in the Pacific from attack by English intruders were unsuccessful, and he was fined 125,000 pesos. He left Callao for Acapulco in March 1718, bound indirectly for Spain, and died in Mexico later that year. La Serna (1770–1832)11 A native of Jérez de la Frontera, La Serna was a professional soldier who fought in the defence of Ceuta in 1790 and against first the British and subsequently the French during the long cycle of European wars of 1796– 1814. Following the restoration of Ferdinand VII as absolutist monarch in Madrid, field-marshal La Serna and other veteran officers – including Jerónimo Valdés, Antonio Seoane, Fulgencio Toro, and Valentín Ferraz were despatched in May 1816 to Upper Peru, in part to strengthen the peninsular Spanish presence in an area where the royalist cause had been upheld by Peruvian troops since 1809, and in part to remove from Spain senior officers suspected of plotting to restore the 1812 constitution. Having landed at Arica in September 1816, La Serna marched directly to Upper Peru, apparently giving offence to the new viceroy, Pezuela – himself a former commander of the army there – who had expected him to visit Lima to receive advice on how to handle his new commission. Militarily, La Serna encountered no real difficulties in Upper Peru, but politically he quickly made enemies following his prompt decision to reorganize local militia regiments, allegedly to facilitate the promotion of his peninsular subordinates.12 He also disagreed fundamentally with Pezuela’s strategy in Chile in 1817, and succeeded in 1818 in securing permission from Madrid to return to Spain. In the event, Pezuela persuaded him to accept appointment as teniente general – the highest rank in the Spanish military establishment – and remain in Lima to help defend Peru against the threat of invasion from Chile. The details of subsequent events are discussed in chapter 6. In brief, La Serna disagreed with Pezuela’s attempts to hold on to Lima at all costs, after the arrival of San Martín’s forces in 1820, and in January 1821, following

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

153

9/2/03, 13:46





Pezuela’s overthrow by the senior officers in the royalist army, was acclaimed by them as viceroy. Having negotiated briefly and unenthusiastically with San Martín about the possibility of placing an autonomous Peru under a Bourbon prince, La Serna evacuated Lima in July 1821, and took his army to the highlands, where he established his seat of command first in Huancayo and later in Cusco. After a dogged resistance against the forces of first San Martín and subsequently Antonio José de Sucre, he led the royalist army which was defeated at Ayacucho on 9 December 1824. Wounded in the battle, the viceroy left Peru in January 1825, accompanied by other senior officers, on a long voyage back to Spain and a bitter polemic – notably with Pezuela -about the reasons for the loss of Peru. Honoured with the title Conde de los Andes and appointment in 1831 as captain-general of Granada, La Serna died in Seville in July 1832. Consequently, he had disappeared from the scene before the emergence of ayacuchismo – the rise to prominence in Spanish politics of veterans of the Peruvian campaigns, including Rafael Maroto, Ramón Rodil (who had not actually been at Ayacucho), and Baldomero Espartero – in the late–1830s.13 Manso (1689–1767)14 Born in Logroño (Spain), Manso followed a military career, including service in Africa, Italy, and the Philippines, that culminated in 1743 with promotion to the rank of teniente general. Appointed captain-general of Chile in 1736, his American experience began with his arrival there in 1737, and the seven years that he spent in Chile were marked by a vigorous attempt to consolidate its frontiers by the founding of new settlements, including Talca (1742), Rancagua (1743), and Copiapó (1744); he also insisted upon the reconstruction of Valdivia, severely damaged in an earthquake in 1737, in the face of local demands for the abandonment of the town. This experience was of direct relevance to the early years of the long period of office – 16 years – as viceroy of Peru, for in October 1746 – a little over a year after his formal installation – the city of Lima was devastated by a major earthquake, and the nearby port and fortifications of Callao were destroyed by an associated tidal wave that wiped out all but 100 of its 5,000 inhabitants; in Lima an estimated 12,000 homes and major public buildings, including the viceregal palace and the cathedral, were left in ruins. His patient efforts to rebuild the capital city, although a major drain on treasury resources, are generally considered to have been successful, as were his emergency fiscal measures, including the suspension of various taxes, to enable the shocked inhabitants who survived to rebuild their lives and businesses. Encouraged by the award of his title in 1748, he also established the estanco de tabaco in 1752, and reformed the mints of Lima and Potosí. Although it would be inaccurate to describe Manso, as some commentators do, as the first of the military viceroys of Peru in the eighteenth century – his predecessor Armendáriz (Castelfuerte), 1724–1736, also fits this description – his appointment did begin a virtually unbroken trend for the rest of the period of appointing such individuals to office in Lima. He acted decisively against most manifestations of popular/Indian discontent, including the Huarochirí

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

154

9/2/03, 13:46

       



revolt of 1750, and attempted, albeit for fiscal rather than humanitarian reasons, to regulate the commercial activities of the corregidores. He contained, rather than defeated, the still mysterious Juan Santos rebellion that had begun under his predecessor. His career ended in somewhat unfortunate circumstances: having handed over viceregal office to Amat in October 1761, he left for Spain via Panama, reaching Havana in January 1762, and was still there in June when the British captured the port. As the senior officer present, albeit in transit, he was condemned in 1765 for dereliction of duty in the organization of the island’s defence, and was exiled to Granada, where he died in 1767. Mendoza (1668–1745)15 Mendoza (or Villagarcía, as he is more commonly referred to) was in some respects a throwback – between the more competent Armendáriz (Castelfuerte) and Manso (Superunda) administrations – to the indolent Habsburg period, when viceroys were appointed in acknowledgement of their family lineages rather than their abilities. Born in 1668 into the powerful Mendoza family, and related, therefore, to other elements of the interlocking grandee lineages of Spain (including the Mondéjars, Cañetes, and Montesclaros), Mendoza had long experience at court, and prior to his appointment as viceroy of Peru in 1735 had served Philip V as, inter alia, ambassador to Venice, viceroy of Catalonia, and, less onerously, Gentilhombre de la Cámara de SM. Curiously, the ship that carried him from Cádiz to the isthmus of Panamá in May 1735 also had on board the teniente de navío Jorge Juan, setting out to begin his scientific work in South America with Antonio de Ulloa. Already ‘un anciano’, to quote Vargas Ugarte, when he took office in Lima in 1736, Mendoza soon acquired a reputation for lethargy and indolence, broken only by an insistence upon pomp and ceremony, and the enthusiasm with which he presided over the autos de fe of the Lima Inquisition. His tranquility was seriously disturbed by the need to take expensive but somewhat ineffectual, defensive measures against British intrusions into the Pacific after 1739, led by George Anson, following the outbreak of the War of Jenkins’ Ear, and internally by the outbreak in 1742 of the somewhat mysterious Indian uprising in the jungle territories east of Tarma and Jauja, led by Juan Santos Atahualpa. Although popular in some circles for the lucky accident of timing that enabled him to reduce the quinto on silver production to the diezmo (1736), Mendoza had the misfortune to be in office when the viceroyalty of New Granada was separated definitively from Peru (1739). He made many powerful enemies in Lima – including prominent members of the cabildo and the consulado, treasury officials, and the University of San Marcos (where he sought to eliminate the practice of selling degrees) – and, faced with mounting accusations of maladministration, was probably glad to learn in July 1745 that he was to be replaced by Manso; the relación that he left for his successor is by far one of the shortest on record. The journey back to Spain, via Cape Horn, proved too much for him, and he died at sea off the coast of Uruguay in December 1745 (not 1746, as some sources suggest).

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

155

9/2/03, 13:46





Morcillo (1642–1730)16 Like Ladrón de Guevara before him, Morcillo was called from high ecclesiastical office – in this case that of archbishop of Charcas – on two occasions to serve as viceroy of Peru on an interim basis, pending decisions in Madrid about definitive appointments. He served briefly – for a mere seven weeks – in this capacity in 1716 (15 August–5 October) prior to the arrival in Lima of Carráciolo (Santo Buono), although the brevity of his tenure on this occasion was in part a reflection of his own dilatoriness in travelling to the viceregal capital from Chuquisaca. His second, and more substantive, period of viceregal office – between the departure of Carráciolo in January 1720 and the arrival of Armendáriz (Castelfuerte) in May 1724 – was the final part of the 20-year long period of administrative instability (what Vargas Ugarte describes as an ‘inestabilidad de virreyes’) prior to the manifestation in Madrid of a determined attempt to provide Peru (and, indeed, other parts of America) with more decisive government.17 Born in Villa Robledo (La Mancha), Morcillo entered the order of Trinitarian friars at an early age, becoming provincial in Spain and holding several appointments at court before being appointed bishop of Nicaragua in 1704; in the event he was transferred to the diocese of La Paz in 1708 before reaching his initial destination, and shortly thereafter (in 1711) was promoted to the prestigious archbishopric of Charcas. His ecclesiastical preferment – assisted, according to one source, by generous gifts at court – culminated with his appointment in 1723 as archbishop of Lima, a post which he held until his death in 1730.18 Already unusually old (78) even by rather lax Peruvian standards, when he started his period of substantive control, Morcillo was criticized by contemporaries for an inability to come to grips with the need for firm measures against French contraband. Accusations were also made of nepotism, particularly following the appointment of his nephew Pedro Morcillo as auxiliary bishop in 1724 (he served subsequently as bishop of Panamá from 1728, ending his career as bishop of Cusco, 1743– 1747), and of a willingness to turn a blind eye to irregularities involving British commercial activity at Portobelo, in return for bribes from merchants. His defenders, including Vargas Ugarte, describe him as more incompetent and unwordly than corrupt.19 The ecclesiastical highlight of his period as archbishop of Lima was the celebration there in 1729 of the canonization (in 1726) by pope Benedict XIII of Santo Toribio and San Francisco Solano. O’Higgins (1720–1801)20 Although probably better known to posterity as the father of Chile’s first president, Bernardo O’Higgins, Ambrosio O’Higgins (granted the title Marqués de Osorno in 1796) was an important personage in his own right, particularly as captain-general of Chile from 1788 and subsequently as viceroy of Peru from mid-1796 until his death in office in March 1801; his five years as viceroy were complicated, therefore, by the prolonged hostilities between Spain and England, which both depressed Peru’s trade with Spain and necessitated increased expenditure on defensive precautions along the Pacific coast. His

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

156

9/2/03, 13:46

       



origins and early career are somewhat obscure, but what is known about them suggests that in many respects he was not untypical of a considerable number of Irishmen who entered the service of the Spanish crown in the eighteenth century. Born in the town of Ballenary in the province of Connaught (according to some accounts his parents claimed descent from a noble Irish family), he emigrated to Spain in 1751, initially to embark upon a commercial career in Cádiz. His business activities took him to Buenos Aires in 1756 and from there to Chile in 1757, before his return to Cádiz in 1760. He returned to Chile in 1763 as a member of a scientific expedition led by his compatriot John Garland, and, back in Madrid in 1766, he also cultivated the friendship of an even more influential Irishman, the minister Ricardo Wall. His uninterrupted American experience, which occupied the last three decades of his life, began with his return to Chile in 1769, where, without entirely abandoning commercial activity, he embarked upon a military career, initially as a captain of dragoons on the southern frontier; his rise through the military hierarchy was rapid, taking him to the rank of brigadier general in 1783. His conspicuous success in maintaining peace with the Araucanians by a mixture of force and diplomacy led to his appointment as the first intendant of Concepción in 1785, and, following the death in office in 1787 of captain-general Ambrosio de Benavides, to his promotion to the post of supreme governor of Chile in 1788. In this latter rôle O’Higgins succeeded in fulfilling the work of the Bourbon reforms – largely by increasing government revenues, to the satisfaction of the authorities in Madrid – without alienating the local élite, which was feeling the benefits of the general economic and commercial expansion of the early1790s. His subsequent period of office in Lima following his promotion to the office of viceroy (a path already followed by Amat and Jaúregui) was rather more vigorous than might have been expected from somebody already aged 76 when he was appointed. His relationships with the viceroyalty’s intendants – somewhat tense under his predecessor, Gil – were generally good, reflecting perhaps his own experience as a provincial administrator, despite some clashes over his refusal to enforce strictly the requirement that subdelegates should not be allowed to engage in commercial activity. A major achievement in the general area of public administration was the construction of a new road from Lima to Callao, opened in 1798 at a cost of almost 350,000 pesos. Unlike some other viceroys, he adopted firm measures to curb contraband in the Pacific, particularly with North American ships, following the 1799 withdrawal of the 1797 grant of permission for neutral ships to enter Spanish American ports.21 The crown decided in mid–1800 to relieve him of his command in Lima – possibly because of its awareness of the conspiratorial activities of his natural son, Bernardo – but he died in office before the actual arrival of the new viceroy, Avilés. O’Higgins was one of two viceroys in the late colonial period not to leave a formal relación de gobierno for his successor (the other was La Serna, who presumably considered the task to be redundant)

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

157

9/2/03, 13:46





Oms (1659–1710)22 It is a telling comment on the relative unimportance for the viceroyalty of Peru of the period of office of Oms, first Marqués de Castelldosríus, that he is better known for the circumstances that led to his appointment than for his actual achievements in Lima. His principal claim to fame derives from the fact that as the precocious Spanish ambassador to the court of Louis XIV (he had served previously in the same capacity in Lisbon), it fell to him to inform the French king of the death of Charles II in 1700, and the consequential transfer of the Spanish crown to Felipe de Anjou (Felipe V). Whether or not his reported comment – ‘Señor desde este momento no hay Pirineos’ – on that momentous occasion is aprocryphal, it does seem that the 1704 decision to nominate him as viceroy of Peru was taken by the new king as a direct consequence of his grandfather’s request to appoint Francophile individuals to senior posts in the imperial administration.23 An additional factor may have been the desire to attract influential Catalan opinion in support of the Bourbon dynasty, given that in general terms it was inclined in favour of the rival pretender, the Archiduque Carlos de Austria.24 Oms delayed his departure for America until 1706, and did not actually enter Lima until July 1707, by which time his predecessor (Monclova) had died in office. Although his influence at court led to the suspension of a decision in April 1709 to relieve him of his post, he died in office a year later – in April 1710 – after serving for less than three years. During this short period he acquired considerable notoriety for not only permitting contraband, especially with French vessels, but also involving himself directly in it for personal profit. Other accusations commonly made against him include nepotism and sexual inmorality, the other side of which included the promotion of cultural and dramatic activity (Versailles style), much of it centred around the literary academy that he established in the viceregal palace. His pattern of behaviour clearly indicates that the change of dynasty in Madrid in 1700 had little short-term impact in improving the standards of government in distant Peru. His son, who inherited the title after the viceroy’s death, was still in Lima in 1725. Pezuela (1761–1830)25 Born in Naval (Aragón) into a family from Santander, the penultimate viceroy of Peru followed a conventional military career as an artillery officer in Spain, rising from the lowly rank of subteniente in 1778 (following three years as a student at the Colegio de Artillería of Segovia) to that of colonel in 1794; his active service in the peninsula included participation in 1782 in the unsuccessful siege of Gibraltar, and in the campaign against the French in Navarra and Guipúzcoa in 1793–1794. His American experience dates from 1804, when he arrived in Lima to reorganize and command the viceregal artillery, a rôle that involved establishing workshops for the manufacture and maintenance of cannon as well as the training of troops. Deeply hostile, like viceroy Abascal, to the liberal régime in peninsular Spain, particularly following the promulgation of the constitution of Cádiz in 1812, Pezuela found himself in a

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

158

9/2/03, 13:46

       



somewhat paradoxical position with the outbreak of widespread insurgency in Upper Peru from 1810, which forced him to fight attempted revolution partly with promises of constitutional change within the imperial system. Promoted to brigadier in 1811, his appointment by Abascal in April 1813 to overall command of the army of Upper Peru enabled him to focus exclusively upon military solutions, bringing him major victories at Vilcapugio and Ayohuma over the expeditionary force brought from Buenos Aires by Manuel Belgrano, and, even more decisively, at Viluma (in November 1815) over José Rondeau.26 Promoted in mid–1816 in succession to the aged Abascal (at 55 Pezuela was relatively young by Peruvian standards) to the much more taxing office of viceroy, which required rather more subtle qualities than those displayed in his military career, Pezuela had difficulty not only in adjusting to his new rôle but also in coping with even more complex financial and strategic difficulties. Having failed in 1817 to commit sufficient forces to the defence of Chile against José de San Martín’s trans-Andean expedition – possibly because of his preoccupation with maintaining a strong military presence in Upper Peru – he also responded lethargically in 1820 to the landing in Peru of the liberating expedition from Chile. The factors that led to his deposition as viceroy in January 1821 by the leading officers of the royalist army are discussed in detail in chapter 6, and need not be repeated here. What is significant is that the propaganda battle that he unleashed in earnest against La Serna as soon as he reached Madrid, with the publication of a refutation of the charges levelled against him at Aznapuquio, deeply divided public opinion in Peru and Spain both before and after the royalist capitulation at Ayacucho in 1824.27 Following a period of office from 1825 as captain-general of New Castile, he was granted the title Marqués de Viluma shortly before his death in 1830. Portocarrero (1636–1705)28 This individual not only bridged the Habsburg and Bourbon dynasties in a temporal sense but also reflected in his career the dying tradition that Peru was a more important viceroyalty than New Spain in that he served as viceroy in Mexico for two years before his transfer to Lima. His early military career involved active service in Flanders (where he lost an arm), Sicily, Catalonia (he was wounded in 1665 at the battle of Villaviciosa) and Portugal. He devoted much time and resources to the reconstruction of Lima, which he found in a ruined state following the 1687 earthquake. Another major preoccupation was the resolution of labour problems at Potosí, which he approached in a typically Habsburg way by reversing the structural reforms of his controversial predecessor, the Duque de la Palata, in the hope of maintaining the sympathy of the creoles without provoking Indian resistance. The first decade of his term of office coincided with widespread French and British privateering and contraband in the Pacific, in response to which he did little beyond strengthening the fortifications of Callao; the French, in fact, secured legal access to Peruvian ports in 1704, following pressure on Philip V to respond to dynastic as opposed to national interests. It was agreed in principle

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

159

9/2/03, 13:46





as early as 1695 that the viceroy might retire to Spain, but a series of accidents/ illnesses befell several nominated successors and in the event, he died in office in Lima in September 1705 after several years of relative inactivity. The general air of indolence persisted for two further years, with interim authority in the hands of the president of the audiencia, pending the arrival in Lima in mid–1707 of the new viceroy, the Marqués de Castelldosríus. Notes 1 Abascal, Memoria; F. Díaz Venteo, Campañas militares del virrey Abascal, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-americanos, 1948. 2 Amat, Memoria; J. Cruces Pozo, ‘Cualidades militares del virrey Amat’, AES, Vol. 9, 1952, pp. 327–45. 3 ‘Relación’ in Fuentes (ed.), Memorias, vol. 31, pp. 1–369. 4 Romero (ed.), Memoria. 5 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 110–19. 6 Ibid., vol. 4, pp. 71–97; ‘Memoria’ in Fuentes (ed.), Memorias, vol. 5, pp. 1–393. 7 ‘Memoria’ in Fuentes (ed.), Memorias, vol. 6, pp. 1–353. A detailed discussion of his relations with the intendants is provided by C. Deusta Pimentel, Las intendencias en el Perú (1790–1796), Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1965. 8 Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’; J.M. Pérez Ayala, ‘Aspectos desconocidos de la vida del virrey don Manuel de Guiror, co-fundador de la Biblioteca Nacional de Bogotá’, Boletín de Historia y Antigüedades, Vol. 43, 1956, pp. 156–82; Vargas Ugarte, Historia General, vol. 5, pp. 11–37. 9 A. Jaúregui y Aldecoa, Relación y documentos del gobierno del virrey del Perú, Agustín de Jauregui y Aldecoa, ed. R. Contreras, Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 1982. 10 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 95–109. 11 Not surprisingly, perhaps, in view of the circumstances of his departure from office, La Serna did not write a relación de gobierno. The most detailed, and sympathetic, contemporary account of his term as viceroy is that written in 1827 by Jerónimo Valdés, his chief-of-staff: ‘Exposición que dirige al rey don Fernando VII el mariscal de campo don Jerónimo Valdés sobre las causas que motivaron la pérdida del Perú’ in Valdés, Documentos, vol. 2, pp. 17–137. See, too, Wagner de la Reyna, ‘Ocho años de La Serna en el Perú’. 12 Pezuela, Manifiesto, p. 113; García Camba, Memorias, pp. 223–24. 13 Costeloe, Response to Revolution, p. 165. 14 Manso, Relación [also published in Fuentes (ed.), Memorias, vol. 4, pp. 1–340]; D. Ochagavía Fernández, ‘El I Conde de Superunda’, Berceo, Vol. 18, 1961, pp. 25–48. 15 ‘Relación’, in Fuentes (ed.), Memorias, vol. 3, pp. 371–88; Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 191–226. 16 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 121–35. 17 Ibid., p. 95. 18 E. Sánchez Pedrote, ‘Los prelados virreyes’, AES, Vol. 7, 1950, pp. 26–27. 19 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, p. 122. 20 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 5, pp. 131–52; J. A. Barbier, Reform and Politics in Bourbon Chile, 1755–1796, Ottawa, University of Ottawa Press, 1980, pp. 157–88; R. Donoso, El marqués de Osorno, don Ambrosio O’Higgins, 1720–1801, Santiago, Universidad de Chile, 1941. 21 Fisher, ‘Commerce and Imperial Decline’, pp. 467–68.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

160

9/2/03, 13:46

       



22 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 73–90. 23 Walker, Spanish Politics, p. 36. 24 For further information on his Catalan links, see G. Lohmann Villena, Tres catalanes virreyes en el Perú, Madrid, Hidalgúia, 1962. 25 Pezuela, Memoria; Mendíburu, Diccionario, vol. 6, pp. 280–366. 26 Pezuela, Memoria militar. 27 Pezuela, Manifiesto. 28 Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 4, pp. 11–34, 40–45.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

161

9/2/03, 13:46

 

The Visitadores Generales

1777–1782 1782–1785

José Antonio de Areche Jorge Escobedo y Alarcón

The Careers of the Visitadores Areche (1731–1798)1 A native of Balmaceda, near Santander, Areche entered the University of Alcalá in 1746 to study canon and civil law, receiving the licentiate and doctorate of canon law in 1756. After several years of teaching at the university, and service as rector of the Colegio de Santa Catalina Mártir de los Verdes, he secured in 1765 appointment as an oidor of the audiencia of Manila. However, en route to this position via Mexico, he was persuaded in 1766 by the viceroy to remain there to fill the vacant post of fiscal del crimen, initially on an interim basis pending the crown’s agreement in 1767 to confirm the appointment. In this capacity, and subsequently as fiscal de lo civil, he worked very closely with José de Gálvez – whose scornful attitudes towards all Mexicans he shared – during the latter’s visita general of the viceroyalty of New Spain, undertaken in 1765– 1771. Following Gálvez’s appointment as Minister of the Indies in February 1776, the impetus in favour of radical reform of administrative and financial structures throughout Spanish America was quickly accelerated, and Areche was commissioned in March to undertake a visita general of the ‘ … kingdoms of Peru and Chile and the provinces of the Río de la Plata’, a distinction which carried with it appointment as a member of the Council of the Indies.2 Areche reached Lima in June 1777, accompanied by a team of subordinates recruited in Mexico, and, following further local recruitment, formally decreed the commencement of his commission on September 5.3 Once it became clear that a fundamental aim of his mission was to increase revenues, local opinion – both popular and élite – turned against him. A series of disputes with viceroy Guirior in 1778–1779, ostensibly about relatively trivial matters (such as the viceroy’s refusal to cooperate in the establishment of a colegio de abogados) but in reality reflecting a power struggle between complacent conservatives and zealous reformers, culminated in the decision in Madrid in January 1780 to

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

162

9/2/03, 13:46

  



recall Guirior (after less than four years in office). By the time that the handover to his successor, Jaúregui, took place in July 1780, serious disturbances had occurred in several provincial towns and cities (including Arequipa and Cusco) against Areche’s relentless insistence upon fiscal reorganization and increases in taxation; November 1780 saw the even more momentous beginning of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, which not only raised the spectre of a major social upheaval but also undermined Areche’s financial planning, by both reducing income and necessitating increased military expenditure.4 Although Gálvez had held Guirior responsible for the urban disturbances earlier in the year, Areche was made the principal scapegoat for the Indian insurrection and its consequences, and in September 1781 orders were issued for him to hand over his commission to Escobedo and return to Madrid to take up his post on the Council of the Indies; the formal handover occurred in June 1782, although it was not until April of the following year that Areche left for Spain, following his participation in the preparations for the juicio de residencia against Guirior.5 In 1785 the Council of the Indies upheld the exoneration of the former viceroy that had been recommended in October 1783 at the conclusion of the hearings in Lima, and decided instead to initiate proceedings against Areche, accusing him of false testimony against his old adversary. The case dragged on until 1789 – in the meantime Areche’s protector, Gálvez, had died, as, indeed, had Guirior – when Charles IV accepted the recommendation of the Council that Areche be removed from office and banished from court with a pension of one third of his salary. It was reopened in 1794, following repeated pleas for clemency from Areche, now exiled in Bilbao, but the original decision was confirmed by a vote of 12:2, although with a recommendation that his pension be increased to half salary, and that he be allowed to return to court; one of the minority votes was that of Escobedo, Areche’s successor as visitador, who drew upon his direct personal experience to argue an articulate, but fruitless, case for full exoneration and restoration to office.6 It is not clear if the crown implemented the minor ameliorations recommended by the Council, prior to Areche’s death in Bilbao in 1798.7 Escobedo (1743–1805)8 Born in Jaén (Andalucía) in 1743 into a prominent landowning family – his father was the Conde de Cazalla del Río and his mother was Señora of Pozuelo – Escobedo received his initial education in Granada before entering the Colegio Mayor de Cuenca at the University of Salamanca in 1762. He remained there for thirteen years – serving towards the end of this period as rector of the college and securing his bachelor of law degree – before successfully competing in 1776 for appointment to a post of oidor in the audiencia of Charcas, vacant as a consequence of the promotion of Pedro de Tagle to the office of alcalde del crimen of the audiencia of Lima. Within a short period, Escobedo was himself appointed to the same post in Lima (in 1778) and was further promoted to the office of oidor, also in Lima, in 1780. Although he formally took possession of the latter post in January 1781, his principal

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

163

9/2/03, 13:46





activity during this period was his service as subdelegate in Potosí of the visita general entrusted in 1776 to Areche. His principal achievements in Potosí were the reorganization of the mint, the implementation of effective defensive preparations to prevent the city being affected by the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, and the maintenance of good relations with both the governor and, further afield, the first two viceroys of the Río de la Plata (Pedro de Cevallos and Juan José de Vértiz), under whose jurisdiction Upper Peru had been placed in 1776. His record of relative success in these and related areas of activity contrasted sharply with Areche’s serial inability to cooperate with successive viceroys in Lima (Guirior and Jaúregui) and his perceived failure to respond adequately to the outbreak of major insurgency, both urban and rural, in 1780. Following the crown’s decision in September 1781 to recall Areche to Madrid and replace him with Escobedo, the new visitador left Potosí for Lima in March 1782, formally taking up his new commission in the viceregal capital in June at the relatively tender age of 39.9 Escobedo remained in Lima for nearly six years, a period during which, as the agent of the powerful Minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez, he undoubtedly exercised greater political influence than either of the viceroys – Jaúregui and Croix – with whom he managed to maintain relatively cordial personal relationships, despite the inevitable tensions created by the challenge that his presence represented for nominal viceregal supremacy. During this period he fulfilled several overlapping rôles, the most significant of which was, first, that of visitador general, a responsibility which continued formally until 1785.10 Additional tasks included service as intendant of the province of Lima and intendente de ejército, with jurisdiction over the financial and administrative aspects of military affairs.11 All these rôles were overshadowed by his appointment as superintendente subdelegado de real hacienda, an office held initially in conjunction with that of visitador, and from July 1784 as the cornerstone of the intendant system, since the superintendent was essentially the senior intendant of the viceroyalty and, as such, the link in the chain of command between the Minister of the Indies and the provincial intendants. Inevitably, the consequential marginalization of viceregal authority provoked repeated protests from not just the viceroy in Lima but also those in Mexico and Buenos Aires (where similar arrangements prevailed) and it was no coincidence that the death of Gálvez (on 17 June 1787) was followed almost immediately by the recall of Escobedo to Madrid by the Minister of War and Finance, Antonio Valdés, and the restoration of Escobedo’s duties as superintendent to viceroy Croix.12 Institutionally this reorganization of responsibilities, formally implemented in December 1787 prior to Escobedo’s departure for Spain in February 1788, represented a major adjustment to the reform programme of Gálvez.13 In terms of Escobedo’s personal career it was less of a setback, particularly following his appointment to a senior position in the Council of the Indies in 1792, a post which he held until his death in 1805. He emerged as a staunch defender of the intendant system during the debates about imperial policy that occurred in Madrid during the 1790s, and served as a member of the

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

164

9/2/03, 13:46

  



committee that drafted the abortive new Ordinance of Intendants of 1803. At the time of his death he held the title Conde de Cazalla y Río, presumably as a consequence of the death without issue of his firstborn elder brother.14 Notes 1 The most detailed sources for Areche’s career in Peru, although somewhat dated, remain E. J. Gates, ‘Don José Antonio de Areche: His Own defense’, HAHR, Vol. 8, 1928, pp. 14–42, and Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’. See, too, Méndiburu, Diccionario, vol. 1, pp. 316–38, and Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, pp. 22–24. 2 His instructions (in AGI, Lima, leg. 1082) were in three parts: the first (17 May 1776) dealt mainly with the inspection of the audiencia of Lima, the second (20 June 1776) with the need for fiscal reform, and the third (also of 20 June) provided a confidential overview of the perceived weaknesses of general administration. In practice, very little work was undertaken in the Río de la Plata as a consequence of the subsequent decision to confirm the creation of a separate viceroyalty, except, of course, in Upper Peru, where Areche’s subordinate and eventual successor, Escobedo, was particularly active. 3 The contingent from Mexico included Fernando Saavedra, appointed subsequently as first intendant of Trujillo (1784–1791). 4 Cahill, ‘Taxonomy of a Colonial ‘Riot’’ provides a sophisticated analysis of the Arequipa disturbances. 5 Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén en América, p. 29, states that he sailed from Callao on 13 April 1783, whereas Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, p. 57, states that he travelled overland to Valparaíso to find a ship. 6 The text of his ‘voto particular’ is reproduced in Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior’, pp. 74–77. 7 Gates, ‘Don José Antonio de Areche’, pp. 41–42. 8 Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén en América, pp. 24–28, provides a summary of his early career. See, too, Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, pp. 110–11, and G. Lohmann Villena, Los ministros de la audiencia de Lima (1700–1821), Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1974, pp. 41–42. 9 Having married a fellow native of Jaén, Gertrudis de Velasco Plasencia, in 1776, shortly before leaving Spain, Escobedo already had three children – a son and two daughters by 1782. Although generally regarded as incorruptible, he attracted considerable popular hostility in Lima in 1784–1785 by using his influence to arrange for his precocious son to, first, graduate from San Marcos and, second, secure appointment as a captain of the army of Lima: Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén en América, p. 31. 10 The conclusion of the visita was ordered by royal order on 24 January 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 646, following receipt in Madrid of Escobedo’s detailed report (Escobedo to Gálvez, 16 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117) on the implementation of the new system of administration by intendants. The formal report on the visita – ‘Oficio escrito al Excmo. Sr. D. José de Gálvez sobre la conclusión de la visita de estos reinos. Año de 1785’ (Lima, 20 October 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 606) – is reproduced in Colección documental, tomo II, vol. 1, pp. 652–718, ed. C. D. Valcárcel. An earlier recognition of its importance was its inclusion in S. Lorente (ed.), Relaciones de los virreyes y audiencias que han gobernado el Peru, Lima, Imprenta del Estado por J.E. del Campo, 3 vols., 1867– 1872, vol. 3, pp. 369–444. 11 These appointments were confirmed by the royal order of 24 January 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 646.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

165

9/2/03, 13:46





12 Valdés to Croix, 1 August 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 1069. Similar orders were issued for Mexico in October 1787 and May 1788: Fisher, Government and Society, p. 60. 13 Croix to Valdés, 16 December 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 639, reported that the formal transfer of powers occurred on 15 December. 14 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 111.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

166

9/2/03, 13:46

 

The President-Intendants of Cusco1

1784–1788 1788–1791 1791–1792 1794–1806 1806–1809 1809–1814 1817–1824

Benito María de la Mata Linares y Vázquez José de la Portilla y Gálvez Carlos de Corral y Aguirre Manuel Ruiz Urries de Castilla Francisco Muñoz de San Clemente José Manuel de Goyeneche y Barreda Juan Pio de Tristán y Moscoso

The Careers of the President-Intendants Corral2 An experienced peninsula-born officer, Corral reached Panamá en route for Peru in 1783 as teniente coronel of the regiment of Estremadura, despatched somewhat tardily from Cádiz together with the regiment of Soria (a total of almost 3,000 men) upon receipt in Spain of news of the outbreak of the rebellion of Túpac Amaru. By the time he reached Peru on this first occasion, the insurgency had been contained and, after garrison duty, he returned to Spain in 1787 – with the rank of colonel – with some of his troops, although a substantial number of officers and men remained behind as members of the newly-established Royal Infantry Regiment of Lima.3 Following further promotion – to the rank of brigadier – Corral was named president-intendant in January 1790, but did not reach Cusco to take up his appointment until February 1791.4 There is some evidence to suggest that he sought to promote good relations with the city’s powerful ecclesiastical establishment, prior to his death in office in December 1792.5 He also seems to have worked well with Portilla who served in the dual rôle of president-intendant and regent prior to his arrival (1788–1791) and again, on a temporary basis, during the vacancy caused by his death, until the arrival of Ruiz in 1794. Goyeneche6 Following the death in office of Muñoz in June 1809, viceroy Abascal insisted upon installing Goyeneche as temporary president, despite the opposition of

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

167

9/2/03, 13:47





the audiencia, led by its regent, Manuel Pardo, to whom authority had been initially transferred during Muñoz’s fatal illness.7 The viceroy was motivated in part by the fact that Goyeneche was a creole – a native of Arequipa – and an experienced officer, and was held in high regard by the Junta Central in Spain, on whose behalf he had returned to Peru, via Buenos Aires, in 1808 with the task of seeking to mobilise American support for the struggle against Joseph I. Born in 1775, into a prominent family which also produced Arequipa’s last bishop of the colonial period (and a future archbishop of Lima), Goyeneche emigrated to Spain in 1795 to pursue a military career, and had attained the rank of brigadier when he returned to Peru in 1808. Shortly after his appointment as interim president of Cusco he left the city to take command of the royalist army in Upper Peru, succeeding in defeating not only the 1809 insurrection in La Paz but also the more substantial forces despatched from Buenos Aires under Castelli following the May 1810 revolution. Despite Goyeneche’s prolonged absence from Cusco, Abascal was so determined that he should be rewarded for his services that when news arrived in 1810 that the Council of Regency had appointed the former governor of Guayaquil, brigadier Bartolomé Cucalón, as the president of Cusco in succession to Muñoz, the viceroy suspended the appointment in the hope of appeasing Goyeneche.8 As a consequence, Goyeneche withdrew his attempted resignation from command of the army, and went on in 1811 to win a decisive victory over Castelli at Huaqui. Rewarded with the title Conde de Huaqui in 1813, he remained nominally responsible for the government of Cusco until his departure for Spain in October 1814, but his almost permanent absence from the city because of his military duties contributed substantially to the administrative instability there during the five years prior to the outbreak of the 1814 revolution. Already a teniente general by 1814, Goyeneche was showered with honours on his return to Spain; he died in Madrid in 1846. Mata9 Born in Madrid in 1752 into a prominent office-holding family (his father was a member of the Council of Castille), Mata studied and taught at Alcalá and Salamanca prior to his appointment in 1776 as an oidor of the audiencia of Chile, a post he assumed in April 1777. He was promoted to the audiencia of Lima in November 1778, and in 1781 was given the additional rôle of juez conservador de propios y arbitrios.10 In the same year his expertise in handling commercial cases and land disputes began to be overshadowed by his transfer to the city of Cusco, where he presided over the trials of Túpac Amaru and other members of his family; the severity of the sentences that he imposed – Túpac Amaru himself was sentenced to being pulled apart by horses attached to his limbs – earned him a reputation for savage cruelty, consolidated by the torture prior to execution in 1783 of Diego Túpac Amaru and other surviving members of the insurgent family.11 With the suppression of the insurrection, Mata remained in Cusco as, first, subdelegate of the visita of Escobedo, and subsequently – from July 1784 – as the province’s first intendant. A relentless

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

168

9/2/03, 13:47

 -  



critic and persecutor of prominent creoles whom he suspected of complicity with Túpac Amaru – they included bishop Juan Manuel Moscoso y Peralta, his vicar-general José Perez, and various members of the influential Peralta and Ugarte families – Mata soon proved to be something of an embarrassment to both Escobedo and Croix, who realized that his zeal to eradicate perceived dissidence was alienating creole opinion.12 Fearful of renewed rebellion, Croix argued strongly in 1786 that Mata should be removed from Cusco, and the crown responded early in 1787 by promoting him to the regency of the audiencia of Buenos Aires.13 The consequential vacancy in Cusco was filled by a parallel order, issued on the same date, entrusting the incoming regent of its newly-established audiencia, Portilla, with the additional responsibility of serving as president-intendant.14 In Buenos Aires, where he assumed office in June 1788, Mata frequently clashed with the cabildo and, in due course, with viceroy Avilés, an old adversary from his time in Cusco. He was recalled to Spain in 1803 to join the Council of the Indies, and in 1807 was further promoted to its Cámara. He remained in Madrid during the French occupation, and, like other afrencesados who were removed from office in 1814 with the restoration of Ferdinand VII, ‘pasó al anonimato y su nombre desapareció para siempre del escafalón de los primates de la monarquía.’15 His extensive personal papers – the Colección Mata Linares – donated by his family in 1851 to the Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid, constitute a major source for the history of Peru in the late-eighteenth century.16 Muñoz17 Little is known about his early career, other than that he served in the Philippines as a naval officer. He was appointed president-intendant of Cusco in May 1804, to fill the vacancy created by the 1802 decision to remove Ruiz (in the interim the post had been offered to the Marqués de Casa-Hermosa, a former intendant of Puno, but he did not take it up).18 After an overland journey from Buenos Aires – in the course of which, he subsequently reported to Abascal, he had heard it said that in Peru subdelegacies were usually sold to the highest bidders – he finally reached Cusco in September 1806.19 According to Mendiburu, he brought with him the first consignment of smallpox vaccine to reach the city. Promoted to the rank of jefe de escuadra of the navy in 1807 (a somewhat unusual mark of distinction for a president of Cusco given its distance from the sea), Muñoz handed over authority to the regent of the audiencia, Manuel Pardo, when he fell ill in May 1809. Abascal’s insistence on transferring the interim presidency to Goyeneche when he heard of Muñoz’s death a month later, and his decision in 1810 to ignore an order from the Council of Regency appointing brigadier Bartolomé Cucalón to the vacancy, contributed significantly to administrative instability in Cusco prior to the August 1814 rebellion, for Goyeneche was rarely there, and the province was controlled in practice by a series of short-term appointees. These ‘gefes accidentales’, as the regent Pardo somewhat ironically described them in 1816, included brigadier Mateo García Pumacahua (in post when copies of the 1812

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

169

9/2/03, 13:47





Constitution reached Cusco in 1813), brigadier Martín Concha, Pardo himself, and the senior oidor Pedro Antonio de Cernadas, whom the creole oidor, Manuel de Vidaurre accused in 1812 of persistent corruption.20 Portilla See Appendix V. Ruiz21 An experienced and influential peninsula-born administrator, Ruiz was serving as corregidor of Paruro when the rebellion of Túpac Amaru erupted in 1780. He played a major rôle in recruiting and organizing local militia – his own rank was that of colonel – first to assist with the defence of the city of Cusco, and subsequently to pursue the insurgents in the Tungasuca region, following their abandonment of the siege of the ancient Inca capital. In 1783 he was nominated by viceroy Jaúregui to succeed Avilés as commander of the royalist army in southern Peru, an appointment eventually confirmed by the crown in 1787.22 The following year he was appointed as the second intendant of Huancavelica, although viceroy Croix delayed his formal installation until 1790, pending the conclusion of an enquiry into the reasons for the collapse of the royal mine of Santa Bárbara in 1786, a disaster which led to the restoration of the superintendency of the mine to the viceroy.23 In fact, Ruiz’s major innovation as intendant of Huancavelica was to allow in 1793 the working of mercury deposits in the hills around the royal mine, a policy which reversed the declining trend of production that had prevailed during the first three years of his administration and substantially reduced production costs.24 So popular was he with the local community, that when news arrived in 1794 of his promotion to the presidency of Cusco, the Huancavelica cabildo appealed unsuccessfully for him to be allowed to remain, reporting that the miners were even prepared to pay his salary.25 Although the crown decided to relieve him from office in 1802 – a decision that provoked an outburst from him about royal ingratitude – the long delay in identifying a definitive successor (as noted, Muñoz eventually arrived in September 1806) meant that he was still in post when the conspiracy of Gabriel Aguilar and José Manuel de Ubalde was discovered in June 1805.26 He dealt decisively with this, hanging the principal conspirators and exiling others, and informing the crown that, although his policy of appointing European Spaniards to subdelegacies had been one factor in provoking creole discontent, it was vital to persist with this strategy in the interests of ensuring good government in remote rural regions.27 Following the arrival of Muñoz, Ruiz was transferred to the presidency of Quito, taking up his new post in August 1808. He was ill-prepared to deal with the complex political situation that developed there in 1809–1810, and aroused much hostility in August 1810 with the repressive measures taken against local patriots. Although subsequently replaced as president on the orders of viceroy Abascal, Ruiz remained a target of popular hatred, and, when renewed revolution broke out in Quito in 1812 he was attacked by a mob and died a few days later from his injuries. He was made Conde de Ruiz Castilla in 1790.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

170

9/2/03, 13:47

 -  



Tristán28 Following the restoration of royalist authority in Cusco in March 1815 with the defeat of the Pumacahua rebellion, the province was governed (as for several years prior to August 1814) by a series of interim presidents, the first of whom – colonel Ramón González de Bernedo was appointed in April by the commander of the victorious royalist army, Juan Ramírez, pending viceregal determination of longer-term arrangements.29 By the end of 1816, Pezuela had entrusted the presidency to Tristán, an experienced soldier and a prominent arequipeño. Born in 1773, Tristán had travelled to Spain in 1787 as a cadet in the regiment of Soria, but on arrival in Madrid had secured release from the army to study in France; he returned to Spain – and his military career – following the outbreak of the French Revolution, fighting against the French in the war of 1793–1795. Thereafter he returned to Peru by way of Buenos Aires, where, until the end of 1797 he served as aide to viceroy Pedro Melo de Portugal. Well-established in Arequipa as a landowner and merchant – he also served on at least two occasions (1808 and 1815) as alcalde – he seems to have welcomed the opportunity from 1809 to put his military experience at the disposal of the royalists, serving in Upper Peru under Goyeneche, initially with considerable distinction.30 Following defeats at Tucumán and Salta in 1812– 1813, where he commanded royalist detachments, with the rank of brigadier, he returned to Arequipa, where he redeemed his reputation in the attempted defence of the city against Pumacahua, despite the victory of the insurgents at Apacheta; moreover, he managed to avoid capture, unlike field-marshal Francisco Picoaga and the intendant (José Gabriel Moscoso) who were executed. In one sense their misfortune was of benefit to Tristán, who served as interim intendant of Arquipa when the rebels withdrew after a brief occupation of the city; there is some evidence that he did so with relative tact, pardoning citizens suspected of collaborating with the invaders.31 Subsequently, as president of Cusco, he was more rigorous in trying to recover silver and jewels from the family and friends of José Angulo, allegedly hidden near Abancay a few days before his capture and execution by Ramírez in March 1815.32 It is not clear if Tristán ever received formal crown confirmation of his appointment as president, but when La Serna moved his headquarters to Cusco in December 1821 he was clearly regarded as the incumbent by the viceroy.33 In August 1822, by which time Tristán had been promoted to field-marshal, the viceroy granted him a licence to return to Arequipa for six months, citing both health and business reasons, appointing brigadier Alejandro González Villalobos as his temporary replacement.34 In the event, Tristan’s leave of absence was extended, and the temporary presidency passed first to field-marshal Antonio María Alvarez and, when he fell ill, to general Francisco Sanjuanena.35 The result – by accident or design is not clear – was that Tristán remained in Arequipa during the decisive final months of 1824 and, as the most senior royalist officer to escape capture at Ayacucho, was named viceroy of Peru by the audiencia of Cusco in a half-hearted show of defiance when it received

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

171

9/2/03, 13:47





news of the royalist capitulation.36 It seems that he was tempted to try to rally the royalist forces in Arequipa and Cusco, but, having received assurances from Sucre about the safety of those already in custody (coupled with a threat that those who resisted further would be ‘castigados hasta con la capital’) he stood aside to allow Gamarra to be sworn in as prefect and military commander of Cusco at the end of December.37 Tristán, for his part, remained in Arequipa, serving as prefect in 1832–1833, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the PeruvianBolivian Confederation in 1836–1837, and provisional president of the southern Peruvian state in 1838–1839. Like many arequipeños, he decided soon after the 1839 battle of Yungay that southern Peruvian regionalism was a spent force, and that the future lay in retiring from politics and concentrating upon his business career in Lima, where he died in 1860. Notes 1 At first sight the titles bestowed upon the supreme political authorities of Cusco as a consequence of administrative reorganization in 1784–1788 are confusing: the first intendant, Mata Linares, enjoyed the same powers as other provincial intendants; his successor, Portilla, initially combined the office of intendant with that of regent of the audiencia, but was confined to the latter rôle from 1791 with the arrival of a separate president-intendant. Thereafter, the offices were separate, but it was quite common for the regent to serve as temporary president-intendant in the absence or illness of the incumbent of the latter office. In this appendix, as in others, temporary office-holders (i.e. those whose appointments were not confirmed by the crown) are normally excluded; however, exceptions have been made in the cases of Goyeneche and Tristán because of their particular importance. When known, dates of births and deaths are provided in the notes. 2 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 2, p. 417. 3 Marchena, ‘The Social World of the Military’, pp. 64–66. Campbell, The Military and Society, pp. 173–74. 4 Título, 20 January 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; Corral to Lerena, 11 March 1791, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 2. 5 Corral to Porlier, 8 September 1791, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 5. 6 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 165–75. See, too, mainly for its curiosity value, E. Romero, Memorias apócrifas del general José Manuel de Goyeneche, Lima, Editorial Minera, 1971. 7 Pardo to Ramón de Hernuda, 10 July 1809, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 7 8 Vargas Ugarte, Historia General, vol. 5, p. 280. 9 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, pp. 206–207. 10 Mata to Gálvez, 6 April 1782, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 5. 11 Mendiburu described him as ‘un hombre execrable’: Diccionario, vol. 5, p. 215. 12 Mata to Gálvez, 7 July 1786, and 9 July 1786, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 35. 13 Croix to Sonora, 16 June 1786, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 4; royal order, 26 February 1787, Ibid. 14 Real cédula, 26 February 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 620. 15 M. Contreras and C. Cortés, Catálogo de la Colección Mata Linares, Madrid, Real Academica de la Historia, 1970, p. ix. 16 Ibid, pp. x-xi. 17 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 5, pp. 391–92. 18 Título, 24 May 1804, AGI, Lima, leg. 630.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

172

9/2/03, 13:47

 -  



19 Abascal to intendant of Huancavelica, 28 June 1808, enclosing an undated letter from Muñoz, BNP, D10290; Muñoz to Principe de la Paz, 11 Sept. 1806, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 2. 20 Report of Manuel de Vidaurre, 10 December 1812, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 7. Pardo’s detailed post-mortem on the causes of the 1814 rebellion – ‘Memoria exacta è imparcial de la Insurreccion q’e ha experimentado la Prov’a y Capital del Cuzco...’ (Pardo to Minister of Grace and Justice, 13 July 1816, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 8) has been published in several collections, including Coleccion Documental, tomo III, vol. 6, pp. 256–71. 21 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 8, pp. 165–69. 22 Royal order, 26 February 1787, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 3; details of his military service are summarised in Antonio Valdés to Croix, 27 September 1787, AHMH, Libro de Cédulas 900, f. 95. 23 Título, 21 October 1788, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; royal order, 2 March 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 647. 24 Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 143–44. 25 Juan Gregorio de Eyzaguirre (procurador síndico) to crown, 1 May 1794, AGI, Lima 777. 26 The most detailed account of the conspiracy is ‘Causa instruida con motivo de la sublevación intentada en 1805, en la ciudad del Cuzco, 1805–12’, AHN, Consejos, leg. 21266. See, too, Fisher, ‘Regionalism and Rebellion’. 27 Ruiz to crown, 29 May 1806, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 7. 28 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 8, pp. 104–106. 29 Ramírez to audiencia, 13 April 1815, ADC, Real Audiencia, Sección Judicial: Administrativa, leg. 27. 30 The activities of the Tristán family feature prominently in Arequipa’s notarial records. In 1808, for example, Juan Pio purchased a ship and the cargo of guano it was carrying from Copiapó to Callao: ADA, Protocolos, Rafael de Hurtado (1808), ff. 55–59. 31 ADA, Protocolos, Francisco Javier de Linares (1815), ff. 210–11, has details of the release of Domingo Vargas, accused of ‘conección y adicción q’e ha tenido con los Insurg’tes Revolucionarios del Cuzco, Pumaccahua y Angulo; no menos llebandole la Pluma’, on receipt of a fianza for his future good behaviour. 32 ADC, Real Audiencia, Archivo Notarial de Don José Izquierdo, leg. 19, has details of the investigation ordered by Tristán on 2 October 1818. 33 Colección Documental, tomo XXII, vol. 1, pp. 5–7, has further details. 34 La Serna to ‘regente accidental’, 20 August 1822, ADC, Real Audiencia, leg. 178. 35 La Serna to regent, 18 October 1824, ibid. 36 García Camba, Memoria, p. 285; Torrente, Historia, vol. 3, p. 507. 37 Details of the swearing of oaths of allegiance to Gamarra by the cabildo and other corporations are in Gamarra to José de Cáceres, 30 December 1824, ADC, Periodicos, libro 2A, f. 11.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

173

9/2/03, 13:47

 

The Regents of the Audiencia of Lima1

1776–1787 1787–1816

Melchor Jacot Ortiz Rojano (Conde de Pozos Dulces) Manuel Antonio Arredondo y Pelegrin (Marqués de San Juan de Nepomuceno) 1816–1821 Francisco Tomás de Ansótegui y Barroeta The Careers of the Regents Ansótegui (1756–1822)2 A native of Vizcaya, who studied and taught civil law at the University of Santiago from 1773 until 1785, Ansótegui served as a lawyer for several years in Madrid before securing appointment as an oidor of the audiencia of Buenos Aires in 1789; he took up his post there in 1790, remaining for 20 years (from 1807 as senior oidor) until deported to Spain following the May 1810 revolution. His subsequent career provides a clear reflection of the gradual disintegration of Spanish rule in America during the second decade of the nineteenth century: although awarded honorary membership of the Council of the Indies in 1808, he returned to America in 1811 to serve as regent of the audiencia of Charcas, and, following the retirement of the aged Arredondo, was further promoted to the regency in Lima in 1816. Like the vast majority of the civil employees in the viceregal capital, he returned to Spain following the evacuation of Lima in 1821 rather than accompany La Serna to the interior of the viceroyalty.3 He seems to have been a cultured, reliable bureaucrat (an 1812 inventory of the books in his library constitutes a minor source for the intellectual history of Buenos Aires) but a somewhat faceless individual: despite the importance of his office, he is not mentioned by name in the Memoria de gobierno of viceroy Pezuela, alongside whom he served in Lima for five years.4 Arredondo (1738–1822)5 Although less well-known than his brother, Nicolás Antonio, who served as viceroy of the Río de la Plata (1789–1795), Arredondo was a major figure in his own right, serving as regent in Lima for some 30 years. Born in Bárcena de Cicero (Santander), he followed the typical early path of a would-be colonial

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

174

9/2/03, 13:47

      



judge of the Bourbon period, studying first at the University of Avila and subsequently at Salamanca, before being licensed in 1771 to practice law in Madrid. Following an initial appointment in 1773 as an oidor of the audiencia of Guatemala – he took up the post in 1774 and played a major rôle in promoting civic building and public works – he was promoted to Lima in 1779. He served as first regent of the new audiencia of Buenos Aires in 1783–1787, apparently enjoying a good relationship with both the viceroy and the superintendent.6 Transferred to the parallel office in Lima early in 1787 to make way for Benito de la Mata Linares – Arredondo was formally installed in February 1788 – he survived a crown attempt to transfer him to the regency of the audiencia of Mexico in 1813, remaining in office until his retirement in 1816. He served as interim viceroy in March–November 1801 (between the death of Osorno and the arrival in Lima of Avilés), and during Abascal’s viceregency he emerged as an influential critic of the policy of despatching Peruvian forces to Quito and Chile, arguing instead in favour of a policy of defending the viceroyalty’s frontiers. His personal history became something of a test case for the crown’s renewed insistence that the colonial tribunals should be staffed by peninsular officials free of local ties: in 1797 he married a wealthy Peruvian widow, Juana Josefa de Herce y Dulce, from whom he inherited his title, but following her death was repeatedly refused a licence by the crown in 1802–1805 to marry Juana de Micheo Jiménez de Lobatón, widow of José de Rezabal y Ugarte, a former oidor in Lima and regent of the audiencia of Chile.7 Arredondo remained a powerful figure in Lima after his retirement, not least as a holder of the honorary rank of field-marshal, and the possibility that he might be allowed to resume viceregal authority in the event of Pezuela being unable to continue as viceroy was a significant factor in the latter’s fateful decision early in 1820 to persuade José de la Serna to remain in Lima as, in effect, deputy viceroy.8 Arredondo died in Lima in February 1822, leaving his sizeable fortune and his title to his nephew, brigadier Manuel de Arredondo; the latter, in fact, returned to Spain, but many years later his widow, Ignacia Novoa, who had remained in Lima, received compensation from the Peruvian government for two haciendas confiscated in 1822 by the government of San Martín as a present for Bernardo O’Higgins. Jacot (1732–1807)9 As noted, the inauguration of the office of regent in 1776 reflected a deliberate crown policy of trying to curtail the influence of American-born magistrates in the American tribunals. The Council of the Indies, which had an advisory rôle in the making of these appointments, was slow to grasp this point, for the three names that it proposed as the shortlist for the regency of Lima were all Peruvianborn oidores (Pedro Bravo de Rivera, Gaspar Urquizu Ibañez, and Antonio Hermenegildo Querejazu y Mollinedo), the first two of whom had purchased their posts prior to the mid-century tightening up of appointment procedures.10 However, Charles III, advised by José de Gálvez, gave a clear signal of his intentions by choosing oidores from the peninsular audiencia of Valladolid to serve as regents in the senior tribunals of Mexico and Lima. Jacot, who took

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

175

9/2/03, 13:47





possession in June 1777 of the regency of Lima to which he was appointed in November 1776, was (like Gálvez) a native of Málaga, where, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, he served as a regidor. Following education, teaching and legal practice in Granada, he joined the audiencia of Valladolid as alcalde del crimen in 1769, becoming oidor in 1776. One of his first tasks in Lima – where he reportedly clashed with not only Areche but also Guirior and other members of the audiencia – was to conduct the residencia of viceroy Amat. His career pattern thereafter almost conformed to the idealized model anticipated by Gálvez, for he left Lima in 1787 to join the Council of the Indies (in 1788), advancing in due course to its inner circle – the Cámara – following the receipt in 1790 of the title of Conde de Pozos Dulces. Following the death in 1787 of his first wife, he obtained permission from the crown to marry María Luisa López de Maturana of Huaura, who, following a ceremony in Lima where he was represented by Isidro de Abarca (conde de San Isidro), joined him in Madrid, where she resided until her death in 1832. The majority of sources indicate that Jacot himself died in 1807, although Lohmann gives the date as 27 February 1794. Either way, his personal history underlines the insurmountable difficulty faced by the crown in trying to prevent its senior representatives in America from forming significant relationships with local élites. Notes 1 The office of regent – the official who presided over an audiencia – was created in 1776 as part of a comprehensive attempt by the crown (personified in practice by the new Minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez) to bring the colonial tribunals under much closer metropolitan control through the appointment of peninsula-born officials who might expect promotion in due course to membership of the Council of the Indies. Initially their salaries were double those of oidores, as a sign of their enhanced status and responsibilities, although the differentials were reduced in 1788 on grounds of economy: see Burkholder and Chandler, From Impotence to Authority, pp. 99–103, for further details. 2 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 19; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 5–6. 3 Details of the meeting, held in Ansótegui’s house on 21 July 1821, at which members of the audiencia had to decide whether to remain in office under the patriots or request passports to return to Spain, are provided by G. Durand Flórez, ‘Alta Cámara de Justicia’, in Quinto Congreso Internacional de Historia de América, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú’, 5 vols., 1972, vol. 5, pp. 264–316, 267–68. 4 J. M. Mariluz Urquijo, ‘La biblioteca de un oidor de la real audiencia de Buenos Aires’, Revista de la Facultad de Derecho y Ciencias Sociales, vol. 10, 1955, pp. 808–814, Pezuela, Memoria. 5 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, pp. 26–27; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 6–8; Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 1, pp. 368–69. 6 Lynch, Administración colonial española, p. 240. 7 Burkholder and Chandler, From Impotence to Authority, pp. 110–111. Some sources, including Mendiburu, state that the second marriage did occur, but Lohmann shows that the saga ended with Juana’s death in December 1804.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

176

9/2/03, 13:47

      



8 Pezuela to Minister of War, 14 February 1820, BMP, ms. 5, cuaderno 8. 9 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 172; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 57–58; Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, p. 333. 10. Burkholder and Chandler, From Impotence to Authority, pp. 101–102.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

177

9/2/03, 13:47

 

The Regents of the Audiencia of Cusco1

1787–1804 1805–1821

José de la Portilla y Gálvez Manuel Pardo Rivadeneira

The Careers of the Regents Pardo (1759–1839)2 A native of Caseldereito (Lugo, Galicia), educated at the University of Santiago, Pardo joined the audiencia of Lima as alcalde del crimen in 1794 (having been nominated in 1792) and was promoted to the office of oidor in 1797, formally taking up his post in 1798. Following the refusal of José Pareja y Cortés in 1804 to accept promotion to the regency of Cusco, Pardo emerged as, in effect, the second-choice candidate for the vacancy left by the recall of Portilla to Spain. Although refused permission by Charles IV in 1804 to marry Mariana Aliaga y Borda, the daughter and heir of the Marqués de Fuente Hermosa – a decision which provoked an angry protest from the offended nobleman – he was granted the necessary licence by viceroy Avilés in 1805, shortly before he took office in Cusco, although the ceremony itself was deferred until June 1806.3 Disappointed in 1809 by the decision of viceroy Abascal to appoint Goyeneche as temporary president, following the death in office of Muñoz, instead of granting the regent the additional powers, Pardo emerged as a strong, but indiscreet, defender of peninsular interests in Cusco, despite the destabilizing effects of the introduction of the 1812 constitution in the city.4 Arrested by the rebels in Cusco in 1814, and threatened with execution, he was forced to flee to Lima, where in 1816 he wrote a detailed analysis of the reasons for the 1814 revolution, reaching the uncomfortable conclusion that it would be difficult to eradicate creole hostility towards peninsular authority.5 Restored to office in Cusco in the wake of the defeat of Pumacahua, Pardo returned to Spain in November 1821, where he took office as a member of the Consejo de Hacienda in 1825. He died in Madrid in 1839.6 Portilla (?–1809)7 A native of La Rambla (Córdoba, Spain) educated at the University of Granada,

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

178

9/2/03, 13:47

      



Portilla was appointed asesor general (legal advisor) to the viceroy of Peru in 1779, taking up his post in February 1781, under Jaúregui. He remained in Lima until 1788 as a prominent member of the viceregal secretariat. Soon after his installation as an oidor in Lima in 1786 (the appointment was announced in November 1785) he was appointed in 1787 to the dual post of second intendant of Cusco (in succession to Mata) and first regent of its new audiencia, formally taking up both posts in 1788.8 He served in both capacities until the arrival of a separate president-intendant (Corral) in 1791, but reverted to his dual rôle in 1792–1793 following the death of the latter, and again in 1803. There is some evidence that his concerted efforts in 1789 to prevent subdelegates in the intendancy of Puno from undertaking repartimientos were of significance in the eventual (1796) decision to restore the province from the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata to that of Peru.9 He was also active in the field of public administration, taking the initiative in 1790 to secure funds for the improvement of the roads from Cusco to Lima and Potosí.10 His recall to Madrid in 1804 to serve on the Council of the Indies, although fulfilling the career pattern anticipated by Gálvez, coincided with the end of a relatively tranquil period in Cusco’s often turbulent history; moreover, his journey back to Spain, where he eventually died in 1809, was complicated by the renewal of hostilities in 1804 between Spain and Britain which delayed his departure from Lima until 1805. He was one of the few audiencia ministers who seems to have avoided marriage into the Peruvian élite for, although he was granted a licence in 1787 to marry Francisca González de la Fuente – daughter of a Spanish officer married to a limeña – prior to his departure from Lima for Cusco, the ceremony never took place. Notes 1 Three regents were appointed by the crown during the period that the audiencia functioned (1787–1824), but the second – José Pareja y Cortés, appointed in 1803 – exercised his right to decline the promotion remaining as fiscal de lo civil in Lima until his return to Spain in 1822: Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 255. 2 Ibid., p. 254; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 95–96; Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 6, p. 241. 3 The bride’s brother, Diego Miguel Bravo de Rivero, subsequently became an oidor in Lima; in due course, Pardo’s grandson – Manuel Pardo, the son of Felipe – served as president of Peru in 1872–1876. 4 His disapproval of Goyeneche’s appointment is expressed in Pardo to Ramón de Hernuda, 10 July 1809, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 7. 5 Pardo to Minister of Grace and Justice, 13 July 1816, enclosing ‘Memoria exacta e imparcial de la Insureccion q’e ha experimentado la Prov’a y Capital del Cuzco’, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 8. 6 For further details of his career, see F. A. Barreda, Manuel Pardo Ribadeneira, regente de la real audiencia del Cuzco, Lima, Editorial Lumen, 1954. 7 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 267; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 104–105; Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 6, p. 524. 8 Details of the lavish festivities accompanying the formal installation of the audiencia, first

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

179

9/2/03, 13:47





published in Madrid in 1795 in a work commissioned by Portilla, are in Castro, Relación del Cuzco. 9 Portilla to Council of the Indies, 31 January 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 599. 10 Portilla to Pedro Antonio de Cernadas, 20 March 1790, AGI, Cuzco, leg. 5.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

180

9/2/03, 13:47

 

The Intendants1

 1784–1785 1785–1796 1796–1811 1811–1815 1817–1825

José Menéndez Escalada Antonio Alvarez y Jiménez Bartolomé María de Salamanca José Gabriel Moscoso Juan Bautista de Lavalle y Zugasti

 1784–1785 1785–1799 1799–1812 1816–1819 1819–1820

Nicolás Manrique de Lara José Menéndez Escalada Demetrio O’Higgins Manuel Quimper Benites del Pino Francisco José de Recavarren Aguirre

 1784–1789 Fernando Márquez de la Plata y Orozco 1790–1794 Manuel Ruiz Urries de Castilla 1794–1805 Juan María Gálvez y Montes de Oca 1807–1809 Juan Vives y Echeverría 1810–1813 Lázaro de Rivera y Espinosa 1813–1814 Juan Vives y Echeverría 1818–1820 Juan Montenegro y Ubalde  1784–1787 1805–1809 1812–1820

Jorge Escobedo y Alarcón Juan María Gálvez y Montes de Oca Juan María Gálvez y Montes de Oca

 1797–1801 1801–1806 1806–1810

Tomás de Samper José González de Navarro y Montoya Manuel Quimper Benites del Pino

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

181

9/2/03, 13:47





1810 1810–1814 1817–1824

Diego Antonio Nieto Manuel Quimper Benites del Pino Tadeo Garate

 1784–1793 1793–1795 1796–1810 1811–1820

Juan María Gálvez Francisco Suárez de Castilla Valcárcel Ramón Urrutia y las Casas José González de Prada

 1784–1791 1791–1820

Fernando de Saavedra Vicente Gil de Taboada

The Careers of the Intendants Alvarez2 An experienced, peninsula-born soldier, who had served with the anti-Portuguese expedition taken to the Río de la Plata by Pedro de Cevallos in 1776 and subsequently in the siege of Gibraltar, Alvarez held the rank of captain when appointed in 1784 to serve as intendant of Arequipa.3 Although, therefore, the first titular holder of the office, he did not reach Arequipa until November 1785, and in the interim it was filled by Escobedo’s unconfirmed nominee (Menéndez), who was subsequently appointed instead to serve in Huamanga. After this somewhat confused inauguration, Alvarez proved to be one of the most vigorous and successful of the first generation of intendants. He showed particular zeal in undertaking a detailed inspection of his province between 1786 and 1794, demonstrating, perhaps inadvertently, by the scale of the exercise the impracticality of the requirement in the Ordinance of Intendants that such inspections should be undertaken annually.4 Although impatient with the need to curb his accustomed military abruptness when dealing with prominent local citizens – he complained in 1787 about Escobedo’s advice to turn a blind eye to the usurpation of crown lands for fear of upsetting prominent citizens of Arequipa – he also succeeded in mobilizing municipal support for the reconstruction of public buildings, in the aftermath of the major earthquake of 1784.5 The arrival in 1795 of news that he was to be replaced provoked the cabildo of Arequipa to bemoan the impending loss of its ‘protector declarado’.6 Following further military service – he reached the rank of colonel in 1796 and brigadier in 1798 – he served as governor of Chiloé in 1804–1812. One of his sons, Antonio María Alvarez, fought for the royalist cause throughout the revolutionary period, and served briefly as temporary president of Cusco in 1823–1824, with the rank of field-marshal. Antonio María remained at his post until the arrival of Gamarra (on 25 December 1824) and then returned to Spain with other capitulados.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

182

9/2/03, 13:48

 



Escobedo See Appendix II Gálvez7 Born in Ecija (Andalusia) into a landowning family, Gálvez went to Peru in 1781, following a period at court, as secretary to viceroy Jaúregui. He served in this capacity until 1784, until he took office (in October) as the inaugural intendant of Tarma; there he energetically promoted programmes of municipal improvement and public administration, founding or reviving cabildos in Tarma, Huánuco, Conchucos and Jauja as a means of securing the support of local élites for the revitalisation of local government.8 Like Alvarez in Arequipa, he took particularly seriously the requirement to undertake a detailed inspection of his province, submitting to the crown as early as October 1786 a series of comprehensive reports – several of which were subsequently published in the Mercurio Peruano – accompanied by a general map of the province and more detailed maps of each partido.9 In Tarma itself he opened a new municipal cemetery, and another major achievement was the resettlement in 1788 of the fertile Vitoc valley, which had been evacuated nearly 50 years earlier as a result of the 1742 rebellion of Juan Santos.10 The high profile achieved by the intendant during his period of office in Tarma, coupled with the support that he gave to successful attempts to increase silver production at Cerro del Pasco (the viceroyalty’s most important mining centre following the loss of Potosí in 1776), persuaded the crown to transfer him in 1793 to the more problematic intendancy of Huancavelica, where he served from 1794 until 1805.11 During his first few years there mercury output improved considerably, thanks to his continuation of the policy of his predecessor (Ruiz) of allowing the working of new ore deposits, but a gradual, if uneven, decline set in from 1798.12 In May 1804 Galvéz received news of his promotion to the intendancy of Lima – a post previously held by Escobedo, but restored to the viceroy in 1787.13 Perhaps predictably, viceroy Avilés refused him permission to take up the office until clarification was received from Madrid of precisely which functions were to be transferred to the intendant, and once he was installed – in 1805 – relationships between Gálvez and successive viceroys (first Avilés and, from July 1806, Abascal) were almost permanently soured by disputes over jurisdiction.14 Matters came to a head in 1809 when the Junta Central recalled the intendant to Spain and once again restored his duties to the viceroy.15 However, Gálvez was restored to office in 1812, having been exonerated by the Council of the Indies of viceregal complaints against him, and spent a further eight years squabbling with Abascal and Pezuela until his death in Lima in 1820.16 His marriage to Josefa de la Riva-Agüero, daughter of the superintendent of Lima’s mint, made him the brother-in-law of the future president of Peru, José de la Riva-Agüero. Garate17 A native of La Paz, educated as a lawyer at the university of San Antonio

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

183

9/2/03, 13:48





Abad, Garate served as episcopal secretary in Cusco in 1801–1806, prior to taking up appointment as subdelegate of the partido of Chucuito (in the intendancy of Puno) in 1807. This provided him with practical experience of the administrative difficulties encountered in remote, rural provinces, a theme on which he expounded at length in Spain in 1814, following his election in 1812 as the deputy to the Cortes of Puno.18 Notwithstanding his service as a secretary to the Cortes – some sources accuse him of having been an absolutist spy – he warmly welcomed the abolition of the 1812 constitution by the restored Ferdinand VII, and was promptly rewarded with appointment as intendant of Puno.19 He returned to Peru in 1816 and held office in Puno from January 1817 until forced to relinquish it following the battle of Ayacucho. He returned to Spain in 1825. In 1827 Jerónimo Valdés cited his retention of office in Puno in 1821–1823, despite it being commonly known that he had been one of the ‘Persas’, in support of his refutation of charges that La Serna had protected liberals and persecuted absolutists.20 Gil21 Born in Santiago (Galicia) in 1772 into a noble family – his father was Conde Gil de Taboada – Gil travelled to Peru in 1790 in the company of his uncle Francisco, following the latter’s appointment as viceroy.22 He was confirmed as the youthful intendant of Trujillo in 1792 on his uncle’s nomination – he actually took up the post in November 1791 following the death in office of Saavedra – and served in this single post for nearly 30 years, except for a period of licensed leave in Spain (1806–1810), when he was replaced by Felipe del Risco, a nephew of viceroy Avilés.23 His absence in Spain in 1809 possibly saved him his job in a period when the Junta Central, supported somewhat reluctantly by viceroy Abascal who recognized the need to make some token gestures to satisfy creole opinion, removed from their posts a number of longserving peninsulares and replaced them with American-born intendants.24 There is some evidence that Gil benefited from his uncle’s protection during his early years in Trujillo, and, conversely of a poor relationship with Osorno, with whom he had an acrimonious dispute over the viceroy’s refusal to remove from office a subdelegate of Piura charged by the intendant with financial abuses.25 The intendant claimed in an 1819 account of his services to have been particularly active in promoting public administration -including the paving and lighting of streets in his capital city – and in improving roads and bridges.26 He seems to have governed Trujillo with a firm hand, provoking in 1813 accusations of interference in the elections held to choose the province’s deputies to the Cortes.27 His request in 1820 to Pezuela for permission to retire because of ill-health led to the viceroy’s fateful decision to replace him with the Marqués de Torre Tagle, who took over in Trujillo in August and declared for independence in December.28 Gil returned to Spain in 1821, following San Martin’s declaration of independence in Lima, where he served as intendant of Sevilla during the second constitutional period and subsequently as intendant of Orense.29

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

184

9/2/03, 13:48

 



González de Navarro30 Mendiburu praises this Spanish-born army officer, who had reached the rank of colonel when appointed intendant of Puno in 1799, as a ‘mandatario de providad, intelegencia y dedicación’.31 He consolidated the efforts of his predecessor (Samper) to integrate his province into the viceroyalty of Peru, following its 1796 restoration from that of the Río de la Plata: particularly notable achievements included the establishment of a cabildo in his capital city, the organization of a militia, and strenuous efforts to relieve the indigenous communities of the province from their residual obligation to provide mitayos for Potosí. His presence in Cádiz in 1812, where he published a pamphlet criticizing the attempts of the American deputies to secure equality of representation in the Cortes for all the inhabitants of America, irrespective of their colour, suggests that his liberal tendencies were moderate.32 González de Prada33 Born in 1751 in Entrepeñas (Sanabria) into a long-established landowning family, González emigrated to America in 1783, following a conventional education in Madrid, to begin a career as a provincial treasury minister in the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata (Salta, 1783–1788; Cochabamba, 1788– 1801).34 Following nearly a decade of service as senior accountant in Lima’s tribunal of accounts (from 1801), he served briefly as interim intendant of Cochabamba before taking office in 1811 as proprietary intendant of Tarma in succession to Urrutia.35 Having taking up his new post, González provided an analysis of the reasons for insurgency in the Río de la Plata, which he attributed primarily to the ambition and resentment of upstart lawyers and priests, who believed – unjustly in his view – that they had been denied advancement because of the preferment given to peninsulares.36 Although he dealt firmly with the insurrection of Huánuco, led by Juan José Crespo, in the early months (February–April) of 1812, permitting a massacre of rebels at Ambo, González privately sympathized with protests against abuses of authority by the subdelegates of his intendancy, whom he accused of ‘coechos, benalidad, ambición … el abuso y arvitrariedad’.37 He abandoned Tarma for Lima in 1820 to escape the expeditionary force taken to the interior by José Antonio Alvarez de Arenales – Tarma itself was occupied by the patriots on 23 November, and its cabildo declared for independence on 29th (prematurely as it turned out, for Arenales soon returned to the coast leaving the local patriots at the mercy of the royalist army) – and remained there after the declaration of independence. Following the royalist defeat at Ayacucho, he returned to Cochabamba – where his wife’s family were major property-owners – dying there in 1829. Lavalle38 Born in Lima in 1779, the fifth son of the extremely powerful José Antonio de Lavalle y Cortés (Conde de Premio Real), Lavalle pursued a commercial career like his father but was also prominent in the city’s militia, reaching the rank of colonel by 1815; he was also influential in the municipal government of

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

185

9/2/03, 13:48





Lima, serving as alcalde in 1814 and regidor perpetuo from 1816.39 Appointed intendant of Arequipa by the crown in 1815 in succession to the deceased Moscoso, he took over from the interim appointee Tristán in March 1817 (the latter, as indicated in Appendix III, took over the presidency of Cusco), and remained nominally responsible for the government of the province until 1825, despite active service from 1821 with the royalist army.40 As commander of the royalist reserve in Arequipa, Lavalle was not present at Ayacucho, and resisted the temptation immediately after the battle to accept the invitation of the audiencia of Cusco to assume the presidency (with Tristán becoming viceroy); instead he handed over power peacefully to Arequipa’s first prefect, Francisco de Paulo Otero, in January 1825.41 Despite the difficulties faced during his tenure, an important innovation during Lavalle’s intendancy was the foundation in Arequipa in December 1821 of the Academia Lauretana, the forerunner of university of San Agustín.42 After independence Lavalle declined various offers of public posts in the new republic, including that of Minister of Finance, concentrating again upon his business career, but did serve as prefect of Lima before his death in 1851. Manrique43 The installation of the intendant system in Peru in 1784 reflected a significant intensification of peninsular control over the viceroyalty, particularly when seen in the context of other features of the visita general, and the policy of appointing peninsulares to the audiencia of Lima. Conscious of the need to make at least a token gesture towards creole opinion, Escobedo nominated Manrique for appointment to the intendancy of Huamanga precisely because he was an archetypal representative of the limeño aristocracy: born in 1739, he could claim descent through his father, Francisco (second Marqués de Lara) from one of the founders of the city of Lima, and his mother, Rosa María Carrillo de Albornoz y Bravo de Lagunas, a sister of the Conde de Montemar, was from another long-established creole family.44 Having served as alcalde of Lima in 1769–1770, and from 1779 as contador mayor of Lima’s tribunal of accounts (in succession to his father), Manrique was an experienced and influential administrator, but Escobedo made it quite clear in 1784 that his nomination as intendant was intended as a sop to creole opinion – as he explained to viceroy Croix, ‘fundada en los motibos Politicos que a V.E. no se ocultan’ – rather than a mere recognition of his merits.45 The minister of the Indies, Gálvez, disagreed with this policy, and refused to confirm the appointment, naming instead a peninsular officer, Juan de la Piedra, to serve in Huamanga.46 To complicate matters further, the latter died on his way to Peru, with the consequence that Manrique remained in office in Huamanga until the end of 1785, pending the arrival of Gálvez’s second choice, Menéndez (who, in any case, had been Escobedo’s original choice for Huamanga before the decision, rejected in Madrid, to switch him to Arequipa as a means of creating a vacancy for Manrique). During his year in office in Huamanga, Manrique was involved in a series of complex disagreements with the city’s

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

186

9/2/03, 13:48

 



bishop, Francisco López Sánchez – which involved, inter alia, an accusation from Sánchez that the intendant was financially involved in a repartimiento of mules in the partidos of Huanta and Cangallo – the investigation of which dragged on until 1793, when the Council of the Indies finally exonerated him.47 Márquez, meanwhile, continued in his previous post in the tribunal of accounts until his retirement in 1798, and died in 1815. Márquez48 The career of this first intendant of Huancavelica illustrates the difficulties faced by the Spanish crown in exercising a close control over its distant imperial possessions, even through the appointment of seemingly sound peninsular bureaucrats. Born in 1740 into an office-holding family in Sevilla (where his father was an oidor and an uncle was fiscal of the tobacco monopoly) and educated at the university of Seville, Márquez’s career in America began in 1776, when he accompanied the Cevallos expedition to the Río de la Plata as auditor de guerra. Following a brief period as fiscal del crimen in the audiencia of Charcas and as alcalde del crimen in Lima, he was named in 1783 as first intendant of Huancavelica, and formally assumed office in July 1784.49 Although praised by the cabildo for his honesty, his attempts to improve public administration, and his ‘dulce trato para con los vecinos’, he soon fell from official favour in both Lima and Madrid because of his attempts to disguise the reasons for and the seriousness of the collapse the of Santa Bárbara mercury mine in September 1786, essentially by a failure to prevent the mining of ore from the stone props and buttresses that literally held it up.50 His removal from office in Huancavelica, pending an inquiry, was smoothed over by his appointment in 1789 as an oidor of the audiencia of Lima, and the investigation remained incomplete when he was promoted in 1796 to the regency of the audiencia of Quito.51 Appointed subsequently (1801) as regent of the audiencia of Santiago, he took up residence in Chile (where his wife, whom he married in 1786, had important family connections) in 1803 and insisted upon remaining there in 1806 when replaced as regent and promoted to the Council of the Indies. He left Chile for Mendoza in 1814, and died in 1818. Menéndez The early career of this peninsula-born official is relatively obscure, and his eventual appointment in 1785 as the first proprietary intendant of Huamanga was rather complicated. Essentially, Escobedo was anxious to find him a position to compensate him for the abolition in 1783, as part of the reorganization of the exchequer, of his former post as director of the alcabala administration. However, his original nomination to serve in Arequipa was not confirmed by the crown, and Menéndez was eventually appointed to Huamanga as the second-choice replacement for Manrique, once news had been received in Madrid of the death en route from the Río de la Plata of the crown’s first choice, Juan de la Piedra.52 During his tenure, there was an abatement of the disputes between the intendant and the bishop that had marred the brief

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

187

9/2/03, 13:48





incumbency of Manrique. However, there is evidence of persistent squabbles between him and local officials responsible for the administration of state monopolies, an indication perhaps that the small Spanish community in this isolated mountain town was particularly prone to factionalism.53 Following Menéndez’s death in office in 1799, his successor, O’Higgins, claimed that his predecessor had taken few measures to promote improvements in public administration, primarily because of a general lassitude provoked by his advanced age and delicate constitution.54. Montenegro55 Born in Moquegua (Arequipa) in 1766, Montenegro was educated in Spain where he followed a military career. He had reached the rank of colonel when appointed intendant of Huancavelica in 1815.56 However, his actual period of office was very short, for, soon after he arrived in his provincial capital (in 1818), he abandoned it in 1820 to the expeditionary force taken to the highlands by Arenales, and was taken prisoner by the patriots shortly thereafter. He rejoined the royalist army when it recaptured Lima in 1823, and was rewarded for his sufferings by promotion to brigadier, and appointment as interim intendant of Huamanga (where his daughter, Fernandina, married colonel Felipe Rivero later that year). Following the capitulation at Ayacucho, he returned to Spain with his family. Moscoso57 Born in Arequipa into a prominent local family that also produced the bishop of Cusco, Juan Manuel Moscoso y Peralta (appointed bishop of Granada in 1789 as a diplomatic resolution of suspicions that he had sympathized with the rebellion of Túpac Amaru), Moscoso pursued a military career in Spain – reaching the rank of teniente coronel by 1810 – prior to succeeding Salamanca as intendant of his native city in 1811.58 His appointment arose directly from the April 1810 decision of the Council of Regency to remove Salamanca from office following the consideration of complaints of maladministration made by the cabildo of Arequipa.59 The hope that Moscoso’s appointment would prove popular with the civic authorities of Arequipa was fulfilled. However, his period of office was brought to an abrupt end with his capture by the insurgent forces of Pumacahua in November 1814, prior to their brief occupation of Arequipa. Taken to Cusco when the rebels withdrew, Moscoso was executed on 29 January 1815 in the convent of La Merced, and his corpse was displayed the following day in the city’s main square. Nieto60 Relatively little is known about the early career of this individual other than that he had a military background and had reached the rank of colonel by 1810. Although appointed in 1806 to replace González, he did not arrive in Puno from Popayán – where he had served as governor since 1804 – until January 1810, formally assuming office on 1 February.61 His death, less than

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

188

9/2/03, 13:48

 



two months later, contributed to the administrative instability that had affected the region since the departure of González in 1806: in the first instance the interim control of the intendancy passed to the teniente asesor, Mariano Agustín del Carpio, pending the definitive appointment in 1811 of Manuel Quimper, who had previously served on an interim basis prior to the arrival of Nieto. O’Higgins62 Born in Ireland in 1768, O’Higgins followed the family tradition of serving the Spanish crown, entering the Irish regiment in Spain in 1782 and graduating in 1789 to the Guardia de Corps of Charles IV. Shortly after the appointment of his uncle, Ambrosio O’Higgins, as viceroy of Peru, Demetrio received permission to travel to Lima with a royal order that he be appointed to the first intendancy to fall vacant. Following several interim appointments in Lima itself – including service as captain of the cavalry unit in his uncle’s personal guard – he was nominated by the viceroy to fill the intendancy of Huamanga in succession to the deceased Menéndez, an appointment confirmed by the crown in 1802.63 Despite the obvious nepotism that brought him to office, O’Higgins proved to be a vigorous and relatively successful administrator, particularly active in undertaking inspections of his province (in 1801 and 1804) and proposing measures to the crown for the stimulation of the regional economy.64 An order was issued in 1805 for his transfer to the intendancy of Tarma to replace Urrutia, in the belief that the latter had died in office, but this was withdrawn when confirmation was received in Spain that Urrutia was alive and well; O’Higgins remained in Huamanga, therefore, until 1812 (surviving the 1809–1810 policy of removing intendants who had been in office for five years or more), when he secured a licence to return to Spain, ostensibly for two years. Following his death in Spain in 1816, his limeña widow, Mariana Echeverría Santiago de Ulloa, married the Marqués de Torre Tagle. There is some evidence that O’Higgins was prone to become involved in jurisdictional disputes with other administrators, although the basic responsibility for a series of prolonged arguments with Avilés in 1803 over appointments to subdelegacies resided with the viceroy, who was determined to impress upon the intendant the fact that he no longer enjoyed special favour in Lima, following the death of his uncle.65 Quimper66 Although born in Lima (in 1740), Quimper was educated in Spain for a naval career which involved significant voyages of exploration and discovery along the Pacific coast of North America. His switch to an administrative career involved a period as a treasury minister in Veracruz prior to a somewhat confused transfer to Peru in 1805, ostensibly to replace O’Higgins as intendant of Huamanga.67 However, the appointment was based upon the mistaken assumption that the latter would transfer to Tarma to replace the supposedly deceased Urrutia; the eventual discovery that Urrutia had not died led to the decision that O’Higgins should remain where he was. Viceroy Abascal

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

189

9/2/03, 13:48





decided, therefore, in 1806 to appoint Quimper as interim intendant of Puno, an office which he held until Nieto’s somewhat tardy arrival in 1810.68 Quimper returned to this post in mid–1810, following Nieto’s death, and was granted a proprietary title in March 1811 in recognition of his services with the royalist army in Upper Peru from 1809, where he helped restore royalist authority in La Paz.69 During his first period of office he was active in promoting the improvement of public administration, particularly through the enforcement of a bando de buen gobierno, although he also provoked complaints from local treasury officials of attempts to extort bribes.70 During his second term, which continued until he fled the city in 1814 to escape the insurgents advancing from Cusco, matters of security became more important, and he complained strongly in August 1810 about the difficulties he faced in raising troops to serve in Upper Peru.71 His transfer to the intendancy of Huamanga was ordered in 1814 before the crown became aware of viceroy Pezuela’s doubts about his loyalty, which resulted in an 1818 order that he be dismissed and sent to Spain.72 Because of the inevitable timelag in the arrival of these orders in Peru, Quimper actually served as intendant of Huamanga in 1816–1819, and had some success in raising additional funds for the treasury by taxing coca production. He reached Spain in 1820 and returned to Peru the following year, having been exonerated of charges of maladministration, threatening legal proceedings against his accusers. Inevitably, political changes assumed greater importance, as he decided to remain in Lima after independence; according to Mendiburu, he served in the republican navy until 1827, despite his great age; he died in 1844, aged 104. Recavarren73 Born in Chile, Recavarren pursued a military career in Spain until appointed intendant of Cochabamba in 1809.74 He remained in his provincial capital in 1814 when it was occupied by insurgents, and, as a consequence, was suspended from office by Abascal on suspicion of collaboration with them; following absolution from this charge he resumed his duties in 1815.75 Appointed intendant of Huamanga in 1818, he took up his post there the following year, but died in office – from severe dysentery – in 1820.76 He was succeeded on an interim basis by his son-in-law, Gabriel Herboso (formerly subdelegate of Huanta), who held office until the royalist surrender at Ayacucho. Rivera This native of Spain spent his early career as a military engineer before graduating to administrative office in the Río de la Plata, initially as one of the commissioners appointed to demarcate the frontier between Spanish and Portuguese territory in the Banda Oriental.77 He became intendant of Paraguay in 1796, following service for twelve years as governor of the province of Mojos. He provoked considerable annoyance among Spanish officialdom because of his attempts to protect the Guaraní communities of Paraguay from economic exploitation by non-Indian intruders, and also aroused the suspicions

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

190

9/2/03, 13:48

 



of conservative peninsular residents of Buenos Aires because of his close links with the emerging creole élite.78 Although relieved of his post in Paraguay in 1806, he was appointed intendant of Huancavelica by the Council of Regency in 1809, serving there in 1810–1813. There is some evidence of attempts to collect substantial arrears of tribute payments due to the local treasury from subdelegates, and of a policy of conscripting vagrants and drunks to undertake forced work in the mines that surrounded his capital.79 He also criticized his predecessors in Huancavelica – notably Ruiz and Gálvez – for their failure to undertake systematic inspections of the province.80 Rivera’s attempts to shake up administrative activity came to an abrupt end in 1813, when news reached Peru of the decision of the Council of the Indies, after an investigation initiated by one of its members, Francisco Requeña, that he should be removed from office because of suspicions that his close relationship with Santiago Liniers (the former viceroy of the Río de la Plata who was held responsible for the erosion of Spanish authority in Buenos Aires in the aftermath of the British invasion of 1806) – their wives were sisters – made him particularly unreliable.81 He was replaced in Huancavelica in 1813 by his immediate predecessor, Juan Vives, who had returned to Spain in April 1809 in a successful attempt to answer accusations of abuse of authority that had led the Junta Central to order his removal from office in February of that year.82 Ruiz See Appendix III. Saavedra83 A native of spain who arrived in Peru in 1777 as contador of the visita general (a post which he held under both Areche and Escobedo) Saavedra was rewarded for his diligence with nomination by the visitador as the first intendant of Trujillo in 1784, a decision which the crown promptly ratified.84 There is some evidence that he enjoyed a good relationship with the cabildo of his capital city, which in 1785 praised his moderation and his sound management of public administration, which included improvement of the main Lima-Quito road.85 Relations with the director of the tobacco monopoly – the province contained one of the viceroyalty’s two tobacco factories (the other being in Lima) – by contrast were somewhat strained, and accusations were made that the intendant interfered in the appointment of officials and with the financial administration of the monopoly.86 Saavedra’s death in office in 1791 coincided with viceroy Gil’s decision to close the monopoly’s factories, and restrict its activities thereafter to the purchase, distribution and sale of raw tobacco.87 Salamanca88 Born in 1762 at Lora, near Sevilla, Salamanca embarked upon a naval career at an early age, and had reached the rank of capitán de fragata when he lost an arm in 1794 in an attack on the French at Toulon.89 His appointment as intendant of Arequipa in 1795 was in part compensation for his inability to

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

191

9/2/03, 13:48





continue with his naval career because of his disability.90 Although historians of Arequipa tend to regard his prolonged period of office (15 years) as one characterized by ‘inactividad administrativa’, there is considerable evidence of attempts to promote public administration, and the detailed relación that he wrote in 1812 provides a valuable insight into his activities.91 He was removed from office in 1811 in somewhat controversial circumstances, following the consideration in Spain in 1810 by the Council of the Indies of complaints made against him by the cabildo and by a peninsula-born merchant, Santiago Aguirre, who accused him of complicity in contraband.92 Although the Council of Regency subsequently conceded that it had acted precipitately in removing Salamanca from office, and he was exonerated in 1812 of the charges made against him, a political decision was taken to leave Arequipa in the hands of creole intendants – first Moscoso and, after his death, Lavalle – with Salamanca remaining in Lima with the honours of intendente del ejército.93 He served briefly (from August 1820) as interim intendant of Lima under Pezuela, following the death of Gálvez, but after the entry of San Martín opted to return to Spain with the arequipeña wife, Petronila Ofelan, whom he had married in Lima in 1821; he got only as far as Rio de Janeiro, where he fell ill in 1823 and died in February 1824.94 Samper A native of Spain with a military background, Samper served as first intendant of Puno following its restoration to the viceroyalty of Peru from that of the Río de la Plata in 1796; his appointment was announced in 1795, but he did not reach his rather unprepossessing provincial capital until 1797. His period of office seems to have been relatively uneventful, although there is some evidence of his inability to understand the details of financial administration: following an enquiry that he sent to Madrid in 1798 seeking guidance as to the legitimacy of the viceroy ordering him to make payments from his provincial treasury funds, an official noted ‘es cosa lastimosa que un Intendente ignore las facultades de un Supt. Subdelegado…’.95 By then Samper was already on his way back to Spain – travelling to Buenos Aires via La Paz and Oruro to enable him to attend to the family and business affairs of his wife – following his recall to Madrid to resume his army career.96 Suárez Born in Spain in 1744 into a prominent office-holding family – his uncle, the Marqués de San Juan de Pedras, served as president of the Council of the Indies – Suárez embarked upon a military career as a cadet in 1754.97 In 1789, when serving as colonel of the militia regiment of Obona, he secured appointment as intendant of Tarma.98 He actually spent very little time in his provincial capital, for he did not arrive until 1793, and then embarked almost immediately upon a comprehensive provincial visita that took him first to Cerro de Pasco, which he described as a lawless town characterized by violence and theft.99 A further distraction was the penetration of the eastern part of the partido of

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

192

9/2/03, 13:48

 



Jauja by hostile Indians from the selva.100 He died in office in June 1795, creating a vacancy that was filled by the appointment of Urrutia in January 1796. Urrutia Born in Vizcaya in 1742, Urrutia arrived in Tarma in 1796 with considerable experience of provincial administration behind him, and remained in post for nearly 15 years. Appointed corregidor of Oruro in 1777, he had been forced to flee his post in 1781 in the face of local Indian insurgency associated with the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, but had taken advantage of the opportunity offered by military action in 1782–1783 to advance his career, securing promotion to the rank of captain of infantry in 1783.101 With the introduction of the intendant system in Peru in 1784 he served as subdelegate of, first, Ica (in the intendancy of Lima) and second Piura (in the intendancy of Trujillo), securing promotion to Tarma in 1796 despite having been suspended from office for suspected maladministration.102 Initially, he seems to have adopted a relatively low profile in Tarma, despite a complicated dispute with viceroy Osorno over the exercise of vice-patronage, exacerbated by the fact that the province of Tarma formed part of the archdiocese of Lima.103 However, his relations with the cabildo of Tarma were poor, particularly in 1809, when he prohibited individuals whom he regarded as unfitted for office from standing for election as alcaldes, and again in 1810, when he refused to confirm the outcome of the municipal elections.104 Although the intendant secured the support of the viceroy for his firmness on the second occasion, if not on the first, he found himself removed from office in 1810 as a consequence of the receipt of the order of the Junta Central of October 1809, whereby all intendants who had been in post for more than five years were to be removed from office.105 Urrutia retired to Lima, where he died in 1812. Vives106 Born at Larragueta (Navarre) in 1769, Vives pursued an orthodox military career from 1780 until his appointment in 1805 as intendant of Huancavelica in succession to Gálvez, a post which he took up in July 1807.107 His first term of office, which lasted until his removal in April 1809, was stormy and controversial, in part because of complaints of despotism and misrule from prominent citizens of his mountain capital (which Abascal tended to believe) and partly because of popular outrage provoked by the intendant’s insistence that he had come to Peru with secret orders to run down mercury production in favour of the exploitation of the plentiful silver deposits that surrounded Huancavelica.108 To some extent the decision to recall Vives to Spain, reached in February 1809, reflected a desire to appease creole opinion, but a further factor was the accusation made by the alferez real of Huancavelica (Gregorio Delgado) that he was a French agent – indeed, of French birth – who had compounded his dubious origins by marrying the illegitimate daughter of a French silversmith resident in Huancavelica.109 By the time that Vives reached Spain to present his case personally to the Council of the Indies, the

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

193

9/2/03, 13:48





decision had already been taken to dismiss his successor (Rivera), the outcome being that Vives was promptly ordered to return to Peru to resume his duties.110 Restored to office in Huancavelica in 1813, Vives fled to Lima the following year to escape the advance of the Cusco insurgents, and was immediately ordered to return to Spain by an angry viceroy Abascal. He subsequently secured appointment to the intendancy of Huamanga in 1818, but died before he could take up the post.111 His career in Peru provides clear evidence of the breakdown in administration both at the centre (Spain) and at the periphery (in the remote provincial capitals) in the period 1808–1814. Notes 1 See Appendix 3 for president-intendants of Cusco. Details are provided of all intendants who took office in 1784, including those whose nominations by Escobedo were not confirmed by the crown; thereafter temporry incumbents are excluded. Although information is available in some cases about years of births and deaths, these details are not known for a substantial number and have been omitted, therefore, on grounds of consistency. 2 Mendíburu, Diccionario, vol. 1, p. 218. 3 Título, 2 February 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 4 The original reports are in AGI, Lima, leg. 805 and 806. Published versions appear in Barriga (ed.), Memorias. 5 Alvarez to Escobedo, 29 January 1787, AGI, Lima, leg. 806; Alvarez to Gálvez, 31 December 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. 6 Report of cabildo, 19 December 1795, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 7 Mendiburo, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 7–9. 8 (Juan María) Gálvez to (José de) Gálvez, 18 April 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 763; Mercurio Peruano, no. 162 (22 July 1792), no. 258 (23 June 1793), no. 259 (27 June 1793). 9 Gálvez to Sonora, 17 October 1786, AGI, Lima, leg. 646; the intendant complained in February 1788 that 25 of the 30 reports he had submitted to Madrid since taking office, including those dealing with the visita, remained unacknowledged: Gálvez to Valdés, 18 February 1788, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 10 Details of both initiatives were published in Mercurio Peruano, no. 8 (27 January 1791) and no. 107 (12 January 1792). 11 Título, 22 October 1793, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 12 Fisher, Minas y mineros, p. 157, provides details. 13 Título, 2 December 1803, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 14 Many of the disputes were ostensibly about trivial matters – such as the arrangements for the control of Lima’s theatres and other places of amusement (Gálvez to Soler, 21 December 1805, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117) – but in reality, as Gálvez pointed out, they reflected viceregal reluctance to delegate authority to a subordinate official and, thereby, run the risk of losing prestige in a society that paid close attention to details of protocol: Gálvez to ‘V.A.’, 24 February 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 1115. 15 Royal order, 12 April 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 1115. 16 Pezuela to crown, 28 March 1820, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. 17 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, p. 14. 18 A summary of his report (which recommended the provision of salaries for subdelegates), dated 27 July 1814, is in AGI, Lima, leg. 1814. 19 Título, 13 July 1814, AGI, Lima, leg. 630.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

194

9/2/03, 13:48

 



20 Colección Documental, tomo XXII, vol. 3, p. 366. 21 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 103–104 provides some biographical information on him in the article on his brother, Francisco. 22 Further details of the membership of the viceroy’s retinue are provided by Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 5, pp. 99–100. 23 Título, 28 March 1792, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. His initial period of leave of absence was for two years, but was extended to compensate for the difficulties caused by his capture by the British in Buenos Aires in 1806. 24 Fisher, Government and Society, pp. 206–207; Abascal to Minister of State, 21 June 1811, AGI, Lima, leg. 625. 25 Osorno to Gil, 17 March 1797, AGI, Lima, leg. 763. 26 ‘Relación de los méritos y servicios’, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 27 Representation of Miguel Tinoco, Juan Alejo Palacios, and José María Nuñez, 13 September 1813, AGI, Lima, leg. 799; the acta of the election, allegedly manipulated to ensure the selection of deputies favoured by the intendant, is in AGI, Lima, leg. 764. 28 For further details see Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, vol. 6, pp. 125–28. 29 There are some references in AGI, Lima, leg. 1024 to him having been cleared, following the restoration of absolutism in 1823, of charges of excessive liberalism during his term as intendant of Sevilla. 30 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 156–57. 31 Título, 23 July 1799, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 32 details of the polemic over representation are provided by J. F. King, ‘The Colored Castes and the American Representation in the Cortes of Cádiz, HAHR, Vol. 33, 1953, pp. 33–64. 33 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 158–60. 34 Further details are provided in his ‘relación ...’, 30 May 1814, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 35 Royal order, 2 October 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 36 González to Larrumbide, 27 July 1811, AGI, Lima, leg. 764. 37 González to Ignacio de la Pezuela, 24 September 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 644. 38 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 4, pp. 395–96. 39 An excellent analysis of his father’s activities is provided by Mazzeo, El comercio libre en el Perú. 40 Título 10 September 1815, Lima, leg. 630. 41 M. Neira et al., Historia general de Arequipa, Arequipa, Fundación M. J. Bustamente de la Fuente, 1990, pp. 414–17. 42 Ibid., p. 273. 43 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 5, p. 168. 44 Cuaderno 35, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 33, provides a history of the family. The first Marqués de Lara, the uncle of Nicolás, served as a member of the Council of Castile and the Council of the Indies: Vargas Ugarte, Títulos nobiliarios, p. 38. 45 Escobedo to Croix, 1 July 1784, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. In the same report, he described Huamanga as ‘sin duda la menor’ of the intendancies. 46 Gálvez to Escobedo, 24 January 1785, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 33. 47 Croix to Gálvez, 16 November 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 599; report of Council of the Indies, 11 March 1793, Ibid. 48 Burkholder and Chandler, Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers, p. 199; Lohmann, Los ministros, pp. 64–65. 49 Título, 21 November 1783, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; his service in Upper Peru included pacifying La Paz and other cities during the rebellion of Túpac Amaru, according to his representation of 22 October 1793, AGI, Lima, leg. 707. 50 Cabildo to crown, 11 April 1788, AGI, Lima, leg. 802. A full account of the mine

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

195

9/2/03, 13:48



51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71. 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85



collapse is provided by Pedro de Lerena to Antonio Porlier, 9 May 1790, AGI, Lima, leg. 1115. Report of the Council of the Indies, 4 March 1796, AGI, Lima, leg. 778. Título, 19 June 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; Gálvez to Croix, 26 October 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. Details of the intendant’s complaints against the administrador de rentas unidas are in cuaderno 737, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 25. O’Higgins to Cevallos, 16 June 1802, AGI, Lima, leg. 764. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 5, pp. 333–34. Título, 26 September 1815, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 5, pp. 374–76; Neira et al. Historia general, pp. 271–72, 405. Título, 15 October 1810, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. Royal order, 7 April 1810, AGI, Lima, leg. 627; report of Council of the Indies, 19 February 1811, AGI, Lima, leg. 601. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 6, p. 50. Título, 15 December 1806, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 6, pp. 116–17. Título, 6 January 1802, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. O’Higgins to Cevallos, 16 June 1802, AGI, Lima, leg. 764; O’Higgins to Soler, 3 October 1804, AGI, Lima, leg. 608. O’Higgins to Cavallero, 24 October 1803, AGI, Lima, leg. 763; and 3 December 1804, AGI, Lima, leg. 764. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 7, pp. 5–6. Royal decree, 6 April 1805, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. Abascal to Minister of Grace and Justice, 6 October 1806, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. Título, 10 March 1811, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; Quimper to intendant of La Paz, 13 June 1810, BNP, MS D210. Bando, 30 December 1806, BNP, MS D127; Abascal to crown, 23 April 1807, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. Quimper to president of Cusco, 3 August 1810, BNP, MS D210. Título, 28 August 1814, AGI, Lima, leg. 630; royal order, 28 August 1818, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 7, pp. 51–52. Report of Council of the Indies, 19 February 1810, AGI, Lima, leg. 601. Abascal to crown, 14 December 1815, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. Título, 5 December 1818, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. Lynch, Administración colonial, p. 279, provides a summary of his career in the Río de la Plata. Report of Council of the Indies, 8 February 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 602. Rivera to José Canga Argüelles, 16 July 1811, AGI, Lima, leg. 1116; decree of Rivera, 29 May 1811, BNP, D10128. Decree of Rivera, 20 December 1811, BNP, D10959. Report of Council of the Indies, 19 February 1810, AGI, Lima, leg. 601. Royal order, 4 February 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 602. Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 7, p. 160. Gálvez to Escobedo, 24 January 1785, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 33, cuaderno 1071. Cabildo to crown, 27 November 1785, AGI, Lima, leg. 1117. He was also responsible for the production of an impressive map of the partido of Cajamarca: Torres Lanzas, Relación de los mapas, planos, etc. del virreinato del Perú existentes en el Archivo General de Indias, Barcelona, Heinrich & C’a, 1906, no. 85.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

196

9/2/03, 13:48

 



86 Miguel de Otermín to Escobedo, 23 October 1786, AGI, Lima, leg. 1228. 87 Céspedes, ‘La renta del tabaco’, pp. 158–59. 88 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 7, pp. 165–66; Neira et al., Historia general, pp. 271–72; Fisher, Arequipa, 1796–1811, pp. xi-xxv. 89 MS. D11619, BNP, provides details of his early career in a summary of his family history, dated 21 June 1803. 90 Título, 11 June 1795, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 91 Neira et al., Historia general, p. 363. 92 Aguirre to Abascal, 10 April 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 627; representation of cabildo, 24 July 1809, Ibid. 93 Council of Regency to Abascal, 12 December 1811, BNP, D8229; report of Council of the Indies, 2 March 1815, AGI, Lima, leg. 627. 94 His marriage certificate, will, and inventory of his property (which was deemed to be worth 118,000 pesos) are in BNP, D11619. 95 Marginal note, 28 November 1801, Samper to Minister of Finance, 29 November 1798, AGI, Lima, leg. 1121. 96 Samper to Osorno, 31 January 1801, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 27, cuaderno 845. 97 Representation of Suárez, 16 March 1789, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 98 Título, 27 April 1789, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 99 Suárez to Gil, 24 January 1794, BNP, C1341. 100 Suárez to Gil, 24 December 1793, Ibid. 101 Relación de méritos, 1784, AGI, Aud. de Lima, leg. 1120. 102 Gil to Llaguno, 26 January 1797, AGI, Lima, leg. 763; título 19 January 1797, AGI, Lima, leg. 630. 103 Urrutia to Llaguno, 21 Febuary 1798, AGI, Lima, leg. 763. 104 Urrutia to Abascal, 2 Febuary 1809, and Abascal to regent of audiencia, 12 March 1811, AGN, Cabildo, leg. 15. 105 Royal order, 2 October 1809, AGI, Lima, leg. 1120. 106 Mendiburu, Diccionario, vol. 8, pp. 355–56. 107 Relación de méritos, 16 June 1804, AGI, Lima, leg. 778. 108 Report of Council of the Indies, 26 February 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 602; Vives to Soler, reservadisima, 18 January 1808, AGI, Lima, leg. 778. 109 ‘Cuaderno del testimonio de las actuaciones reservadas en el expediente del D’n Gregorio Delgado…’, AGN, Superior Gobierno, leg. 33, cuaderno 1065. 110 Romanillos to Vives, 24 February 1812, AGI, Lima, leg. 799. 111 Título, 11 Sept. 1818, AGI, Lima, leg. 630.

EUP_BPeru_09_Append

197

9/2/03, 13:48



   

 

Glossary of Spanish Terms

Aduana customs house Aguardiente spirituous liquor; brandy Alcabala sales tax Alcalde municipal magistrate Alcalde del crimen audiencia judge entrusted with criminal jurisdiction Alferazgo real electoral college of noble Indians of Cusco, which chose the bearer of the royal standard for the Corpus Christi celebrations Almojarifazgo import duty Apoderado attorney Arancel tariff of customs duties Arequipeño native (of Spanish descent) of Arequipa Armada naval squadron Armada del mar del sur Spanish naval squadron in Pacific Asesor legal adviser to an official (e.g. intendant or viceroy) with judicial responsibilities Asiento contract Asiento de negros contract for supplying slaves Audiencia highest judicial tribunal, also endowed with administrative powers, in a kingdom Auto order or writ Barrio neighbourhood, municipal district Cabildo municipal council Cacao chocolate nut Cacicazgo district under the jurisdiction of a cacique Cacique generic term for ruler of a native polity or district Caja real provincial exchequer office Capellanía endowed chaplaincy Carrera de las Indias the ‘Indies run’; trade between Spain and Spanish America Cascarilla Peruvian (or ‘Jesuit’) bark from which quinine extracted Cebiche marinated fish Cholo derogatory term for offspring of white-Indian union or ‘civilized’ Indian

EUP_BPeru_10_Glossary

198

9/2/03, 13:57

   



Chorrillo small textile factory Cinchona wild forest tree from which cascarilla obtained Coca leaf of coca bush; source of cocaine Comercio libre ‘free trade’ as defined by mercantalist legislation of late 18th century Concurso competition, selection process (as used here, for filling of curacies) Consolidación sequestration of charitable/ecclesiastical funds Consulado incorporated merchant guild Contador mayor senior accountant in viceregal capital Contaduría de tributos accounts office for tribute revenue Contribución de castas post-independence head tax for non-Indian adult males Contribución de indigenas post-independence substitute for head tax (tribute) which had been imposed on Indian adult males in the colonial period Corregidor district officer, provincial governor Corregimiento area governed by a corregidor Corte superior superior court which replaced colonial audiencia(s) Cura parish priest Cusqueño native (of Spanish descent) of Cusco Cuy Andean guinea pig Diezmo duty of 10 per cent on silver Doctrina Indian parish (technically where new converts are receiving indoctrination) Español person of ‘Spanish blood’, irrespective of birthplace; includes, therefore, American-born and peninsula-born Estado general statistical summary of annual performance of viceregal exchequer Fidelismo allegiance to royalism during Independence period Fiestas patrias national celebrations, held annually in Peru to celebrate the anniversary of San Martín’s declaration of independence (28 July 1821) Fijo ‘fixed’; used to refer to regular troops stationed permanently in America Fiscal crown prosecuting attorney in an audiencia; the fiscal de lo civil dealt with civil suits, and the fiscal del crimen with criminal suits Flota fleet of merchant ships despatched periodically from Spain to the Gulf of Mexico Foráneo foreigner, stranger; refers specifically to non-Indians excluded by the Laws of the Indies from residing in an Indian community Fuero jurisdiction, privilege exempting corporate groups (e.g. military on active service with fuero militar and clergy with fuero ecclesiástico) from purview of civil courts Galeones fleet despatched periodically from Spain to Cartagena/ Isthmus of Panama Golpe coup, usually involving military Guano natural fertilizer derived from deposits of sea-birds’ droppings Hacendado owner of a hacienda

EUP_BPeru_10_Glossary

199

9/2/03, 13:57



   

Hacienda landed property Incanismo romantic evocation of Inca traditions Indigenismo admiration for indigenous traditions Informe written report Juez de residencia official or judge entrusted with reviewing conduct of a retiring official Juicio de residencia formal review of conduct of a retiring official Junta committee Labrador farmer Liberto nominally free child of a slave, obligated to parents’ owner Limeño native (of Spanish descent) of Lima Maravedí small currency unit (272 = 1 peso) Matrícula register Mestizo offspring of union between Indian and white Mita coercive labour recruitment of Indians on rotation basis Montaña eastern fringes of Andean mountains sloping towards Amazonia Montonera member of peasant militia Moreno free, pure-blooded black Mulatto offspring of white-black union Obras pías pious or charitable deeds Obraje manufactory of woollen cloth Oidor judge appointed to audiencia Palenque settlement of escaped slaves Pardo offspring of union between black and white Partida doble double-entry book keeping Partido subdivision of an intendancy Patio paved yard used (in this context) for refining silver ore by amalgamation with mercury Patronato patronage, oversight of ecclesiastical affairs (granted to Spanish crown and its representatives by the papacy) Peninsular peninsula-born Spaniard Peso silver coin weighing one ounce, equivalent to a dollar Pisco brandy from southern Peru/northern Chile Plaza de armas main square of a municipality, with seats of government of the principal administrative officer and the municipal council Plebe masses, populace, rabble Porteño native of Buenos Aires Potestad de orden sacramental powers of ordained priest Propios and arbitrios municipal property and revenues Proyectista planner or theorist Pulpero local storekeeper Ramos de real hacienda income streams of treasury available for general expenditure Real silver coin, one-eighth of a peso Real acuerdo executive session of audiencia, presided over by viceroy

EUP_BPeru_10_Glossary

200

9/2/03, 13:57

   



Real de vellón base-metal coin, one-twentieth of a peso Regalía royal prerogative Regidor municipal councillor Regio vicariato divine right of monarch to act as vicar general of God Reglamento ordinance, regulation, by-law Relación de gobierno formal report of his period of office written by an administrator (normally a viceroy) for the information of his successor Repartimiento coercive distribution of merchandise to Indian communities Revisita inspection, usually undertaken for purpose of revising register of tributaries Ropa de la tierra coarse woollen cloth produced by obrajes Selva tropical forest Sierra highlands Socavón adit; drainage tunnel for a mine Socorros ‘assistance’, scheme devised by Escobedo for modified repartimiento system Tocuyo coarse canvas cloth Tribunal de cuentas tribunal of accounts Vicuña small Andean mammal (related to llama and alpaca) with very fine wool Visita examination, inspection Visitador inspector Visitador general official despatched by crown to undertake a general inspection (visita general) of a kingdom or viceroyalty Zambo offspring of union between Indian and black

EUP_BPeru_10_Glossary

201

9/2/03, 13:57

 

Archives and Bibliography

  Archives Peru Archivo Departamental de Arequipa, Arequipa (ADA) Protocolos. Rafael de Hurtado (1808) Francisco Javier de Linares (1815) Archivo Departamental del Cusco, Cusco (ADC) Comunicaciones del Virrey La Serna. Leg. 1 Intendencia. Gobierno. Leg. 157, 158 Intendencia. Gobierno Virreinal. Leg. 159, 160 Intendencia. Real Hacienda. Leg. 225 Periódicos. Libros 1, 2A, 11 Real Audiencia del Cuzco. Libro 3 Real Audiencia del Cuzco. Archivo Notarial de Don José Izquierdo. Leg. 19 Real Audiencia del Cuzco. Asuntos Administrativos. Leg. 178, 180 Real Audiencia del Cuzco. Sección Judicial Administrativa. Leg. 27 Tesorería Fiscal. Ejército Realista. Leg. 312, 313, 314, 315 Tesorería Fiscal. Libros 15, 16 Archivo General de la Nación, Lima (AGN) Cabildo. Leg. 15 Minería. Leg. 49, 56, 57. Superior Gobierno. Leg, 25, 27, 33, 35, 37 Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Hacienda y Comercio, Sección Colonial, Lima (AHMH) Casa de Moneda. MS 14–63 Colección Santamaria. MSS 00126, 00217 Leg. 51 Libro de Cédulas 900 Miscelánea. MS 0001 Archivo Histórico Municipal, Lima (AHM) Libro de Cabildo 42

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

202

9/2/03, 13:59

  



Libros de Cédulas 27, 31 Archivo General del Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Lima (AGMRE) Sección Colonial. Libro 2–2 Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima (BNP). MSS C1288, C1341, C3558, C4014, C4129, C4555, D127, D210, D4717, D8229, D10128, D10290, D10959, D11619 Spain Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla (AGI) Audiencia de Cuzco. Leg. 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 29, 31, 35 Audiencia de Lima. Leg. 599, 601, 602, 606, 608, 610, 618, 620, 622, 623, 625, 627, 630, 639, 640, 644, 646, 647, 649, 707, 745, 762, 763, 764, 775, 777, 778, 799, 800, 802, 805, 806, 974, 1024, 1039, 1040, 1041, 1068, 1069, 1082, 1086, 1097, 1099, 1100, 1101, 1103, 1104, 1107, 1111, 1115, 1116, 1117, 1119, 1120, 1121, 1125, 1133, 1136, 1228, 1357, 1358, 1359, 1360, 1361, 1620 Indiferente General. Leg. 652, 1524, 1525, 1527, 1568, 1569, 1570, 1571, 1713, 1714, 1798, 2467 Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid (AHN) Consejos. Leg. 21266. Biblioteca de Menéndez Pelayo, Santander (BMP) Papeles de Pezuela. MSS 1, 5, 6, 10, 13 United Kingdom British Library, London (BL) Additional MSS 17,580, 20,986 Egerton MSS 771

Published Primary Sources J. F. de Abascal y Sousa, Memoria de gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and J. A. Calderón Quijano, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 2 vols., 1944. A. de Alcedo, Diccionario geográfico histórico de las Indias Occidentales o América: es á saber, de los reynos del Perú, Nueva España, Tierra-Firme, Chile, y Nuevo Reyno de Granada, Madrid, B. Cano, 5 vols., 1786–1789. M. de Amat y Junient, Memoria de gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and F. Pérez Embid, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1947. G. Anson, A Voyage Round the World in the Years MDCCXL, I, II, III, IV by George Anson, Esq, London, J. & P. Knapton, 1748. V. M. Barriga, ed. Memorias para la historia de Arequipa. Relaciones de la visita del intendente de Arequipa, don Antonio Alvarez y Jiménez, Arequipa, Editorial La Colmena, 3 vols., 1941–1948. C. Bueno, Geografía del Perú virreinal (siglo XVIII), ed. D. Valcárcel, Lima, D. Valcárcel, 1951. A. Caldcleugh, Travels in South America during the Years 1819–20–21, London, John Murray, 2 vols., 1825. J. Campillo y Cossio, Nuevo sistema de gobierno económico para la América, Madrid, Imprenta de B. Cano, 1789.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

203

9/2/03, 13:59



  

I. de Castro, Relación del Cuzco, ed. C. D. Valcárcel, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Dirección Universitaria de Biblioteca y Publicaciones, 1978. F. S. Clavigero, Storia antica del Messico, cavata da’ migliori storici spagnuoli e da’ manoscritti e dalle pitture antiche degl’Indiani, Cesena, G. Biassini, 4 vols., 1780–1781. Colección documental de la independencia del Perú, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 87 vols. in 30 tomos, 1971–1974. E. Dunbar Temple (ed.), ‘Un informe del obispo don Baltasar Jaime de Compañon en el juicio de residencia del virrey Amat’, Documenta, Vol. 2, 1949–1950, pp. 652–55. L. A. Eguiguren, (ed.), Guerra separatista: rebeliones de indios en Sur América. La sublevación de Túpac Amaru, Lima, Imprenta Torres Aguirre, 2 vols., 1952. Floridablanca, Conde de, Obras originales del conde de Floridablanca, y escritos referentes a su persona, ed. A. Ferrer del Río, Madrid, Biblioteca de Autores Españoles, 1952. A. F. Frézier, Relation du voyage de la mer du Sud aux côtes du Chily, et du Pérou fait pendant les années 1712, 1713, et 1714, Paris, J.-C. Nyon, 1716. M. A. Fuentes, (ed.), Memorias de los virreyes que han gobernado el Perú, 6 vols., Lima, F. Bailly, 1859. A. García Camba, Memorias para la historia de las armas reales en el Perú, Madrid, Sociedad Tipográfica de Hortelano y Compañía, 1846. J. A. Guevara Gil, Propiedad agraria y derecho colonial: los documentos de la hacienda Santosis Cuzco (1543–1822), Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1993. W. N. Hargreaves-Mawdsley (ed.), Spain under the Bourbons, 1700–1833: A Collection of Documents, London, Macmillan, 1973. A. de Humboldt, Ensayo político sobre el reino de la Nueva España, ed. J. A. Ortega y Medina, México, Porrua, 1966. Ingenuo, Rebelión de Aznapuquino por varios jefes del exército español para deponer del mando al dignismo Virrey . . . J. de la Pezuela, Rio de Janeiro, Moreira y Garcés, 1821; Lima, Manuel del Río, 1822. A. Jáuregui y Aldecoa, Relación y documentos del gobierno del virrey del Perú, Agustín de Jáuregui y Aldecoa, 1700–1784, ed. R. Contreras, Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 1982. J. Juan y Santacilia and A. de Ulloa, Discourse and Political Reflections on the Kingdoms of Peru. Their Government, Special Regimen of Their Inhabitants, and Abuses Which Have Been Introduced into One and Another, with Special Information on why They Grew Up and Some Means to Avoid Them, ed. J. J. TePaske, Norman, OK, University of Oklahoma Press, 1978. J. Juan y Santacilia and A. de Ulloa, Noticias secretas de América, sobre el estado naval, militar y político de los reynos del Perú y provincias del Quito, costas de Nueva Granada y Chile, gobierno y régimen particular de los pueblos de Indios, London, R. Taylor, 1826. [Twentieth-century editions include Madrid, Editorial América, 1918, ed. R. Blanco Fombona; Buenos Aires, Mar Océano, 1953; Madrid, Historia 16, 1991, ed. L. J. Ramos Gómez]. J. Juan y Santacilia and A. de Ulloa, Relación histórica del viaje a la América meridional, hecho de orden de S. Mag. para medir algunos grados de meridiano terrestre, Madrid, Antonio Marín, 4 vols., 1748. F. A. Loayza, Preliminares del incendio: documentos del año de 1776 a 1780 . . . anteriores y sobre la Revolución Libertadora que engendró y dio vida José Gabriel Túpak Amaru en 1780, Lima, Domingo Miranda, 1947. S. Lorente (ed.), Relaciones de los virreyes y audiencias que han gobernado el Perú, Lima, Imprenta del Estado por J. E. del Campo, 3 vols., 1867–1872.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

204

9/2/03, 13:59

  



J. A. Manso de Velasco, Relación y documentos de gobierno del virrey del Perú, José A. Manso de Velasco, Conde de Superunda (1745–1761), ed. A. Moreno Cebrián, Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 1983. G. F. Mathison, Narrative of a Visit to Brazil, Chile, Peru and the Sandwich Islands during the Years 1821 and 1822, London, Charles Knight, 1825. Mercurio Peruano de historia, literatura y noticias publicas que da a la luz la Sociedad Académica de Amantes de Lima, Lima, Imprenta Real de los Niños Expósitos, 12 vols., 1791–1795. J. Miller, The Memoirs of General Miller in the Service of the Republic of Peru, London, Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 2 vols., 1829. B. de Monteagudo, Memoria sobre los principios políticos que seguí en la administración del Perú y acontecimientos posteriores a mi separación, Santiago de Chile, Imprenta Nacional, 1823. Ordenanza general formada de orden de S. M. para el gobierno e instrucción de intendentes, subdelegados y demas empleados en Indias, Madrid, Imprenta de la Viuda de Ibarra, 1803. C. de Pauw, Recherches philosophiques sur les americains, ou mémoires intéressants pour servir à l’histoire de l’espèce humaine, Berlin, G. J. Decker, 2 vols., 1768–1769. J. de la Pezuela y Sánchez Múñoz de Velasco, Manifiesto en que el virrey del Perú Don J. de la Pezuela refiere el hecho y circunstancias de su separación del mando. . ., Madrid, Imprenta de D. Leonardo Núñez de Vargas, 1821. J. de la Pezuela y Sánchez Múñoz de Velasco, Memoria de gobierno, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and G. Lohmann Villena, Seville, Escuela de Estudios HispanoAmericanos, 1947. J. de la Pezuela y Sánchez Múñoz de Velasco, Memoria militar del general Pezuela (1813– 1815), ed. F. Denegri Luna, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1955. M. E. de Rivero y Ustáriz, Colección de memorias científicas, agrícolas é industriales en distintas epocas, Brussels, H. Goemaere, 2 vols. in 1, 1857. J. R. Rodil, Memoria del sitio del Callao, ed. V. Rodríguez Casado and G. Lohmann Villena, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1955. C. A. Romero (ed.), Memoria del virrey del Perú, marqués de Avilés, Lima, Imprenta del Estado, 1901. A. Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, Dublin, Whitestone, 3 vols., 1776. E. Temple, Travels in Various Parts of Peru, Including a Year’s Residence in Potosí, London, Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 2 vols., 1830. J. J. TePaske and H. S. Klein, The Royal Treasuries of the Spanish Empire in America, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 4 vols., 1982–1990. M. Torrente, Historia de la Revolución Hispano-Americana, Madrid, Imprenta de D. Leon Amarita, 3 vols., 1829, H. Unánue, Guía política, eclesiástica y militar del virreynato del Perú para el año de 1793, Lima, COFIDE, 1985. G. de Uztáriz, Theorica y práctica de comercio y de marina, Madrid, Imprenta de A. Sanz, 1742. J. Valdés, Documentos para la historia de la guerra separatista del Perú, ed. F. Valdés y Héctor (Conde de Torata), Madrid, Imprenta de la Viuda de M. Minuesa de los Ríos, 4 vols., 1894–1898. R. Vargas Ugarte (ed.), ‘Informe del tribunal del consulado de Lima, 1790’, RH, Vol. 22, 1955–1956, pp. 266–310.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

205

9/2/03, 13:59



  

J. P. Viscardo y Guzmán, Obra Completa, Lima, Ediciones del Congreso de la República del Perú, 2 vols., 1998.

  Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión Emancipadora de Túpac Amaru, 1982. L. Alayza y Paz Soldán, La constitución de Cádiz: el egregio limeño Morales y Duárez, Lima, Editorial Lumen, 1946. J. Albi, Banderas olivadadas: el ejército realista en América, Madrid, Cultura Hispánica, 1990. K. J. Andrien, Crisis and Decline: the Viceroyalty of Peru in the Seventeenth Century, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1985. K. J. Andrien, The Kingdom of Quito, 1690–1830: the State and Regional Development, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1995. K. J. Andrien, ‘The Noticias secretas de América and the Construction of a Governing Ideology for the Spanish American Empire’, Colonial Latin American Review, Vol. 7, 1998, pp. 175–92. K. J. Andrien and L. L. Johnson. The Political Economy of Spanish America in the Age of Revolution, 1750–1850, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1994. T. E. Anna, The Fall of the Royal Government in Peru, Lincoln, NE, University of Nebraska Press, 1979. T. E. Anna, Spain and the Loss of America, Lincoln, NE & London, University of Nebraska Press, 1983. A. Annino, ‘Otras naciones: sincretismo político en el México decimonónico’, in Imaginar la Nación, ed. F.-X. Guerra and M. Quijada, Münster, Lit Verlag, 1994, pp. 215–55. M. J. Aparacio Vega, El clero patriota en la revolución de 1814, Cusco, Multi-Impresos, 1974. M. Artola, ‘Campillo y las reformas de Carlos III’, RI, Vol. 12, 1952, pp. 685–714. C. S. Assadourian, El sistema de la economía colonial: mercado interno, regiones y espacio económico, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1982. P. J. Bakewell, ‘Registered Silver Production in the Potosí District, 1550–1735’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte von Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft Lateinamerikas, Vol. 12, 1975, pp. 67–103. J. A. Barbier, Reform and Politics in Bourbon Chile, 1755–1796, Ottawa, University of Ottawa Press, 1980. A. Barral, Rebeliones indígenas en la América española, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. F. A. Barreda, Manuel Pardo Ribadeneira, regente de la real audiencia del Cuzco, Lima, Editorial Lumen, 1954. M. Battlori, El abate Viscardo: historia y mito de la intervención de los Jesuitas en la independencia de Hispanoamérica, Caracas, Instituto Panamericano de Geografía e Historia, 1953. E. Beltrán Gallardo, Las guerrillas de Yauyos en la emancipación del Perú, 1820–1824, Lima, Editores Técnicos Asociados, 1977. J. Bernales Ballesteros, Lima: la ciudad y sus monumentos, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1972. A. Béthencourt Massieu, Patiño en la política internacional de Felipe V, Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid, 1954.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

206

9/2/03, 14:00

  



P. Blanchard, Slavery and Abolition in Early Republican Peru, Wilmington, DE, Scholarly Resources, 1992. H. Bonilla and K. Spalding, ‘La independencia en el Perú: las palabras y los hechos’, in La independencia en el Perú, ed. H. Bonilla, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1972, pp. 70–113. D. A. Brading, ‘Bourbon Spain and its American Empire’, in The Cambridge History of Latin America. Volume 1: Colonial Latin America, ed. L. Bethell, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1984, pp. 389–539. D. A. Brading and H. E. Cross, ‘Colonial Silver Mining: Mexico and Peru’, HAHR, vol. 52, 1972, pp. 545–79. P. T. Bradley, The Lure of Peru: Maritime Intrusion into the South Sea, 1598–1701, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1989. K. W. Brown, Bourbons and Brandy. Imperial Reform in Eighteenth-Century Arequipa, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1986. D. G. Browning and D. J. Robinson, ‘Census Legacy from the Spanish Empire’, The Geographical Magazine, Vol. 48, 1976, pp. 225–30. R. M. Buechler, The Mining Society of Potosí, 1776–1810, Ann Arbor, MI, University Microfilms International, 1981. M. Burga, Nacimiento de una utopía: muerte y resurrección de los incas, Lima, Instituto de Apoyo Agrario, 1988. M. A. Burkholder, ‘From Creole to Peninsular: the Transformation of the Audiencia of Lima’, HAHR, Vol. 52, 1972, pp. 395–415. M. A. Burkholder, Politics of a Colonial Career: José Baquíjano and the Audiencia of Lima, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1980. M. A. Burkholder and D. S. Chandler. Biographical Dictionary of Audiencia Ministers in the Americas, 1687–1821, Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1982. M. A. Burkholder and D. S. Chandler, From Impotence to Authority: The Spanish Crown and the American Audiencias, 1687–1808, Columbia, MO, University of Missouri Press, 1977. M. A. Burkholder and L. L. Johnson, Colonial Latin America, New York, Oxford UP, 1994. D. P. Cahill, ‘Colour by Numbers: Racial and Ethnic Categories in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1532–1824’, JLAS, Vol. 26, 1994, pp. 325–46. D. P. Cahill, ‘Crown, Clergy and Revolution in Bourbon Peru: the Diocese of Cuzco 1780– 1814’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1984. D. P. Cahill, ‘Curas and Social Conflict in the doctrinas of Cuzco’, JLAS, Vol. 16, 1984, pp. 241–76. D. P. Cahill, ‘Independencia, sociedad y fiscalidad: el sur andino (1780–1880)’, Revista Complutense de Historia de América, Vol. 19, 1993, pp. 249–68. D. P. Cahill, ‘Repartos ilícitos y familias principales en el sur andino, 1780–1824’, RI, Vol. 48, 1988, pp. 449–73. D. P. Cahill, ‘Taxonomy of a Colonial “Riot”: The Arequipa Disturbances of 1780', in Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, ed. J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990, pp. 255–91. D. P. Cahill, ‘Una visión andina: el levantamiento de Ocongate de 1815’, Histórica, Vol. 12, 1988, pp. 133–59. D. P. Cahill and S. O’Phelan Godoy, ‘Forging their Own History: Indian Insurgency in the Southern Peruvian Sierra’, Bulletin of Latin American Research, Vol. 11, 1992, pp. 125–67.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

207

9/2/03, 14:00



  

L. G. Campbell, ‘A Colonial Establishment: Creole Domination of the Audiencia of Lima During the Late Eighteenth Century’, HAHR, Vol. 52, 1972, pp. 1–25. L. G. Campbell, ‘After the Fall: the Reformation of the Army of Peru, 1784–1816’, Ibero- Amerikanishes Archiv, Vol. 3, 1977, pp. 1–28. L. G. Campbell, ‘Black Power in Colonial Peru: the 1779 Tax Rebellion of Lambayeque’, Phylon, Vol. 33, 1972, pp. 140–52. L. G. Campbell, The Military and Society in Colonial Peru, 1750–1810, Philadelphia, PA, The American Philosophical Society, 1978. L. G. Campbell, ‘Rebel or Royalist? Bishop Juan Manuel de Moscoso y Peralta and the Túpac Amaru Revolt in Peru, 1780–1784’, Revista de Historia de América, Vol. 86, 1978, pp. 135–67. L. G. Campbell, ‘The Army of Peru and the Túpac Amaru Revolt, 1780–1783’, HAHR, Vol. 56, 1976, pp. 31–57. P. Castañeda Delgado and J. Marchena Fernández, La jerarquía de la iglesia en Indias, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. M. Castro Arenas, La rebelión de Juan Santos, Lima, Milla Batres, 1973. G. Céspedes del Castillo, ‘La renta del tabaco en el virreinato del Perú’, RH, Vol. 21, 1954, pp. 138–63. G. Céspedes del Castillo, ‘Lima y Buenos Aires: repercusiones económicas y políticas de la creación del virreinato de Plata’, AES, Vol. 2, 1946, pp. 669–874. G. Céspedes del Castillo, ‘Reorganización de la hacienda virreinal peruana en el siglo XVIII’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español, Vol. 23, 1953, pp. 326–69. M. Chocano M., Comercio en Cerro de Pasco a fines de la época colonial, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1982. J.-P. Clément, El Mercurio Peruano 1790–1795, Frankfurt, Vervuert, 2 vols., 1997–1998. J. H. Coatsworth, ‘The Mexican Mining Industry in the Eighteenth Century’, in The Economies of Mexico and Peru During the Late Colonial Period, 1760–1810, ed. N. Jacobsen and H.-J. Puhle, Berlin, Colloquium Verlag, 1986, pp. 26–45. J. L. Comellas, Los primeros pronunciamientos en España 1814–1820, Madrid, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1958. J. L. Comellas, Los realistas en el trienio constitucional (1820–1823), Pamplona, Gómez Gorriti, 1958. C. Contreras, ‘El reemplazo del beneficio de patio en la minería peruana’, Revista de Economía, Vol. 41, 1998, pp. 107–41. C. Contreras, Los mineros y el rey. Los Andes del norte: Hualgayoc 1770–1825, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1995. M. Contreras and C. Cortés, Catálogo de la Colección Mata Linares, Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia, 1970. J. A. Cosamalón Aguilar, ‘Amistades peligrosas: matrimonios indígenas y espacios de convivencia inter-racial (Lima 1795–1820)’, in Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999, pp. 345–68. L. Costa Villavivencio, Historia cronológica del Perú, Lima, Editorial Universo, 8 vols., 1950. M. P. Costeloe, Response to Revolution: Imperial Spain and the Spanish American Revolutions, 1810–1840, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1986. W. Coxe, Memoirs of the Kings of Spain of the House of Bourbon from the Accession of Philip V to the Death of Charles III, 1700 to 1788, London, Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1815.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

208

9/2/03, 14:00

  



A. Crespo, Santa Cruz: el condor indio, México, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1944. J. Cruces Pozo, ‘Cualidades militares del virrey Amat’, AES, Vol. 9, 1952, pp. 327–45. R. Cúneo Vidal, Historia de las insurrecciones de Tacna por la independencia del Perú, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1961. N. P. Cushner, Lords of the Land: Sugar, Wine and Jesuit Estates of Colonial Peru,1600– 1767, Albany, NY, State University of New York Press, 1980. K. A. Davies, Landowners in Colonial Peru, Austin, TX, University of Texas Press, 1984. F. G. Dawson, The First Latin American Debt Crisis: the City of London and the 1822–25 Loan Bubble, New Haven, CT, Yale UP, 1990. A. E. De la Torre y López, ‘Juan Santos: ¿El Invencible?’, Histórica, vol. 17, 1993, pp. 239– 66. F. Denegri Luna, A. Nieto Vélez, and A. Tauro, Antología de la independencia del Perú, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 1972. J. R. Deustua, La minería peruana y la iniciación de la república, 1820–1840, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1986. C. Deustua Pimentel, Las intendencias en el Perú (1700–1796), Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispanoamericanos, 1965. F. Díaz Venteo, Campañas militares del virrey Abascal, Sevilla, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1948. R. Donoso, El marqués de Osorno, don Ambrosio O’Higgins, 1720–1801, Santiago, Universidad de Chile, 1941. G. Durand Flórez, ‘Alta Cámara de Justicia’, in Quinto Congreso Internacional de Historia de América, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 5 vols., 1972, vol. 5, pp. 264–316. L. A. Eguiguren, Guerra separatista del Perú. La rebelión de León de Huanuco, Lima, Sanmartí y Cia., 1912. L. A. Eguiguren, Guerra separatista. La tentativa de rebelión que concibió el doctor José Mateo Silva en Lima, Buenos Aires, Imprenta López, 2 vols., 1957. L. A. Eguiguren, La revolución de 1814, Lima, La Opinión Nacional, 1914. El ejército en la independencia del Perú, Lima, Ministerio de Guerra, 4 tomos, 1984, tomo IV, vols. 1–3. L. M. Enciso Recio, La opinión pública española y la independencia hispanoamericana 1819– 1820, Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid, 1967. W. Espinoza Soriano, ‘El alcalde mayor indígena en el virreinato del Perú’, AES, Vol. 17, 1960, pp. 183–300. G. A. Espinoza Ruiz, ‘La reforma de la educación superior en Lima: el caso del Real Convictorio de San Carlos’, in Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999, pp. 205–41. M. Fernández Almagro, La emancipación de América y su reflejo en la conciencia española, Madrid, Instituto de Estudios Políticos, 1957. F. Fernández Alonso, Presencia de Jaén en América: la visita general de Jorge Escobedo y Alarcón al virreinato del Perú en el siglo XVIII (1782–1788), Jaén, Instituto de Estudios Giennenses, 1991. J. R. Fisher, ‘Adam Smith y la economía marítima del mundo hispano 1776–c. 1820’, in Actas del VII Congreso Internacional de Historia de América, ed. J. A. Armillas Vicente, Zaragoza, Gobierno de Aragón, 1998, pp. 1445–1450. J. R. Fisher, Arequipa 1796–1811. La relación del gobierno del intendente Salamanca, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1968.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

209

9/2/03, 14:00



  

J. R. Fisher, ‘Attempted Technological Innovation in the Late Colonial Peruvian Mining Industry, 1776–1824’, in In Quest of Mineral Wealth: Aboriginal and Colonial Mining and Metallurgy in Spanish America, ed. A. K. Craig and R. C. West, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1944, pp. 329–42. J. R. Fisher, El comercio entre España e Hispanoamérica (1797–1820), Madrid, Banco de España, 1993. J. R. Fisher, ‘Comercio libre entre Andalucía y América, 1778–1796’, in IV Jornadas de Andalucía y América, ed. B. Torres Ramírez and J. Hernández Palomo, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispanoamericanos, 2 vols., 1985, vol. 1, pp. 37–58. J. R. Fisher, Commercial Relations between Spain and Spanish America in the Era of Free Trade, 1778–1796, Liverpool, Centre for Latin American Studies, 1985. J. R. Fisher, ‘Commerce and Imperial Decline: Spanish Trade with Spanish America, 1797–1820’, JLAS, Vol. 30, 1998, pp. 459–79. [A slightly-revised version has been published as ‘El comercio y el ocaso imperial: el comercio español con Hispanoamérica, 1797–1820’, in Relaciones de poder y comercio colonial, ed. E. Vila Vilar and A. J. Kuethe, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1999, pp. 173–93]. J. R. Fisher, ‘Commentary on “Public Expenditure Financing in the Colonial Treasury”’, HAHR, Vol. 64, 1984, pp. 313–19. J. R. Fisher, ‘Cultural and Political Identity in Late Colonial and Early 19th Century Peru’, in Essays on Cultural Identity in Colonial Latin America, ed. J. Lechner, Leiden, Vakgroep Talen en Culturen van Latijns Amerika, 1988, pp. 1–13. J. R. Fisher, The Economic Aspects of Spanish Imperialism in America, 1492–1810, Liverpool, Liverpool UP, 1997. J. R. Fisher, ‘The Effects of Comercio Libre on the Economies of New Granada and Peru: a Comparison’, in Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, ed. J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990, pp. 147–63. J. R. Fisher, ‘Free Trade between the Canary Islands and Spanish America’, in Actas del VI Coloquio de Historia Canario-Americana (1984), ed. F. Morales Padrón, Las Palmas, Ediciones del Cabildo Insular de Gran Canaria, 1987, pp. 387–404. J. R. Fisher, ‘Fuentes para el estudio del comercio entre España y América en el último cuarto del siglo XVIII: los registros del Archivo General de Indias’, Archivo Hispalense, Vol. 207–208, 1985, pp. 287–302. J. R. Fisher, Gobierno y sociedad en el Perú colonial, 1776–1824, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1981. J. R. Fisher, Government and Society in Colonial Peru: The Intendant System 1784–1814, London, Athlone Press, 1970. J. R. Fisher, ‘La historiografía de Latinoamérica en Gran Bretaña durante los últimos 25 años’, in Problemas actuales de la historia: Terceras Jornadas de Estudios Históricos, ed. J. M. Sánchez Nistal et. al., Salamanca, Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca, 1993, pp. 113–29. J. R. Fisher, ‘El impacto del comercio libre en el Perú, 1778–1796’, RI, Vol. 48, 1988, pp. 401–20. J. R. Fisher, ‘Imperialism, Centralism, and Regionalism in Peru, 1776–1845’, in Region and Class in Modern Peruvian History, ed. R. M. Miller, Liverpool, Institute of Latin American Studies, 1987, pp. 21–34. J. R. Fisher, ‘The Intendant System in Peru, 1784 to 1814’, MPhil Dissertation, University of London, 1967. J. R. Fisher, ‘Local Power and National Power in Late Colonial/Early Republican

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

210

9/2/03, 14:00

  



Peru’, in Nation Building in Nineteenth Century Latin America, ed. H.-J. König and M. Wiesebron, Leiden, CNWS Publications, 1998, pp. 189–200. J. R. Fisher, Matrícula de los mineros del Perú, 1790, Lima, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Seminario de Historia Rural Andina, 1975. J. R. Fisher, Minas y mineros en el Perú colonial, 1776–1824, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1977. J. R. Fisher, ‘Miners, Silver-Merchants and Capitalists in Late Colonial Peru’, IberoAmerikanisches Archiv, Vol. 2, 1976, pp. 257–68. J. R. Fisher, Peru, Oxford, Clio Press, 1989. J. R. Fisher, ‘El Real Seminario de Vergara y la expedición mineralógica al Perú de Thaddeus von Nordenflicht’, in Presencia vasca en América, ed. J. M. Pérez de Arenaza Múgica, Vitoria, Gobierno Vasco, 1994, pp. 237–45 J. R. Fisher, ‘La Rebelión de Túpac Amaru y el programa de la reforma imperial de Carlos III’, AES, Vol., 1971, pp. 405–21. [Also published in Quinto Congreso Internacional de Historia de América, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 5 vols., 1972, vol. 2, pp. 406–17; and in Sociedad colonial y sublevaciones populares: Túpac Amaru – 1780, ed. A. Flores Galindo, Lima, Retablo de Papel, 1976, pp. 107–28]. J. R. Fisher, ‘La rebelión de Túpac Amaru y la conspiración de Aguilar y Ubalde de 1805’, in Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su Tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión Emancipadora de Túpac Amaru, 1982, pp. 261–70. J. R. Fisher, ‘Regionalism and Rebellion in Late Colonial Peru: the Aguilar-Ubalde Conspiracy of 1805’, Bibliotheca Americana, Vol. 1, 1982, pp. 45–59. J. R. Fisher, ‘Relaciones comerciales entre España y la cuenca del Caribe en la época del “comercio libre”, 1778–1820', in Primer Congreso Internacional de Historia Económica y Social de la Cuenca del Caribe, 1763–1898, ed. R. E. Alegría, San Juan de Puerto Rico, Centro de Estudios Avanzados de Puerto Rico y el Caribe, 1993, pp. 209–58. J. R. Fisher, ‘Els resultats des comerç lliure per a les relacions comercials entre Espanya i Amèrica amb referència especial al cas català: preguntes i algunes respostes’, in 2nes Jornadas d’Estudis Catalano-Americans, ed. C. Martínez Shaw, Barcelona, Comissió Catalana del Cinquè Centenari del Descobriment d’Amèrica, 1987, pp. 209–58. J. R. Fisher, ‘Royalism, Regionalism and Rebellion in Colonial Peru, 1808–1815’, HAHR, Vol. 59, 1979, pp. 232–57 [republished as ‘Monarquismo, regionalismo y rebelión en el Perú colonial, 1808–1815’, Historia y Cultura, Vol. 15, 1982, pp. 117– 39]. J. R. Fisher, Silver Mines and Silver Miners in Colonial Peru, 1776–1824, Liverpool, Centre for Latin American Studies, 1977. J. R. Fisher, ‘Silver Mining in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1776–1824’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1973. J. R. Fisher, ‘Silver Production in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1776–1824’, HAHR, Vol. 44, 1975, pp. 25–43. J. R. Fisher, ‘Tentativas de modernizar la tecnología minera en el virreinato del Perú: la misión minera de Nordenflicht (1788–1810)’, in Minería y metalurgía: intercambio tecnológico y cultural entre América y Europa durante el período colonial español, ed. M. Castillo Martos, Seville/Bogotá, Muñoz Moya y Montraveta Editores, 1994, pp. 329–48.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

211

9/2/03, 14:00



  

J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990. R. Flores, ‘Iniciativa privada o intervencionismo estatal: el caso de la Real Compañia de Filipinas en el Peru’, in S. O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), El Perú en el siglo XVIII, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999, pp. 147–76. A. Flores Galindo, Aristocracia y plebe: Lima 1760–1830, Lima, Mosca Azul, 1984. A. Flores Galindo, Buscando un Inca: identidad y utopía en los Andes, Lima, Horizonte, 1984. A. Flores Galindo, La ciudad sumergida: aristocracia y plebe en Lima, 1760–1830, Lima, Horizonte, 1990. J. Gálvez, ‘El Perú como estado: proyectos políticos independentistas’, in La independencia del Perú: de los borbones a Bolívar, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2001, pp. 319–50. A. García-Baquero Gónzalez, Cádiz y el Atlántico (1717–1778), Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 2 vols., 1976. M. C. García Bernal, ‘Política indigenista del reformismo de Carlos III y Carlos IV’, Temas Americanistas, Vol. 13, 1997, pp. 8–16. M. T. García Godoy, Las Cortes de Cádiz y América: el primer vocabulario liberal español y mejicano (1810–1814), Seville, Diputación de Sevilla, 1998. J. A. García Vera, Los comerciantes trujillanos (1780–1840), Lima, Artex Editores, 1989. R. L. Garner, ‘Silver Production and Entrepreneurship in Eighteenth Century Mexico’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas, Vol. 17, 1980, pp. 157–85. E. J. Gates, ‘Don José Antonio de Areche: His Own Defense’, HAHR, Vol. 8, 1928, pp. 14– 42. L. M. Glave and M. I. Remy, Estructura agraria y vida rural en una región andina: Ollantaytambo entre los siglos XVI y XIX, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Rurales Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’, 1983. A. González Enciso, Estado e industria en el siglo XVIII: la fábrica de Guadalajara, Madrid, Fundación Universitaria Española, 1980. P. Gootenberg, Between Silver and Guano: Commercial Policy and the State in Postindependence Peru, Princeton, NJ, Princeton UP, 1989. P. Gootenberg, ‘Population and Ethnicity in Early Republican Peru: Some Revisions’, Latin American Research Review, Vol. 26, 1991, pp. 109–57. P. Guardino, ‘Las guerrillas y la independencia peruana: un ensayo de interpretación’, Pasado y Presente, Vol. 2, 1989, pp. 101–17. P. Guardino and C. Walker, ‘Estado, sociedad y política en el Perú y México entre fines de la colonia y comienzos de la República’, Historica, Vol. 18, 1994, pp. 27–68. F.-X. Guerra and M. Quijada (eds), Imaginar la Nación, Münster, Lit Verlag, 1994. M. Haitin, ‘Urban Market and Agrarian Hinterland: Lima in the Late Colonial Period’, in The Economies of Mexico and Peru during the Late Colonial Period, ed. N. Jacobsen and H.-J. Puhle, Berlin, Colloquium Verlag, 1986, pp. 281–98. B. R. Hamnett, ‘Process and Pattern: a Re-examination of the Ibero-American Independence Movements, 1808–1826’, JLAS, Vol. 29, 1997, pp. 279–328. T. Hampe Martínez, ‘Visita a los Indios originarios y forasteros de Paucarcolla en 1728’, Revista Española de Antropología Americana, Vol. 15, 1985, pp. 209–40. W. N. Hargreaves-Mawdsley, Eighteenth-Century Spain 1700–1788: a Political, Diplomatic and Institutional History, London, Macmillan, 1979. A. de la Hera Pérez-Cuesta, Iglesia y corona en la América española, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

212

9/2/03, 14:00

  



E. A. Heredia, Planes españoles para reconquistar Hispanoamerica (1810–1818), Buenos Aires, Editorial Universitaria, 1974. R. Herr, The Eighteenth-Century Revolution in Spain, Princeton, NJ, Princeton UP, 1958. C. Hünefeldt, ‘Etapa final del monopolio en el virreinato del Perú: el tabaco de Chachapoyas’, in The Economies of Mexico and Peru during the Late Colonial Period, ed. N. Jacobsen and H.-J. Puhle, Berlin, Colloquium Verlag, 1986, pp. 388–417. J. F. King, ‘The Colored Castes and the American Representation in the Cortes of Cádiz’, HAHR, Vol. 33, 1953, pp. 33–64. H. S. Klein, The American Finances of the Spanish Empire: Royal Income and Expenditures in Colonial Mexico, Peru, and Bolivia, 1680–1809, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1998. G. Kubler, The Indian Caste of Peru, 1795–1940: a Population Study Based Upon Tax Records and Census Reports, Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1952. A. J. Kuethe, ‘La batalla de Cartagena de 1741: nuevas perspectivas’, Historiografía y Bibliografía Americanistas, Vol. 18, 1974, pp. 19–38. A. J. Kuethe, Cuba, 1753–1815: Crown, Military, and Society, Knoxville, TN, University of Tennessee Press, 1986. A. J. Kuethe, Military Reform and Society in New Granada, 1773–1808, Gainesville, FL, University Presses of Florida, 1978. A. J. Kuethe, ‘Towards a Periodization of the Reforms of Charles III’, Bibliotheca Americana, Vol. 1, 1982, pp. 143–67. C. Lazo García and J. Tord Nicolini, Del negro señorial al negro bandolero: cimarronaje y palenques en Lima, siglo XVIII, Lima, Biblioteca Peruana de Historia, Economía y Sociedad, 1977. C. Lazo García and J. Tord Nicolini, El tumulto esclavo en la hacienda San José de Nepeña, 1779: apuntes metodológicos para una historia social, Lima, Biblioteca Peruana de Historia, Economía y Sociedad, 1978. L. León Solis, ‘Malocas araucanas en las fronteras de Chile, Cuyo y Buenos Aires, 1700– 1800’, AES, Vol. 44, 1987, pp. 281–324. B. Lewin, La rebelión de Túpac Amaru y los orígenes de la independencia de Hispanoamérica, Buenos Aires, Librería Hachette, 1957. R. Liehr, ‘Endeudamiento estatal y credito privado: la consolidación de vales reales en Hispanoamérica’, AES, Vol. 41, 1984, pp. 553–78. J. Lockhart, Spanish Peru 1532–1560: a Social History, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1994. J. Lockhart, The Men of Cajamarca: a Social and Biographical Study of the First Conquerors of Peru, Austin, TX, University of Texas Press, 1972. G. Lohmann Villena, Las defensas militares de Lima y Callao, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1964. G. Lohmann Villena, Los americanos en las órdenes nobiliarias (1529–1900), Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 2 vols., 1947. G. Lohmann Villena, Tres catalanes, virreyes en el Perú, Madrid, Hidalguía, 1962. G. Lohmann Villena, Los ministros de la audiencia de Lima (1700–1821), Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1974. S. Lorente, Historia del Perú bajo los Borbones, 1700–1821, Lima, Gil y Aubert, 1871. J. Lynch, Administración colonial española: el sistema de intendencias en el virreinato del Río de la Plata, Buenos Aires, Editorial Universitaria de Buenos Aires, 1962. J. Lynch, Bourbon Spain, 1700–1808, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1989. J. Lynch, ‘British Policy and Spanish America, 1783–1808’, JLAS, Vol. 1, 1969, pp. 1–30.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

213

9/2/03, 14:00



  

J. Lynch, The Spanish American Revolutions 1808–1826, London, Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1973. L. N. McAlister, The “Fuero Militar” in New Spain, 1764–1800, Gainesville, FL, University Presses of Florida, 1957. A. McFarlane, Colombia before Independence: Economy, society and Politics under Bourbon Rule, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1993. A. McFarlane, ‘Political Corruption and Reform in Bourbon Spanish America’, in Political Corruption in Europe and Latin America, ed. W. Little and E. Posado-Carbó, London, Institute of Latin American Studies, 1996, pp. 41–63. A. McFarlane, ‘The Rebellion of the Barrios: Urban Insurrection in Bourbon Quito’, in Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, ed. J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990, pp. 197– 254. M. P. McKinley, Pre-Revolutionary Caracas: Politics, Economy and Society, 1777–1811, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1985. C. D. Malamud Rikles, Cádiz y Saint Malo en el comercio colonial peruano (1698–1725), Cádiz, Diputación de Cádiz, 1985. J. Marchena Fernández, Ejércitos y milicias en el mundo colonial americano, Madrid, MAPFRE, 1992. J. Marchena Fernández, ‘The Social World of the Military in Peru and New Granada: The Colonial Oligarchies in Conflict, 1750–1810’, in Reform and Insurrection in Bourbon New Granada and Peru, ed. J. R. Fisher, A. J. Kuethe, and A. McFarlane, Baton Rouge, LA, Louisiana State UP, 1990, pp. 54–95. J. M. Mariluz Urquijo, ‘La biblioteca de un oidor de la real audiencia de Buenos Aires’, Revista de la Facultad de Derecho y Ciencias Sociales, Vol. 10, Buenos Aires, 1955, pp. 808–814. L. Martín, The Intellectual Conquest of Peru: the Jesuit College of San Pablo, 1568–1767, New York, Fordham UP, 1968. L. Martín and J. A. Guerín Pettus, Scholars and Schools in Colonial Peru, Dallas, TX, Southern Methodist University, 1973. A. Martínez Riaza, La prensa doctrinal en la independencia del Perú 1811–1824, Madrid, Ediciones Cultura Hispánica, 1985. A. C. Mazzeo, ‘Comercio “neutral” y comercio “privilegiado” en el contexto de la guerra de España con Inglaterra y con Francia, 1796–1815', Derroteros de la Mar del Sur, Vol. 6, 1998, pp. 131–45. A. C. Mazzeo, ‘El comercio internacional en la época borbónico y la respuesta del consulado de Lima, 1778–1820’, Diálogos en Historia, Vol. 1., 1999, pp. 25–37. A. C. Mazzeo, El comercio libre en el Perú: las estrategias de un comerciante criollo: José Antonio de Lavalle y Cortés, conde de Premio Real, 1777–1815, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1995. C. Méndez Gastelumendi, ‘Incas Sí, Indios No: Notes on Peruvian Creole Nationalism and Its Contemporary Crisis’, JLAS, Vol. 28, 1996, pp. 197–225. C. Méndez-Gastelumendi, ‘The Power of Naming, or the Construction of Ethnic and National Identities in Peru: Myth, History and the Iquichanos’, Past and Present, Vol. 171, 2001, pp. 127–60. M. Méndez Guerrero, C. Pacheco Vélez, and J. M. Ugarte Elespúru, Lima, Madrid, Instituto de Cooperación Iberoamericana-Cultura Hispánica, 1986. M. de Mendíburu, Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú, Lima, J. Francisco Sola, 8 vols., 1874–1890.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

214

9/2/03, 14:00

  



M. Minchom, The People of Quito, 1690–1810: Change and Unrest in the Underclass, Boulder, CO, Westview Press, 1994. M. Minchom, ‘Urban Popular Society in Colonial Quito c. 1700–1800’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1984. M. Molina Martínez, Antonio de Ulloa en Huancavelica, Granada, Universidad de Granada, 1995. M. Molina Martínez, El real tribunal de minería de Lima (1785–1821), Seville, Diputación Provincial, 1986. J. P. Moore, The Cabildo in Peru under the Bourbons. Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1966. F. Morales Padrón, Atlas historico cultural de América, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Gobierno de Canarias, 2 vols., 1988. G. Morazzani de Pérez Enciso, Las ordenanzas de intendentes de Indias, Caracas, Universidad Central de Venezuela, 1972. A. Moreno Cebrián, El corregidor de indios y la economía peruana del siglo XVIII: los repartos forzosos de mercancías, Madrid, Instituto ‘Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo’, 1977. A. Moreno Cebrián, ‘La “Descripción del Perú” de Joaquín Bonet y la Ordenanza de Intendentes de 1803', RI, Vol. 149–50, 1977, pp. 723–88. A. Moreno Cebrián, ‘La linea reformista peruana en la dotación de corregidores y extinción de repartos’, in Actas del Coloquio Internacional ‘Túpac Amaru y su Tiempo’, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Bicentenario de la Rebelión de Túpac Amaru, 1982, pp. 379–406. M. Mörner, La corona española y los foráneos en los pueblos de indios de América, Stockholm, Almquist & Wiksell, 1970. M. Mörner, Notas sobre los comerciantes del Cusco desde fines de la colonia hasta 1930, Lima, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1979. M. Mörner, Perfil de la sociedad rural del Cuzco a fines de la colonia, Lima, Universidad del Pacífico, 1978. M. Mörner, Race Mixture in the History of Latin America, Boston, Little, Brown, 1967. M. Moscoso, ‘Apuntes para la historia de la industria textil en el Cusco colonial’, Revista Universitaria, Vol. 51–52, 1962–1963, pp. 67–94. L. Navarro Garcia, Intendencias en Indias, Seville, Escuela de Estudios HispanoAmericanos, 1959. M. Neira Avendaño, et. al., Historia general de Arequipa, Arequipa, Fundación M. J. Bustamente de la Fuente, 1990. A. Nieto Vélez, ‘Contribución a la historia del fidelismo en el Perú, 1808–1810’, Boletín del Instituto Riva-Agüero, Vol. 4, 1958–1960, pp. 9–146. A. Nieto Vélez, Junín and Ayacucho, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 1974. D. Ochagavía Fernández, ‘El I Conde de Superunda’, Berceo, Vol. 18, 1961, p. 25–48. S. O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), La independencia del Perú: de los borbones a Bolívar, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2001. S. O’Phelan Godoy (ed.), El Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Rebellions and Revolts in Eighteenth Century Peru and Upper Peru, Cologne, Bohlau Verlag, 1985. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Un siglo de rebeliones anticoloniales: Perú y Bolivia 1700–1783, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Rurales Andinos ‘Bartolomé de las Casas’, 1988. S. O’Phelan Godoy, ‘Repensando el Movimiento Nacional Inca del siglo XVIII’, in El

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

215

9/2/03, 14:00



  

Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1999, pp. 263–77. C. Pachecho Vélez, ‘Las conspiraciones del Conde de la Vega del Ren’, RH, Vol. 21, 1954, pp. 355–425. V. Palacio Atard, ‘Areche y Guirior: observaciones sobre el fracaso de una visita al Perú’, AES, Vol. 3, 1946, pp. 271–376. C. Parrón Salas, De las reformas borbónicas a la república: el consulado y el comercio marítimo de Lima, 1778–1821, San Javier (Murcia), Imprenta de la Academia General del Aire, 1995. A. J. Pearce, ‘Early Bourbon Government in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1700–1759’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1998. A. J. Pearce, ‘Huancavelica 1700–1759: Administrative Reform of the Mercury Industry in Early Colonial Peru’, HAHR, Vol. 79, 1999, pp. 39–72. A. J. Pearce, ‘The Peruvian Population Census of 1725–1740’, Latin American Research Review, Vol. 36, 2001, pp. 69–104. F. Pease G. Y., Curacas, reciprocidad y riqueza, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1982. J. M. Pérez Ayala, ‘Aspectos desconocidos de la vida del virrey don Manuel de Guirior, co-fundador de la Biblioteca Nacional de Bogotá’, Boletín de Historia y Antigüedades, Vol. 43, 1956, pp. 156–82. C. Pérez Bustamante, ‘El reinado de Fernando VI en el reformismo español del siglo XVIII’, Revista de la Universidad de Madrid, Vol. 3, 1954, pp. 491–514. M. P. Pérez Canto, Lima en el siglo XVII: estudio socioeconómico, Madrid, Universidad Autónoma-Instituto de Cooperación Iberoamericana, 1985. J. L. Phelan, The People and the King: the Comunero Rebellion in Colombia, 1781, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1978. H. Pietschmann, ‘Conciencia de identidad, legislación y derecho: algunos notas en torno al surgimiento del “individuo” y de la “nación” en el discurco político de la monarquía española durante el siglo XVIII’, in Dulce et decorum est philologiam colere. Festschrift für Dietrich Briesemeister zu seinem 65. Geburstag, ed. S. Grosse and A. Schönberger, Berlin, Domus Editoria Europaea, 1999, pp. 535–54. F. Pini Rodolfi, ‘La población del Perú a lo largo de un siglo: 1785–1884’, in Informe Demográfico: Peru - 1970, Lima, Centro de Estudios de Población y Desarrollo, 1972, pp. 19–123. A. W. Quiroz, Deudas olvidadas: instrumentos de crédito en la economía colonial peruana, 1750–1820, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1993. S. E. Ramírez, Provincial Patriarchs: Land Tenure and the Economics of Power in Colonial Peru, Albuquerque, NM, University of New Mexico Press, 1986. M. I. Remy, ‘La sociedad local al inicio de la república. Cusco, 1824–1850’, Revista Andina, Vol. 6, 1988, pp. 451–84. J. de la Riva Agüero, ‘Don José Baquíjano y Carrillo’, Boletín del Museo Bolivariano, Vol. 12, 1929, pp. 453–91. M. L. Rivara de Tuesta, Ideólogos de la emancipación peruana, Lima, Comisión Nacional del Sesquicentenario de la Independencia del Perú, 1972. R. Rivera Serna, Los guerrilleros del centro en la emancipación peruana, Lima, P. L. Villanueva, 1958. M. Rodríguez, The Cádiz Experiment in Central America, 1808 to 1826, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1978. J. E. Rodríguez O, The Independence of Spanish America, Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1998.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

216

9/2/03, 14:00

  



M. E. Rodríguez Vicente, ‘Los caudales remitidos desde el Perú a España por cuenta de la Real Hacienda. Series estadísticas (1651–1739)’, AES, Vol. 21, 1964, pp. 1–24. V. Roel, Los libertadores, Lima, Gráfica Labor, 1971. E. Romero, Memorias apócrifas del general José Manuel de Goyeneche, Lima, Editorial Minerva, 1971. J. H. Rowe, ‘The Incas under Spanish Colonial Institutions’, HAHR, Vol. 37, 1957, pp. 155– 99. M. Salas de Coloma, Estructura colonial del poder español en el Perú: Huamanga (Ayacucho) a través de sus obrajes, siglos XVI–XVIII, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2 vols., 1998. M. Salas de Coloma, ‘Los obrajes de Huamanga en la economia centro-sur peruana a fines del siglo XVIII’, Revista del Archivo General de la Nación, Vol. 7, 1984, pp. 119–46. I. Sánchez Bella, Iglesia y estado en la América española, Pamplona, Editorial Universidad de Navarra, 1990. E. Sánchez Pedrote, ‘Los prelados virreyes’, AES, Vol. 7, 1950, pp. 211–53. M. Savelle, Empires to Nations: Expansion in America, 1713–1824, Minneapolis, MN, University of Minnesota Press, 1974. C. Seco Serrano, Godoy, el hombre y el político, Madrid, Espasa-Calpe, 1978. F. Silva Santisteban, Fernando, Los obrajes en el virreinato del Perú, Lima, Museo Nacional de Historia, 1964. K. Spalding, Huarochirí: An Andean Society under Inca and Spanish Rule, Stanford, CA, Stanford UP, 1984. W. Stavig, ‘Ethnic Conflict, Moral Economy and Population in Rural Cuzco on the Eve of the Thupa Amaro II Rebellion’, HAHR, Vol. 68, 1988, pp. 737–70. W. Stavig, The World of Túpac Amaru: Conflict, Community and Identity in Colonial Peru, Lincoln, NE, University of Nebraska Press, 1994. J. Szeminski, La utopia tupamarista, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 1983. J. Szeminski, ‘Why Kill the Spaniard? New Perspectives on Andean Insurrectionary Ideology’, in Resistance, Rebellion, and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant World, 18th to 20th Centuries, ed. S. J. Stern, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1987, pp. 166–92. J. Tamayo Herrera, Historia del indigenismo cuzqueño, siglos XVI-XX, Lima, Instituto Nacional de Cultura, 1980. E. Tandeter, Coacción y mercado. La minería de la plata en el Potosí colonial, 1692–1826, Cusco, Centro de Estudios Regionales ‘Bartolomé de las Casas’, 1992. A. J. Tapson, ‘Indian Warfare on the Pampa during the Colonial Period’, HAHR, Vol. 42, 1962, pp. 1–28. W. B. Taylor, Drinking, Homicide, and Rebellion in Colonial Mexican Villages, Stanford, CA, Stanford UP, 1979. J. J. TePaske and H. S. Klein, ‘The Seventeenth-Century Crisis in New Spain: Myth or Reality?’, Past and Present, Vol. 90, 1981, pp. 144–61. P. Torres Lanzas, Relación de los mapas, planos, etc. del virreinato del Perú existentes en el Archivo General de Indias, Barcelona, Heinrich y C’a, 1906. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Emancipación, 1809–1825, Buenos Aires, Imprenta López, 1958. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú, Lima, Imprenta Santa María, 5 vols., 1953–1962. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del Perú. Virreinato (Siglo XVIII) 1700–1790, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1956.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

217

9/2/03, 14:00



  

R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, Lima, Carlos Milla Batres, 6 vols., 1966. R. Vargas Ugarte, Por el rey y contra el rey, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1965. R. Vargas Ugarte, Títulos nobiliarios en el Perú, Lima, Librería e Imprenta Gil, 1965. I. Vegas de Cáceres, ‘Una imagen distorsionada: las haciendas de Lima hacia fines del siglo XVIII’, in El Perú en el siglo XVIII: la era borbónica, ed. S. O’Phelan Godoy, Lima, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Peru, 1999, pp. 97–125. G. Vergara Arias, El prócer Juan de Alarcón: el primer patriota que se descubrió en Huamanga, Lima, Universidad Nacional Federico Villareal, 1973. G. Vergara Arias, Montoneras y guerrillas en la etapa de la emancipación del Perú (1820– 1825), Lima, Imprenta y Litografía Salesiana, 1974. E. Vila Vilar and A. J. Kuethe. Relaciones de poder y comercio colonial, Seville, Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, 1999. G. Vollmer, Bevölkerungspolitik und Bevölkerungsstruktur im Vize-Königsreich Peru zu Ende der Kolonialzeit (1741–1821), Bad Homburg, Gehlen, 1967. A. Wagner de la Reyna, ‘Ocho años de La Serna en el Perú (De la “Venganza” a la “Ernestina”)’, Quinto Centenario, Vol. 8, 1985, pp. 37–59. C. F. Walker, Smoldering Ashes: Cuzco and the Creation of Republican Peru, 1780–1840, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1999. G. J. Walker, Spanish Politics and Imperial Trade, 1700–1789, London, Macmillan, 1979. A. M. Wightman, Indigenous Migration and Social Change: the Forasteros of Cuzco, 1570– 1720, Durham, NC, Duke UP, 1990. M. L. Woodward, ‘The Spanish Army and the Loss of America’, HAHR, Vol. 48, 1968, pp. 586–607. C. Wu, Generals and Diplomats: Great Britain and Peru, 1820–21, Cambridge, Centre of Latin-American Studies, 1991. J. M. Zapatero, ‘El castillo Real Felipe del Callao’, AES, Vol. 34, 1977, pp. 703–33. M. Zaugg, ‘Large-scale Textile Production in Late Colonial Peru’, Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas, Vol. 35, 1998, pp. 101–28. M. Zaugg, ‘Textile Production and Structural Crisis: the Case of Late Colonial Peru’, PhD Dissertation, University of Liverpool, 1993. G. Zegarra Meneses, Arequipa en el paso de la colonia a la república, Arequipa, Cuzzi, 1973.

EUP_BPeru_11_Bibliography

218

9/2/03, 14:00

 

Index

Abadia, Pedro 125 Abancay 45, 64 Abarca, Isidro 68 Abarca, Isidro María de 68 Abascal y Souza, José Fernando de 58, 89, 109–11, 113, 116, 122, 147–48 Abreu, Manuel 121–22 Africa 14–15, 83 see also Asiento de negros Aguilar, Gabriel 102 Alamán, Lucas 5 Alcedo, Antonio de 7 Aliaga, Jerónimo de 87 Aliaga y Borda, Mariana 31 Almadén 71 Alvarez, Antonio María 127 Alvarez Abreu, Antonio 37 Alvarez de Arenales, Juan Antonio 117– 18 Alvarez y Jiménez, Antonio 182 Alzaga, Martín de 111 Amat y Junient, Manuel de 12, 20–21, 27, 35–36, 82, 87, 95, 148 Andahuaylas 87 Anson, George 11, 14, 19 Ansótegui, Francisco Tomás de 31, 174 Apaches 84 Apurimac 96 Ara, José Rosa 112 Ara, Toribio 112 Araucanians 84 Areche, José Antonio de 2, 9, 10, 29–33, 68, 80–83, 97–98, 162–63 Arequipa 32–34, 36, 38–39, 41, 56, 64– 65, 68, 73, 81, 85–87, 97–98, 100–

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

219

101, 103, 106, 109, 112–13, 115–16, 123–25, 127, 142 Arestegui, Narciso 107 Arica 61, 112, 116 Armendáriz y Perurera, José de 11, 12, 148–49 see also Castelfuerte Arredondo y Pelegrin, Manuel Antonio 31, 174–75 Arriaga, Antonio de 33, 40, 42, 97–99 Arriaga, Julián de 29, 30 Asiento de negros 14–15, 19, 59 see also Africa Audienca of Cusco 3, 31, 41, 99, 102, 113, 115, 123–24, 127, 141 Audienca of Lima 3, 15, 21, 29–31, 40– 41, 89, 113, 121, 140 Avilés del Fierro, Gabriel de 33, 36, 45, 74, 95, 99, 149 Ayacucho 80, 107, 122, 123, 127, 138 Ayala, Manuel Josef de 37 Aymaraes 87 Ayohuma 116 Azángaro 41, 57 Aznapuquio 118, 121 Bajamar, Marqués de 41 Balta, José 140 Baquíjano y Carrillo, José 1, 89, 107, 110–11 Beauchesne, Jacques Gouin de 14 Belaúnde Terry, Fernando 108 Belgrano, Manuel 113, 116 Bello, Andrés 5 Berbeo, Juan Francisco 100

9/2/03, 14:03





Blacks 5, 55–56, 82–85 Blanco Encalada, Manuel 123 Bolívar, Simón, 127, 138–39, 141 Bolivia 139–41 Bonaparte, Napoleon 28, 104 Bonet, Joaquín 55 Born, Inigo von 69 Braganza, María Barbara de 19, 60 Brazil 5, 51, 60–61, 121 Bueno, Cosme 57 Buenos Aires 15, 17, 20–21, 28, 31, 41– 42, 45, 51, 60–63, 68, 83, 112 Caballero y Góngora, Antonio 100 Cádiz 16–19, 21, 52–53, 59, 60–63, 71, 117 Cajamarca 64, 87 Calatayud, Francisco 110 Callao 2, 11, 14, 16–20, 35, 61–63, 71, 87–88, 111, 117, 122–23, 138–39 Camaná 87 Campillo y Cossío, José de 10, 21, 60 Canas y Canchis 97 Cañete 82, 87 Cangallo 40, 124 Canta 82, 87 Canterac, José 118, 120–22, 124, 126–27 Cape Horn 15 Carabaya 41, 57 Caracas 29 Carácciolo, Carmine Nicolás 17, 149–50 Carangas 67 Caravelí 113 Carratalá, José 124 Carrión, Alfonso 30 Cartagena 14–19, 35, 121 Carvajal y Lancaster, José de 10 Castelfuerte, Marqués de 11–13, 15, 18, 22, 27, 57, 94 see also Armendáriz y Perurera, José de Castelldosríus, Marqués de 16 see also Oms de Santa Pau, Manuel Castelli, Juan José 112–14 Castilla, Ramón 140, 142 Cernadas, Pedro Antonio 102 Cerro de Pasco, 63, 68–71, 97, 102, 114, 117–18, 125 Chacapalca 124

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

220

Chancay 82, 87 Charles II 3, 4–6, 9 Charles III 12, 27–29, 38, 43, 61, 101 Charles IV 28, 30–31 Chile 6, 11, 14–15, 20–21, 31–32, 36, 66, 74, 83, 109, 116, 121, 139 Chiloé 116 China 15 Chincheros 115 Chiquián 63 Chongos 124 Chucuito 41, 67 Chumbivilcas 87 Chuquisaca 138 Cinco Gremios Mayores 64, 122 Cisneros, Diego 110 Clavijero, Francisco 7 Cochabamba 94, 97 Cochrane, Thomas 116–17 Collao 65 Colombia 6 Concepción 38, 61, 117 Condesuyos 87 Consulado of Cádiz 18, 21, 60 Consulado of Lima 2, 18, 21–22, 26, 58– 61, 64, 74, 89, 121 Convictorio de San Carlos 90, 103 Corral y Aguirre, Carlos 42, 167 Cortes of Cádiz 30, 58, 109–10, 113 Cotabambas 94 Council of the Indies 4 Council of Regency 109 Crespo y Castillo, Juan José 114 Croix, Teodoro de 32–34, 42, 95, 150 Cuba 26, 29, 51, 54 Cusco 2–3, 32–34, 36, 38–42, 45, 56–57, 64, 74, 81–82, 84–87, 89, 97–99, 102–103, 106–108, 110–11, 114–17, 120, 122–27, 141–42 Dampier, William 16 Dominica 28 Elhuyar, Fausto de 69, 70 Elhuyar, Juan José de 69 Enderica, Miguel de 98 Ensenada, Marqués de 9–12, 21, 28 Escobedo y Alarcón, Jorge de 33–34, 39– 43, 58, 62, 68, 98, 163–65

9/2/03, 14:03

 Eslava, Sebastián de 14, 19 Espejo, Francisco Javier 101 Fabro Palacios, Bartolomé 41 Fandiño, Juan Josef 94 Ferdinand VI 4, 10, 19, 60 Ferdinand VII 89, 110, 112, 114, 126, 138 Figueroa, Juan Antonio 98–99 Florida 28, 54 Floridablanca, Conde de 29 Frézier, Amédée 6 Fuente Hermosa, Marqués de 31 Fujimori, Alberto 108 Galán, José Antonio 101–107 Gálvez, José de 5, 10, 29–33, 42–44, 53, 69, 95, 98–99 Gálvez y Montes de Oca, Juan María 183 Gamarra, Agustín 127, 139, 141 Garate, Tadeo 183–84 García, Alán 108 García Camba, Andrés 118, 121 García Jiménez, Francisco 96 Gil de Taboada, Vicente 44, 184 Gil de Taboada y Lemos, Francisco 44, 55, 90, 102, 150–51 Godoy, Manuel de 43 González de Navarro y Montoya, José 185 González de Prada, José 185 González Prada, Manuel 107 Goyeneche y Barreda, José Manuel de 89, 112, 167–68 Goyeneche y Barreda, Pedro Mariano 31 Guadalajara 19 Guanajuato 67 Guayaquil 61, 63, 66, 89 Guirior, Manuel de 21, 31–32, 97, 151– 52 Gutiérrez de Piñeres, Juan Francisco 100 Haro, Norberto 114 Havana 17, 28, 35, 61 Hidalgo, Miguel 85 Honduras 28 Huachaca 138 Huacho 1 Hualgayoc 63–64, 68–70

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

221



Huamalíes 113 Huamanga 34, 38–41, 56–57, 63, 65, 68, 70, 81, 86–87, 107, 109, 115, 121, 124 Huancavelica 13, 29, 34, 40–41, 56, 68, 70–71, 87, 124 Huancayo 123, 125 Huanta 40, 138–39 Huánuco 63, 87, 102, 107, 109, 113–14, 117 Huaqui 112 Huaraz 97–98 Huarochirí 1, 7, 11, 68, 82, 87, 94–96 Huaura 121 Huayhuay 124 Huaylas 63, 87 Huéscar, Duque de 10 Ica 57, 63, 82, 87 Ilo 14 Jacot Ortiz Rojano, Melcho 31, 175–76 Jadó, Pedro Angel 114 Jalapa 61 Jauja 11, 63, 65, 87 Jaúregui y Aldecoa, Agustín de 32–33, 36, 81, 98–99, 152 Juan, Jorge 6, 9, 10–11, 14, 20–21, 27, 95 Ladrón de Guevara, Diego 17, 152–53 La Mar, José de 139 Lambayeque 10, 82–83, 87 Lampa 41, 57 La Paz 41, 86, 97, 115, 117, 125, 138, 140 La Rochelle 14–15 La Serna y Hinojosa, José de 11, 116–27, 139, 153–54 Las Heras, Bartolomé María de 42 Lavalle y Zugasti, Juan Bautista de 185– 86 Lequanda, Ignacio de 59 Lezo, Blas de 19 Lima 3, 10, 12–13, 15–16, 20, 27, 30, 32, 34–36, 38–41, 45, 61, 63–64, 68, 70, 72, 80, 82, 85–89, 94–95, 102– 103, 106–107, 109–12, 114, 116–17, 120, 126–27, 138, 140–41 López Sánchez, Francisco 40–41 Loriga, Juan 119

9/2/03, 14:03





Louis XIV 16 Louisiana 28

Muñoz de San Clemente, Francisco 45, 169–70

Machu Picchu 108 Madrid 2–4, 10, 15, 19, 26–27, 29, 36, 38, 41, 44–45, 54, 64, 69, 72, 89–90, 95, 102, 106, 110, 120, 122, 126, 138 Mainas 39 Maipú 116 Manco Capac 141 Manila 28, 61 Manrique de Lara, Nicolás 34, 40–41, 186–87 Manso de Velasco, José Antonio 3, 11, 20, 27, 35, 57, 87, 95–96, 154–55 Mariátegui, José Carlos 107–108 Márquez de la Plata, Fernando 40–41 Martinique 28 Mar y Tapia, Pablo de 141 Mata Linares y Vázquez, Benito María de la 42, 81, 98–99, 102–103, 168– 69 Mathison, Gilbert 140 Matto de Turner, Clorinda 107 Melgar, Mariano 113 Mendoza Caamaño y Sotomayor, José Antonio 10–11, 13–14, 22, 27, 95, 155 Menéndez Escalada, José 40, 187–88 Mercurio Peruano 7, 59, 70, 89–90, 103 Mesa, Pio Benigno 107 Messía de la Cerda, Pedro 96 Ministry of Marine and the Indies 4 Miller, John 141 Miller, William 141 Miranda, Francisco de 1, 103 Mita 13 Monroe, James 1 Monteagudo, Bernardo de 121–22, 139 Montenegro y Ubalde, Juan 188 Montevideo 62–63 Montreal 28 Moquegua 87 Morachimo, Vicente 10 Morales Duárez, Vicente 110 Morcillo Rubio de Auñón, Diego 17, 156 Moscoso, José Gabriel 188 Moscoso y Peralta, Juan Manuel 40–42, 81, 98–99

Nariño, Antonio 101 Nepeña 83 New Granada 9, 11, 14, 19, 35, 62, 84– 85, 100–101 New Spain 12, 17, 21, 26, 29, 33, 35–36, 39, 44, 51, 54–55, 60–61, 66–67, 74, 80, 84, 99 Nieto, Diego Antonio 188–89 Nordenflicht, Thaddeus von 68–70

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

222

Ocopa 42 O’Higgins, Ambrosio 156–57 see also Osorno, Marques de O’Higgins, Demetrio 189 Olañeta, Pedro Antonio 119, 126–27 Oms de Santa Pau, Manuel 16, 158 see also Castelldosríus, Marqués de Orbegoso, Luis de 139 Orrantia, Juan Joseph de 94 Oruro 66–67, 94, 125 Osorio, Mariano 116–17 Osorno, Marqués de 44, 63, 83 see also O’Higgins, Ambrosio Paillardelle, Enrique 112 Paita 14 Pampacolea 103 Pampamarca 99 Panama 11, 14, 16 18–19, 36, 38, 116, 120 Pantahuas 113 Pando, Juan Bautista 97 Paracas 117 Pardo Rivadeneira, Manuel 31, 178 Paruro 98, 141 Pasco 67, 98 Pastor de Larinaga, José 1 Patiño, José de 4, 12–13, 17, 27 Paucarcolla 41 Paucartambo 40 Pausa 40 Pauw, Cornelius de 7 Peñaranda, Julián 113 Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation 86, 167, 141 Pezuela y Sánchez Muñoz de Velasco,

9/2/03, 14:03

 Joaquín de la 36, 74, 113, 116–23, 158–59 Philip V 3–4, 14–16, 28, 60 Philippines Company 43 Pisco 14, 16, 117 Piura 44, 82, 87 Pizarro, Francisco 85 Portilla y Gálvez, José de la 31, 178–79 Port Louis 16 Portobelo 15–19 Portocarrero Lasso de la Vega, Melchor 12, 15, 159–60 Potosí 13, 51, 66–69, 119, 125, 140 Pumacahua, Mateo García 81, 84, 113, 115–16, 120 Puno 41, 55–57, 68, 70, 115–16 Puroy 141 Quebec 28 Quilca 127 Quimper Benites del Pino, Manuel 189–90 Quito 9–11, 17, 36, 38–39, 74, 85, 96–97, 100–101, 111, 116–17 Quiulacocha 70–71 Rámirez, Juan 115, 117, 119–120 Ramírez de Arellano, Domingo 88 Rebellion of the Comuneros 85, 100–101 Repartimiento 20, 27, 33–34, 40, 43–45, 58–59, 64, 95, 114 Ribadeneyra y Barrientos, Antonio Joaquín de 37 Ricafort, Mariano 117 Rico y Angulo, Gaspar 122–23, 125–27 Rio de Janeiro 120, 127 Río de la Plata 1, 19–21, 26, 29, 31, 35, 37, 41, 44, 55–56, 60–62, 64, 127 Rio Grande do Sul 20 Riva Agüero, José de la 110, 127 Rivera y Espinosa, Lázaro de 190–91 Rivero, Antonio 112–13 Rivero, Manuel 113 Rivero, Mariano 113 Rodil, José Ramón 122, 138 Rodríguez, José 114 Rodríguez de Arias, José 121 Rodríguez de Mendoza, Alejo Toribio 1, 103

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

223



Rogers, Woodes 16 Rondeau, José 116 Rossillo Velarde, Joaquín de 44 Ruíz Uries de Castilla, Manuel 42, 170– 71 Saavedra, Fernando de 191 Sacramento, 20, 28, 60–61 Sacsahuamán 102 St Domingue 51 St Lucia 28 St Vincent 28 Salamanca, Bartolomé María de 191–92 Samper, Tomás de 192 Sangarará 36 San Juan de Puerto Rico 35 San Martín, José de 2, 7, 35, 71, 74, 83, 106–07, 109, 116–21, 125 Santa 57, 82–83, 87 Santa Cruz, Andrés 86, 107, 118, 139 Santa Fe de Botogá 31, 90, 100–101 Santiago 11, 38 Santo Domingo 39 Santos Atahualpa, Juan 11, 20, 95–96 Sarmiento Domingo Faustino 5 Schemnitz 69 Seoane, Antonio 119 Seven Years War 4, 20, 26, 28, 61 Silva, Mateo 111 Silva y Olave, José de 89, 109 Smith, Adam 53 Society of Jesus 1, 43, 103 Socorro 100 South Sea Company 14–19, 60 Suárez de Castilla Valcárcel, Francisco 192–93 Sucre, Antonio José de 107, 127, 138 Superunda, Conde de 3 see also Manso de Velasco, José Antonio Tacna 106, 109, 112–13 Talcahuano 116 Tamarit, Ramón de 16 Tarapacá 113 Tarma 34, 36, 40, 56, 86–87, 113, 117, 124 Temple, Edmond 140 Tinta 2, 33, 36, 40, 81, 84

9/2/03, 14:03





Tobago 28 Toledo, Alejandro 108 Torata 126 Torre Tagle, Marqués de 118 Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle 12, 19, 59 Treaty of Fontainebleau 28 Treaty of Madrid 1, 19–20, 60 Treaty of Paris 20, 28, 61 Treaty of Ryswick 15 Treaty of San Ildefonso 20 Treaty of Tordesillas 1 Treaty of Utrecht 15, 17 Treaty of Versailles 28 Trevithick, Richard 71 Tristán y Moscoso, Juan Pio de 124, 127, 171–72 Trujillo 34, 38–41, 68, 82, 87, 118 Tucumán 20 Tumbes 125 Tumusla 127 Tungasuca 97 Tunja 100 Túpac Amaru, Diego Cristóbal 99–100 Túpac Amaru, José Gabriel 2, 5, 7, 31– 33, 36, 40–42, 57, 61, 65, 80–81, 84–85, 95, 97–103, 106, 115 Tupiza 117, 125 Ubalde, José Manuel de 102 Ulloa, Antonio de 6, 9, 10–11, 14, 20–21, 27, 29, 95 Unánue Pabón, Hipólito 1, 121 University of San Antonio Abad 141 University of San Marcos 89, 103, 109 Upper Peru 2, 21, 31, 36, 57, 60, 64–66, 74, 99, 109, 112–13, 115–16, 119– 20, 125, 127, 138 Urrutia y las Casas, Ramón 193 Uztáriz, Jeronimo de 10, 60

EUP_BPeru_12_Index

224

Valdés, Jerónimo 80–81, 117–19, 121, 123, 126–27, 138 Valdivia 116 Valle, José del 36 Valparaiso 31, 61, 83, 117 Valverde Ampuero, Manuel 102 Vargas, Pedro Fermín de 101 Vázquez de Acuña, José Matías 111 Venezuela, 29, 62 Ventura, María 31 Veracruz 17, 35, 61 Vergara 69 Vernon, Edward 14, 19 Versailles 16 Vilcapugio 113, 116 Villagarcía 57 Villalta, Manuel 110 Viluma 116 Viscardo, Juan Pablo 103 Vives y Echeverría, Juan 193–94 Wager, Charles 16 Ward, Bernardo 10 War of United States Independence 28, 32, 61, 97 War of Jenkins’ Ear 11, 13–14, 19, 21, 60 War of the Austrian Succession 59 War of the Spanish Succession 3, 14, 16, 22 Yanacancha 70–71 Yaquis 84 Yauyos 82, 87 Yucatán 28 Yungay 86, 141 Zela, Francisco Antonio de 112 Zipquirá 100–101

9/2/03, 14:03