Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects: The Portuguese-Speaking World from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries 9781789207071

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Table of contents :
List of Abbreviations
Part I. Language, Literature and the Empire, 1415–1570
Chapter 1. The Africans in Portugal: Between Presentation and Methods of Communication
Chapter 2. The System of Slave-Interpreter and Alternative Means of Communication
Chapter 3. The Age of Zurara: Guidance, Chronicles and Reports of Voyages
Chapter 4. The Era of Da Gama: Printed Books and the Distribution of Manuscripts
Chapter 5. The 1550s and 1560s
Part II. Written Culture and Practices of Identity, 1570–1697
Chapter 6. The World Theatre and Imperial Thought
Chapter 7. The State of India: Between Zain Al-Din and the Tradition of the Décadas
Chapter 8. Remedies or Resolutions
Chapter 9. Forms of Christianity in the East
Chapter 10. Reports of Voyages to Goa and the State of India
Chapter 11. Brazil, or the Province of Santa Cruz
Chapter 12. The Dutch in Brazil: Conflict and Dialogue
Chapter 13. The Inhabitants of Maranhão, Expeditions, the Peruleiros and the Slaves
Chapter 14. Colonial Projects for West Africa
Part III. Enlightenment and the Written Word, 1697–1808
Chapter 15. Reports of Voyages, Histories and Translations of Enlightened Europe
Chapter 16. Heroes of the State of India, Scientists and Orientalists
Chapter 17. The Journey to the Far East of António de Albuquerque Coelho
Chapter 18. Public Ceremonies and Academies in Brazil
Chapter 19. Naturalization, Indigenism, Reforms and Voyage Reports
Index of Names
Index of Places
Index of Subjects
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IMPERIAL CULTURE AND COLONIAL PROJECTS The Portuguese-Speaking World from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries

Diogo Ramada Curto Translated by Alison Aiken

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD

Published in 2020 by Berghahn Books Portuguese-language edition © 2009 Diogo Ramada Curto and Editora da Unicamp English-language edition © 2020 Diogo Ramada Curto Originally published in Portuguese in 2009 by Unicamp, Brazil All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Curto, Diogo Ramada, author. | Aiken, Alison, translator. Title: Imperial culture and colonial projects : the Portuguese-speaking world from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries / Diogo Ramada Curto ; translated by Alison Aiken. Other titles: Cultura imperial e projetos coloniais. English Description: English-language edition. | New York : Berghahn Books, 2020. | “Originally published in Portuguese in 2009 by Unicamp, Brazil.” | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020015788 (print) | LCCN 2020015789 (ebook) | ISBN 9781789207064 (hardback) | ISBN 9781789207071 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Europe--Territorial expansion. | Civilization, Modern--European influences. | Europe--Colonies. | Colonization--History. | Discoveries in geography. Classification: LCC D210 .C8513 2020 (print) | LCC D210 (ebook) | DDC 940.1--dc23 LC record available at LC ebook record available at British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-78920-706-4 hardback ISBN 978-1-78920-707-1 ebook

Contents List of Abbreviations vii Introduction 1 Part I. Language, Literature and the Empire, 1415–1570


Chapter 1. The Africans in Portugal: Between Presentation and Methods of Communication


Chapter 2. The System of Slave-Interpreter and Alternative Means of Communication


Chapter 3. The Age of Zurara: Guidance, Chronicles and Reports of Voyages


Chapter 4. The Era of Da Gama: Printed Books and the Distribution of Manuscripts


Chapter 5. The 1550s and 1560s


Part II. Written Culture and Practices of Identity, 1570–1697


Chapter 6. The World Theatre and Imperial Thought


Chapter 7. The State of India: Between Zain Al-Din and the Tradition of the Décadas 110 Chapter 8. Remedies or Resolutions


Chapter 9. Forms of Christianity in the East


Chapter 10. Reports of Voyages to Goa and the State of India


Chapter 11. Brazil, or the Province of Santa Cruz


Chapter 12. The Dutch in Brazil: Conflict and Dialogue


vi • Contents

Chapter 13. The Inhabitants of Maranhão, Expeditions, the Peruleiros and the Slaves


Chapter 14. Colonial Projects for West Africa


Part III. Enlightenment and the Written Word, 1697–1808


Chapter 15. Reports of Voyages, Histories and Translations of Enlightened Europe


Chapter 16. Heroes of the State of India, Scientists and Orientalists 322 Chapter 17. The Journey to the Far East of António de Albuquerque Coelho


Chapter 18. Public Ceremonies and Academies in Brazil


Chapter 19. Naturalization, Indigenism, Reforms and Voyage Reports 397 Bibliography


Index of Names 479 Index of Places 493 Index of Subjects 499


Archivo General de Simancas Arquivo Histórico Militar, Lisbon Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Lisbon Arquivo Nacional do Brasil, Rio de Janeiro Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo, Lisbon Biblioteca da Ajuda, Lisbon Biblioteca Geral da Universidade de Coimbra British Library, London Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Lisbon Biblioteca Pública e Arquivo Distrital de Braga Biblioteca Pública de Évora Biblioteca Pública Municipal do Porto Colección de Documentos Inéditos para la Historia de España John Carter Brown Library, Providence

Introduction This collection of essays is part of a larger strategy for a cultural history of the Portuguese Empire. They were published mostly in Portuguese from 1997, although they have also appeared in English and French. To call them chapters would be constricting, since the word, in spite of everything, has a global meaning and belongs to someone who wants to define the emergence of a unit connected with the formation of a national identity – Capistrano de Abreu, Sérgio Buarque de Holanda and António Candido. It is better to go to the seventeenth century to note the expressions of several discourses, the miscellany and epanaphora used by Manuel Severim de Faria, Miguel Leitão and D. Francisco Manuel de Melo. In all the studies, analyses of events, biographies and literary exercises listed under such expressions, there was a moral dimension or a political lesson that was seen as inherent to any act of evincive creation. I was inspired by this dimension to trace the different relationships between the sphere of production of discourses – realizing that today only some of them are considered as being of a literary order – and a sphere of political activity. This book also contains the heterogeneous character of each of the fragments related to the whole that the writers of the seventeenth century exemplified in their works, determined as they were to break with some of the rhetorical canons that were more firmly in place. On this, Leitão de Andrade spoke provocatively of his Miscelânea (1629) as being a salad. The Chantre de Évora, Severim de Faria, went further, considering that his Discursos Varios Politicos (1624) were a preparation for a great work to be published later, so capable of being compared with the Batracomiomaquia, a satirical poem attributed to Homer that was believed to have been written as a preparation in the writing of epic poetry. Seeking to legitimize himself through an allusion to one of the most classic works of antiquity and a genre seen as epic, the Chantre thus introduced, in his reflection on the forms of saying and making policy, an effect that was comparable with satirical parody of the epic poems of Homer. In spite of its fragmentary and incomplete character, the intention of this book is to analyse how the Portuguese expansion was regarded

2  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

and recorded in writing. It is a process that implies the formation of an imperial culture that is hard to reduce to a homogenous whole, where glorifying tendencies are combined with criticisms of the most diverse situations and types of organization; that is, where the most dogmatic interpretations of an imperial identity in its various configurations were accompanied by doubts and reflections of scepticism regarding the expansionist mission. The almost constant existence of colonial projects was one of the most regular dimensions of this culture; it married the analysis of imperial frameworks with the almost utopian idealization of scenarios of control and was therefore compatible with situations in which the Portuguese presence was extremely weak. Besides working on this dimension, granting it the standing of a principal argument, a cultural history of the empire interested in reconstructing the point of view of the agents taking part in this process or entering in contact with it would have to consider many other operations of construction relative to the empire: the specificity of each type or tradition in the several forms of communication; the effects of the author on the ideas adopted by groups and social bodies; and the role of institutions (councils, tribunals, districts, etc.) on economic groups and interests demonstrated by centres of political decision-making. Besides these aspects of a more contextual nature, the development of investigation on imperial Portuguese culture will depend on the acceptance of four main aspects – that is, the reinforcement of comparative mechanisms, particularly regarding other European empires; the analysis of reactions to the Portuguese and the respective local responses; the broadening of the type of sources besides those considered actually literary; and a work of reflection on the historiographic models and ideological organisms. Clearly, a study of imperial culture that mainly takes note of written records should also make explicit the variety of themes and genres, as is the case with a) linguistic encounters and methods of translation; b) political ceremonies and diplomatic rituals; c) the different discourses that assume a use of the past, from epic poetry to historiography; d) the perceptions of space and the different forms of mapping it out; e) the vast common denominator of descriptions, reports of voyages and scientific expeditions; f) the methods of conversion and religious debates; g) projects, counsels, decisions and instructions on government; h) letters, rumours and the circulation of books; i) more individualized petitions and writing practices; and j) discussions on imperial ideas, discourses of resistance and rebellion, and discourses of economic policy. The enunciation of all these forms of communication, supposing an analysis of various types of discourses, contexts and points of view, is not intended to replace an explanation of a method but rather to reflect

Introduction • 3

on the constitution of an imperial archive in its relations with forms of government and colonial control, even when these appear extremely weak. On this, the study of forms of knowledge, celebration, criticism and resistance caused by the existence of an empire implies a recovery of the role of the Portuguese and of the powers they represent, including the colonial state in the creation of different imperial configurations. This is the same as saying, to use an expression recently used regarding the British Empire, that it is necessary to bring back to the centre of our analyses the colonial state with all its limits as an agent of history.1 Only thus is it possible to go beyond a euphemistic, exceptional vision of the Portuguese Empire that far from considering it an actual empire sees it either as a trade network or as a mere group of interests that is extremely fragmented and subject to local forces and relationships. It is in part against this euphemistic vision, which is a type of neo-lusotropical perspective that was so frequently disseminated and that adopts the character of an incomplete work – that the studies presented in this book appear. It is not by chance that this vision fitted well with the new times of celebration of the empire, where nationalism that saw the Discoveries as a golden age served as a romantic panacea for an obsession as to identity, demanding at the same time an adjustment to new conceptual fashions (from mixed blood to spreading connections promoted by the Portuguese throughout the world). It is only through this euphemized vision of the Portuguese Empire that it is possible to continue to celebrate it while relegating to the sidelines the numerous forms of violence, exploitation, intolerance and racism that characterized it. Indeed, from the beginning of the post-colonial age or, in the case of Portugal, from Goa’s independence and the outbreak of wars in Portuguese Africa, the historiographies of the European empires in general and the Portuguese Empire in particular were concentrated around the questions of violence and racism.2 That this concentration revealed opposing ideological points of view seems to me to be a clear statement that exemplifies the political use of history. Meanwhile, one should also recognize that it is the analytical aspects capable of noting the same themes within a general framework in which many other acts and situations of collaboration against the resistance of the native population are conceived that have shown a greater distance and objectivity in the political use of history. At the beginning of the 60s, the discussion around ‘lusotropicalism’, understood as a colonial ideology of the integrating capacity of the Portuguese adopted by Salazarism in the post-Second World War era, led to a particularly intense and polarized discussion. It was at this moment that the voices of Charles Ralph Boxer and Vitorino Magalhães Godinho rose against the ideologues of the regime (defenders

4  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

of mixed blood and the civilizing mission of the Portuguese). These are, without doubt, the two most important historians of the second half of the twentieth century to the study of the Portuguese Empire.3 Racism and violence as revealing themes of an attention to the logic of conflict involved in the construction of an empire are thus opposed to the admiration of integrating mechanisms used by the Portuguese worldwide. Whatever the case, the aspect to be argued here relates to the fact that those involved in the debate are not all on the same level. That is, those who praise Portuguese practices of integration were closer to a commemorative version of history, full of anachronisms, since it is concerned with serving a political regime that was anxious to find an exceptional ideological basis for its colonial policy. This was a uniting point for the two great historians of the Portuguese Empire, although there is a divergence between Boxer’s conservatism and the progressive vision of the citizen for which Godinho fought throughout his life. From a more methodological perspective, one should also stress the attention given by the former to the tenacity of individuals, as opposed to the study of the great structures defended by the latter. To summarize, for future generations who learnt to create history by reflecting on the meaning of the works of giants such as Magalhães Godinho and Boxer, the historical and political debate that coincided with the war in Angola took on an enormous importance. There is meanwhile an interval of about twenty years between the discussions at the beginning of the 1960s and the moment when my generation began to study history. During this interval, there were many who chose exile in order to oppose the Salazar regime. Alfredo Margarido was in this regard an emblematic figure in Portuguese historiography and, in spite of the dispersal of his work and the little attention given to it in Portugal, he perhaps represents one of the most consistent forces in studying thoroughly and reflectively the colonial history of the time of the end of the empire. However, the reasons that explain the neglect of many of Margarido’s texts, which should be granted the stature of being the foundations of a new historiographic orientation destined to give voice to the oppressed and criticize many existing ideas, are extremely revealing as to how historical research was organized under the empire and ex-colonies in Portugal – quite simply, it suppressed voices that were uncomfortably critical and dissonant. Alongside this, the impact that the paradigm formed around questions of modernization had on Portuguese historiography after the 60s, which replaced reflections on Portuguese decadence that were more than a century old, can be evaluated by research that concentrates on the limits of the Portuguese territories, both European and continental. One of the

Introduction • 5

most relevant works among those centring on the questions of modernization of the Portuguese territories is Estrutura da Antiga Sociedade Portuguesa. Its author, Magalhães Godinho, suggested the bases that inspired other, more localized studies on Portugal’s economic and social sanctions. Following 25 April 1974, the withdrawal from the colonies and the plan to join the European Community intensified this tendency, so Godinho’s disciples who had begun the investigation at the start of the 80s, among whom I am one, decided upon centring their first projects on an analysis of continental Portugal.4 The history of the empire in its more institutionalized forms as inherited from the Salazar regime is akin to crossing the desert, benefiting from complicity by and the use of conservative Catholics aligned to a reminiscing, traditional right wing. The possibilities open to investigation for a series of commemorations of the discoveries that took place in the middle of the 80s allowed the heirs of this lineage to strengthen and even broaden their institutional positions. For this reason, the neo-lusotropicalism that could present a different version of the Portuguese Empire also settled in the most institutionalized centres of research and even won an international reputation. It is within this framework of clear polarization that the studies in this book should be read. I cannot hide the fact that my sympathy is with the historians who, being able to put the past in perspective, reveal a particular interest in explaining the mechanisms of oppression, racism and violence. Obviously there are many other acts, situations and representations involved in a process of imperial and colonial expansion. However, I believe that without dealing with the questions of violence, both practised and symbolic, our understanding of the historical process under investigation would not only be incomplete but it would also be corrupt. I also believe that the fact that one of the great recent works on the colonial period, O Trato dos Viventes by Luiz Felipe de Alencastro, was dedicated to the victims of the Brazilian dictatorship reveals that there, too, it is possible to detect those same polarizations within an historiographic field that is characterized by a wealth of traditions and centres of research. The presentation of this book would not be complete without a reference to all those who have supported me and to whom I should like to express my gratitude. Francisco Bethencourt, Rosa Maria Perez and Abdool Karim Vakil challenged me, each in their own way, to study in greater depth the empire, and for this I am extremely grateful. This book also owes much to the working conditions I experienced at Brown University, where, during five academic years, I was warmly welcomed by Onésimo Teotónio de Almeida, Philip Benedict, Norman Fiering (director of the John Carter Brown Library), Anthony Molho (a colleague and

6  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

wonderful mentor, first at Brown and then at the European University Institute, Florence) and Gordon Wood. At Yale University, K. David Jackson, Stuart Schwartz and Robin Winks also helped me immensely. Luiz Felipe de Alencastro, Christopher Bayly, Leonard Blussé, Peter Burke, Pietro Costa, Luciano Figueiredo, Kenneth Maxwell, Michael N. Pearson, Fernando Portugal, Juan Pimentel, Laura de Mello e Souza and Rafael Valladares also supported me on different occasions. Luís Farinha Franco, as ever, was generous with his enormous erudition. I owe much to the students who chose me as their supervisor or co-supervisor on their doctoral theses, as well as all those who attended my seminars and those I was able to organize with Anthony Molho at two North-American universities and then in Florence. I also learned much with Miguel Jerónimo and Ricardo Roque, who completed their Masters theses with me at the Universidade Nova de Lisboa. Dulce Figueiredo and Paula Gonçalves were wonderful research assistants. I also recall that the idea of putting together this series of studies as a book, with the intention of having it published by Editora da Unicamp, came from Alcyr Pécora and João Adolfo Hansen and was enthusiastically received by Paulo Franchetti, to whom I am grateful for the opportunity of publishing this book in Brazil. A word of profound acknowledgment for their professionalism, as publisher and editors, goes to Marion Berghahn, Mykelin Higham, Caroline Kuhtz and Paula Gonçalves. Finally, Filipa and, more recently, Maria and Madalena, without whose knowledge plus our travels to different continents and oceans and all those days of work and dreams this book would never have existed. The organization of this book follows a chronological and thematic sequence to be found in ‘“A Língua e o Império”, A Literatura e o Império: Entre o Espírito Cavaleiroso, as Trocas da Corte e o Humanismo Cívico’, in Francisco Bethencourt and Kirti Chaudhuri (eds), História da Expansão Portuguesa, vol. 1 – A Formação do Império (1415–1570) (Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores, 1998), 414–54; ‘Cultura Escrita e Práticas de Identidade’, in Francisco Bethencourt and Kirti Chaudhuri (eds), História da Expansão Portuguesa, vol. 2 – Do Índico ao Atlântico (1570– 1697) (Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores, 1998), 458–531; ‘As Práticas de Escrita’, in Francisco Bethencourt and Kirti Chaudhuri (eds), História da Expansão Portuguesa, vol. 3 – O Brasil na Balança do Império (1697–1808) (Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores, 1998). In Chapter 4, I have added texts that I wrote for the book I published, O Tempo de Vasco da Gama (Lisbon: Difel, 1998). Chapter 7 includes a selection from the introduction to the work of Charles Boxer, Opera Minora, vol. II – Orientalismo / Orientalism (Lisbon: Fundação Oriente, 2002). In Chapter 8, there is an extract from the chapter entitled ‘Quadro

Introduction • 7

da Presença dos Portugueses no Oriente’, in Rosa Maria Perez (ed.), Os Portugueses e o Oriente: História, Itinerários, Representações (Lisbon: D. Quixote, 2006). Chapter 5 and 10 include extracts from ‘Descrições e Representações de Goa’, in Rosa Maria Perez (ed.), Histórias de Goa (Lisbon: Museu Nacional de Etnologia, 1997), 45–86; English version entitled Stories of Goa (Lisbon: Museu Nacional de Etnologia, 1997), 45–86. In Chapters 13 and 16 I have added extracts from a chapter initially written in English, ‘Political Culture’, in F. Bethencourt and D. Ramada Curto (eds), Portuguese Oceanic Expansion, 1400–1800 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Part of Chapter 14 was initially published in French and entitled ‘Idéologies Impériales dans l’Afrique Occidentale au Début du Dix-septième Siècle’, in Luiz Felipe de Alencastro and F. Bethencourt (eds), L’Empire Portugais Face Aux Autres Empires (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 2006), 203–47. In Chapter 16 there is an extract translated into Portuguese of ‘Notes on the History of European Colonial Law and Legal Institutions’, Quaderni Fiorentini per la Storia del Pensiero Giuridico Moderno, vol. 33–34 (2004–2005), 13–71. In the same chapter there is also a partial translation of an introduction to a volume I collected entitled ‘Jesuits as Cultural Intermediaries in the Early Modern World’, Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu (Rome, 2005). In the same chapter is a paper I presented at ‘Portugal Índico: A Conference of International Historians and Anthropologists on the Portuguese Presence in South Asia in the Colonial Period’, organized by Rosa Maria Perez and Stephan Halikowski Smith, Brown University, Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies, 6–17 May, 2003. Finally, Chapter 18 includes a translation from French of ‘Notes à propos de la Nobiliarquia Paulistana de Pedro Taques’, Arquivos do Centro Cultural Português, 39 – Biographies (Paris, 2000), 111–19.

Notes  1. Bayly, Origins of Nationality in South Asia: Patriotism and Ethical Government in the Making of Modern India, 276–78.  2. Fanon, Peau Noire, Masques Blancs, pref. (1952), endnote (1965) de F. Jeanson; ibid., Les Damnés de la Terre, pref. by J.-P. Sartre; Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, 123–302.  3. See by the author, ‘O Atraso Historiográfico Português’, VII–LXXXVII.  4. Godinho, Estrutura da Antiga Sociedade Portuguesa.

Part I

Language, Literature and the Empire, 1415–1570 What effects did the Portuguese expansion have on the formation of a national literature? This is the question that has caused most concern for successive generations of historians wanting to identify the nation through the construction of a canon of literary texts. Indeed, if one considers the existence of a process that is signalled by the chronicles of Gomes Eanes de Zurara, the dramas of Gil Vicente, the Décadas da Ásia by João de Barros and The Lusiads by Luís de Camões it will be possible to see the enormous impact that the expansion had on the formation of a national literature. However, can this impact be judged to be specific to Portugal? It would seem so if we are to accept the opinion that until the eighteenth century the discovery of new worlds had little influence on European literature as valid.1 When, for example, François de Belleforest described Asia in his Histoire Universelle du Monde (1572), he based it on ancient texts; books published by the Portuguese – which included, according to the author, many other singular facts on those distant lands – are referred to but for him are not truly incorporated.2 Now, if we move from the hypothesis of specificity in Portuguese literature, this would have to be examined by three questions. The first relates to the relationship that exists between the acts and their written representation. The question is not a new one. Zurara refers to it when he declares: ‘What would the deeds of Rome have been had Titus Livy not written of them!’3 Throughout the sixteenth century, authors repeat the idea of the lack of interest shown by the Portuguese in celebrating their deeds. The same idea is connected to the opposition between arms and the arts, which should be analysed in comparison with other topics. Within the sphere of the different forms of seeing the existing relationship between acts and literary descriptions, Charles Boxer emphasized

10  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

the disdain constantly shown towards sailors and seamen in comparison with that shown to soldiers.4 We need to know what place was occupied by actual arguments over petitions for concession of an honour in the process of representation in writing of the deeds of so many Portuguese. The second question is related to the circulation of literary models, with oscillations of different types and with the phenomena of synchronicity or exclusion that run through these discourses. A far more important question is how often the effects of overseas expansion were compared either with changes caused by the appropriation of the classical and Italian models throughout the sixteenth century, be this with the emergence of a national theatre or epic. A final problem lies in knowing how one can characterize sociologically that literature that is related to overseas expansion. The preoccupation with these social aspects prolongs a revision of the ideas created around the role of the state in the thrust of initiatives related to the expansion, namely the criticisms of the vision of a monopolistic state used by Vitorino Magalhães Godinho.5 Thus, among the chivalrous spirit, exchanges among court circles, professional groups or educated government employees, officials and merchants or even the rules of a civic humanism, the meaning of those discourses that are considered to be literary can only be entirely understood if we take into account the different peoples and the several readings that they adopted.

Notes   1. Elliott, The Old World and the New, 1492–1650; Grafton, New Worlds, Ancient Texts: The Power of Tradition and the Shock of Discovery.   2. De Belleforest, L’Histoire Universelle du Monde, fls. 55–55v.   3. De Zurara, Crónica do Conde D. Duarte de Meneses, 42.   4. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415–1825, intr.; Boxer, ‘The Politics of the Discoveries’, 264.   5. Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial.

Chapter 1

The Africans in Portugal

Between Presentation and Methods of Communication


The existence of a black population in Portugal is one of the aspects that is emphasized by foreign travellers in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Nicholas Lanckman de Valckenstein records the presence of Africans when writing about the festivities in Lisbon in celebration of the marriage of D. Leonor, the sister of Afonso V, to the Emperor Frederick III. On 13 October 1451, a group comprising Africans and Moors appeared before the bride-to-be with a dragon, after which they performed dances. Further on was a group from the Canary Islands, who paid homage to the Empress, again with dances, giving her a letter stating: ‘Although we are men from the forests who have come from distant islands across the sea, and have for a short time been dependents of the most serene king of Portugal, we were sent by our chiefs to these nuptial festivities.’ The ceremonies continued with many portrayals of the kingdom. On 14 October, in a display beside the cathedral, there was a celebration of the victories against the Moors, the submission of the Africans and the spreading of the Faith, with expressions of grief at the death of Don Fernando and, nearby, an exhibition of various wild animals. On the 17th of the month, before sunrise, Christians, Moors and men from all parts came singing in their own language and dancing. As the day progressed, an elephant appeared in the square with four trumpeters and four African boys, who handed out oranges to the spectators. Finally, on the 23rd, a new display was given with dancing and the playing of instruments in front of the palace where the Empress was staying. Christians, Moors, Jews and a group Nicholas Lanckman called

12  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

barbarians, comprising Africans, Moors and men from the interior of the Canaries, all joined together.1 From 1465 to 1467, the brother of the Queen of Bohemia was received in Braga by Don Afonso V, who presented him with two black slaves and a monkey. The King told him to take them to his own country, where there was none, since in Portugal they were in such abundance that they were sold in the same way as sheep.2 Thirty years later, when Jerome Munzer visited Portugal, he recorded the presence of an African population. The Nuremberg doctor, who was received by King John II in Évora, noted the presence at court of many sons of African chiefs, who were educated in Portuguese customs and religion. Their origins were diverse, which can be verified by the different languages as well as by their colour, some being light brown, others black and yet others very dark. They all learned Portuguese and were then used as interpreters in discussions with African kings. According to this particular foreign visitor, the king was seeking the protection of the most important monarchs through these contacts, which were established by interpreters, together with the inevitable gifts, since it was not possible to bring them to submission – and even if it had been, it would not have been useful to have done so. In Lisbon, impressed by the number of black slaves, Munzer noted the difference between those who were light brown and came from the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn and those who were darker, who came from the equatorial areas.3 Throughout the sixteenth century there are successive records of the black population. The Fleming Nicholas Clenardo wrote from Évora in 1535 that slaves were to be found everywhere. In Lisbon, he suggests, their number is greater than that of the rest of the population, and they perform all domestic services. As far as he was concerned, this social integration led to sexual associations between the lords and their female slaves, with resulting children being sold in the market.4 Well into the 1570s, Filippo Sassetti divided the inhabitants of Lisbon into three groups: old Christians, new Christians and slaves. The last of these constituted about a fifth of the capital’s population, and the Florentine traveller and merchant emphasizes the diversity of their languages and the fact that the majority is occupied with the transport of products to and from the port.5 At the same time, Bartholomé de Villalba y Estaña refers to Lisbon as ‘madre de negros’, these being a vast number of people, some three or four thousand, who lived along the Tagus, pointing out in particular the black women who carried water.6 During this time, an Italian visitor on describing Portugal states in laudatory terms that conversion to Catholicism is not only found in the overseas

The Africans in Portugal  •  13

territories but also among those who were taken to Lisbon from Africa and India.7 This impression of Portugal given by foreign visitors suggests two types of identity formation. On the one hand, more than a report on an observed reality these records allow us to observe the observer – for example, his astonishment when seeing a number of Africans in Lisbon (about 10 per cent of the population in the middle of the sixteenth century) – in contrast with the situation in other European cities.8 On the other hand, the same genre of writing allows one to identify the place occupied by the slaves and, in general, by the black population within Portuguese society in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. On this subject, it is necessary to consider above all a complex framework of social relationships where we find, within the sphere of types of idealization of a peninsular form of society, ceremonial or festive displays of groups of Africans as well as, during the period when Portugal was in dispute with Castile over the possession of the Canaries, inhabitants of the islands.9 In addition are the formation of a slave market; the domestic integration of the slaves; the development of sexual exploitation of black women; the formation of a vast number of marginalized and excluded people, with emphasis on the black population; and the attempts, which were perhaps somewhat timid, intent on their conversion to Catholicism. Within this web of social relations, the signs of marginalization of the Africans remain a constant. In Lisbon, there were protests in 1515 regarding how little if any care was given to the corpses of slaves: they were left out in the open, eaten by dogs, with no religious care afforded them.10 However, one must accept that many practices of exclusion led to new initiatives and created other forms of social organization. For example, there was an organization of brotherhoods of Africans, many of them dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary, which appeared in Lisbon and the Atlantic coast throughout the sixteenth century.11 It is also important to remember the 200 men, the greater number of whom were Africans from the Lisbon coastline, who in 1513 made up the crew of the ships of Diogo Mendes de Vasconcelos in India.12 And, on the fact that sexual exploitation of female slaves could be eradicated, one should consider the protest at the Funchal council offices in 1546 against those men from abroad, since they all lived with the female slaves, ‘who steal from their masters who keep them in order to clothe themselves and so it is that on this island there are many slaves, men and women, who are clothed’.13 So it is within this framework of social relationships that are included the various methods of communication relating to slaves and Africans.

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Literary Uses of African Portuguese The African tongue is found throughout the sixteenth century in literary constructions, and it came to be one of the traditional elements of Portuguese drama. In 1455, on the occasion of the wedding of D. Joana to Henry IV of Castile, the Captain of the Cavalry, Fernão da Silveira wrote a poem, imagining that an African was taking part in the festivities with a dance: I am the king of the inhabitants of Sierra Leone I have left my wife in haste Since we have always served your father, And many Africans are delighted you are the queen. These people in this land are very good They never enjoy themselves, they are always at war, I don’t even know which dance to do in your land But shall dance as we do in our land.14

In this text we can see that, from a social viewpoint, the language spoken by the Africans was used to identify an African king who was being portrayed in a regal ceremony. From a linguistic point of view, we note the generalized use of infinitives, of ‘to me’ (a mim) for ‘I’ and of the verb ‘be’ (estar) for ‘to be’ (ser).15 As well as the language, the dances represented further means of communication that served to identify the Africans: dances that here are reverential, in celebration of the monarchy but which the Ordenações would later censure.16 Some years later, Henrique da Mota wrote in verse, in the form of dramatic dialogue, about a barrel of wine that had been spilled. The clergyman, the owner of the barrel, accused a ‘perra de Manicongo’, his slave, of being guilty of this accident. The accusation was based upon the suspicion thrown upon the Africans in 1469 by the town council of Lisbon, which blamed the Africans for the many thefts occurring at the time and of spending the results of their crime in the taverns, where they would drink wine.17 But Henrique da Mota proved himself to be against this kind of suspicion and portrayed the slave girl as the victim of a flagrant injustice, capable of replying to her master: ‘there is a judge here/ and I am going there.’18 The same linguistic aspects are repeated and, from a social viewpoint, the slave girl is portrayed as knowing the value of her rights and as able to turn to the authority of the judge. Among the passages in African Portuguese known in the dramas of Gil Vicente, we have the play Frágua de Amores, which is set in Évora at the time of another royal festivity, the marriage of D. John III to D. Catarina

The Africans in Portugal  •  15

in 1524. One of the characters is an African slave who demands that Mercury and his forge of Love make him into a white man: Make me white, I beg of you man, And let my nose be well-formed, And give me a thin lip, I ask of you. My hand is already white. But I speak the language of Guinea If I speak as an African, What point is there in my being white? If the way I speak is African And I don’t speak Portuguese, Why was I shaped by the hammer?19

With his body transformed, but at the same time retaining his African speech, the same character portrayed by Vicente imagines himself to be the object of revulsion, both by white women and by one of his own, and ends up asking the mythical blacksmith to turn him back to his original colour. With this reversion, in which the character of the African slave appears riveted to his corporal and linguistic traits, we can deduce a moral lesson in defence of a static social order. However, in other plays by Gil Vicente, the social condition of the Africans, who are always identified by the use of the African language, is diverse. In Nau de Amores (1527), among several comic characters we see a nobleman from Benin who is, of his own accord, visiting Portugal and who falls in love with a noble Portuguese woman. In O Clérigo da Beira (1529–1530), an African freed from slavery states: ‘I am clothed now and am not captive.’ Thus a diversity of types in Vicente’s works, placed in different social strata, is identified by the colour of their skin and, more than anything, by their language. From a linguistic point of view, the characteristics already found are present once again, and there is a certain regularity in the generalized use of the infinitive instead of almost all verbal times and modes, in the fact that there is no agreement of adjectives depending upon gender, in the absence of articles and in the constant use of ‘to me’ (a mim) for ‘I’ and ‘be’ (estar) for ‘to be’ (ser). With small variations, the same characteristics are to appear again in the language of Africans in the plays of António Ribeiro Chiado and António Prestes, in other plays belonging to the so-called Vicentine school, as well as in Castilian dramatists.20 The main aspects of the African language are notable because of their regularity. What one must discover is whether this regularity is the product of a construction that is written, fixed and repeated by

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works published in the sixteenth century or whether, to the contrary, the authors of these works sought to reproduce a real language and to draw comic effects from it. Paul Teyssier, whose studies I have sought to take up here, suggests that the language of the Africans as recorded in works published in the sixteenth century copies the speech of the black slaves; that this manner of speaking, both in its regularity and in its constant simplification, is based upon the Portuguese language and can be compared with several Creole dialects of the Portuguese language; and that, because of the above, it would be dangerous to look for its origins in the African languages, since the slaves themselves came from highly different regions with varied languages.21 To summarize, the arrival of Africans – in particular the arrival of slaves in Portugal and their participation in new forms of communication, from their dances and their music to their language – was a new aspect of overseas expansion. Such an aspect, which has a social nature, be this symbolic or linguistic, can only be reduced with difficulty to readings that value the integration of these new social groups or, on the other hand, that suggest their marginalization. Among the complexity of situations caused by these new groups of Africans, it will be necessary to place ambiguous attitudes. António Ribeiro Chiado gives some examples of this ambiguity. The Auto da Natural Invenção, first presented in the Paços da Ribeira between 1545 and 1554, tells the story of a noble who receives a theatre company in his house. Among the members of the group is an African, whom the engraving in the published copy shows with a turban on his head and a guitar in his hands. The master of the house begins by doubting the ability of the actors, saying that he cannot believe that the African is a singer and able to play an instrument. The African replies in fluent Portuguese. To which the master of the house replies satirically in the African tongue. The lesson of this ambiguous scene appears to be the following: while the African shows an ability to integrate, using the ruling language, the master denies him this linguistic ability and marginalizes him, identifying him with the stereotypes of the African language.22 For his part, in the Auto das Regateiras, in a scene in which Serafim da Silva Neto is used as an example of the role the Portuguese played in the education of the Creoles, it is again the master who, when addressing an African woman, speaks in the African language: ‘Quanto ano? Não atender? … Como chamar terra vosso? … Quantos filhos vós parir? A vosso tem inda dente?’ (How many years? No understand? How your land called? How many children you have? You still have tooth?).23

The Africans in Portugal  •  17

Notes  1. Nascimento, Branco and de Lurdes Rosa, Leonor de Portugal Imperatriz da Alemanha: Diário de Viagem do Embaixador Nicolau Lanckman de Valckenstein, 33–53. On the custom of Jews and Muslims taking part in royal ceremonies, see Ribeiro, Extracto de Huma Memoria sobre a Tolerancia dos Judeos e Mouros em Portugal, 7.  2. Rozmital, Iter Annis 1465–1467 per Germaniam, Angliam, Franciam, Hispaniam, Portugalliam atque Italiam Confectum, 39–40.  3. Munzer, Itinerario do Dr. Jerónimo Munzer (Extractos), 51; Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 137. On Munzer and Africans in Portugal learning the language, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental (1471–1531), 157, 222, 224, 240, passim.  4. Cerejeira, O Humanismo em Portugal: Clenardo (com a tradução das suas cartas), 273–74.  5. Marcucci, Lettera Edite e Inedite di Filippo Sassetti, 111–12.  6. Villalba y Estaña, El Peregrino Curioso, 58.  7. Oliveira Marques, ‘Uma Descrição de Portugal em 1578–1580’, 109.  8. C.R. Oliveira, Sumário, 1554 (10% of the Lisbon population was slaves); Prestage and Azevedo, Registo da Freguesia da Sé desde 1563 até 1610 (óbitos, casamentos, baptizados, etc.), 1924–27; ibid., Registo de Santa Cruz do Castelo (Lisboa); E.F. Oliveira, Elementos para a História do Município de Lisboa, 509. A systematic picture of the arrival of slaves in Portugal between 1441 and 1505, based on calculations by Vitorino Magalhães Godinho, can be found in Tinhorão, Os Negros em Portugal: Uma Presença Silenciosa, 80. For more information, Brásio, Os Pretos em Portugal, 14–16, 73–89.  9. Cartagena, Alegações de D. Afonso de Cartagena Bispo de Burgos contra os Direitos dos Portugueses às Ilhas Canárias. 10. Ribeiro, A Santa Casa da Misericórdia de Lisboa, 182–83. 11. Vieira, Os Escravos no Arquipélago da Madeira Séculos XV a XVII, 217–19; Mulvey, ‘Slave Confraternities in Brazil: Their Role in Colonial Society’, 39–68; Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400–1880, 203–4. 12. A. Albuquerque, Cartas, vol. I, 123. 13. Vieira, Os escravos no Arquipélago da Madeira Séculos XV a XVII, 496. 14. ‘A min rrey de negro estar serra Lyoa … leyxar molher meu partyr muyto synha, porque sempre nos seruyr vosso pay, folgar muyto negro estar vos rraynha. Aqueste gente meu taybo terra nossa nunca folguar, andar sempre guerra, nam saber quy que balhar terra vossa, balhar que saber como nossa terra.’ G. Resende, Cancioneiro Geral, vol. I, 204–5. The references to African languages are broadly based on the work of Teyssier, La Langue de Gil Vicente, 228. 15. Ibid., p. 229. 16. Ordenações, 1602, book V, title LXX. 17. M.T.C. Rodrigues, Livro das Posturas Antigas, 214–15. 18. H. Mota, Obras (As Origens do Teatro Ibérico), 398. 19. ‘Faze-me branco, rogo-te, home … E minha nariz feyto bem,

18  •  Imperial Culture and Colonial Projects

e faze-me beyça delgada, te rogo … Já mão minha branco estae, e aqui perna branco he. Mas a mi falá Guinee. Se a mi negro falae, a mim branco para quê? Se falá meu he negregado e nam falá portugaas, para que mí martelado?’ Teyssier, La Langue de Gil Vicente, 233–34 ; Neto, Capítulos de História da Língua Portuguesa no Brasil, 46: ‘O negro da Frágua de Amores, de Gil Vicente, desespera-se porque inùtilmente lhe branqueara a pele: na linguagem sempre se traía a côr’ (The African in Gil Vicente’s Frágua de Amores is despairing since he had pointlessly whitened his skin: his speech still betrays his colour). 20. Teyssier, La Langue de Gil Vicente, 230–50; J.L. Vasconcelos, Linguagem de Preto, num Texto de Henrique da Mota; C.M. Vasconcelos, Notas Vicentinas: Preliminares de uma Edição Crítica das Obras de Gil Vicente, 407–8; Giese, ‘Notas Sobre a Fala dos Negros em Lisboa no Princípio do Século XVI’, 251–57; Chasca, ‘The Phonology of the Speech of the Negros in Early Spanish Drama’, 322–39; Kurlat, ‘El Negro como Tipo Cómico en el Teatro Español del Siglo XVI’, 387–88; Naro, ‘A Study on the Origins of Pidginization’, 314–47. 21. Teyssier, La Langue de Gil Vicente, 248. 22. Chiado, Avto da Natvral Invençam, 72–73. 23. Chiado, Autos, 77; Neto, História da Língua Portuguesa, 434.

Chapter 2

The System of Slave-Interpreter and Alternative Means of Communication


In a situation that is inverse to the arrival of the slaves and use of the Africans’ language in Portugal, to what extent did the process of overseas expansion in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries lead to a spread of the Portuguese language? To begin by noting the first native interpreters of Portuguese, Gomes Eanes de Zurara tells how Estevão Afonso, a knight from Lagos, captured a young black boy at the mouth of the Senegal River whom he then handed over to Henry (the Navigator). The prince ordered that he be taught to read and write as well as to learn everything a Christian should know – the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary and the Commandments. Zurara states that the boy learned more than many who called themselves Christians knew and that his excellent education was equivalent to that of the priests whom Henry planned to send to Africa. Unfortunately, the boy died early, and Henry’s intention of transforming the expansion of the language and religion of Christianity was frustrated as a result. The ideal of the language accompanying the empire, which was to come to fruition at the end of the fifteenth century, is thus celebrated in the person of Henry the Navigator. As to the practical implementation of this ideal, was an African’s abilities in reading and writing to be related to his initiation into Catholicism – an isolated episode – or rather an example of a systematically organized practice? Zurara, the Venetian Alvise Ca’ da Mosto and the author of a travel log dated 1463 refer to the native interpreters performing a crucial role in the establishment of the various types of contact between the Portuguese and the peoples of the regions of Africa south of the Sahara. Diogo

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Gomes de Sintra – who travelled to Guinea between 1456 and 1460 or 1462, and of whose travels there is a Latin version, together with additions from Martin Behaim in a manuscript that was put together at the beginning of the sixteenth century by Valentim Fernandes – refers to one Iacobum (Jaime, Tiago or Diogo), an Indian sent by Henry ‘in order that, should we reach India, we would have an interpreter’ (ut, si intrassemus Indiam, quod habuissemus linguam). Reference to an Indian is questionable, since we are talking of an interpreter who is able to speak the languages of the coast of Guinea – that is, someone who has identical characteristics to those referred to in other, contemporary, sources. But what is interesting for the moment is that we understand that these fifteenth-century authors tend to reduce the spread of the language to the work of the interpreters. Thus they are seen both as instruments of contact confined to oral communication, generally concerning diplomatic, military or commercial negotiations, and as carriers of news.1 In fact, in the fifteenth century, the joint expansion of the language and of Christianity seems to be more an ideal, reduced to the expression of some typical episodes, such as the black boy mentioned by Zurara, rather than a generalized practice. It is within this framework of means of communication that from early on we find the organization of a system of interpreters; this is almost as early as the contact between the Portuguese and the Africans that led to the slave trade. On one of his voyages, Ca’ da Mosto tells how each of the expedition’s ships had its own interpreter: turciman in Italian, turgyman in Portuguese, from the Arabic turchiman; and we know of the existence of one Diogo Dias, a turcoman employed by Afonso V who was charged with correspondence in Arabic.2 These African interpreters would have been sold by the lords of Senegal to the first Portuguese to arrive there. In Portugal, they converted to Catholicism and learned the language, which Ca’ da Mosto identifies as Spanish – which leads to some imprecision even though one knows little about either Portuguese or the language of the Africans learned by the slaves. The employment of these men for the marine expeditions was achieved by exchange with a slave who was chosen by the nobleman from among the newly captured men. As a means of encouraging them to learn, the master would grant the slave-interpreter a freedom charter once the latter had given him four slaves, which could only occur at the end of four voyages. This was the system of a means of recruitment according to the description given by the Venetian voyager in the middle of the fifteenth century.3 As for how it worked, it is necessary to start by noting that, when the caravels dropped anchor, the slave-interpreters were the first to disembark and establish initial contact. This was a risky business, since it fell

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  21

to them to convince the natives of the good intentions of the Portuguese and be open to negotiation. Sometimes the resistance of the Africans on meeting them led to the death of the interpreter. Such resistance was based upon images and ideas formed regarding the character of the Portuguese. For example, at the mouth of the Gambia River, the natives began to oppose any contact whatsoever, with arms to hand, and when they finally began to speak to the interpreters, they showed that the reason for such resistance lay in the fact that they believed, because of news from Senegal, that the Portuguese were cannibals. Proof of the centrality of this system in the contact established by the Portuguese lies in the fact that the progress of the voyages along the African coast was dependent upon the linguistic knowledge of the interpreters. At the end of his second voyage in the area of Cabo Roxo, at the mouth of the Rio Grance, Ca’ da Mosto talks of it having been necessary for the expedition to turn back, since they were in a new land, identified by a new tongue, which was impossible to understand. The Italian voyager tells us that barely had a small exchange of gifts been made – some small gold rings for some bagatelles – ‘non parlando, ma con cenni facendo mercato’.4 This system based upon the slave-interpreter was not invented by the Portuguese. From the beginning of the fourteenth century, European visitors to the Canary Islands used them. As a result of this early development, the inhabitants of the Canaries already had their own turcomen in the fifteenth century, or at least they had begun to use slave-interpreters as an essential tool for collecting information on unknown African territories, although at times they distrusted the ‘turcomen from foreign lands’. According to Christopher Columbus, one of the reasons for the advantages of this system lay in being able to rule with a linguistic diversity and freedom – the thousand languages of Guinea, where they themselves could not understand each other, is something that did not occur in the Caribbean. Columbus, who was interested in putting to good use the system used in Africa by the Portuguese, also gave the main reason for its inefficacy: when the slave-interpreters went to Guinea after learning the language in Portugal, they would not return because of the welcome they were given and the many gifts they had received. The solution proposed by Columbus was also to capture women and take them to the Iberian Peninsula so that the slaves would show commitment in their negotiations during their African visits and want to return to see their women. This suggestion by Columbus for their use in the Caribbean had the added advantage that the women would be able to teach their own language while living in the mainland.5 The story of João Garrido (this was the name given to him at his baptism) is one of the best examples of this method and also of the limits

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inherent in the system of slave-interpreters. Originally from the coast of Guinea, Garrido was either sold or captured in one of the many expeditions made by the Portuguese and Italians. When he arrived in Lagos, he was baptized and sold as a slave to a knight named Gonçalo Toscano. He returned several times to Guinea as a translator. However, in 1477 he decided to demand new conditions of employment: he would only return to Portugal if he was given a freedom charter as well as permission to trade in gold and – note – in slaves. It would appear that Toscano stuck to his rights regarding the slave, who feared that his master would take over his merchandise. Prince John gave him everything he wanted and tried to seduce him by exempting him from having to pay duty on all his merchandise. Calling upon his powers as king to deny Toscano’s demands, the royal charter stated that if Garrido were not given his freedom he would not return. His master would gain nothing by this and the kingdom would lose the ‘service and use he offers which we could have’. The words in the charter of the Chancery regarding the case of João Garrido’s freedom, with the intention of retaining his services as an interpreter, were a service to the king and seen as ‘for the public good of these kingdoms by giving them advantage in dealings with Guinea from which there is such profit’.6 There are clear signs of this system of use of native aid well into the start of the sixteenth century, when Fernão da Vela, a slave, was sent from the mainland to act as an interpreter during the release of slaves that used to take place in Benin. Following several voyages when he acted as translator, he declared that he had received royal agreement to his freedom and was ordered to remain with the factor of Benin for a period of three years. However, only a few people would have seen this provision, and its existence was doubted in the fortress city of S. Jorge da Mina. What is still more interesting is that this same Fernão da Vela appeared in Mina together with twelve slaves, whom he immediately managed to sell, and his wife, who he had brought from Benin and by whom he had a small daughter. Thus from João Garrido to Fernão de Vela we come across the same type of slave-interpreter who, once free, became a small businessman in slave traffic.7

Experiences in the Congo The use of slave-interpreters as an instrument of expansion of values and the Christian doctrine was superseded by their use in informationgathering during the fifteenth century; for example, in the contact established by John II and Manuel with the king of the Congo. In 1485,

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  23

Diogo Cão used several African interpreters in the establishment of the first contact with the king of the Congo. Before returning to Portugal, he took more Africans to give to John II. The king ordered that they be taught Portuguese as well as the rudiments of Catholicism and that they be treated with care – that is, given clothing and other gifts. At the end of this education they were to be returned to the Congo, to be received by their king. In 1489, one of these kidnapped Africans, Chrachanfusus, whose baptismal name was João da Silva, returned to Portugal as an official representative of his kingdom. In Beja, he was received by the King, whom he asked, in the name of his own king, to accept the governorship of the Congo and to send the necessary number of clergymen for the country’s conversion to Catholicism. Among the many things requested from the Portuguese king is the acceptance of some young men who were to be converted to Catholicism and to be taught Latin as well as to write in Roman characters, the idea being that upon their return to the Congo they might help the king and his kingdom. Rui de Pina – who records this episode in his chronicle, envisaging the idea of imperial power – associates this with the expansion of political power, the Catholic religion and the spread of the language.8 Indeed, in 1493 John II handed out to a group of black Africans and mulattos who were learning to read and write capes, jerkins, hoods, jackets and shoes. One of the Africans was called Dom Francisco, another Jácome Índio, the latter of whom received honours of distinction in the shape of a special shirt from Brittany and a black cap. Damião de Góis recorded the contact between Manuel and Afonso I of the Congo and the arrival in Portugal of a prince and other young noblemen ‘to learn things of the Faith here and the customs of this Kingdom’. Góis also recorded the efforts of Manuel to enlarge the group of Africans, when he asked for more young noblemen who must be aged between 13 and 15 years old. In 1512, the Portuguese king complained about the expense of the education of the sons of the king of the Congo and demanded from the latter necessary compensation in goods and slaves, concluding: ‘so that we have yet more reason to do good for you’. The spread of the language and religion was thus on a par with the defence of economic interests.9 What should be asked is why this defence of interests resulted in limitations, at least from the point of view of the spread of Portuguese. It could be that economic interests of the merchants and slaves reduced the value of diplomatic relations and projects intended to spread Portuguese culture – with a strong missionary element – established between the monarchs of Portugal and the Congo.10 Looking at the Regimento da Feitoria of São Tomé (1523), in the words of the Portuguese king, who was concerned with satisfying the interests of the authorities in

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the Congo, the main problem lay in the slave traffic among merchants from São Tomé, who were already connected with trade in the Antilles, and their counterparts in Luanda. As much as the two political powers were in agreement over the essentials, and there were communities of merchants working for themselves, they were in agreement over policy and ending this slave trade in the Luanda Bay. If the Portuguese authorities managed to achieve this objective, then the king of the Congo, Afonso I (1506–1543), promised many advantages in the return of the ships to Portugal to give ‘each year such a quantity of slaves, copper and marble from which more profit can be made than there is in the Congo becoming Christian’.11 Had these political projects arrived too late to hamper the personal interests of the different communities of merchants involved in slave traffic? Or was it that the implementation of the ideals of expansion of the language and religion were actually incompatible with the economic interests in slave traffic? Whatever the response to these questions, what is important is to note that, in 1529, in a letter in Latin sent to John III, Martim Figueiredo praises the strengths of spreading Christianity in the Congo but adds that the results of this work of conversion are in local languages and not in Portuguese.12 To this extent, one should not be surprised that the first catechism in Kikingo was written in 1556.13 Besides the interest in achieving through this practice the ideal of the expansion of the language and religion, relations established by Manuel with Afonso I, the king of the Congo, also show the importance of the written word. Indeed, in comparison with the original system, based upon the figure of the slave-interpreter and in which one finds an almost exclusive use of the spoken work, there now exists significant evidence of the use of the written word. Letters exchanged between the sovereigns, the establishment of an official signature that would authenticate the exchanges from the king of the Congo, as well as a drawing of his coat arms and books sent from Portugal to the Congolese king are some examples of this evidence.14 While the institutionalization of relations between the two kingdoms implies an intensification of recourse to the written word, the same establishment of official relations defines a type of norm practised in the relations and exchanges of correspondence with other kingdoms, as is the case in 1514 on the occasion of the embassy sent from Benin to the Portuguese court.15 On the margin of this field of official relations was the contact established at an individual level or by small organized groups. This was the case with regard to the so-called ‘lançados’ – condemned to death under the Ordenações Manuelinas (liv. V, título CXII) – whose means of communication cannot be reduced to the system of slave-interpreters.16

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  25

First Contact in India and Brazil During the reigns of John II and Manuel, although a means of communication based on the system of slave-interpreters continued to exist, we see the formation of alternative systems. This change can be defined above all by the implementation of ideals of expansion of Catholicism. It is therefore necessary to see whether written records acquire an ever-greater importance over oral communication. Equally, besides the slave-interpreter, there appeared other agents who were interested in establishing contact, as is the case with the exiles and deportees. In addition to this, the establishment of factories such as that at S. Jorge de Mina led to stable and institutionalized relations within which language teaching and the duties of translation acquired a practical consistency. Finally, at the turn of the sixteenth century it would be necessary to add to the new diplomatic contact established with the kingdoms of the Congo or Benin the discovery of Brazil and the beginning of the establishment of relations in the Indian Ocean. Pêro Vaz de Caminha explains that, at the time of the discovery of Brazil by Pedro Álvares Cabral, instead of capturing natives, whose information was doubtful and whose language no one could understand, it was far better to leave two deportees there, the idea being that they learn the local language until the Portuguese returned. Caminha also believed that the natives’ innocence was such that when the deportees managed to speak to them they immediately became Christians. So it was that the language and availability for belief in Christianity arrived hand in hand.17 In Brazil, besides the deportees, there were many who sought from the outset ways of life and relationships with the Amerindian population based on the model of the settlers in Africa. Some cases are known, in particular that of João Ramalho, who married the daughter of chief Tibirçá. As well as their linguistic ability, they had other attributes – warrior-like capabilities or magic – which allowed them to take on an important role in certain communities. However, in spite of the heroic stature that history has conferred upon men such as João Ramalho, who was able to take on the role of a true mediator, since he managed to be accepted as a native, the large-scale work of translation appears to have been, more than anything, the result of an indigenous ability that was by chance rooted in practices dating prior to the arrival of the Portuguese. It is possible to document most definitely at the moment of the arrival of the Portuguese that various groups of Indians had developed forms of translation by use of work performed by specialist interpreters, and this allowed for communication among groups of Tupis and non-Tupis.18

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Álvaro Velho, the author of the report of Vasco da Gama’s first voyage, presents a set of practices of communication in India, among which two aspects stand out. On the one hand, in the contact established between the Portuguese and the authorities in Calicut, one sees that following verbal exchanges there comes the delivery of letters written and signed by the Portuguese king. In an audience with the king of Calicut, Vasco da Gama carried two missives, one in Portuguese and the other in Arabic. Distrusting the interpretation the Muslims might give to the second of these letters, he began by asking that a Christian who understood the language be present. The Calicut authorities agreed to the request and sent for a young Quaram, who unfortunately could not do what was asked of him, since he did not know how to read Arabic. It was then that da Gama demanded that four Muslims read the first letter, probably with a translation into a European language, since it was known that the most widespread language among the merchants in the Indian ocean was Italian but also that Jews exiled to the Orient could equally turn to the Peninsular languages19 – and, only after this could they hand it to the king of Calicut, who appears to have been satisfied with its content. Thus, following the initial distrust, da Gama’s caution appears to have been worthwhile. On the other hand, contacts established between the Portuguese armada and local authorities ended with a plan to establish a factor and a scribe in Calicut – respectively Diogo Dias, a scribe from São Gabriel and the brother of Bartolomeu Dias, and Álvaro de Braga, a scribe from Bérrio. In exchange, the king of Calicut was to send someone to Portugal. However, this plan, which supposes a system of communication based upon the written word and on administrative or diplomatic practices, was not implemented. The main cause of its failure lay in da Gama’s troubled departure from Calicut, caused by the Muslim merchants who felt threatened by the Portuguese presence. Instead of this plan, after buying the pepper they required the Portuguese turned to the usual system based upon the capture of natives. According to Álvaro Velho, the captain of the fleet finally accepted the advice of the other captains to take between six and twelve inhabitants ‘so that, when they return to Calicut, they will create friendships’.20

Institutionalization of the Work of Translation The change in means of communication established by various types of interpreters shows that the expansion of Portuguese was a slow and drawn-out process. Throughout the sixteenth century, the job of mediation between Portuguese and languages used in establishing

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  27

contact accentuates some of the changes already in place and demonstrates some new ones as well. An inventory of these alterations should begin by isolating the most institutionalized forms of the work of the interpreters. In Sofala, for example, there is evidence of linguists with Portuguese names registered in the lists of payments made at the fortress from 1506.21 In the Tombo do Estado da Índia, which Simão Botelho sent to the kingdom in 1554, the salaries paid in each fortress demonstrate the importance attributed to the local linguists. In Cochin, for example, the local functionaries who were paid most were those linguists used in the factory, above the scribes: Itiunirama received a salary of 8,400 reis and a Christian who performed the same functions received 9,600 reis (in comparison with the 400,000 reis paid to the captain of the fortress, the 120,000 reis paid to the factor and the 40,000 reis paid to each of the Portuguese scribes). We also know that the linguist to the Christians in Cochin was paid 12,600 reis in 1529. In Goa, the linguist earned 33,600 reis (while the salary of the factor was 100,000 reis). In Hormuz, we learn that a linguist employed by the judge received 7,200 reis, while the linguist in the customs house, who spoke Brahmin, earned 10,500 reis (while the factor received 100,000). In Chaul, the captain’s linguist earned 7,200 reis (while the factor earned 100,000 and each of the scribes in the factory 30,000). In Bassein, there were three linguists: that of the captain and the factory each earned 33,600 reis a year, while the friars received 15,000 (the factor’s salary was 200,000 and each scribe received 50,000). For his part, the linguist to the Captain of Diu received 7,200 reis.22 This institutional integration of the work of the interpreters must be seen as a process that defines specific abilities within a hierarchical organization. The list of those on the Santa Maria do Monte, which travelled from Hormuz to Goa between 1520 and 1521, mentions one Salvador Rodrigues, ‘who was linguist of Hormuz’, then the captain and his men and after this the apothecary. In 1529, the translator for the Christians in Cochin, João Cárcere, shows that the possibility of reverting to the written word, while limited, was a part of his job. In a decree of 1562, the services of the interpreter António Fernandes, ‘of mixed blood, married, resident of Kollam’, are recognized, and he is granted the highly important job as linguist in Kollam. More than twenty years later, another royal decree named a young Malabar, a student of the Jesuits in Cochin, as a highly important interpreter in Kollam. It was his job to look after the local agents who had been taught by the Jesuits in their job as translators. In other cases, more important than the efficacy of the function and those who were being trained is the ownership of the position of interpreter or translator. As in the process of hereditary transmission of other positions,

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there was always the possibility of buying such offices. This was the case in the 1570s, with the death of António Mendes de Oliveira, the interpreter in Hormuz, and the granting of the position to his eldest son with the right of another individual to take on the post during the heir’s minority. Although it is not always possible to establish the nationality of the translators, who are referred to by their Christian names, one can imagine that during the sixteenth century there was a tendency for the Portuguese to appropriate the positions even though they were not always better suited for the job of translating than the local agents. It is perhaps because of this that a royal decree of 1571 attempted to prevent Portuguese taking on the post of interpreter in India, so re-establishing these posts was granted to the local populace.23 The work of these local interpreters took advantage of the notorious inability of many Portuguese to speak the local languages – as noted in the middle of the seventeenth century by Fernand Braudel – while at the same time he points to a particular form of indigenous collaboration.24 Added to this institutional integration of the local interpreters is another change related to the position of the Portuguese interpreters. Some instances during the sixteenth century show that the ability to translate meant a considerable improvement in the social standing of the translator. For example, António de Camelo, who translated from Arabic in Cananor, was made a knight by D. Francisco de Almeida and the title was confirmed by D. Manuel in 1510.25 This identification of the position with honours, or at least the expectation created by the power of an official of a royal reward, perhaps serves to explain the fervour with which the Portuguese attempted to call themselves linguists. However, where one finds more clearly this tendency is when the translator exercises his function within the ambit of an embassy. On this, the most significant case is that of a Portuguese interpreter, who remains to be identified, who wrote the report of the Portuguese embassy in Bengal in 1521 with a double intention. Firstly, the author aims to praise and justify the embassy, which is headed by António Brito, ‘the Old Man’, and Diogo Pereira against the interests of another group of Portuguese who were interested in trading in Bengal. The anonymous author gathered evidence to denigrate this rival faction. For example, Cristóvão Jusarte is described as a type of immigrant who, once he had presented his credentials to António de Brito, ‘said that he did not know the Governor of India, nor did he know his name; and that around here he said many other things that should not be written down; and even things about António de Brito that no one should hear’. Secondly, the author attempted to confirm his own knowledge about the land and its people and in respect of his own intervention in negotiations with the

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  29

authorities in Bengal and Pegu. This desire to boast must be related to an interest in obtaining an honour for the services he performed, with the expectation of social enhancement and improvement in his own career or that of the small group whose mouthpiece he was. Besides this, the most important thing in this report is precisely the fact that the Portuguese interpreter shows a use of literary stereotypes, a thing that is unknown up to this time in the work of the linguists who were involved in the Portuguese expansion in the East. Although he remained anonymous, the interpreter appears to have achieved the position of a man of letters.26 There are several instances where it is not possible to determine the role held by the Portuguese interpreters in the Portuguese delegations or embassies in the East. This is the case at the time of the signing of the Peace Treaty celebrated in 1523 between the governor, D. Duarte de Meneses, and the King of Hormuz, under which clauses previously established by Afonso de Albuquerque were ratified. At this ceremonial peace celebration, a much-loved interpreter of the King of Hormuz read him in translation the treaty and was determined that another copy ‘in Parsee’ was to be signed by the two parties.27 Could one therefore assume there was a lack of Portuguese agents who were able to fulfil the function of translating and believe that his existence was most exceptional and, therefore, praiseworthy? To recognize this means that one must recognize that the work of translation fell above all to local agents (and some exiled Jews), who benefited from a deeper tradition of contact with different trading communities in the Indian Ocean. When during the Portuguese embassy to the emperor of Abyssinia, who is identified as Prester John, this question of what knowledge existed in Portugal of Arabic and Ethiopian was brought up, the emperor was told that in Portugal there was no lack of those who could speak the two languages. Father Francisco Álvares goes on: And he at once turned and ordered [the translator] to say that he really believed that there might be in Portugal, but who would read those characters at sea? They replied that at sea there were many Arabs and Abyssinians who travelled in the ships belonging to the King of Portugal and that the Moors snatched the Abyssinians from their land to sell them in Arabia, Persia, Egypt and India to the Portuguese. And that when the Portuguese took the Moors they noted that there had been Abyssinians among them and they immediately clothed them and treated them very well, because they know that they are Christians, and that we took the interpreter Jorge there who, his highness well knew, had been taken captive by a Moor from Hormuz.28

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In 1512, Afonso de Albuquerque wanted to justify his work and wrote a long letter to the king telling him of the impact his actions had had on the submission of some port cities in the southwest of India and Malacca. In the middle of his narrative about all these deeds, the then governor of India includes a reference to the teaching of Portuguese: In Cochin where they teach the children I found a trunk with exercise books and it seemed to me that your highness would not want them to rot in the ARCA and I ordered a married man here to teach the boys to read and write and there are about 100 boys in the school, sons of honourable men; they are very bright and absorb well what they are taught in a short time and they are all Christians.

This attempt to spread the teaching of the Portuguese language and of Catholicism must be seen as an exceptional case, and most of all it must be read within the actual context of the letter to the king in which Albuquerque lists all the deeds he has performed. It is precisely after describing the acts that imposed Portuguese sovereignty that the famous governor includes a reference to his attempt to spread the language and religion. The vicar of Cochin complains that the support that Afonso de Albuquerque had given to the Christian children was removed and the result was that ‘no one ever wanted to learn any more since they have no farms or other things to support themselves’. In 1521, it is D. Duarte de Meneses who orders the distribution of 200 exercise books, five Flos sanctorum and thirty-four bibles to one João Rodrigues for him to teach the children of the inhabitants and orphans of Goa. In 1523, the priest at Cananor writes that he is teaching the sons of converts to Catholicism and the Portuguese to read and write. The priest complains from Malacca in 1532 that he cannot ‘constantly’ teach reading and writing to the fortytwo orphan children, whose ages ranged from seven to fifteen, all sons of Portuguese who had died there; and he asks that the position of teacher be created, with a set salary. In this collection of writings, these signs relating to the teaching of Portuguese and the rudiments of Catholicism show attempts that are not very systematic and are above all included in forms of religious practice and that in many cases should be interpreted as playing a part in the discussion that is characteristic of many of the acts performed by the priests and the king’s officials.29 It is only from the middle of the sixteenth century that one can talk of commitment to a policy of education. But one must add that the teaching activities are subordinate to the objective of broadening the group of agents of intervention, including the translators. The work of translation was even used by the religious orders as one of the necessary attributes

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  31

to their acceptance. In this process there are two tendencies: on the one hand that of declaring the need for teaching Portuguese to the communities who wished to convert, the intention being the understanding of the religious messages imposed by the ecclesiastical hierarchy itself; on the other, that which conditioned the transmission of matters felt necessary for Catholic education, the intention being the understanding of the religious messages imposed by the ecclesiastical hierarchy itself. Two examples of the latter tendency help one to understand the process better. In 1541, the Brotherhood of Conversion to the Faith created a college – initially handed over to the Franciscans but based on the Jesuit College of St Paul – for the education of thirty boys: ‘Canaras, Paravas, Malays, Muluccans, Chins, Bengalis, Chingalas, Pegus, from Siam, Gujarat Abyssinians, kaffirs from Sofala and Mozambique and the island of S. Lourenço and other parts where it can produce results’. The boys were to be taught to read and write, which would include learning grammar, matters of conscience and most of all good behaviour and the mysteries of the Catholic faith. But they were all to be older than thirteen so ‘that they already know how to speak their languages well and will not lose them’ and so they could be used to spread the Catholic message when, following their ordination as priests, they return to their homeland. This requisite, to promote the creation of bilingual agents, shows a strategy of using local languages in the service of Catholicism. When, in 1545, the Jesuits sought to control the College in Goa, their idea was to have sixty young boys aged between eight and twenty-one who could initially speak about eight or ten local languages. The importance the interpreters assumed is once again mentioned in a letter from Francis Xavier signed in 1545 and sent from Meliapore to the Jesuit priests in Goa. Considering the different European origins of the Jesuits, the advice given by the missionary was that they should learn Portuguese ‘since otherwise there would be no interpreter able to understand them’. Thus the European missionary activity suggested the practice of learning Portuguese before anything else and the use of local interpreters. As an ideal, this was little practised, and instead there developed a direct learning of local languages.30 Examples of the use of local languages for the spreading of the Catholic message can be found in the stories of the lives of many European churchmen who put into practice the ideal of their direct use, so dispensing with interpreters. In 1530, Friar Vicente de Laguna, a Dominican who lived in Goa, dedicated himself to learning the local language ‘so that I can teach them better using it’.31 For his part, Brother Gaspar da Cruz, who was also a Dominican, tells how when he arrived in Cambodia from Malacca, ‘after learning the language properly with another person dealing with

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the people and priests, it is far better to know it since I found everything was contrary to what they had told me and that they were all mistaken about simple things that led them to believe things about the people that were not true’. So learning the language – and so dispensing with the interpreter – became a necessary part of the knowledge and the mission that the friar wanted to achieve. To this interest in learning the languages directly shown by the missionary corresponds a curiosity in describing the systems of written communication in both Cochinchina and China.32 In Goa, apparently in 1548 the bishop, João de Albuquerque, can be seen to be occupied in confiscating the Hindu literature with the desire of extinguishing what he considered to be idolatrous, and it is necessary to recognize the orders given by the first Provincial Council held in Goa in 1567. It was then that the duty of all Hindus to attend sermons was established, but on the other hand the preachers were advised to adapt their sermons to their audience, without necessarily showing the higher mysteries of the faith, and to make use of the local language of Konkani in order to facilitate communication.33 The curiosity in local languages shown by the Dominicans, Franciscans and most of all the Jesuits from the middle of the sixteenth century was clearly subordinate to the demands of the missions. The Jesuit Henrique Henriques invented a system of writing corresponding to the sounds and put together a grammar of the Malabar language, which he sent to Portugal in 1551. His hope was that, in a few years, it would be established as a rule that all should write in Malabar (Tamul) and not in Portuguese. Some of his works in Tamul translation were to be published in India between 1576 and 1586.34 In 1554, together with the methods of communication used by the Jesuits, the Booklet that contains in short what every Christian should learn for his salvation in the Tamul and the Portuguese language was published in Lisbon. The work of translating this was done by Vicente da Nazaré, Jorge Carvalho and Tomé da Cruz, who identified themselves as ‘Indians’, so satisfying the orders of John III and demonstrating their ability in Latin, Portuguese and Tamul. By using the subject of modesty, so characteristic of the prologues, the authors refer to their language as poor and barbaric in comparison with Latin and Portuguese.35 The Malabar translators thus place themselves in the service of the king and of the ideals of using the local languages of Father Henrique Henriques. But what must be emphasized is that the contribution of these translators becomes decisive in putting into practice the use of the local languages with a view to conversion. Between 1556 and 1561, the Jesuits, who were already in possession of a printing press, printed a booklet in Goa called the Doutrina Christã in Konkani. This was one of the first works produced by the priests at the printing house in the

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  33

College of St Paul in Goa, which was also dedicated to the publication of other works in Portuguese and Latin, such as the Colóquios by Garcia de Orta (1563) and Desengano de perdidos by Gaspar de Leão (1573).36 These publications, besides showing how Kinkany (Goa) and Tamul (Cochin and southern India) were used in the missionary work of the Jesuits, confirm the important function performed by the interpreters, in whose education the Jesuits were invested. There are, however, four problems that arise from these very same publications. The first relates to the efficacy of this method, which unites the use of local languages with the use of transmission by printing. If one is to believe the complaints contained in the correspondence of the Jesuits, what appears to have happened in the large commercial centres, where there was a permanent Portuguese presence and institutionalization, is that the ease of turning to Portuguese, although it was in a version that was clearly becoming Creole, would not have persuaded the missionaries to become involved in learning the local languages. This would have been the case, for example in Goa, with Konkani. On the other hand, in Japan, China, the Moluccas, Ceylon and also in southern India – that is, in those areas where the Portuguese presence is less obvious – the Jesuits intensified their efforts to learn the local languages. Secondly, it would be interesting to know how the means of communication used by the Jesuits competed with those of the lay Portuguese community. The Jesuits’ correspondence talks with displeasure and, at times, great indignation of the Portuguese, who whether within or outside the more institutionalized spaces of the State of India became locally integrated, turning their backs on Catholicism. Could it be that these constant denunciations show a greater efficacy of communication on the part of the lay Portuguese? This question is related to a third problem, which lies in knowing in what way an interest in learning the local languages suggests a curiosity for local religions. The case of Father Henrique Henriques arises in this pragmatic respect in his insistence on considering Hinduism as a set of fables. On this, Donald Lach suggests that in the sixteenth century, ‘limited by their cultural and religious hostility to Hinduism, the Jesuits were naturally incapable of penetrating beyond the surface of Hindu life’. Without the same ideals of mission, the lay Portuguese would perhaps have demonstrated a greater efficacy in terms of communication. Finally, there is the fourth problem that must be brought into the open regarding the temporal and spatial continuity of the use of printing and the local languages by the Jesuits. Could one even suggest a systematic policy of printing as used in Goa, Cochin, Macau and Nagasaki and when it would have begun? A study of the inventories of works published suggests that we are more in the presence of attempts, at least until the 1570s, than of constant endeavours.37

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Up to here, the contrast between the local languages and Portuguese did not allow for a true evaluation of the education of the Creoles – those languages that of necessity arose as intermediary languages and in many cases were identified with the precarious situation of their speakers. It is perhaps with these Creole languages that the Portuguese language referred to in many of the documents should be identified. Francis Xavier, the Jesuit priest, has left us an important testimony of the contribution made by the Portuguese and the missions in the formation of these Creole languages. It would seem he preached in Creole and counselled the missionaries to follow his example, ‘speaking in Portuguese as the slaves speak it’. One of his biographers records on this subject that Xavier ‘ended up speaking Portuguese with the people of the land, talking half native as they do, so that they can understand him better’. Although it is difficult to create a sixteenth-century map of these Creoles, by recognizing their existence we are able to consider how the interlinking of different means of linguistic communication goes beyond determined social barriers.38 The ideas and policies of the Jesuits did not prevent work on the local languages, in particular the dialects of Malabar. One can note the practical nature of the first vocabularies or lists of words in relation to navigation, commerce and daily life. One of the first examples of a Malay-Portuguese vocabulary, containing 138 words of the ‘language of Calicut’, was supplied to the author of the Roteiro of Vasco da Gama’s first voyage by those men captured by the Portuguese. For his part, António Pigafetta, a member of the ship’s company on the first circumnavigation by Fernão de Magalhães, included in his report of the voyage a list of 426 words in Malay with a translation into Italian. This vocabulary was distributed mostly following its introduction in the collection of voyages of Ramusio. In turn, this type of curiosity in the local languages would have been seen as a result of leanings arising from a classicizing humanism based upon pedagogic models that attributed value to language learning. On this, it is interesting to note the fact of references to the languages and the systems of their written evidence being more numerous in the sixteenth-century descriptions of other societies than in the texts of the fifteenth century by Zurara or Ca’ da Mosto. For example, Tomé Pires notes the specificity of the Canarim language of Goa as distinct from that of Daquem and Narsinga; at the same time, he demonstrated his respect for a local culture when he treated the Brahmin as being highly important and ‘sharp and well-taught in their belief’.39 In this curiosity in the languages of other civilizations, the Chinese characters are an object of exoticism and reflection, as is the case in the works of Brother Gaspar da Cruz.

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  35

On this, the attention paid to the Asian languages must be studied within the tension between, on the one hand, the practical intentions of missionary work and commerce and, on the other, the emergent curiosity of humanists and antiquarians. João de Barros, the author of the Décadas, exemplifies this tension in his description of Goa, demonstrating a clear preoccupation in presenting the city as an Episcopal metropolis retaining ancient signs of Christianity, ‘one of which was the existence of a metal crucifix found while a man was removing the foundations of some houses, which Afonso de Albuquerque ordered him to take with solemnity in a procession to the church, and then he sent it to king Dom Manuel as a sign that already at some time that image received adoration there’. Besides this sign of Christianity, João de Barros refers to another, which existed in a document written in Canarim, and on this he builds the narrative of the city’s foundation: ‘for nowadays we have no other memorial of the foundation of this city’, the ‘Christian people with Portuguese names and blood’ sent by D. Manuel had every right to remove that image ‘from pagan people of gentiles and perfidious Moors’. This myth of the foundation of a new social order based on the proof of the antiquarian – among which is the document written in Canarim – recognizes one of his most important formulations in the memory that that city, the site of idolatry and blasphemy is now not only magnificent in its buildings, illustrious in its arms and vast in its commerce, but it is also holy because of the sacrifices of the priests in the most important cathedral in the area and through prayer and doctrine by many of the Franciscans and Dominicans who live in their monasteries.

In other words, the new order of the city – as identified in its buildings and demonstrated in its military, commercial and religious organization – is based upon a myth of Christian foundation. Barros claims as his own the report of this myth of the foundation of Goa and insists on the fact that since there was no ‘news of its founder … we took as the basis the new light of faith that we lit there and the stones of the architecture and politics of Spain that we raised there’. In summary, the written record of the myth of the foundations acts as a justification for a social order centred above all on Christianity, faith and religion; the author also adds to this social order the buildings of power, military organization, commerce and their Iberian customs. For the author of the Décadas, the description of Goa precedes the story of its conquest or, rather, any successive conquests. In spite of this classic separation between description and history, there is a common preoccupation with vestiges and historical sources. Whether these amount to material proof made concrete in

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objects already referred to, writings in Canarim or buildings, whether it is to do with local chronicles that contained different interpretations of the conquest of Goa by the Muslims, Barros shows his antiquarian and humanist side, being simultaneously aware of the criteria of proof and the conflict of interpretations that result from reading texts. But one must note that these habits that are nowadays aided by the use of scientific history exist together with a discourse in new myths of foundation, among which an image of a Christian, Portuguese Goa is clearly pronounced. In a word, for João de Barros, history – based on a curiosity of local languages and documents – and myth are incompatible terms.40

Factories, Translators and Missionaries in the Atlantic Based upon Oliveira Martins, the Brazilian historian Serafim da Silva Neto suggested a type of progress relative to the overseas establishments that were divided into factories, farms and colonies. In the factories, contact is varied and vacillating: it leads to the creation of an intermediary lingua franca. In the farms contact is close and decisive; it leads to the creation of a Creole as the sole instrument of communication. In the colonies the situation is far more complex, since here there is a stratum of white elite. This stratum seeks or not to retain and develop cultural patterns and the values of the fatherland.41

This progression, where means of communication and forms of social organization intertwine, must be seen as a model of general interpretation. Its value is identical to that of another progression referred to earlier – that which begins with the slave-interpreter, moving to the role attributed to exiles and émigrés, and ending up in the factory and the fortresses.42 We can then add other processes of change such as those that are defined through the pedagogical experiences of teaching in Portuguese and of the Catholic religion, first idealized but not very systematic in their effective realization and that end in the practice of pedagogic models, in the use of local languages and in the published policies of the Jesuits. These interpretative models should be taken at face value and not reduced to any linear model. Their experimentation can be performed in regard to the sixteenth century on the scale of the Atlantic space, with particular emphasis on Brazil. By entering the Atlantic, we distance ourselves from the Mediterranean model, where the importance of the Jews in the work of translation is felt and is well recognized by the Portuguese authorities in North Africa.43

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  37

In 1529, John III granted a new ruling for the place that was oddly called the city of S. Jorge da Mina, where the obligations and rights of its captain, factor and other officials are described.44 In the book that contains the document given to the then captain Estêvão da Gama, the notion of a ruling is completed by pious works, and it is to these that there is more direct reference made in the tenth chapter. In it, the king orders the captain to persuade ‘the Africans of the region and any others who might come to the city’ to convert to Catholicism. As for the Africans who were resident in the town adjacent to the city or, even better, to the fortress, the main preoccupation was to order that their children be taught to read and write as well as to pray and to sing so that they could serve in the church. The captain was to charge the vicar and chapel of the church or any other person who knew how with the fulfilment of these objectives. The ruling also stipulated the payments to be made to the master and the captain for each of the fifteen children taught to read and for every African of the town who became Christian. In 1537, however, the monarch suspended the granting of this payment, stating that information was that many of the captains ‘received the said amount without deserving it, for which reason they deserved more punishment than the said reward’.45 These documents suggest three facts. The first is in regard to the actual definition of the statute of S. Jorge da Mina. Constantly referred to as a model of excellence, it is described here as a city defined by the existence of a determined institutional organization headed by a captain and a factor who exercise a civilizing mission over the African population. This leads us to a second observation: in this institutional model, where there are no specific functions attributed to the translators, communication is aimed at imposing a specific cultural model; persuading the Africans to convert to Catholicism and teaching the boys of the town to read and write. Obviously, here we are talking of a project lacking much practical realization. Thus it is precisely this distance between a determined project of teaching and concrete practices of communication that is to be found in the core of the third, and last, observation. If we accept the information given by the monarch eight years after the stipulation in the ruling, the captains supported themselves with the payment for conversions, but in practice they did not make these conversions. In the king’s eyes, the main victims were the Africans, in particular the slaves travelling to the New World or the sugar plantations in São Tomé and Madeira. The captains merely acted in the defence of their own monetary interests and were little concerned with civilizing projects. In this way, the practices of communication, which the ruling did not ratify, would progress horizontally rather than vertically and would involve recourse to the language of mediation.

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Contacts established in Brazil throughout the sixteenth century and the variety of policy statutes that were to be tried out by the Portuguese constitute a further point of departure for studying practices of communication in the south Atlantic. A much-circulated chronology from Francisco Adolfo Varnhagen tends to accentuate the contrast between the various phases of occupation of Brazil.46 There is a first phase of informal contacts, begun by the exiles who Pedro Álvares Cabral would have left in Terras de Santa Cruz, the idea being that they should learn the language and act as intermediaries. As Sérgio Buarque de Holanda wrote, ‘in this those who truly “lived” the languages and practices of the land were created at the same time as advance posts of European civilization were being introduced.’47 In 1531, Pero Lopes de Sousa recorded in his Diário that some men of the same standing spoke Tupi fluently, having lived with the natives of São Vicente for thirty years. In Bahia, according to the same author, there was also a Portuguese who had lived there for thirty-two years. This was Diogo Álvares – Caramuru, or ‘the eel’ as the Indians called him – who lived with his two European sons-in-law and half a dozen white settlers. In 1526, Caramuru married an Indian in Dieppe, while their children married Europeans. In Pernambuco, according to Lopes de Sousa, there was a factory with a factor named Diogo Dias. He goes on to say that the concession of the lease of Terra de Santa Cruz to the new Christian, Fernão de Noronha, led among other things to the construction of a fortress. Mixed marriage, learning local languages and the export of wood are characteristics of this first phase.48 A second phase is characterized by the creation of fifteen captaincies or administrative areas that were given to twelve recipients in 1534 to 1535. This was an attempt at land occupation through which the king hoped to respond to the first conflicts between Portugal and France regarding sovereignty over Brazil and which, on a more immediate level, should be related to the effect on the king of Martim Afonso de Sousa’s expedition (1530–1532).49 The model of the captaincy, which combined feudal aspects with capitalist elements, did not produce the hoped-for results in terms of colonization, except for Pernambuco to the north and São Vicente to the south. The success of the first is explained by several factors: we know that, in 1542, a sugar mill was already up and working and that year the transport of African slaves was authorized; it also appears that the hereditary captain, Duarte Coelho Pereira, favoured a policy of mixed marriage and collaboration with the Tabajaras Indians. As for the south, alliances were made between the Tupiniquim, led by Martim Afonso Tibiriçá, and the Portuguese during the 1530s. This was preceded by the ‘marriage’ of one of Tibiriçá’s daughters to the

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  39

Portuguese João Ramalho (of whom Father Manuel da Nóbrega said: ‘his entire life and the lives of his children were spent as Indians’)50 and the establishment of six mills in the captaincy in 1548 – and the fact that in 1562 Tibiriçá was buried by the Jesuits in the church of São Paulo de Piratininga as a show of reverence. 51 A third phase consists of the creation in 1549 of the position of governor-general, with his capital in Bahia, under Tomé de Sousa, together with the arrival of the first Jesuits. The names of Fathers Manuel da Nóbrega and José de Anchieta are perhaps the best known in this new project of interaction with the local populations. A main factor of this new period was the conflicts with the French, who in 1555 occupied what is now the region of Rio de Janeiro, together with the progressive development of the sugar plantations. The law of 20 March 1570 sought to regulate the enslavement of the indigenous population, but the number of African slaves was constantly increasing. In the decades following 1570, as Stuart Schwartz has pointed out, Brazil distanced itself from the colonial model of the factories on the west coast of Africa and of Asia, and witnessed an ever-increasing population due to the plantations there that were funded by Europe.52 This movement from factory to a peopled colony based on the plantation must be studied with regard to its spatial framework, marked by occupation only of the coastal regions and by a territorial cut-off. So it is necessary to consider Brazil as made up of various centres that did not necessarily exist in a mutually inclusive relationship. Within this framework, how should one define the main patterns of linguistic communication? In the first place, one must regard the ‘bilingual person of mixed blood’, the result of marriage between Portuguese and Indians, as being perhaps the most firmly rooted pattern,53 in a context in which Portuguese became a part of the generally used language (that is, Tupi). This is a model of communication that, in spite of being widespread, is hard to document. At the opposite end of the scale, one finds recourse to Portuguese being particularly evident in administrative records and in correspondence with Portugal itself. Based upon these two patterns it is important to note how functions of translation were recognized on an institutional level. In 1534, Vasco Fernandes, a knight of the royal house and a linguist of Brazil, was named factor and royal treasurer for the whole of Pernambuco, which gave him a salary of 2 per cent of all the income he oversaw.54 This happened at the same time as the creation of the captaincies in Brazil, which demonstrates that a translator of native languages could be recognized in Brazil as important enough to be named factor. This shows an important institutional recognition that would have been impossible to find in India and is quite distinct

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from the positions achieved by the African linguists. For example, in 1527, Lourenço Nunes, a linguist and sailor from Guinea, was named gatekeeper of the fortress of Axen, while in 1540 the African André Dias, a linguist from the Costa de Malagueta, found his position recognized with a salary that in India and Mina ‘is usually given to those who act as linguists and so all those profits belong to him by right’.55 Within this same framework, where we find the importance of the general language, the Jesuits developed a series of initiatives mostly in the captaincies of São Vicente and Bahia. In 1552, Father Manuel da Nóbrega established a programme of usage of the Indian language and adapting to Indian customs with a view to their conversion: If we embrace some of the customs of these people, who are not against our Catholic faith, nor are their rites dedicated to idols, as to how to sing the songs of Our Lord in their own language and tunes, playing their own musical instruments that they use at festivities when they kill their enemy and when they are drunk … and thus to preach to them in their manner and in some way walk like them and beat our breasts as they do when they want to be persuasive about something and say it with great efficacy; and so the young boys of the region who are in our house will take the tonsure. For similarity brings love. And other customs like these.56

The language, and also the music and actions of the natives, are thus seen as instruments of manipulation with a view to conversion. Some years later, Nóbrega believed that preaching in the local language was the most useful thing for the faithful, and he recorded joyfully a procession in which the young boys arrived singing in their own language as well as in Portuguese.57 The administration of the sacraments and teaching of the doctrine to ‘the people of the region, the sons and daughters of Christians, those of mixed blood and … the slaves’ was also a part of the Jesuits’ programme. When assessing the results of the work in São Vicente in 1553, Nóbrega wrote, ‘in this house the boys have their exercises well organized. They learn to read and write and are progressing well; others learn to sing and play pipes and others, of mixed blood, who are more able, learn grammar and teach grammar to a young boy.’58 The first Christian doctrine in Tupi, together with some prayers, dates from 1549, although the first Catecismo na lingoa brasilica was only published in 1618.59 The Arte de grammatica da lingoa mais vsada na costa do Brasil, by Father José de Anchieta, which had been distributed since 1556, was only published in 1595 and represents one of the most elaborate attempts at the use of local languages. This appropriation was, of course, in the interests of conversion, the desire being to establish uniform rules of a general language that could supplant a vast number

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  41

of dialects. For this, Latin grammar acted as a canon, and the doctrinal intentions of prayer are evident. Thus there were practical intentions towards developing a curiosity to know and register local languages. Anchieta left few traces of the attention paid to this diversity and its specificity. This was the case when he referred to the pronunciation of words, and he adds that ‘there is some difference in the pronunciation, and use in various parts of Brazil is the best master. For from the Pitiguáres of Paraíba to the Tamoios of Rio de Janeiro they pronounce whole words ending in a consonant’; while ‘the Tupis of São Vicente, who are further away from the Tamoios of Rio de Janeiro, never pronounce the final consonant in the affirmative word’. Later, Anchieta once again insists on the need to accommodate pronunciation to the various regions, stating that his project of establishing norms through writing in a general language would leave it open to many oral interpretations, the supposition being that the most important thing would be the results produced through oral communication or, put another way, the conversion of the natives by the Jesuits: In letters, writing, pronunciation and accent it will be enough for those beginning to learn to know how to pronounce what they see written; and as the language of Brazil is not written and is only used in speech and things are better taught out loud than in the written word each of you should do what you think best.60

From 1556, the Jesuits learned from the Arte de grammatica and also used the several prayers that had been translated into Tupi.61 In 1560, in Bahia, the major organizer of this means of communication was Father Luís de Grã. No one escaped these lessons, according to Father João de Melo, who added ‘not even I, who am one of the most useless, lose hope that I shall learn it.’62 Recognition of Luís de Grã’s work, his enthusiasm and probably the results he obtained must have shamed the other priests. That same year, Father António Pires confessed ‘it’s now twelve years since I have been here and I know nothing’ of the general language, at which point he set to learning it.63 A year later, Father Manuel Nóbrega, who was worried about the ‘great lack of workers’ converting the ‘gentiles’, suggested that they should send children of mixed marriages as well as Indians to the Jesuit colleges in Europe, one reason being that they would remain chaste and that in exchange ‘from there they will send us as many young students as they can here to study in our colleges, as here there is not so much danger and they will also learn the local language, which is the form of knowledge most needed here’.64 The idea was not new, for orphan boys had been arriving from Lisbon since 1550, and

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following their education in the College in Bahia they would go to the towns singing songs in praise of Our Lady ‘in the language of the said regions’.65 The use of the local language and customs by the Jesuits, as well as their strategic interest in understanding the culture of the Indians, is an easily documented subject because of the policy of producing and archiving information used by the Jesuits. As John Monteiro has recently argued, the main objective was the submission of the Indians.66 On this, the objective of the Jesuits was not far from that of the settlers, with whom they had been in confrontation from early on. But was this merely a battle between groups having the same intention – that of the submission of the natives – or is it possible to allow the missionary ideas of the Jesuits a dimension that is hard to attribute to the economic desires of the settlers, who wanted slave labour? In the twentieth century, Varnhagen noted the ‘series of contradictions’ that existed in the legislation relating to the Indians and to their protection that resulted from the opposing positions of the colonials and the Jesuits.67 This theory was much vaunted in the past and will certainly continue to be in the future. However, the fact that eventually there was the same objective on both sides of the confrontation raises the question as to whether both groups used the same methods of communication and how effective this was. The ease with which one can document the interest of the Jesuits in Tupi must not conceal the importance granted to bilingual speakers of mixed blood, who were without doubt more effective due to their ability to interact and break through the internal dynamics, conflicts and alliances of the native population. They must be placed within the centre of systems of communication at least until 1570, when the Portuguese king denounced the enslavement of the Indians, so leaving the door wide open for both a just war and cannibalism. Even in 1575, in the História da Província de Santa Cruz, Magalhães Gandavo refers to the general language spoken along the length of the coast as being easily learnt by any nationality. Tupi, the lingua franca, far from being an obstacle to the new settlers whom Gandavo wished to attract was, on the contrary, an easily learnt language. The example of the bilingual speakers of mixed blood was the best proof of this. Despite their documented interest in Tupi, the Jesuits, who were bearers of a Latin civilization spoken of by Fernand Braudel and of which Anchieta’s Latin poems are testimony, were ineffective in putting it to use. In the final decades of the sixteenth century, the vast influx of African slaves and the arrival of settlers from mainland Portugal, together with administrative innovations, were to create other patterns of communication where Creole languages and Portuguese were to have a different significance.

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Finally, while available Jesuit sources suggest forms of written communication, one must study other archives and sets of documents to find the most widely used. For example, the establishment of a regulatory body for executing the wills of the dead – an essential part in the construction of a colonial state able to regulate property within Brazil as well as outside the territorial frontiers, including the rivers of Guinea, São Tomé and Principe, the islands of Annobón and Santiago, Cabo Verde, as well as Arguin and Brazil. There was a need to comply with the wills of those who had died, particularly those who had become land-rich. Their estates are associated with the existence of records of ships’ merchandise as well as ‘wills, bills of exchange, codicils, share certificates and all others that belong to the estate of the deceased’.68

The Accompanying Language of the Empire When he was young, Aquiles Estaço went with his father to Brazil and the coast of Malagueta, where he learned the local languages, only later learning Greek and Latin, after which he became the Latin secretary to Pope Pius V.69 Estaço’s case is an exception, in that it poses the question of knowing what was the connection between the languages or the experience of contact with other civilizations and classical languages. What connection can be established between expansionism and humanism with regard to linguistic communication? Is the spread of a curiosity for other languages and other forms of writing a consequence of a humanism based on the classics? Eugénio Asensio sought to place Peninsular ideological values within the topic presented by the language as a companion of the empire at the centre of this work of linguistic reflection and normalization. In Italy at the end of the sixteenth century, Lorenzo Valla turned to this topic in order to praise work in Latin, the language of Rome, in spite of the decadence of the Roman Empire. In the Iberian Peninsula, the topic was no longer seen as compensation for the language in relation to the empire and became instead a reflection on the parallel expansion of the language and of power. Micer Gonzalo García de Santa María, in about 1486, wrote that ‘la fabla comúnmente, mas que otras cosas, sigue al império’ [‘language commonly, more than other things, follows the Empire’]. In this expression we see a project of imposition of the language of the court during the time of Peninsular unification and a repudiation of the vulgar language and rural usage. A few years later, in 1492, António de Nebrija wrote in the prologue to his Gramática Castellana: ‘the language was always the companion of the empire’ (siempre la lengua fue compañera al imperio).70 In this

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expression, not only Latin but all languages are placed in relation to empires. In celebrating the victory over the ‘barbarian people and nations of varying languages’, Nebrija’s words take on a bellicose more than an evangelical meaning – perhaps, suggests Asensio, influenced by the re-conquest of Granada and achievements in Africa, rather than by the discoveries in the Americas.71 The topic of the companion language of the empire is developed within a framework of glorification of the vernacular languages. Forty years after Nebrija published the first grammar of a European vernacular language, Fernão de Oliveira published in 1536 his Gramática da linguagem portuguesa, in which he affirms the originality and superiority of both the Portuguese and of their language. As far as he was concerned, the Greeks and Romans imposed their language on all peoples, who were their subjects, which meant that they continued to learn the classical languages. In order to challenge this domination, Oliveira stated: ‘We must not do this, but we must now take it upon ourselves that it is time and we are lords, for it is better that we teach Guinea than that we are taught by Rome, even though Rome had such a high value.’ Then, in a strong affirmation of the nation’s language, he continued: Let us apply ourselves to our language and people and its memory will remain for eternity and let us not work in a foreign language, but let us purify ours with good teaching so that we can teach it to many other peoples and we shall always be praised and loved because similarity brings about love and still more do languages.

The glorification of Portuguese and its widespread use across the empire are two sides of the same coin. However, Oliveira does not appear merely as a writer of ideas to be followed; he wishes to draw conclusions from the actual situation regarding means of identity based upon the Portuguese language on an imperial scale. This is the case when he writes that ‘we see that in Africa, Guinea, Brazil and India they do not love the Portuguese who are born among them very much just for the difference in their language, and those who are born there wish the Portuguese well and call them their own, since they speak the same as they do.’72 João de Barros, who was inspired by Valla and Nebrija, continues these thoughts on the language in the service of the empire. In his Diálogo em louvor da linguagem portuguesa, he states that the ‘doctrine, customs, language that the Portuguese’ left in Africa and Asia will be the principal symbols of an identity that spreads across the world. However, added to this praise of the national language, seen as the main form of demonstrating identity overseas, is an insistence on the ideals

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of conversion and the propagation of Catholicism. This is what we see when Barros distances himself from the ideas of victory proclaimed by Nebrija and writes: It is true that there is no glory equal to Ethiopian boys, Persians, Hindus on both sides of the Ganges, in their own lands, in the strength of their temples and pagodas where a Roman name has never been heard, learning through our work our language, in which they can be taught the precepts of our faith that are written in that language.

This implementation of the language in the service of conversion is placed above the nationalist glory that is found in Fernão de Oliveira’s writing and leads Barros to accept the inevitable neologisms that arrived from the overseas territories.73 Reflection on the language and writing of history are two of the intellectual activities of João de Barros that reappear in the 1570s in association with Pêro de Magalhães Gandavo and Duarte Nunes de Leão. However, while for the author of Décadas da Ásia praise of the Portuguese language is used in the service of ideals of expansion of Catholicism, for Gandavo it is the object of a defence through a dialogue that ends by placing its importance in context. The pioneer of Brazilian historiography has Petrónio pronounce the idea that the excellence of the Portuguese language is such that it allows the Portuguese to learn foreign languages easily, ‘for in a short time and with great ease (as can clearly be seen from experience) they pick up any foreign language, and therefore have an advantage over all other nations’. Falencio, a Castilian character, does not appear to be very convinced by this ease of learning being rooted in their own language. Petrónio ends up agreeing in part, accepting that the Portuguese are in general attracted to foreign things but that some, of ‘good judgement’, recognize the distinction of Portuguese and its superiority to Castilian. This is what Petrónio says: On this I say to you, senhor Falencio, that this Portuguese nation in the greater part is more attached to things of other kingdoms than to those of its own nationality, which is something one does not find in other nations, since they all aggrandize their language and make a lot of the things about it, while only the Portuguese apparently deny their love of their own things. Because of this many say bad things about their language and agree with the opinion of foreigners, which can only really be attributed to ignorance, since any argument leads them to do this. However men of good judgement really feel it cannot fail to praise it and to confess with me that higher praise is due it than to your own.

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The Castilian continues to insist on the fact that many of the major Portuguese writers have written in Castilian, ‘as it is the more gentle and sweet language’. Finally Petrónio, in a note of clear relativism, ends by stating that there is an appropriate style for each language.74 In contrast with the reflections on the language of the first half of the sixteenth century, those writings on the same subject published in the 1570s distance themselves from the triumphalist, expansionist spirit that is represented by the topic of the companion language of the empire and appear to be more interested both in protecting Portuguese from Castilian (Gandavo) and in entrenching writings in Portuguese. Duarte Nunes de Leão demonstrates this preoccupation when he denounces the fact that ‘now there is so little respect for good or bad writing, as can be seen in our letters, our coins, our title deeds, our tombs, all our writing, where nothing is in the right place.’75 But we must note that this national retraction on the work of reflection and normalization of Portuguese contrasts with the celebration of Portuguese overseas expansion in The Lusiads (1572), which has no equal in the realms of literature regarding the register of the vocabulary. Indeed, the tendency towards a pervasion of Portuguese by neologisms resulting from overseas expansion to which João de Barros refers and which exists in many of Fernão de Oliveira’s grammatical examples reaches its highest expression in the works of Jorge Ferreira de Vasconcelos, Gaspar de Leão and in Jerónimo Cardoso’s Dictionarum. This pervasion can be detected in the vocabularies pertaining to maritime, military and commercial activities, as well as in the areas of toponymy and social description.76 In a word, the empire enriched the national language. And Arthur de Rego, a noble boy in Aulegrafia, wants to serve in India and speaks a new language as he imagines the voyage: We are going to leave my homeland, we shall eat rice with coconut milk, and other delicacies, eat so much sparrow-hawk and we shall try other delights. And do you know why India attracts me so? They tell me that there a good man will never lack ten pardaos … And to go across these watery Oceans that roll like omelettes with sails so full they sing, to work with bent legs half covered in pitch, or at the foresail, and to leave the capstan for the weak men. And when it is my turn to keep night watch I shall sing praises and you will see me as another Amphião on the dolphin, I shall curse my life.77

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Notes   1. Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos de Guiné, 262–63; Ca’ da Mosto, Navegações de Luís de Cadamosto, 39, 62, 67, 75; Peres, ‘Este Liuro he de Rotear’, 42; Sintra, El Descubrimiento de Guinea y de las Islas Occidentales, ed. by A. do Nascimento, 46–47).   2. Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes de Linguas Africanas e Orientais, vol. 52, 9, 27, 44.   3. Ca’ da Mosto, Navegações de Luís de Cadamosto, 62; Visconde de Santarém, Prioridade dos Descobrimentos Portugueses, 23–24.   4. Ca’ da Mosto, Navegações de Luís de Cadamosto, 62, 68, 86; Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos de Guiné, 395, 414, 418.   5. Russell, ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici: Some Fifteenth-Century Eyewitness Accounts of Travel in the African Atlantic Before 1492’, 115–28, especially 127; Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos de Guiné, 139, 389; Ca’ da Mosto, Navegações de Luís de Cadamosto, 62; Colón, Textos y Documentos Completos, 56.   6. Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes, 32–33.   7. ANTT, Fragmentos, Bundle 20: Letter from Manuel de Goes, S. Jorge da Mina, 12 January 1510 (in Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana, vol. IV, p. 63).   8. Radulet, O Cronista Rui de Pina e a ‘Relação do reino do Congo’, 96–103, 129–31.   9. Góis, Crónica de D. Manuel, Part III, chap. XXXVII; Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental (1471–1531), vol. I, 157–58, 240. 10. Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400–1800, 61; Reinhardt, ‘The Seaborne Empires’, 642. 11. Ballong-Wen-Mewuda, São Jorge da Mina 1482–1637, 618. 12. Ramalho, Latim Renascentista em Portugal, 141. 13. Jorge et al., Le Catéchisme Kikongo de 1624, quoted by MacGaffey, ‘Dialogue of the Deaf: Europeans on the Atlantic Coast’, 260. 14. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana, vol. I, 254–59, 294–323. 15. ANTT, Fragmentos, Bundle 9: Letter from D. Manuel to the King of Benin, 20 November 1514, published in Monumenta Missionaria Africana, vol. V, 88–90. 16. Russell, ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici: Some Fifteenth-Century Eyewitness Accounts of Travel in the African Atlantic Before 1492’, 127; M.G.N. Silva, ‘Subsídios para o estudo dos “lançados” na Guiné’, 25–40; Carreira, Cabo Verde: Formação e Extinção de uma Sociedade Escravocrata (1460–1878); Rodney, A History of the Upper Guinea Coast, 1545 to 1800, chaps 3 and 8; Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde (1625); Boulègue, Les Luso-Africains de Sénégambie XVI–XIX siècle; Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400–1800, 72–125; M.E.M. Santos, ‘Lançados na Costa da Guiné: Aventureiros e Comerciantes’, 64–78; Brooks, Landlords & Strangers: Ecology, Society, and Trade in Western Africa 1000–1630, 188–96; Havik, ‘Women and Trade in the Guinea Bissau Region: The Role of African and Luso-African Women in Trade Networks from the Early 16th to the Mid 19th Century’, 83–120; ibid., ‘Female Entrepreneurship in a Changing Environment: Gender, Kinship, and Trade in the Guinea Bissau Region’, 205–25; Zerón, ‘Pombeiros e Tangomaus, Intermediários do Tráfico de Escravos na África’, 15–38; Horta, ‘Evidence for a Luso-African Identity in “Portuguese” Accounts on “Guinea of Cape Verde” (Sixteenth-Seventeenth Centuries)’, 99–130; Mark, ‘Portuguese’ Style and Luso-African Identity: Precolonial Senegambia, SixteenthNineteenth Centuries; Brooks, Eurafricans in Western Africa: Commerce, Social Status, Gender, and Religious Observance from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century;

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Hawthorne, Planting Rice and Harvesting Slaves: Transformations along the GuineaBissau Coast, 1400–1900. 17. Cortesão, A Carta de Pêro Vaz de Caminha, 164, 170; Domingues, ‘Em Nome de Reis, Colonos e Piratas: o papel dos intérpretes no Brasil em inícios do século XVI’, 565–73, especially 566. 18. Domingues, ‘Em Nome de Reis, Colonos e Piratas’, 571. 19. Bouchon, Inde Découverte, Inde Retrouvée 1498–1630, 305–6; Aubin, ‘Francisco de Albuquerque: un juif castillan au service de l’Inde portugaise (1510–1515)’, 251–73; Tavim, ‘Os Judeus e a Expansão Portuguesa na Índia Durante o Século XVI. O Exemplo de Isaac do Cairo, Espião, “Língua” e “Judeu de Cochim de Cima”, 241–42. 20. Velho, Roteiro da Primeira Viagem de Vasco da Gama (1497–1499), 49–51, 59–65. For a local report, see Tomaz, A Carta que Mandaram os Padres da Índia, da China e da Magna China – Um Relato Siríaco da Chegada dos Portugueses ao Malabar e seu Primeiro Encontro com a Hierarquia Cristã Local, 137. 21. Rodrigues, ‘Embaixadas Portuguesas à Corte dos Mutapa’, 755. 22. Felner, Subsidios para a Historia da India Portugueza Publicados, Part II – Simão Botelho, O Tombo do Estado da Índia, 24, 63, 95, 104, 127, 212–13, 233. 23. Farinha, Os Portugueses no Golfo Pérsico (1507–1538): Contribuição Documental e Crítica para a sua História, 49; Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente. India, vol. II – 1523–1543, 176; Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes, 28, 43–44, 78; Wicki, O Livro do Pai dos Cristãos, 77–78. 24. Braudel, Civilisation Matérielle, Economie et Capitalisme XVe–XVIIIe Siècle, vol. 3, 613. 25. Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes, 24. 26. Bouchon and Thomaz, Voyage dans les Deltas du Gange et de l’Irradouaddy 1521. 27. Farinha, Os Portugueses no Golfo Pérsico (1507–1538), 80–82. 28. Álvares, Verdadeira Informação das Terras do Preste João das Indias, chap. C, 124. On the Abyssinians, see A. Albuquerque, Cartas, vol. I, 173. 29. Albuquerque, Cartas, vol. I, 44–45; Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente. India, vol. I, 341, 420; ibid., vol. II, 13, 225. 30. Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente. India, vol. III – 1543–1547, 9, 167, 170, 246; Manuel, Missões dos Jesuítas no Oriente, 40; Lopes, Expansão da Língua Portuguesa no Oriente nos Séculos XVI, XVII, XVIII, 37. 31. Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente. India, vol. II, 197. 32. Cruz, Tractado em que se Cõtam muito por Estenso as Cousas da China, 157, 165, 214. 33. Rivara, ‘An Historical Essay on the Konkany Language’, 163. 34. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, book I, vol. 1, 436–37. 35. Almeida, Cartilha em Tamul e Português (1554). 36. Priolkar, The Printing Press in India its Beginnings and Early Development, 2–9; Silva, ‘Evangelização e Imprensa nos Séculos XVI e XVII na Índia’, 125–47, especially136. 37. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, book I, vol. 1, 436, 439, 445; book II, vol. 3, 496, 497, 527. 38. Epistulae S. Francisci Xavieri, vol. II (Rome, 1945), 220; Lucena, Historia da Vida do Padre Francisco Xavier, 70; quoted by Neto, História da Língua Portuguesa, 434. 39. Pires, Suma Oriental, 212, 217.

The System of Slave-Interpreter  •  49

40. Barros, Ásia: Segunda década II, book V, chaps. I, II. 41. Neto, História da Língua Portuguesa, 430–31. 42. Russell, ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici: Some Fifteenth-Century Eyewitness Accounts of Travel in the African Atlantic Before 1492’, 115–28; Curtin, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, 57–58. 43. Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes; Braudel, La Méditéranée et le monde méditerranéen a l’époque de Philippe (English edn, p. 809). 44. Ballong-Wen-Mewuda, ‘La Politique Africaine de D. João III, Roi de Portugal (1521–1557): Le Regimento de São Jorge da Mina et la Lettre au roi du Congo (1529)’, 273–86, especially 274, note 1. 45. Ballong-Wen-Mewuda, São Jorge da Mina 1482–1637, 548, 609. 46. Varnhagen, Historia Geral do Brazil antes da sua Separação e Independencia, vol. I. 47. Holanda, ‘Período Colonial’, 389. 48. P.L. de Sousa, Diario da Navegação da armada que foi à terra do Brasil, 14–15, 17, 20, 29. 49. Holanda, ‘Período Colonial’, 389. 50. Nóbrega, Cartas do Brasil e mais Escritos, 173–74. 51. Monteiro, Negros da Terra. Índios e Bandeirantes nas Origens de São Paulo, 17, 29–30. 52. Lockhart and Schwartz, Early Latin America: A History of Colonial Spanish America and Brazil, 193. 53. Neto, Capítulos de História da Língua Portuguesa no Brasil, 10. 54. Viterbo, Noticia de Alguns Arabistas e Interpretes de Linguas Africanas e Orientais, 29. 55. Ibid., 26, 59. 56. Nóbrega, Cartas do Brasil e mais Escritos, 145. 57. Ibid., 288–89, 300–1. 58. Nóbrega, Cartas do Brasil e mais Escritos, 171–72. 59. Leite, História da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, vol. II, 556, 560. 60. Anchieta, Arte da Grammatica da Lingoa mais Vsada na Costa do Brasil, fls. 2v, 9. 61. Leite, História da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, vol. II, 546. 62. Leite, Monumenta Brasiliae, vol. III – 1558–1563, 283–84. 63. Ibid., 310–11. 64. Nóbrega, Cartas do Brasil e mais Escritos, 390. 65. Leite, História da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, vol. II, 547. 66. Monteiro, Negros da Terra: Indios e Bandeirantes nas Origens de São Paulo, 41. 67. Ibid. 68. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana, vol. V, 91–104: Ruling by the treasurer-general on the deceased in Guinea and Brazil (1515). 69. L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 19, note 9; Ramalho, Estudos sobre o Século XVI, 292–310. 70. Nebrija, Gramática castellana. 71. Asensio, Estudios Portugueses, 1–16. 72. Ibid., 11–13; F. de Oliveira, A Gramática da Linguagem Portuguesa, chaps. IV–V, 42, 45. 73. Asensio, Estudios Portugueses, 14–15. 74. Gandavo, Regras que Ensinam a Maneira de Escrever e a Ortografia da Língua Portuguesa, 54–60. 75. D. N. de Leão, Ortografia e Origem da Língua Portuguesa, 45. 76. L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 29–38.

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77. ‘Vamos pezar de meu pay, comeremos desse arroz com leite de coco, e o seu bringue, manjar que tanto gauão, e tentaremos essas orancayas. E sabeis porque me arma muyto a India? Dizemme que là nunca faltão dez pardaos ao homem de bem …   E de hir per esses mares dessas Oceanas agoas, enroladas como malassadas, com velas cheyas que chião, acodir em pernas cilhado de arreuem breado à mezena, ou ao traquete, e leixar o cabrestante para mimosos. E quando me cahir velar o meu quarto da modorra, tomarey hum laude, e vermeheis outro Amphião sobre golfinho, direy mal à minha vida.’ J.F. de Vasconcelos, Comédia Aulegrafia, 257, 262.

Chapter 3

The Age of Zurara

Guidance, Chronicles and Reports of Voyages


The first of these configurations is characterized by a set of suggestions to D. Duarte and Afonso V in the chronicles of Zurara or Brother João Álvares in addition to which were the reports of voyages to the coast of Guinea, such as that of the Venetian Alvise Ca’ da Mosto. The letter from the Infante D. Pedro to his brother, written in Bruges between 1424 and 1428, is the first example of such literature giving guidance in strict relation to the works in prose by the founders of the Aviz dynasty. Doubts relating to the retention of Ceuta are articulated by D. Pedro as follows: As to what I felt about the deeds in Ceuta I begged you sir but the conclusion is that while it continues as it is now it is using up so many of your people, arms and money, and I also felt that some good men from England who are powerful and from here no longer speak of honour and fame as they used to and now speak of the indiscretion in continuing with such great losses and destruction of the land, of which it would seem to me they have far worse information than is the case.1

Such criticisms were the subject in 1436, when on the expedition to Tangier, Alcácer Ceguer and Arzila the Infante once again commented on the cost of retention and ended by speaking metaphorically that it would be ‘as though someone were to lose his good cloak in exchange for a bad hood’.2 The arguments put forward by D. Pedro suggest that the king might put his case to the ‘people of the kingdom’, which he did in 1433, in the statement by the Count of Barcelos in which he announced

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his opposition to the expedition to Tangier, since this would bring little profit and would mean much suffering for the ‘ordinary people’.3 Faced with this consideration of the interests of the majority, it is important to isolate the arguments of those who were in agreement with the continuation of the African conquests. In the same year, the Infante D. João overruled common sense in favour of chivalry where Africa was concerned. He thought that the example of the ‘great deeds that have been performed across the world’, personified by Alexander of Macedonia, Julius Caesar, Pelagio and King John I, should motivate the knights to seek new honours, ‘since fortune favours the brave’.4 Likewise, three years later, the Infante Henry wrote to his brother in defence of the knights: The great emperors, kings and lords of whom much is told by our ancestors and from whom you are descended won and deserved the service of God and great honours through danger and labour and cost, of which a good example is our virtuous father; and the chronicles speak of those of whom such things are not said as not having done anything of account; and I swear to you they are not recorded in the book of life.5

In 1460 the Infante D. Fernando, the Duke of Viseu and Beja and brother of D. Afonso V, stated his opposition to the African expeditions: ‘I am not advising you in order to gain praise as a good writer but to assist you’ – so begins the Infante’s long statement as he turns to the literary topic of modesty. His main argument is the reduced army used for expeditions and the danger to which the kingdom is exposed both regarding its defence and in the administration of justice. Some of his arguments tend to emphasize the contrast between the adventurous behaviour of the kings and the interests of the people. He thought the king should act in defence of the latter and not solely for the knights; if he wanted to go to Africa it would be better to conquer Fes, but for this it would be necessary to assemble a worthy army, just as ‘when a merchant has much cargo and wants to go on board his ship but when he has little to carry then he avoids danger in favour of profit and he always wants to look to the great things and to perform them or to prepare for them and he overlooks the small acts’.6 On the same occasion, the head of the army, D. Pedro, the son of the Infante D. Pedro, also opposed expansion in Africa. By use of rhetorical artifice he argues for the retention of a static social order. It fell to the religious and the priests to pray and to the knights to fight for the defence of the Faith against the infidel. The honour of the latter, in particular in their fight against the ‘Moors’, was hard to equal: ‘What hands of scribes, what chroniclers, what languages of preachers can properly praise the

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name of the Catholic Knights who for our Faith by their hearts build walls and by their hands artillery in its defence?’ But most important in this concept of society was that the functions of the different states should not be confused: It would be a grave error and not worthy of a wise man if the school teacher were occupied more in taking the shield and the lance than in studying his lesson well; thus any king would be rightly reprimanded were he to leave the royal sceptre that signifies justice and always to occupy himself in knightly deeds from which would most definitely arise the fact that his people would not be properly administered in justice.

In defence of a social hierarchy that was to remain immutable, the king could not substitute the sceptre of justice with the arms of the knights. D. Pedro then added to this principal argument – to which his father had also made reference – that in the kingdom there were not ‘people enough remaining to populate the foreign regions’.7 The Marquis of Vila Viçosa had already had much experience in the African regions when he wrote a long letter of advice to Afonso V. His major preoccupation was to stop the king from becoming involved in the wars of Castile, for which many knights and courtiers were arguing. Contradicting those who wanted a union of the two crowns in the person of Afonso V, the Marquis saw these people as toadies, necromancers and false prophets. As a political realist, he was intolerant of prophecies. His arguments, which he felt could be applied to all wars, were based on the ideas of legitimacy. Portugal could not support knights rising up against their king, just as the king of Castile could not be seen as a heretic. The king should not subject his kingdom that was living in a time of peace to the fortunes of war. To prove this, the Marquis used a number of examples of English, French and Peninsular history. To reinforce his arguments of legitimacy, he noted that one should never commence war for greed or glory but only in the cause of justice. His opposition to the ideas of chivalry is clear. The decision to enter into a war should fall to the community; as the Marquis recalled, ‘quod omnes tangit ab omnibus tractari et approbari debet’ (What touches all must be approved by all). The counsel of the great, of the people and, in general, of the kingdom was the basis on which the legitimacy of any decision depended. These arguments evoked by the Marquis are clearly in favour of peace and the legitimate interests of the community. By seeking in essence to fight off any direct involvement in wars with Castile, he proposes a policy of mediation between the king of Castile and the knights’ faction. He merely dwells on the wars in Africa in order to conclude that the Portuguese knights, who

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are propelled by motives of glory and greed, could legitimately join these by dint of there being wars against the infidel.8

The Calculation of Benefits among the Courtiers Among this varied advice, where the epistolary style and the use of classical and biblical themes and references occupy an important place, it is possible to discern an opposition to the values of the knighthood in relation to the interests of the kingdom or the community. This ‘civic humanism’, as Luís de Sousa Rebelo9 calls it, appears at a moment when Africa had become a privileged place for European knights to take up arms.10 A calculation of the benefits that this brought to all those who were involved (quod omnes tangit ab omnibus tractari et approbari debet), though contrary to the ideals of fame and glory attributed to the knights, was to reappear later in other contexts. The Spanish humanists Vázquez de Menchaca, Domingo de Soto and Diego de Corarrubias, at the end of the sixteenth century, believed that the legitimacy of an empire depended on such a calculation. Then in the eighteenth century, Hume, Diderot, Raynal and Condorcet took up the argument again in their attack on imperial policies, founded as they were upon ideas of grandeur.11 In the middle of the fifteenth century, this humanism was advanced mostly within courtly circles, which suggests a sort of curialization of the warriors, and established in a set of works in the common tongue, where the emphasis was on the translation of classical authors. Among the main examples are the translation of Cicero’s De Officis and the adaptation of Seneca’s De Beneficiis by the Infante D. Pedro. The second of these suggests that one must consider the translations of Cicero’s De Senectute and De Amicitia along with the works of Dr Vasco Fernandes de Lucena, who was on several occasions an orator in the Curia and in the Cortes of Évora of 1481 and who was also given the post of royal chronicler between 1487 and 1497.12 This interest by the courtiers in translations of the classics into the vernacular was also widespread in other European courts. An example of this is the court of Burgundy, where one of the daughters of John I and Philippa of Lancaster, D. Isabel, wife of Philip the Good and mother of Charles the Bold, played an influential part. A second person known as Vasco Fernandes de Lucena was in the inner circle of the Princess of Burgundy and was known for his translations of classical literature into Portuguese and French. When he translated the Latin version, produced in Italy by Poggio, of the study by Xenofonte on the life of Prince Cyrus (1470), Lucena posed the rhetorical question to the prince: ‘Que dira l’en quant on trouvera les

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estatus de Cyrus Presque tous telz que de vostre court?’ (What would one say when all those members of your court are found in the statutes of Cyrus?) History appears thus as a model for the organization of the court. Experience, which Xenofonte added to Socrates’s teachings, was another of the values attributed to the work: ‘Et après qu’il ot adjousté l’experience de pluisieurs choses ad ce qu’il avoit aprins de Socrate son maistre’ (And once he has the experience of several things that he had learned from Socrates his master). One must also add to the evaluation of history and experience the constant references to the wars, customs and embassies of the East in which Cyrus was involved and which led to his becoming an example to Alexander. The life of Cyrus can be seen as a means of introduction to the distant, exotic lands with which Europe was gradually entering into contact.13 Through communication between the educated circles or Italian courtiers and the courts of Burgundy or of the Iberian Peninsula (for we must not forget that the son of the Infante D. Pedro, the head of the army, had become king of the Catalans), there arises a humanist culture. In this, more than in any view of urban and village culture, it seems clear that the court and the king were to abandon modelling their actions on the values of the knighthood. However, this opposition between court humanism and the spirit of chivalry has to be graded, for it is hard to compare it with the contrast between the modern and the traditional. We cannot forget that this same opposition that is symbolized by the division between the several sons of King John and Philippa of Lancaster tells us little or nothing about the friendly relations that existed between them. In confirmation of this we have the present sent by the Infante Henry to his sister, the Duchess of Burgundy, which was an elephant’s foot and an enormous marble tooth, and the fact that their names appear together in the writings of their panegyrists.14 Equally, if we take into account the fact that there were signs of defence of the honour and glory of the knights around Henry, it is worth remembering that, above all, the writings that he sponsored can hardly be reduced to a defence of traditional values.

Experience and Ethnography: Sanctity, Chivalry and Commerce The beginning of evocation of experience as a criterion for establishing the truth is clearly present in the works of Brother João Álvares and Zurara. For Álvares, the author of a work in which we find the figure of a martyr in connection with the ideas of Henry, the fact that he is writing

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of what he saw and heard while with D. Fernando is a foundation of his work. It is he who says this, showing that he is capable of arguing against the ‘false tales’ and the ‘idle fables that travel in the dust of the winds and lack all truth’, using ‘certain verified matter and signs’.15 Zurara also justifies his voyage to North Africa as preparation for his Crónica de D. Duarte de Meneses; he wishes to leave a record of the deeds of the knights rather than of the courtiers in frontier lands, and there is ‘knowledge to be found of all those areas where our people fight against their enemies … . And in the same way how our people go among them and how they battled and were brave in defending themselves against opposition’.16 In his Crónica da Guiné, Zurara again justifies the testimony of direct visual experience in making known new facts. This is the case when João Gonçalves Zarco arrives at the Senegal River, going far beyond the lands of which Alexander had been told. The author concludes that: ‘what could be seen in the mapa-mundi regarding this coast was not true, it was only drawn by guesswork; but what is now shown on maps is what has been seen by the eye according to what you have heard’.17 Clearly, this elevation of direct experience that had already appeared in literature must be seen as resulting from the meaning of the works or, more appropriately, their style. This concerns chronicles that were written to make known more than ever the heroic feats of the knights. Frequently, these works emanate from an accumulation of earlier texts, taking on a miscellaneous character, as is the case in the Crónica da Guiné – a work that corresponds to the political context following 1439, which favoured the concepts of ‘an imperialist policy of military conquests and territorial annexations’ against those who were arguing for a calculation of the benefits for the successors of D. Pedro.18 On other occasions, the same chronicles competed with a range of services worthy of honours and are included in the records of the chancellery, as is the case with the Crónica de D. Duarte de Meneses. And they approach the style of hagiographic records, with chivalry and sanctity existing side by side, culminating in the transformation of the body of the hero into a relic, which can be seen in the Crónica do Infante D. Fernando. For this reason, the interest that today we might see as ethnographic – a record of customs and types of life – occupies a marginal place in works that are centred on the narrative of chivalrous feats. As Vitorino Magalhães argues in his chronicles, ‘what was important was the chivalrous feats, the heroism of the nobles, what was considered ethically praiseworthy was the spirit of the crusade, devotion.’19 For example, in the Crónica da Guiné it is not when Zurara puts the idea that ‘we did not come to this land for anything other than to fight’ in the mouths of the captains that references are found to the customs of the

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enemy.20 In a work whose contents are highly similar, it is precisely when the author distances their interest from the narrative of acts of war that we see an ethnographic intent being sketched out. This is precisely what happens when it deals with the description of the difference between Saharan Africa, Equatorial Africa and the Canaries.21 With regard to the Crónica de D. Duarte de Meneses – the work that is most exclusively centred upon the proposition of recording the acts of the brave and manly knights who are seeking honour and profit – ethnographic interests appear more limited. In spite of all this, the author feels it necessary to describe the lifestyle of the people of Morocco, their houses and belongings, as well as their food, emphasizing their poverty. The fact that the Portuguese knights made use of these poor people is then compared with the fate the Irish handed down to their children when they sold them in order to improve their lives. Conquest, or domination by the invader, was thus justified. This was a justification with which Zurara concludes his complaints in the words of a ‘Moor’, who is appalled by the cruelty of the Portuguese knights.22 Finally, an analysis of the interest considered to be ethnographic in the Crónica do Infante D. Fernando is reduced to the reception of and confrontation with the Portuguese captives in Tangier. On this, it is impossible to overlook the descriptions of the Portuguese convoy on the way to Fes when boys and women come out to meet them: ‘and they used their names in songs and swore at them and spat in their faces and threw stones, shoes and sticks at them’. Or, on another occasion, when the same captives found themselves confronted by a crowd of people who wanted to kill them, spitting in their faces, hitting them and insulting them. This set of references to the behaviour of the people – where more than anything references are made to the old, the women and children – belong more to a record of the sacrifices suffered by the captives and by their most important martyr, D. Fernando, than having a descriptive intent. But Brother João Álvares also records what nowadays we would call the dialogue of the other, when he attributes to the women the idea that ‘in Portugal there was no greater or stronger man than that King who came to Tangier’ and that this king was the Infante D. Fernando.23 The discipline of the genres, which for the sake of ease I shall call literary, more than the social position of the observer appears to interfere in the thematic choice of the different dialogues. The Venetian Alvise da Ca’ da Mosto, for example, who travelled and carried out business on the coast of Guinea in 1455 and 1466, has left out from these travels what we might consider to be more a description or a report of a voyage. The realism with which he invents the customs of the Berbers, the people of Senegal, of Gambia or the inhabitants of the Canaries impresses the

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contemporary reader. For this is a view that leads us to study the ethnographic and associate with the business interests that are clearly taken on by the Venetian traveller. However, attempts to glorify the image of the Infante Henry, presenting him as responsible for the discoveries and for promoting commercial interests, are not absent from his discourse. In Ca’ da Mosto’s report, the delegates of the Infante had for some time past caused seas to be navigated which had never before been sailed, and had discovered the lands of many strange races, where marvels abounded. Those who had been in these parts had wrought great gain among these new peoples, turning one soldo into six or ten.24

For him, ethnographic interest is completed by some attempts at giving voice to the people with whom the sailors entered in contact. This is the case when Ca’ da Mosto attributes to the Berbers the idea that the Portuguese ships are like large birds with white wings or even ghosts wandering in the night. This occurs again when the author relates that the people of Gambia at first believed that the Portuguese were cannibals.25 In his description of the territory of Guinea, where he travelled, Diogo Gomes de Sintra, a servant of the Infante Henry, leaves us a more complex portrait of the figure of his prince. Above all, he considers that Henry had promoted the journeys and discoveries in the Atlantic with the object of supporting the nobles of his own household. For this reason, one can understand that the Infante motivated those under his protection to carry on, with a view to increasing trade. But one must also recognize the satisfaction felt by Henry when his navigators landed and, arms ready, pillaged and captured slaves. The Infante wavered between a warlike attitude, without forgetting his involvement in the campaigns in North Africa, and having a commercial interest. Diogo Gomes is clearly in favour of the latter, all the more since they implied peaceful relations and were thus more favourable to missionary activities. The allusions to the figure of the Infante end with an extreme glorification of the examination of his body following his death. An examination, it must be noted, that for the traveller and chronicler of the coast of Guinea was a service of honour, for D. Afonso V had asked him to perform it. The description of the perfect body with which he ends the first part of his report is one of the high moments of his discourse: ‘Arriving beside the body of the deceased, I uncovered it and found it to be dry and whole except for the end of the nose’26 (Ego uero ueniens ad corpus defuncti discooperui illud, et inueni illud siccum et integrum preter aciem nasi). Diogo Gomes cannot resist adding to these signs of sanctity the virginity of the Infante.

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One of the trips along the coast of Guinea written up, or rather compiled in 1456, once again records the Africans’ opinion regarding the Portuguese. The episode must have occurred a year earlier in a town south of the Senegal River. When Budomel, the chief of the town, was reunited with his ‘Berber clerics’, a Christian asked him whether he believed the faith of the Christians to be true or false. To this he replied, with wise ambiguity, our faith could be nothing but good because God had given us so much wealth and wisdom, although his law was also good since he understood that they could save themselves more easily than we could since God is a just Lord. And that in this world he had given us so many goods and different things and to them he had given them almost nothing in comparison with us and so we had paradise here in this world and they had it there.27

The dialogue between the African and the Portuguese has a more moral than ethnographic meaning. Budomel, who represented the wisdom of the poor, to whom Christ granted the kingdom of heaven, denounces an overseas expansion that is centred on material goods and the calculation of profits. Thus the religious or moral condemnation of the voyages appears in discourses that lean more towards the description of reality as well as those that are an inventory of the produce and the characteristics of the different peoples of the equatorial coast of Africa.28

Types, Contexts and Circulation of Values An analysis of chronicles of importance from the middle of the fifteenth century, although limited to a small number of texts, shows that it is within the court culture that criticisms most aimed at ideas of chivalry develop. Respect for each type of narrative allows a better understanding not only of the way in which associations between them develop but also how the same theme can take on different meanings. More specifically, the hagiographic chronicles or those of chivalry that are centred on the narrative of the deeds of their heroes only marginally contain descriptions that nowadays we would qualify as ethnographic. However, within these same chronicles it is possible to find an evaluation of experience. The clearest example, but the one that is also the most ambiguous, relates to Brother João Álvares. His valuation of direct experience as a criterion for the legitimization of the truth culminates at the end of his work with the transformation of the entrails of the holy Infante into a relic and

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material proof of his sanctity. Similarly, we can go back to Diogo Gomes and his reference to the manner in which he examined the corpse of the Infante Henry following his death so that he might attest to the signs of his sanctity. Thus experience and sanctity meet. The materiality of dead bodies, entrails or unblemished body parts is perhaps the most traditional means of recognizing, of proving, the truth. In turn, the reference to the direct speech of the North African peoples lies between the ethnographic and the religious register. The same ambiguity that relates to the characterization of the voice given to the natives also exists in dialogues in a more general way, which is to say that there are reports of voyages or navigational routes where one senses that an interest in more geographical, economic and ethnographic aspects nevertheless allows for the author the potential to be touched by more religious matters. This is the case in the dialogue between Budomel and a Christian, found in the Livro de rotear, in which the criticism of the Portuguese expansion is brought up in an African voice. This is, more than anything, a denunciation of material interests in the name of the Christian religion. However, rather than making a generalization of this opposition between material interests and the defence of Christianity, it is interesting to remember how the same figures can appropriate different ideas. The Infante Henry, for example, appears to vindicate the defence of chivalry in his writings and in the chronicles he supported but has a different opinion in the report of voyages undertaken by Ca’ da Mosto; the champion of chivalry and of ideas of sanctity is here substituted by the figure of instigator of trade and the benefits associated with it.

Notes   1.   2.   3.   4.   5.   6.   7.   8.   9. 10. 11. 12.

Martins, Os Filhos de D. João I, 390. D.M.G. dos Santos, D. Duarte e as Responsabilidades de Tânger (1433–1438), 83. Ibid., 77. D.M.G. dos Santos, D. Duarte e as Responsabilidades de Tânger (1433–1438), 82. Ibid., 86. Madahil, A Política de D. Afonso V Apreciada em 1460 (Inéditos do Infante D. Fernando Duque de Viseu, do Condestável D. Pedro e do Marquês de Vila-Viçosa), 20–29. Ibid., 31–34. Madahil, A Política de D. Afonso V Apreciada em 1460, 38–49. Rebelo, A Tradição Clássica na Literatura Portuguesa. Paviot, Portugal et la Bourgogne au XVe siècle (1384–1482), 79. Pagden, Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain and France c. 1500–c.1800, 29–62, 159–60. L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 165.

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13. Gallet-Guerne, Vasque de Lucène et la Cyropédie à la Cour de Bourgogne (1470), especially 183–84; Paviot, Portugal et la Bourgogne au XVe Siècle (1384–1482), 108–11. 14. Paviot, Portugal et la Bourgogne au XVe Siècle, 82–83; Sintra, El Descubrimiento de Guinea y de las Islas Occidentales, 3. 15. Álvares, Obras, 2. 16. Zurara, Crónica do Conde D. Duarte de Meneses, chap. II, 47. 17. Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos da Guiné, vol. II, chaps. LXXV, LXXVIII, especially 328–29, 348. 18. Godinho, A Economia dos Descobrimentos Henriquinos, 16. 19. Ibid., 220. 20. Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos da Guiné, vol. II, chap. LV, 239. 21. Ibid., chaps. LXXVI–LXXVII; LXXIX. 22. Zurara, Crónica dos Feitos da Guiné, vol. II, chap. LV, 239. 23. Álvares, Obras, vol. I, 41, 56, 57, 84–85. 24. ‘dichiarandoci come da certo tempo in qua aveva fatto navigar mari che mai per altro furono navigati, e discoperte terre di diverse generazioni strane, fra le quali si trovano cose maravigliose; e che quelli che erano stati in quelle parti avevano fatto fra quella nuova gente di grossi guadagni, perchè di un soldo ne facevano sette e dieci.’ Ca’ da Mosto, Navegações de Luís de Cadamosto, 7–8. 25. Ibid., 23, 68. 26. Sintra, El Descubrimiento de Guinea y de las Islas Occidentales, 2–3, 8–9, 16–17, 24–25, 58–59. 27. Peres, ‘Este Liuro he de Rotear’, 38. 28. Ibid.

Chapter 4

The Era of Da Gama

Printed Books and the Distribution of Manuscripts


It is hard to accept that, in relation to the time of Zurara in the middle of the fifteenth century, discourse of the time of Vasco da Gama defines a period that moves from the religious and chivalric to the economic and ethnographic, all within a social framework in which one finds the emergence of the urban classes.1 In relation to this new configuration, an analysis of continuities and discontinuities can be made from various sources, from the performance of a play by the legation sent by Manuel to the Pope, to the publication in Lisbon of a compilation of reports of voyages to the east and the analysis of other reports of voyages – and, finally, a set of chronicles. All of these have the same objective: to characterize the impact of overseas expansion in the da Gama era. In the spring of 1514, the comedy Trophea was presented in Rome. This was one of the festive moments that was presented by the legation of Manuel sent to Pope Leo X. Led by Tristão da Cunha, who was accompanied by his three sons, there was also the lawyer Diogo Pacheco and the experienced ambassador João da Faria. Their arrival, which was accompanied by an exotic elephant, was on Sunday 12 March, after which gifts were handed over. The performance of the comedy on the banks of the Tiber was not the most important of the festivities, for it did not merit the attendance of the Pope. But it is interesting to note how the author of the play, Bartolomé de Torres Naharro, hoped to celebrate simultaneously the deeds of the Portuguese, represented in effigies of Manuel and the crown prince, the future John III, and to pay homage to Tristan da Cunha.2

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The comedy Trophea is divided into a prologue and five acts. In the first, Fame praises the discoveries and conquests of the Portuguese king; Ptolemy replies in surprise and shows some incredulity at the news. In the second act, in sharp contrast to the first, two rustic street sweepers parody the space and the symbols of the actual celebrations; a shepherd sits on the throne cursing it, then there is a comic sermon and allusions to dances and songs. In the following act, the kings of Africa and Asia present their gifts using an interpreter as intermediary and orator. In the fourth, it is the turn of a group of rustic shepherds, including the two street sweepers plus Mingo Oueja and Gil Bragado, who present their gifts to the prince and receive gifts in exchange. Finally, in the fifth and last act, Apollo appears in his triumphal chariot singing verses that predict the glory and fame of the prince, the future John III.3 The metaphor of the triumph of Apollo, who appears in the final act, is inspired by both the Iberian traditions of the fifteenth century – the royal marriages and processions – and the classical elements of the trionfi, which were so customary during the Italian renaissance. Besides this, the Trionfo della Fama and the Farsa dell’ambasciatore del Soldano explicate per lot interprete, which Sannazaro had been written to celebrate in Naples the conquest of Granada in 1492, already stood as examples of the intervention of a character like Fame and the use of an interpreter in the celebration of an historic deed. The syncretism of mythological figures and of shepherds used by Torres Naharro was not foreign to the works of Gil Vicente. The author probably knew of Vicente at least through the Auto da Fama and Exortação da Guerra, both of which were also included in celebrations of deeds that were seen as heroic. The theme of African and Asian kings presenting gifts to a young prince has roots in Christmas ceremonies, and Gil Vicente had already made use of this in Auto da Visitação and Monólogo do Vaqueiro to celebrate the birth of the future John III. Let us focus our attention on two particular aspects of Torres Naharro’s play Trophea. The first relates to the curious dialogue between Fame and Ptolemy. While the former boasts of the deeds of the Portuguese king, who ‘ha Ganado muy más tierras/que no scrivió Ptolomeo’ (has won far more lands/than written of by Ptolemy), the latter defends himself by saying that all these triumphs do not necessarily have to be at his own expense or of things of which he has not written.4 Besides referring to aspects of the Renaissance, it is interesting to note how Torres Naharro refers to the new times and to the criticism of Ptolemy. The author gives the figure of a Ptolemy who wishes to be respected against the repetition of conquests and discoveries that are not included in Geografia. How should this be interpreted? The recognition of what is modern cannot

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lead to disrespect for old knowledge and beliefs: this appears to be one of the possible responses. But one must consider also that, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the image of experience not gained from books – whether or not accompanied by criticisms of Ptolemy, Strabo or other authors of antiquity – had attained wide circulation.5 Now with his dialogue between Fame and Ptolemy, the author appears determined to denounce the stereotypical celebrations of the new age that are based on a criticism of what did not appear in books or in the eulogy of experience. In this way, the meaning of this episode that involves the spirit of Ptolemy has two sides: on the one hand, and on the model of medieval tradition, the Portuguese expansion is seen as a process of conquest by which the Portuguese king managed to impose Christianity thanks to the holy wars he waged against the infidel (con quán sanctíssimas guerras ha Ganado muy que no scrivió Ptolomeo) (with how many more holy wars he has won than written of by Ptolemy).6 On the other hand, while at the beginning Ptolemy is the butt of contradictions, at the end his authority on matters of geographical knowledge is re-established. This creates problems of interpretation, and although the Portuguese expansion is identified as a crusade, Torres Naharro does not forget the scientific dimension of the discoveries. An analysis of another of his plays suggests that Torres Naharro was well aware of the possibilities created by nautical astronomy and the discovery of other peoples. In this way, the discussion between Fame and Ptolemy can be seen as an anticipation of the ‘querelle des anciens et des modernes’ (argument between ancient and modern). Moving on from this idea, Torres Naharro seems above all determined to criticize the somewhat weak argument of Fame when she attributes all the glory to the king of Portugal, thus creating a tabula rasa for the authority of Ptolemy regarding his knowledge of world cartography.7 A second aspect worthy of note can be found in one of the acts when the rustics speak. In a play that reproduces the official ceremonies of the embassy, the rustic shepherds – who speak in an uneducated manner – curse the established order, so contributing to the consecration of this same order. So it is that in Manuel’s embassy, as in the legationes obedientiae, whenever a new pope is elected, an essential element is prayer. In the third act of Trophea, the interpreter takes on the role of orator and speaks in the name of various African and Asian kings. In the following act, one of the shepherds parodies the figure of this interpreter/orator, who speaks in the vernacular, saying ‘Que para habrar, en fin,/delante un rey o d’un papa,/deve ser hombre de chapa/que sepa medio latín’ (who to speak before a king or a pope must be a coarse man who knows little Latin).8 The jesting of a shepherd, called Mingo Oveja, when making a speech in Latin is clear. But, besides these effects, what Torres Naharro

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is letting us know is the diffusion of, or even the popularity achieved by, literature in Latin. Indeed, the orationes as well as the epistolae sent by Manuel, which in many cases are published and so are the subject of considerable circulation, form ‘a literature that has a formal and thematic unity’9 from the end of the reign of John II. The eulogy of the person of the monarch, the laudatio principis, includes a reference to the Portuguese deeds overseas as equal to the glorification of virtues in war and strengthened by the fight against the infidel, which are themes of this literature of international propaganda. It is unnecessary to look within its interior, either for forms of ethnographic description or a harmonious vision of the expansion of the Faith. As Jorge Alves Osório noted: There is no place for reading either for prophetic justification of the recent deeds of the Portuguese in the east, just as in this propaganda literature in Latin, there is no place for a view of the expansion of the Faith, the fides amplianda, a sintagma that is repeatedly used in the texts, equal to terms of evangelization based upon care and love. The epistolae and the orationes were intended to impose the image of the Portuguese king as lord of an imperium: and the notion of imperium and of imperator is based upon the ability to exercise force.10

To summarize, although it would seem paradoxical, in Portugal Latin of the Renaissance helps to impose the image of a warlike king who embodies epic/chivalric values. However, in the oratione by Pietro Pasqualigo (the Venetian ambassador to Lisbon in 1501), one of the themes most directly related to the eulogy of Manuel is precisely that of trade. Above all, trade between men, which the voyages had created, and also the sugar and spice trades, is one of the themes that the Venetian celebrates in his oration on the virtues of the Portuguese monarch.11 We thus once again find in Latin the evaluation of the calculation of trade benefits as a form of justifying the empire, this time in the writings of a Venetian. In the same oratione, which was published in Venice, we also find echoes of a prophetic nature that can be related to ideals that appear in the twelfth century and to Joachim de Flora. Obviously this is a use of prophetic arguments made in order to assist the praise of the king, to whom the rule over the infidel will soon be granted, which should not be confused with any faith or identified as a general context of prophesy.12 Equally, in the Latin orations at the opening of the university, which are also of a distinct type, it is possible to find, alongside the eulogy of military deeds of the Portuguese in the east, references to trade. This is the case in 1504, when D. Pedro de Meneses,

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a pupil of Cataldo Parísio Siculo, offers this type of discourse to Manuel. The future Marquis of Vila Real includes the eulogy to Lisbon and its trade with the east and Europe in order to justify the Portuguese spices monopoly.13 At the beginning of February 1502, the printer Valentim Fernandes published in Lisbon a volume containing the Portuguese translation of Latin verses by Marco Polo and of the voyages of Niccolò de’ Conti, as well as a letter written by Girolamo da Santo Stefano. The printer finishes by saying, ‘May all write about India in the service of God and give advice to those going there.’ He then asks his readers to correct any words and distances contained in the publication. Valentim Fernandes, who was from Moravia in Germany, settled in Portugal before 1490 and there published several works up to 1518. His correspondence with the humanist Conrad Peutinger, who was married to a daughter of the great financier Anton Welser, is known, and it could be said that Valentim acted as translator, agent and informant of the voyages from Lisbon to India for the Welsers. Between 1505 and 1508, Peutinger received several manuscripts from his correspondent in Lisbon, and these he collected and entitled De insulis et peregrinationibus Lusitanorum. We can evaluate Valentim Fernandes’s interest in detailing Portuguese actions in Asia, including their arrival in Ceylon, from a letter sent to a correspondent in Nuremberg. In this context, what is the significance of the compilation published in 1502?14 In order to answer this question, one should examine the contents of the book. Marco Polo of Venice made his voyages to the east between 1270 and 1296 and then dictated a report of these to a prison mate; Brother Francisco Pippino, from 1320, wrote a Latin version of these voyages, which was to be published for the first time in 1485. Niccolò de’ Conti, who was also from Venice, travelled to India in the first half of the fifteenth century and made a report that Poggio Braciolini translated into Latin and added to other reports on India, and this was published for the first time in 1492. The letter from Girolamo di Santo Stefano, a Genoese merchant, relates to the voyages he made with Geronimo Adorno to the far parts of Pegu, between 1494 and 1499. Comprising these three reports of Italian voyages – Venetian and Genoese – the book was a truly exceptional example of the publications of Valentim Fernandes.15 The books he published can be divided into works of a religious nature or religious instruction, the law, as well as some works that were historical or humanist, without forgetting the Reportório dos tempos. The fact that Valentim Fernandes was not dedicated to the publication of works, either in the vernacular or in Latin, that related to the Portuguese expansion in the Atlantic or Indian Oceans is not an exception: until 1550, there are

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only four works on this – two letters from Manuel and, in the reign of John III, the works of Francisco Álvares and Diogo de Teive.16 Differences existed between a printed book culture and a manuscript culture. The first served to circulate and reinforce the leanings of the state and the Church, which prolonged throughout the sixteenth century old medieval tendencies and was only marginally involved in the spread of the works of the humanists. The second culture is exemplified by descriptions of the territories of Africa and Asia by Tomé Pires, Duarte Pacheco Pereira, Duarte Barboso and the letters sent by Valentim Fernandes to Augsburg or Nuremburg which served to provide information on the new lands. In publishing a book of voyages, and in Portuguese rather than Latin, Valentim Fernandes was making it accessible to a wider, uneducated public. His objective was to reach the ‘simple readers’, the ‘common people’. It is perhaps important to consider that there is a relationship between the preparation of this work and the arrival in Lisbon in 1501 of the Venetian ambassador. Pietro Pasqualigo went to Portugal with the objective of asking for Manuel’s help in the Mediterranean battles against the Turks. This was a moment when the Venetian Republic was still a long way from feeling threatened by the discovery of a new route by the Portuguese; the situation was to change rapidly, and Venice was to demonstrate its anger at the competition from the Portuguese. The reports of voyages published by Valentim Fernandes correspond to this last moment when it was still possible to regard the new maritime discoveries of the Portuguese as compatible with the knowledge of eastern territories and their land routes made by Venetian and Genoese travellers and merchants. This was a unique moment, and one which Valentim Fernandes used, for the work appears to act as a justification both for the Italian discoveries in the Indian Ocean and a eulogy of the Portuguese kings, in particular John II and Manuel and their discoveries. Valentim Fernandes thus, through the publication of a book, argued in favour of a collaboration that others wished to achieve by use of diplomatic and economic terms. To understand the work of the printers, their relation to other means of communication – such as through correspondence – and the timing of their publications, we can look at the publications that emerged from the printing house of Johan Weissenburger. This printer from Nuremburg started in 1502 with the publication of works of a religious nature before moving on three years later to the production of news reports. At least during 1506 and 1507, four of his seven reports of which I have knowledge relate to Portuguese matters. The relations that existed among the merchants of Nuremberg and Augsburg, Lisbon and the trade on the Cape Route – which one can infer from reading one of these publications

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that is based on a letter sent from Lisbon by a German merchant in which he refers to the departure of the armadas in 1505 and 1506 and the powers attributed to Afonso de Albuquerque – would have had some influence on Weissenburger’s new output. He produced two known editions of a German pamphlet, which include woodcuts and which probably date from 1506. In one of them, there is a crude reproduction of the Sphaera Ptolmaei, and in the other two figures that probably represent a Portuguese and an Indian fighter united by an intriguing triangle accompanied by a ship that suggests the voyage from Lisbon to Calicut.17 Another pamphlet that was produced by Weissenburger is the Gesta proxime per Portugalenses in India, Ethiopia et aliis orientalibus terris in 1507.18 This is a reprint of a pamphlet published in Rome that was based on a letter from King Manuel and which is a good example of this network of collaboration and competition involving Italian and German printers. It includes the actions of the first viceroy of India, D. Francisco de Almeida, as he seeks to establish fortified bases along the east coast of Africa and Malabar. The Gesta would have been of interest also to the Welsers and the Fuggers of Nuremburg and the Imhoffs and Hirschvogels of Augsburg, all of them merchants who were financially involved in this same Portuguese work in the Indian Ocean. On this it would never be an exaggeration to say that the Portuguese expansion would always have to be associated with capital and the agents of large international bankers.19 A final note relates to the woodcarving that Weissenburger included in the frontispiece: the Portuguese coat of arms is between two Indians, a man with a bow and arrow and a naked woman. This is an innovation in comparison with earlier productions made by other printers in Rome and Cologne and was intended to make the product more attractive to create more sales. In summary, the circulation of printed news is thus a tributary of parallel interests represented by trading houses but also intertwines with the many connections existing between different printers and with the methods, namely iconographic, which they used.20 In 1512, in Salamanca, Juan Aguero de Trasmera published the report by Martín Fernández de Figueroa about the capture of Goa in 1510, entitled Conquista de las Indias de Persia e Arabia que hizo la armada del rey don Manuel de Portugal e de las muchas terrias: diuersas gentes: extrañas riquezas e grandes batallas que alla ouo.21 The author had played a direct part in the first occupation of Goa, and his report reveals a eulogy of warrior virtues and the spirit of the conqueror translated in a style that is supposedly close to the Amadis. In his report, ‘los españoles’ (the Spaniards), who are also known as ‘los cristianos’ (the Christians), serve as the victors, who, through divine intervention, conquer Muslims and infidels.22 The vision of the victors is completed by a reference to the political disorder of the

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enemy, specifically the death of the ‘Sabaio’, or ‘king of Goa’, corresponding to a period of revolt due to the existence of many successors.23 This perspective of the victory can be compared with the report by Giovanni da Empoli, the representative in India of a Florentine trading house. For him, the principal hero is not Afonso de Albuquerque, as reported by Fernández de Figueroa, but the captain, Diogo Mendes de Vasconcelos, who is equal to Empoli a Rolando, another of the heroes of chivalric tales. Just as the victors argued over the glories and titles so the soldiers of some armies are seen to be overlooked in the distribution of spoils. This was the case with Empoli and his companions, if we are to believe his complaints. Although the Florentine merchant accepts that he took part in the war, as he himself confesses, ‘più per I previlegi che chon esso si danno che per alter chose, perché merchanti I chavalieri sono assai diferenti, anchor ache al dì d’oggi; visto chelle chose si ghovenano a chi più può, viene meglio a essere chavalier che merchante’24 (I accepted it more for the privileges that go with it than for anything else, because merchants and knights are very different these days; seeing that things are regulated by whoever has most power, it is better to be a knight than a merchant). Here, conquest and commercial interest, war and merchandise, knights and merchants are words of opposition that control the narrative of conquests. Giovanni da Empoli equated conquest with pillage and points out the tension between the knights and the merchants. Within this tension, Fernández de Figueroa places himself on the side of war and celebrates the acts of conquest. But it is important to add to these accounts other readings on Goa: during the same period, Tomé Pires gives the view of the merchant, while Duarte Barbosa remains close to this as well while at the same time conceding the importance of the organization of local administration. Meanwhile, there is radical criticism of commercial interests recorded in Garcia de Resende’s Cancioneiro, published in Lisbon in 1516, when Braz da Costa writes regarding the voyages and conquests in the east: ‘Por passer tanta tormenta,/tempo, e vida tão forte,/e tão perto ser da morte, antes não queor pimenta’25 (To suffer such torment, such hard times and life, and being so close to death so I no longer want pepper). To characterize the multiple meanings of this text means noting the fact that it was only the Conquista de las Indias that at this time enjoyed circulation in printed form; a part of the Suma Oriental by Tomé Pires and the Livro by Duarte Barbosa were only published in the collection of voyage reports put together by Giovanni Battista Ramusio (Delle navigationi et viaggi, 1550–1559). The tensions to be found in the discourse at the beginning of the 1500s – particularly those that are recorded between the values of chivalry and those of trade or between a knowledge gleaned from books and

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knowledge based upon experience, to which one must add the opposition of religious, prophetic and spiritual ideals, faced with of the universe of a lay means of propaganda – are translated into a series of recurring expressions that are fairly stereotyped. It is tempting to think that these tensions, defined by the values of tradition as opposed to those of modernity, have a direct correspondence with divisions in society its groups and even among political parties. However, an analysis that shows an interest in understanding social disparity and the use of discourses must avoid a simplification of relationships between social groups and cultural values and try other forms of contextualization. The Suma Oriental serves as a departure point for this experiment. The author of the book, Tomé Pires, arrived in Malacca in 1511, and from 1512 to 1515 he wrote the greater part of his work. There is a clear relationship between his post as factor and his interest in the aspects or the conduct of the markets. His description of the east has even been compared by Philip Curtin to a theory of central places. Firstly Europe, China and India appear as central regions that are characterized by their stable political systems and by their production and export of manufactured products such as textiles, arms, china, glass and metal tools. The Middle East can be included in this series but in a weaker position. On a second level, Pires places the regions that neither produce nor export manufactured goods. Southeast Asia belongs in this category, but within this the factor of Malacca distinguishes at least fifteen subregions. Some of these subregions can be placed at a third hierarchical level, since they show a lack of diversity in their offering of economic products together with a political situation that is characterized by microstates. Finally, at the lowest level of this hierarchy, we find the most specialized regions, being those territories where the nomadic populations are committed to a pastoral life and sell exclusively animal products or even ‘protection’ services. The interior of Arabia and some communities of pirates in Southeast Asia are in this category. Besides this hierarchy of economic areas, Tomé Pires characterizes Malacca as a commercial centre and port city for international trade where the most varied communities of merchants, Hindus, Islamists, Chinese etc. meet.26 Although Tomé Pires claims to be the first to produce this type of description, considering that ‘putting together summaries and treaties is more the work of foreigners than Portuguese’, it is important to note that, at the same time, the Esmeraldo de Situ Orbis by Duarte Pacheco Pereira and the Livro by Duarte Barbosa display similar thoughts. The descriptions given in the Roteiro by Álvaro Velho, who accompanied Vasco da Gama on his first voyage to India, and Pêro Vaz de Caminha’s Carta, which detailed the discovery of Brazil, are more precise than those

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to be found in what one would normally call a report of a voyage. For Tomé Pires, his intent is to investigate not only ‘the partition of areas, provinces, kingdoms, regions and their conflicts but also the agreements and trade that exists between them, which is necessary since without it the world could not be sustained, and this ennobles kingdoms and makes people great and ennobles the cities and leads to war and peace’.27 Although fragmentary in nature, his eulogies to the warlike virtues of Afonso de Albuquerque both at the beginning of his work and at the taking of Malacca are compatible with the attention given to economic aspects, which is to say that the opposition as defined by Tomé Pires is not between the values of trade and chivalry. For Pires, the problem lay in the choice of those who should represent royal authority, who should be ‘magnificent officials, with knowledge of merchandise, friends of peace, not superior, nor immoral, nor disobedient, nor given to luxuries, but good to the old, for Malacca has no official with white hair’.28 This description of the ideal official whose virtues would allow for the stability of trade in Malacca is the opposite of the image of the ‘courtly child’, since this individual ‘and agreements on trade are not compatible’.29 Thus in the Suma Oriental, one can note an opposition between the official who possesses the necessary virtues, projected by Pires in the traditional figure of the old king, and the young man lacking virtues who achieves his post by living at court, as a royal gift. This discussion on granting of posts runs in parallel with what Jerónimo Viegas states in a letter to the king dated 1512, written from Malacca: Your highness did not take Malacca for the Portuguese to destroy it with greed and vainglory, I remind your highness that there should be no factor of Malacca who wishes to gain glory for his work but a man who is there for the office, not the office for the man and that he should know how to deal kindly with those who deal with him.30

The conclusions that can be drawn from this language are the following: Tomé Pires’ geographic and economic analysis is associated clearly with a defence of the values of trade not incompatible with the individual eulogy of the war virtues of Afonso de Albuquerque; in 1514 the governor of India argued that the king should take control of the factories from the courtiers and hand them over to those who knew how to be merchants.31 However, at the moment when Pires found himself obliged to consider the organization of the state through institutions in Malacca, the limitations shown in his language and the need for the author to conform to the traditional criteria of virtues attributable to princes, consuls and officials becomes evident.

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A summary analysis of Suma Oriental has allowed the identification of an example of the method in which the language is imposed and determines practice. The counsel given by those such as Tomé Pires and Jerónimo Viegas is where the lines between discursive reality and concrete actions weaken. The correspondence between various authorities is full of such counsel. On this, one of the best-known examples is the vast correspondence from Afonso de Albuquerque to the King. Counsel, information, replies to letters and other notices, and also requests for favours comprise his obsessive written practice. In a letter dated 13 January 1518 sent to king Manuel, Henrique Juzarte, a resident of Alcácer Ceguer, we have the insight of a recently arrived captain, Álvaro de Carvalho: We were resting since we were all seated on a bench, which is what all of us my lord wanted, as all of us my lord wage war and he, my lord with the largest head decided those things that are in the service of God and your highness, and whether he will break down the doors etc. And thus I let your highness know the reason for my writing was a rumour that they say my lord there is a desire to fight with the Moors if they run away. My lord in principle it does not appear to me good counsel, nor will it be in the service of God or your highness, because my lord the things of war according to Alexander are not done by force my lord but by cunning. This my lord few fighters understand and thus they wander mostly out in the open.32

For Juzarte, the fantasies of the fighters, close to chivalric romances, would clearly be in contrast with the reality of war and the cunning needed to succeed that he found in reading the history of Alexander. The distinction between fable and truth appears, therefore, to be associated with two different types of literature: on the one hand it is possible to follow chivalric romances and on the other the histories of Alexander. However, with João de Barros – who started his publications with his Chronica do Emperador Clarimundo (Lisbon, 1520), which was seen at once as a chivalric romance– there is no hesitation in showing the emperor Alexander as the antecedent of the kings of Portugal, so weakening the lines between fable and truth. The difficulties in separating the two areas also appear when João de Barros confesses to a certain nobleman from those territories that he has heard of the deeds of the emperors of Germany and Constantinople and states at once: And those that appeared the most shining and important were those of the Emperor Clarimundo which, apparently are marvellous and find great favour with writers, who give a true report. However, because we cannot

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be certain of things of the past, it is necessary to give them some credence according to what we are told. For experience of our present times allows us to accept deeds of the past.33

The idea proposed by João de Barros can be used as a basis for another work during the era of Vasco da Gama. Above all, one must note that Barros created works – such as Clarimundo –thus created works that were ‘marvellous’ according to ‘the experience of our present times’ and using a vocabulary of the times. Duarte Galvão, among many others, speaks of the ‘great marvel and mystery of the discovery, or more truly, the conquest of the Indies, that was never hoped for, nor believed by the people.34 For the chronicler, only Manuel could have achieved the discoveries, conquests and navigations that had never before been accomplished, not even by ‘that great king Alexander’, nor by others, including the kings of Portugal. It is clear that the chronicler uses the language of propaganda when celebrating the exceptional virtues of his king and declares that ‘Divine Clemency’ has predestined him to such illustrious deeds, included among which are the propagation of the Faith and the ‘destruction of the Mohammedan sect’.35 This is an allusion to the prophesies of the time used for official propaganda. But what is most important is to point out that the ‘great marvel’ of the new times is compatible with Manuel’s intent to reorganize the memory of the monarchy (Manuel). As Duarte Galvão says: I am bound to talk of your virtuous deeds, so necessary to this work, which is for your highness to order me most faithfully that the notable deeds of the most luminary kings, your antecedents, both written and seen, that through the negligence of writers or the fault of the times, whose work is not only being less polished, but disorganized and containing no memories, should be put in order and written, for they almost violate the most honoured burial sites and tombs.36

For Duarte Galvão, the eulogy of the ‘great marvel’ that includes the conquests and navigations is parallel to that of the works relative to a ‘conserved memory’, to use Manuel’s expression in the presentation of the Leitura Nova. The cult of Afonso Henriques that was created in Galvão’s Crónica as well as the construction of a new tomb in Santa Cruz de Coimbra, plus the circulation of a new political, iconographic programme centred on the reproduction of the astrolabe, used as a Manueline device, together with the new archival methods and added embellishments and illuminations are some examples of royal propaganda. However, these royal initiatives – which, nowadays, tend to be interpreted as the creation of a programme – cannot hide the numerous conflicts of interpretation.

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It is helpful on this to determine how the same event; for example, the foundation of the castle at São Jorge da Mina, is invested with a variety of meanings, or purely and simply obliterated in the work of Álvaro Lopes de Chaves, Rui de Pina, Garcia de Resende and Cristóvão Rodrigues Acenheiro.37 In a poem in Garcia Resende’s Cancioneiro Geral (1516), Álvaro Barreto gives us a testimony of this conflict of interpretation in the manuscript circulation of chronicles or excerpts when he recalls: ‘Escrevem coronistas/para ler muito nos vale/mas é fala das conquistas,/ treslado sem original’38 (Chroniclers write in order for us to read but they speak of conquests without proof of the truth).

Notes  1. M.B. de Carvalho, ‘L’Idéologie Religieuse dans la “Crónica dos Feitos de Guiné” de Gomes Eanes de Zurara’, 34–63.  2. As well as the works by Gregorovius, Pastor, Rodanachi and De Ciutiis, and MacSwiney de Mashanaglass, Le Portugal et le Saint-Siège; L. de Matos, ‘Natura, Intelletto e Costumi dell’Elefante’, 44–55; ibid., L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 177–80 (see Revue d’Histoire Diplomatique, XVII (1903), 62–63; Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, book II, vol. I, 136–39.  3. Gillet, Propalladia and Other Works of Bartolomé de Torres Naharro, vol. II – Collected Plays, 83–137.  4. Ibid., 94, 100.  5. Sintra, El Descubrimiento de Guinea y de las Islas Occidentales (trans. of De prima Inventione Gvinee, included in Manuscrito Valentim Fernandes), 27; Weinstein, Ambassador from Venice Pietro Pasqualigo in Lisbon, 1501, 37 (land which ‘Ptolomaeus et Strabo et reliqui mundi scriptores penitus ignoraverunt’); V. Fernandes, Marco Paulo, fl. 89 r (nom leemos que alguum dos passados podesse chegar onde elle chegou) (we do not read of anyone in the past who could have got to where he arrived); Pereira, ‘Esmeraldo de Situ Orbis’, 79, 126, 140–42; Pires, Suma Oriental, 133.  6. Gillet, Propalladia and Other Works, vol. II – Collected Plays, 80–83.  7. Ibid., 94, 100–1.  8. Ibid., 122.  9. Osório, ‘Os Primeiros Textos em Latim de Propaganda da Expansão Portuguesa: Séculos XV-XVI’, 533–45, especially 536. 10. Ibid., 545; L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 160–61. 11. Weinstein, Ambassador from Venice, 37. 12. Ibid., 55–56. 13. L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 26–27. 14. V. Fernandes, Marco Paulo; Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. I – The Century of Discovery, book 1, 158–61; L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 48, 124, 126. 15. Rogers, The Quest for Eastern Christians: Travels and Rumor in the Age of Discovery, 28–49 (on the texts of literature of voyages); ibid., Valentim Fernandes, Rodrigo de

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16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

35. 36. 37.


Santaella, and the Recognition of the Antilles as ‘Opposite-India’, 279–309 (comparison of the Lisbon edition of 1502 with that of Seville of 1503). L. de Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 64–65. Prottengeier, From Lisbon to Calicut. King Manuel I of Portugal, Gesta proxime per Portugaleñ in India, Ethiopia et aliis orietalibus terris a Serenissimo Emanuele Portugalie rege ad R. d. d. G. epm portueñ … . Bibliography summarized by Halbartschlager, ‘“Bombardeiros e Comerciantes”: Dois exemplos pela colaboração dos alemães na expansão no ultramar dujrante a época de D. João III’, 661–69. Bezzel, ‘News from Portugal in 1506 and 1507, as Printed by Johan Weissenburger in Nuremberg’, 31–44. McKenna, A Spaniard in the Portuguese Indies: The Narrative of Martín Fernández de Figueroa. Ibid., 128. On the concept of ‘Sabayo’, see Orta, Colóquios dos Simples e Drogas da India, vol. I, 123. Noonan, John of Empoli and his Relations with Afonso de Albuquerque, 156. On relations between Diogo Mendes de Vasconcelos and Afonso de Albuquerque, see Subrahmanyam, The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History, 113. G. de Resende, Cancioneiro Geral, vol. III (1913), 344. Curtin, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, 128–29; Meilink-Roelofsz, Asian Trade and European Influence in the Indonesian Archipelago Between 1500 and about 1630. Pires, Suma Oriental, 132. Ibid., 440. Pires, Suma Oriental, 440. R.B. Smith, A Projected Portuguese Voyage to China in 1512 and New Notices Relative to Tomé Pires in Canton, 6. A. de Albuquerque, Cartas, vol. I, 274. ANTT, Cartas dos Governadores dos lugares de Africa, single pack, doc. no. 53. Barros, Clarimundo, vol. I, 7. Galvão, Crónica de D. Afonso Henriques, 4. On how other humanists deprecated Duarte Galvão’s style and on the centrality of ancient history at the time, see N. de N.C. Soares, ‘A historiografia do Renascimento em Portugal: referentes estéticos e ideológicos humanistas’, 19. Galvão, Crónica de D. Afonso Henriques, 6. Ibid., 7. Curto, ‘Língua e Memória’, 367–68. On the same issue, there is also Duarte Pacheco Pereira’s interpretation Esmeraldo, in Peres, Os Mais Antigos Roteiros da Guiné, 123–26; Barros, Ásia, déc. I, book 3, chap. 2; B. de Las Casas, Obras Completas, vol. 3 – Historia de las Indias, vol. I, chap. 27, 486–88. G. de Resende, Cancioneiro Geral, vol. I, 232. For another interpretation of the same poem, which replaced sem with se and which considers it to be proof of the slight importance of the past at the beginning of the sixteenth century, see J.B. de Macedo, ‘Damião de Góis et l’Historiographie Portugaise’, 82.

Chapter 5

The 1550s and 1560s


It is possible to detect in the middle of the sixteenth century a new concentration of texts regarding the Portuguese expansion. This period was most intense between 1550 and 1557 and continued until the 1570s. In the middle of this period of extraordinary intensity is the publication of the Décadas by João de Barros, the História do Descobrimento e Conquista da Índia by Fernão Lopes de Castanheda and the first edition of the Comentários de Afonso de Albuquerque by his illegitimate son Brás Afonso de Albuquerque. We must add to these printed histories of the Portuguese exploits in the east the production of the Lendas da Índia on which Gaspar Correia was still working from 1563 and which remained in manuscript until the nineteenth century. These works, consecrated by tradition and transformed into a type of canonical reference of Portuguese identity, should be read in their actual context. This is defined more than anything by the conflict surrounding the exploits and the naming of characters and in the reuse of earlier texts.1 On this subject, one must not forget the Crónica do Descobrimento e primeiras conquistas da Índia pelos Portugueses, which remains in manuscript form.2 Added to these factors is that their authors used their histories to circulate certain visions or to interfere in the political debates of the time. João de Barros, for example, when defending his theory that all the nobles came from the lowest social levels, intervenes in the discussion on the nature of political power in the State of India based upon different types of nobility and gentry.3 In another perspective, one must consider that these Portuguese works were part of a large European movement of systemization of writings

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on the expansion and circulation by the publishers of national exploits. In 1548, Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo published his Historia General y Natural de las Indias (books XX, XXIII) in which the glory of the Portuguese exploits collides with that of the Castilians’. The chronicler thus sees himself as obliged to tell of the exploits in Southeast Asia and the River Plate, granting great importance to the functioning of local communities and groups of merchants but diminishing the importance of the Portuguese. The response he received from the Portuguese side fell to Gabriel Rebelo, but this remained in manuscript.4 There are, however, more points of contact between the models of glorification of the conquistadores used by Oviedo and those used by Barros and Castanheda regarding their heroes. This is a hypothesis that should be applied to studies of, in particular, the famous Junta de Valladolid debate of 1550– 1551, as well as to the series of writings that followed this regarding the justice of the conquests in the New World, on which Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda and Bartolomé de las Casas argued, the former using models of bravura translated into a language of virtues attributed to the Cortés and other conquistadores circulated by Oviedo that correspond to a highly contemptuous perception of the Indians.5 This perspective contrasts with the work of systemization by Bartolomé de las Casas in his enormous Historia de las Indias, produced in the middle of the century and which remains in manuscript. Regarding the Portuguese expansion, the Spanish Dominican denounced many of the acts of pillage and capture of slaves by the Portuguese along the coast of Africa as acts of barbarity, which, as he clearly points out, were glorified by Zurara, Castanheda and most of all Barros.6 The Libro de las costumbres de todas las gentes del Mundo, which is a translation from an original by Joannes Boemus (1485–1535) and to which some 200 pages have been added by Francisco Tamara, published in Anvers in 1556, takes on another meaning. In the first two parts of the book, Boemus put together a history of the ancients of the world, following the style of an ethnogenetic history, but in a third part, Tamara presents the discovery of the Indies by ‘nuestros Españoles’ (our Spaniards), including here ‘las otras tierras y Indias y prouincias descubiertas por Españoles Portugueses la bulta de Leante’ (the other lands and Indias and provinces discovered by Spaniards, Portuguese in the east). This intention of celebrating together the exploits of the Portuguese and the Castilians was in accord with a unified concept of the Iberian Peninsula, where, as far as Tamara was concerned, people spoke ‘casi una misma lengua’7 (almost the same language). It should be noted that between 1550 and 1559 Ramusio published the first large collection of voyages, dedicating the first part to the Asian subcontinent.8 Although it includes some translations of Portuguese

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texts, in his collection the Venetian humanist embellishes the vision of a Portuguese India. In this same perspective, one should note the fact that the French projects of colonization of Brazil and the creation of an Antarctic France were described in the works of André Thevet in Les Singularitez de la France Antarctique (1557–1558). On this, one should recall that Jean de Boulez or João de Boles, as he was known in Portugal, who was a fugitive from the French expedition, supplied useful information to the governor Mem de Sá that helped in the preparation of the Portuguese attack. De Boles was tried for heresy and finally left for India, but meanwhile he had published in Lisbon a political work that is yet to be found. However, one cannot overemphasize the French works on Brazil, since as Capistrano de Abreu noted in 1885, ‘from 1500 to 1615 the French are almost as important as the Portuguese’.9 The fact that the German Hans Staden published in 1557 a report of his two voyages to Brazil contests the existence of only a single Portuguese history of colonization of Brazil.10 The first publications of the politics of the Jesuits also date from this period.11 This is the first appearance of dissemination by use of the printing press of the Jesuits’ correspondence, which was seen as resulting from a work of selection and organization in the interests of propaganda of numerous letters and information left in manuscript. In Brazil, too, one must consider the writings of the Jesuits, particularly those of Nóbrega and Anchieta.12 However, the notoriously edifying character of the writings of the Jesuits contrasts clearly with the critical nature of letters sent by Duarte Coelho from his captaincy of Pernambuco to John III between 1542 and 1550.13 According to Durval Pires de Lima there are thirteen Portuguese editions of annual letters during a period between 1555 and 1611: three from 1555 to 1565, two in 1570 and eight from 1588 to 1611. The east always retained an important place among all these, particularly in Japan, compared to the slight attention given to Brazil and Africa. Alongside the Portuguese editions one must also consider the Castilian editions (four between 1556 and 1580) and Italian (six from 1556 to 1568).14 While this confirms from a national viewpoint the recurring argument of dissemination in Europe of the Portuguese culture, it also suggests that the Castilian and Italian intelligentsia were soon voraciously adopting the publishing styles of the Portuguese – the latter, for example, with their reports of shipwrecks, which first appeared in print in Portugal between 1552 and 1565 and which in 1588 were produced in Italian in a printed edition entitled Raguaglio d’un notabilissimo naufragio (1588), written by Father Pedro Martinez SJ. As for other printed books containing information on the east, the description of China by the Dominican Gaspar da Cruz, published in

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Évora in 1569, was an example of the competition among the various religious orders regarding the dissemination in Europe of descriptions of other civilizations. To this published set of works there also belong the first accounts of shipwrecks on the India route that had already been reported through legal debate.15 There is also the Tratado dos Descobrimentos by António Galvão, which was published by his executor in Lisbon in 1563,16 while in Goa Coloquios dos simples, e drogas he cousas mediçinais da India by Garcia de Orta, which was well known in Europe, was published. This work, along with historiographic works, starting with the Décadas of João de Barros, creates the problem of not knowing at what point the European authors of medical works collected the most diverse forms of medical knowledge to be found in the colonies. Indeed, the work includes contributions from a Hindu pandito, who is compared with a healer in so many Portuguese sources.17 In spite of never having been to Ceylon and of having no direct knowledge of the Persian Gulf, the author constantly sought – through Persian, Arab and Malay informants, be these Muslim or Hindu and be they merchants or doctors – to broaden his knowledge of his materia medica from the east. One should also add the fact that in Goa he was assisted by a young female slave named Antónia in cataloguing botanical species and natural history.18 According to Charles Boxer, the doctor Nicolás Bautista Monardes, from Seville, who had started to belittle the value of the medicinal plants from the New World in 1536, as well as criticize Arab writers, contrasting them with the Greco-Roman tradition, thirty years later came to recognize enthusiastically the therapeutic value of these plants that came from America, particularly tobacco.19 How far was the materia medica of other civilizations displayed by Europeans from the Iberian Peninsula or, more specifically, how far was its experimental eastern nature decisive in rupturing the Greco-Roman legacy? The response to this question suggests a precise evaluation of the impact of knowledge acquired by the Europeans overseas in comparison with the importance of the knowledge that, from the Renaissance, was gleaned by the reading of authors and authorities of antiquity. At least in Garcia de Orta, the references to medical knowledge acquired in Goa are important, and Boxer considered that in the centre of the Coloquios there is a debate between the author himself, representing the values of experience and Arabian knowledge, and the Castilian Dr Ruano, who was closer to classical authorities, in particular Hippocrates and Galen.20 This division creates most of all an opposition between the medical schools of Salamanca and Alcalá de Henares. For this reason, and particularly in the case of Garcia de Orta, one must consider that more than his eastern perspectives one must recognize his ‘obsession with the merits of Antiquity’.21 However,

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it would never be too much to insist that Garcia de Orta also breaks with many of the typical Portuguese criticisms of the practices of the pandits when expressing his admiration for Ayurveda, or Hindu medicine, even if he never showed the curiosity displayed by Filippo Sassetti during his time in Goa between 1583 and 1588.22 One should also add to this question, whose intent is to evaluate the impact in Europe of eastern materia medica, the fact that medical teaching based upon authorities such as Galen remained in Coimbra (where the anatomical experiments by Afonso Rodrigues de Guevara, close to contributions by Vesalius, did not flourish). And there was then Garcia de Orta himself, who revealed that it would be impossible for him to demonstrate such openness in relation to experience were he in the Peninsula, so going against Galen and the classical authorities. This reveals the possibilities opened up to him by knowledge produced and in circulation overseas. Added to this were the various readings and uses of his work, without forgetting what occurred in the Italian context as so well demonstrated by Filippo Sassetti and by a series of translations of works by Garcia de Orta and Monardes and Clusius, all of which were perfectly recorded by Silva Carvalho in his monograph on Garcia de Orta.23 If we put aside the differences in voyage reports, agreements, letters, etc. these sources nevertheless reveal in their whole an enormous initial dissemination by the Portuguese printers of literature related to the Portuguese expansion in the east. During the first half of the sixteenth century, only four titles related to the Portuguese expansion had been produced by Portuguese printers. This new configuration could be interpreted as a type of collective celebration of the discoveries and deeds achieved by the Portuguese at a moment of national crisis of confidence characterized by the abandonment of some areas in North Africa in 1550 and by the proposals for the abandonment of the State of India presented in 1562.24 At the same time, the Mesa da Consciência e Ordens discussed the situation of the Indians in Brazil, and royal legislation displayed a series of contradictions that were noted long before by Varnhagen. At first sight, the theory of the existence of a cultural compensation formed by the publication of works of different types faced with a crisis on the political, social and economic level is attractive. Within this theory it is possible to consider that the celebrations of the past, or attempts intended to invent or manipulate the memory in relation to the interests of the present, reach their greatest intensity at moments of crisis and are most of all made instrumental by those who wish to exorcize their own defeats. If we follow this theory, it is possible to believe that this attempt intended to celebrate national identity through history reaches its highest point, its maturity, in the third quarter of the sixteenth century in the

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epic by Camões, The Lusiads. However, a theory of this type – that is attractive because it is able to give a global meaning to a significant part of the intellectual production – can only with difficulty give an account of the various languages, the many conflicts of interest, with relation to naming objects and to the different editorial strategies and different contexts capable of giving meaning to the works in question. One of the contexts that can be related to this new configuration of discourses relates to the diffusion during the middle of the century of new patterns of organization of the state and its institutions. These are the attempts at reform of India – made clear in the Tombo do Estado da Índia, which Simão Botelho sent to the kingdom in 1554, or in the reports relating to the State of India dated 1568 and 156925 – and the institutionalization of the governorship of Brazil with the naming of the governor Tomé de Sousa (1549–1553), to which can be added the installation in the east and in Brazil of the Society of Jesus, which corresponded with the start of systematic missionary work. On the Peninsular scale, the changes in institutional patterns in terms of the strengthening of bureaucratic instruments and the increase in the number of areas receiving written communications was identified clearly in the transition from the rule of Charles V to that of Philip II.26 Within a still larger framework, the strengthening of directives on social control created at Trent in Italy also became an evaluation of instruments of written and printed communication. The increase in printed works regarding the overseas achievements of the Portuguese gains meaning in this framework, where lay and religious powers appear to a large degree through the written word and the production of printed works. What must be ascertained is whether the new institutional patterns that spread in the middle of the 1500s implied diminished curiosity and respect for other civilizations and cultures and an increase in violence and forms of control by the Portuguese. Ecclesiastical practices in India and Brazil, particularly the order for the destruction of the temples in Goa and the many complaints as to the ignorance of the Brazilian Indians recorded in the correspondence of the Jesuits, can be contrasted with some facts at the beginning of the sixteenth century: the respect shown by Albuquerque for the religious customs of Goa and the fact that a policy of local integration by the Portuguese had been promoted there and, in the case of Brazil, the manner in which Pêro Vaz de Caminha was impressed by the marvels of the land on which he was reporting.27 It is possible to establish a parallel with the situation in the Spanish Empire, where the ability to admire the Inca and Aztec civilizations of men of the first generation, contemporaries of Cortés, contrasted with the diffusion from 1540 of a new colonial mentality founded upon preconceptions

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of racial superiority and a profound cultural arrogance regarding other civilizations.28 Sérgio Buarque de Holanda believed that it was not by chance that the intervention of the Portuguese in Brazilian commerce followed the discovery of the riches of Peru.29 However, these changes tend to exaggerate the global meaning of imperial policies and to glorify the existence of determined visions of the world, giving little importance to the variations among the diverse forms of interaction, the diversity of social models and the defence of individual interests. During these years of the middle of the sixteenth century, Jorge Ferreira de Vasconcelos wrote and published his comedies in which we find irreverent criticism of the expansion in the east. The hostility between knights and merchants is one of the principal registers in the Comedia Eufrosina. ‘And our Portuguese who want to be more temperate than those who live here in great disorder and criminally and those who are from this country say that they won India by force and that they lost it as greedy, evil merchants and that God supports us because we promote His faith.’ This extract can be compared with another that is said to be a letter written by Camões from Goa: I can tell you of this country that it is the mother of all dreadful villains and the stepmother of honourable men. For while here they are in search of money they support themselves on water as though with fins but in their opinion they do this by use of arms. Just as the tide brings dead bodies to the beach they dry out before they ripen.30

In both these texts, one notes the identical statement: interest in commerce and money superseding that of chivalry and arms. In his Aulegrafia, written between 1548 and 1554, Ferreira de Vasconcelos gives us a Lisbon where young noblemen and pages appear desirous of going to serve in India, seen as being in the service of the king but related to the acquisition of wealth. For those characters in the comedy, the problem lay in the results of going to serve in India. As a sceptical page states, ‘India gives us a rich man, kills 100 to gain it and reduces 200 to poverty and that is how it goes and you rarely see merit being praised’. For the young noblemen interested in going to India to become rich, the problem lay in knowing what to do on returning home; there were those who ‘like those ancient nobles Fabian and Curius who after their victories went to rest in the sweet fields’ and those who hoped ‘to spend two triumphant days in this court, dining beautiful women of Lisbon with many oysters’. In this case, opposition to these two ways of life should be interpreted as a condemnation of excesses and expenditure.

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All this we are doing. The delights of Persia destroyed Rome with civil wars and this is what we are doing now with greed, tyranny and hatred and I fear we shall turn to arms. And you know how we stand now? What all we nations of Europe are doing, what we are doing in Ethiopia with little pieces of glass and 3000 other useless things that they do not value and suck us like bloodsuckers of all the wealth we bring from all Asia; and it has come to such a point that our nobles wish to have houses with arms and the women have turned them into glass houses and they make themselves important and they have many handmaids while the men have four boys.

Ferreira de Vasconcelos contrasts the vast expenditure and number of courtiers of an enriched nobility in India with the old model of the nobleman, who retreated to the countryside and took care of his arms. This was about one’s moral position within the arena of expansion and the empire. Other narratives of serving in India would appear in the work of de Vasconcelos, when one of his characters wishes to say: ‘My lord, I must close my eyes like a blind goat and get there what is on offer for there is more over there than just dying.’31 While the hostility between the knights and merchants seen in Giovanni da Empoli in the Comedia Eufrosina32 fixes the terms of debate, another discussion relates to the nature of political power in the State of India and of the different types of nobility and minor nobles, which is found most clearly in the works of João de Barros.33 Historiography of Portuguese exploits in the east must also be related, on the one hand, to deeds intended to bring back to life the memory of Manuel – among which are the removal of his bones to the Monastery of Jerónimos, as celebrated by António Pinheiro (1551), and the Manueline chronicles by Damião de Góis (1566–1567) and Jerónimo Osório (1571) – and, on the other hand, to various attempts at constructing a hierarchical gallery of national heroes. Regarding this celebration of Manuel, Fernão Lopes de Castanheda corrected the first version of the first book of his História do descobrimento e conquista da Índia pelos Portugueses of 1551, giving greater importance to the person of the king in the second edition of 1554. For example, João de Castro, the hero of the second siege of Diu, is celebrated by Diogo de Teive and Leonardo Nunes.34 In reply to this glorification, the memory of Afonso de Albuquerque is the subject of a revival. This is the case in the work produced by his illegitimate son, which comprises two sixteenth-century editions, of 1557 and 1576, that depict the ceremony of the removal of his remains from India to Portugal, celebrated by Sebastião Toscano and then reported by João de Barros in his broadly favourable report.35

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In order to understand the meaning of these celebrations of particular individuals, it is necessary to rebuild the contexts in which certain lineages or individuals fought for recognition of their exploits but in a way that befitted their position of being in service to the king. Historical debate depends to a large extent on the logic of the writing of requests and the granting of honours. For example, on writing about his first lineage, António Pereira Marramaque, the Senhor de Basto, recalled in a letter to Pêro de Alcáçova Carneiro that his ancestor Rui Mendes, who served in Ceuta, ‘handed his son to the Moors so that they would give Ceuta to the King, Dom Afonso’, and he then agreed to take part in the ceremonies of the marriage of the future John II. Going on, he says: The son, whom he gave to the Moors, died before inheriting and nothing remained for the other sons; all will serve at court and in Africa and India and their grandsons will do the same and some of them will die in service without any of them receiving any great honour nor a pension nor a ship nor any other voyage that is given to pages in India.36

Another example of this type of discussion in which service and personal or family interests are mentioned is to be found in a letter to the Count of Castanheira, also written in the middle of the century, perhaps in 1557, by António Correia Baharem: While your excellency wishes to know of my life and how I have spent it, I shall tell you in this letter although I recall against my wishes the services I have performed and the little I have been rewarded for them. I, my lord, am seventy years old and have served for fifty-seven and as a boy my father took me to India in the year 1500 [sic] and first he taught me to fight before reading and writing and then he was killed in the service of God and his King and I came to this kingdom with God’s mercy and piety of a sailor who saved me from the battle in which my father died … I returned to India with Diogo Lopes de Siqueira and during the time I spent there I had great responsibilities since I was always the captain of enormous armadas and I fought many times, once in Baharem, when I took and killed the king in a battle and was badly wounded and many of those with me were too. Another time I went to help in Malacca and freed it from the war being waged by the king of Binton and fought him for many days … Another time I fought in Chaul … . For all these services, besides the honour his highness has given, in public and sending me to open the doors, I have the commendation of St Mary of Ulme which is not worth 200,000 reis and permission to enjoy 60,000 reis which I bought and another 140 that his highness granted me and some land in Azambuja which brings an income of 15 or 20 loaves of bread; and I shall kiss the hands of your excellency to remember my service to his highness and the

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spirit of disinterest in which I performed this and that you honour me for this is to be shared by my sons and the fortress of Hormuz that I was given but did not accept for my son who is serving in India.37

There exists a conflict between the memory of an individual or family deeds and the national chronicles. However, in any one of these cases, petitions, honours and nominations corresponded to the ideal of serving a king whose power went ‘even beyond Taprobana’ (The Lusiads, I, 1), for these were writing practices used based upon values that corresponded to a globalized but archaic culture of ‘universalizing kingship’, to use Christopher Bayly’s concept.38 In fact, the public establishment of a hierarchy of heroes and warring exploits started with the chronicles of the middle of the sixteenth century; The Lusiads (1572) is one of the most complete expressions of this.39 However, its author, Luís Vaz de Camões, reproduces in his history of life the model of the servant who is never duly compensated here transformed into a literary stereotype. From another perspective, one could say that, within the epic language, the episodes of Adamastor and the Island of Love represent respectively a criticism of the voyage to the east and a subtle response to the interests and desires associated with such a voyage. These are themes of the political and social debates in which Camões took part. In 1573, the Bishop of Goa, Gaspar de Leão, took up the same themes but interpreted them differently. The criticism in Desengano de perdidos of the ‘corporal delights’ and of what the sirens represented should be read in this context.40

Representations from Goa The existence of a configuration of descriptions of Goa reached a second period of importance in the 1550s, lasting until the beginning of the 1570s. Just before this period, in a letter written in 1542, Francis Xavier described in summary the island of Goa, pointing out the way in which Catholicism was being practised.41 The fifth book of the Segunda Década by João de Barros published in Lisbon by Germão Galharde (1553) is described as being a description ‘Of the site of the city of Goa and of the opinion of its foundation: and the population of the land: and the tribute its inhabitant pay’. Following the initial chapter, there is a narrative on the conquest of Goa by the Moors and then by the Portuguese. Let us analyse the themes presented by the author of the Décadas, comparing them with those detected earlier.42 The fifth book of the Segunda Década begins with the physical characteristics of the island of Tissuari, where Goa lies. Goa was in the

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northern part; in the southern part, where the city had been founded, the river had less water. In the island’s estuaries, which were three leagues long and one league wide, crocodiles guarded the city. João de Barros gives some thought on these that differ from those given by other authors, as we will see later. From the beginning of the description, the author demonstrates a clear preoccupation in presenting the city as episcopal metropolis, having retained ancient relics of Christianity: ‘One of the men who was destroying the foundations of a house found a metal crucifix and Afonso Albuquerque ordered it to be taken in solemn procession to the church and then he sent it to King Manuel as a sign that some time before the image had been adored.’ It is important to mention here that Afonso de Albuquerque ordered ‘che si ruinano I tempi de gli Idoli, e’ sepoleri de’ gentili, e altri edifici’ (that the temples of the idols be destroyed as well as the tombs of the gentiles and other buildings), thus the signs of an old Christian religion were associated with a destruction of paganism.43 Besides this sign of Christianity, João de Barros refers in a report written in Canarim to another that existed: ‘until now we have had no other record of the foundation of this city’; the ‘Christian people of the Portuguese name and blood’ sent by Manuel had complete legitimacy when removing the image ‘of the pagan gentiles and perfidious Moors’. This myth of foundation of a new social order based on proofs of age has as one of its most important formulations in the memory that That city which was a place of idolatry and blasphemy is today not only magnificent in its buildings, illustrious in arms and rich in trade, but it is holy in the sacrifice of its priests in the cathedral that is the best in that place and in the prayers and doctrine of many of the religious of St Francis and St Dominic who live in their convents.

In other words, the new city order – identified in buildings and made obvious in the military, commercial and religious organization – is based on a myth of Christian foundation. Barros claims to himself the authorship of the report of this myth of foundation of Goa and insists on the fact that there is no ‘news of its founder … we may take as a basis the new light of faith that we have lit there and the stones of the architecture and policy of Spain that we took there’. In summary, the written record of the foundations of Goa presents the implementation of a social order centred most importantly on Christianity, faith and religion, military organization, commerce and Iberian customs. As we shall see later, the powers that control the city and that end in the court and the institutional structure headed by the Cabaio were distinct from that of the villages, where the social order was different.

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On describing Goa and its history, João de Barros introduces several times the theme of its wealth in terms of its fertility: ‘the island is a beautiful land with good water, and in the most watered, inhabited places there are valleys that are fertile in everything planted and sown there’. Further on, the description of a hydrographic system comprising several rivers that run down from the mountainside of Gate into various estuaries suggests the existence of a framework of ‘well-watered land that is almost an orchard’. Barros calls this the countryside and characterizes it as being formed of several islands that surround Goa. His praise of the fertility is implicit when the author compares these rivers with the Nile, the Tagus and the Mondego. Where he best turns historian is in a reference to the movements of the sands as well as the oyster beds, suggesting a clear knowledge of natural history. For Barros, this history of the Indian landscape, attentive to the changes of ‘so many hundreds of centuries’, is comparable with the rise of the Mondego and the foundations of temples and buildings such as the Monastery of Santa Clara, dating from the sixteenth century. There is an attentive eye towards the agricultural potential of the villages, which would bring in significant income. In contrast with this view, a final reference to the wealth of Goa reveals its strategic importance in the international context and the activity of the foreign and native merchants, which has been protected since the conquest by Afonso de Albuquerque.44 It is only following a migration of people from Canara, lying beyond Gate, to cultivate these new lands, transforming them into fertile land, that the princes and lords of Canara came. Barros reports that a permanent contract was made between the inhabitants and the conquering princes, in which the former were obliged to pay an annual ‘tax’, which they called ‘cociuarádo’. The ‘nayquibáres’, who were descended from the most important heads of each village shared the amount to be paid. A group of villages was in turn represented by ‘tanadarias’, which were comparable with the councils in Portugal, with their incomes duly designated.45 The councils in Goa and with them the ‘gentio da terra’ (people of the country) were subjects of the king of Bisnaga or the lords who depended upon him up to the moment of the conquest of the kingdom of Deccan by the Muslims. The Cabaio, the head of the ‘Moors’, waged several wars with the king of Bisnaga and his successors, hence João de Barros introduces the narrative of the conquest of Goa as by the Muslims and then by the Portuguese. For the author of the Décadas, the description of Goa precedes the history of its conquest, or rather of its successive conquests, in his preoccupation with historical remnants and sources. Barros reveals himself as both an antiquarian and a humanist in talking about remnants in the

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form of both buildings/artefacts and local chronicles with different interpretations of the conquest of Goa, particularly by the Muslims (Déc. II, book V, ch. II). But one must note that this stance, nowadays compared with the practice of scientific history, runs alongside a discourse in which the importance of the image of a Christian, Portuguese Goa is evident. In a word, for João de Barros history and religion are not incompatible. Around 1554, Fernão Lopes de Castanheda published for the first time the third book of his História do Descobrimento in which there is a description of Goa. This text, because of the language used and the words chosen, must be read as a piece of polemic organization, since its meaning can only be determined in comparison with the Décadas and by keeping in mind the reuse of aspects already recorded by authors at the beginning of the sixteenth century.46 Three years later, Brás Afonso de Albuquerque published the Comentários de Afonso de Albuquerque, clearly inspired by the description of Goa published by Castanheda and also taking up some of the themes to be found earlier.47 I shall now analyse these two descriptions together, comparing them with the themes and methods of classification that were previously seen in isolation. In the physical description of the island of Goa, we find the same attention to the rivers and to defensive limits, comprising forts and walls. In this definition of the limits of Goa, João de Barros, Castanheda and the Comentários allude to crocodiles or ‘lagartos de água’ (water lizards). The first sees these as guards of the city and a barrier against slaves escaping, recalling that Afonso de Albuquerque threw them the bodies of Muslims during the second conquest of the city (Déc. II, book V, chs. I, X), while Castanheda writes that the Cabaio ordered all those condemned to death to be thrown to the crocodiles to the sound of trumpets (and that Afonso de Albuquerque ordered some lowly Portuguese to drown Muslims and Moors in the river, book III, ch. XLIII). Brás Afonso de Albuquerque considers that it was the gentiles who had started this practice of throwing the condemned to the crocodiles in the name of justice and that in the battles against the Muslims they also used this expedient to kill enemy prisoners. It is interesting here to recall the nationalist approach of Barros, who attributed to Afonso de Albuquerque the responsibility of having thrown his enemies to the crocodiles. This practice is considered to be the decision of either the Muslims or the Hindus in the interpretations of the other two authors. We will see later further conflicts of interpretation. Castanheda suggests the existence of two different types of social and political order before the Portuguese arrived and to which João de Barros refers For example, Old Goa, lying in the bay opposite Dagacim, where the gentiles held the city that the Muslims had destroyed, is presented

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as being ‘very large and noble, as one can see from the built areas and in the many pillars that were there’. Further on, when describing the city of Goa, up the river Panjim, Castanheda suggests the existence of a political order headed by the Cabaio. Castanheda shows an interest in commerce when he describes the city as having ‘as much trade as there is good port there’, particularly since it is an international trading post for horses, which is ‘the greatest part of the income from Goa’s customs house’. Besides the palace and the customs house, the political organization represented by the Cabaio is characterized by his military and administrative abilities in defence and control of the entrances to the city (earlier referred to by Duarte Barbosa). Brás Afonso de Albuquerque contrasts this picture of an Islamic Goa, created and organized by the Cabaio, with a Hindu viewpoint in stating that the gentile inhabitants decided to move to a site that was more easily accessible by sea and founded New Goa. The importance given to these inhabitants goes as far as praising their abilities in naval construction, commerce and war. It is only later that the Cabaio, attracted by an important port, ordered the construction there of ‘some very large, well-built palaces’ (to which Castanheda refers). However, this conquest is of no particular interest to Brás de Albuquerque because his ‘intention is only to deal with the great Afonso d’Albuquerque who defeated the Moors and not how they took it over’. In all, Barros intends to sanctify the Christian, Portuguese foundation of Goa, while Castanheda emphasizes the Islamic order and Brás de Albuquerque appears to be more interested in granting value to Hindu aspects. In Castanheda’s História, references to the riches of Goa are of two kinds. On the one hand, the author describes the fertility of the land, which ‘em si he muy fermosa e viçosa’ (very beautiful and lush). The listing of products is complimentary; there are ‘muytos e grandes palmares’ (many large palm trees) from which ‘muito vinho’ (much wine), olive oil and vinegar are produced as well as ‘muytas hortas em que ha muytas e muy singulares fruitas da terra, e muytas e muy sàdias agoas’ (many orchards where there are many strange fruits of the land and much water). In this style, where the superlative ‘muito’ (many/much) is constantly repeated, other products are referred to such as rice, vegetables, sesame, cattle, pigs, chickens and fish. On the other hand, Castanheda alludes to the commercial aspects of the city, starting with the Muslim and gentile merchants and the ships arriving from Mecca, Aden and Hormuz, ‘loaded with horses that pay much in tax’. In comparison, Brás de Albuquerque focuses on the commercial and maritime wealth of the city, reducing the reference to its fertility to a simple topos when he writes of Goa having ‘good water’ and the island being ‘very fertile and beautiful’.

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In summary, João de Barros speaks most of all of the fertile wealth and agricultural advantages of Goa, including its hydrographic system, while Brás de Albuquerque and Castanheda focus more on commerce, the latter limiting agriculture to a list of products for consumption. As for the population of Goa, Castanheda begins by writing, ‘it is inhabited by gentiles who are called Canarins, some Brahmin and others of different types. There are many houses of prayer which they call pagodas, and all around there are large tanks made of stone (in which ships can sail) where the gentiles and Moors wash’. Later on, Castanheda presents Goa’s merchants, consisting of the foreign Muslim merchants, who are powerful, rich and ‘all white’, and the native gentiles and sons of Muslims and gentile women, called ‘neiteàs’. Brás de Albuquerque grants particular importance to the ‘gentiles’. He praises them for their skills in naval construction, trade and courage in war, as already seen, as well as their religious virtues: ‘The gentiles had very beautiful temples there that were well built, where some men lived as religious who are called Brahmins and they retain their gentile practices there.’ His attention to Hindu social organization and religion is completed by a reference already mentioned by Fernández de Figueroa and Tomé Pires to the ritual sacrifice of widows that was forbidden by Afonso de Albuquerque. Together, the fragments of a Goan sociology as presented by Castanheda and Brás de Albuquerque present the differences of caste and a relationship between Hindus and Muslims that contrasts with the insistence of João de Barros on the social unity formed by village communities. In conclusion, to summarize the principle focus of the different authors, for João de Barros, it is the Episcopal see of the east and the fact that it is on the island of Tissuari, which comprised thirty villages – that is, the foundations of Goa, which led to it being considered the ‘Rome of the east’, and a social order based on villages. Castanheda’s focus is on the Islamic occupation of Goa at the time of the arrival of the Portuguese, and for Brás de Albuquerque it is Hindu society and customs. These different treatments of Goa have their origins in the Latin humanist literature of the fifteenth century.48 Looking at João de Barros, Castanheda, Brás de Albuquerque and also Gaspar Correia, we can also analyse the differing narratives of the conquest and first exploits of the Portuguese in Goa. Heroes (for example, Diogo Mendes de Vasconcelos) and their celebrated exploits, signs of dissent among the conquistadores, and the intervention of the local political force are some of the main themes variously treated. Within this framework, it would be interesting to compare the different reports following on from Afonso de Albuquerque’s ‘policy of marriage’.

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For João de Barros, it was only the Portuguese ‘gente baixa’ (lowly people) who took part in such marriages. These were with Canarim women, who accepted them, as opposed to ‘those of Malabar, the Nairs, who are the most noble among those people and can only marry Brahmins’. The noblemen criticized the ‘policy of marriage’ and joked and laughed at Afonso de Albuquerque for granting dowries and favouring the creation of mestiços. However, João de Barros defended not only Albuquerque and his policy of marriage but also the men involved in them and the mestiços resulting from them. For the author of the Décadas, the world was ‘entirely populated with the most lowly of principles and people we could call filth’. This would have been the case in Rome, where the Sabines were compared with the Canarims. Afonso de Albuquerque would therefore have acted with care in promoting married men to positions of government of Goa. With his policy of mixed marriages, he was intending to ‘pull out the roots of bad castes that were in that city, who were the Moors’. Therefore, after the conquest of the Muslims, Albuquerque had a far more difficult battle ‘because to people it and defend it from the contradictions of our people was his own work, and to conquer it was up to everyone’. In summary, within a conflict of opinion between, on the one hand, those who argued for mixed marriages and a policy of valuing those of mixed blood and, on the other, the noblemen or gentlemen with their implicit ideals of purity of blood, Barros opted to side with the former.49 Fernão Lopes de Castanheda introduces the theme of mixed marriages in a totally different way from that of his predecessor. At the time of the conquest of Goa Albuquerque had ordered ‘lowly men who had been deported from Portugal to go two by two each with 100 Canarim piães’; these Portuguese ‘de baixa sorte, e degradados’ (of low standing and base), insists the author, drowned male and female Moors in the river, but some of these, ‘aluas e de boõ parecer’ (pale and attractive), were handed over in marriage to the Portuguese then baptized. These women to whom the author is referring are not actually Canarim, as João de Barros described them, but ‘as dos mouros e Neyteàs’ (those of the Moors and Neyteàs). This is a significant difference, although Castanheda agrees with Barros that Afonso de Albuquerque had favoured their marriage to low-born Portuguese and considered them ‘the body of people who can support India’. However, for Castanheda, the terms of the debate arising from this policy of marriage do not suggest any opposition between nobles or fidalgos (aristocrats) and those of low birth. More, references that exist in the História … da Índia to a conflict of opinions on the retention of Goa concern the construction of the walls and present the ‘honrrados e fidalgos’ (honourable and aristocrats) as being in agreement with

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Albuquerque. Castanheda thus distances himself from Barros’s interpretation, for whom there existed a political opposition to Albuquerque by the nobles and fidalgos. The allusions to a disagreement are vague, since in Castanheda’s interpretation it is only ‘after some wished to say in detriment to the governor that he was wrong to take Goa, since it cost more to retain it than it produced’.50 For his part, Brás de Albuquerque considers the social position of those involved quite differently. The women ‘eram filhas dos principaes homens da terra’ (were the daughters of the important men of the land) and, wanting their conversion to Catholicism, Afonso de Albuquerque did not allow any of them to be captive. They were distributed among the Portuguese together with their property, and many of them asked Afonso de Albuquerque for their inheritances and their parents’ houses, where much wealth in jewels and pieces of gold lay hidden. In comparison with Barros and Castanheda, the social connotation of the married women altered. As for the men, Brás de Albuquerque notes that, among 450 married men, ‘all servants of the King and Queen and Lords of Portugal’ for those who wanted to marry, Afonso de Albuquerque ‘did not give permission except to honourable men’. At the same time, he named as officials ‘those married men because they wanted to marry and populate the land’. Thus in this text it is not only the social connotation of the women that changes but also the married men cease to be degredados and low and became honourable and important. Brás de Albuquerque argues that it was precisely at the moment when his father granted these licences that the conflict on the retention of Goa arose. One faction, headed by Lourenço Moreno, the factor of Cochin, as well as holding conspiratorial meetings, decided to write to Manuel listing the reasons for quitting Goa, the main one of these being the high costs they incurred. Here there is an allusion to the Cochin group that could be re-formed by others but that the authors referred to earlier did not directly relate to Afonso de Albuquerque’s ‘policy of marriages’.51 Finally, Gaspar Correia takes up the same theme of marriages in Goa. The women whom the Portuguese married were primarily Malabar, ‘who could be more easily converted’ and were rich and considered to be very religious and chaste following their marriage, although they were also seen as ‘negras e de máo uso’ (black and of poor habits). While Gaspar Correia appears to agree with João de Barros as to the quality of the women, this is not the case when he relates that many of the Portuguese who decided to marry them were ‘honrados caualleiros e fidalgos’ (honourable knights and aristocrats). What surprised the author of Lendas da Índia most is the fact that the Portuguese men were attracted to these women and moved by love and riches, as opposed to the case in Portugal, where

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‘on marriage men want honour and generosity more’. Thus the terms of opposition were established between the novelty of amorous feelings and economic interests and the traditional values of honour. Where the author returns to agree with João de Barros is in his anger at those of mixed blood resulting from these marriages who are brought up ‘dressed in silk, covered in gold, with boys and pages’ by their fathers, who do everything to please their mothers and who end up being ‘very damaged with bad habits’. As for Afonso de Albuquerque, Gaspar Correia presents him more as a governor who is seeking to put an end to this social reality than as the promoter of a policy of marriage. This is because, as far as the author is concerned, Albuquerque complained to Manuel ‘because he did not allow Portuguese women to go to India’. Equally, regarding the bad behaviour of the mestiços, Albuquerque wrote to the king suggesting that everyone born in Goa should be educated in Portugal between the ages of twelve and twenty, as only then ‘will they have the good education of the kingdom, with which they will become perfect men’.52 From Barros to Correia, the variations regarding the method of presenting the policy of marriage practised in Goa serve as an example of the social instability immediately following the conquest of Goa. It is impossible to reduce to one representation those involved (women, Islamic or Hindu; Portuguese of low birth and aristocrats); the policy of Afonso de Albuquerque (as supporter of these marriages in Barros, and as spectator who wants to avoid them as in Gaspar Correia); the mestiços; and the beginning of the retention of Goa (characterized by Barros as a battle between the nobles and Albuquerque). But besides these various representations, what should be most importantly verified is that these are a novelty of the discoveries and histories of Goa during the middle of the sixteenth century. To rebuild the lack of unanimity caused by the policy of marriages from its beginning is a necessary task if one wishes to understand its future use in colonial political cultures as well as in the numerous administrative and historiographic attempts at a definition of the social structure of Goa.

Notes  1. J.B. de Macedo, Um Caso de Luta pelo Poder e sua Interpretação n’ ‘Os Lusíadas’; A.C. Martins, Correia, Castanheda e as ‘Diferenças’ da Índia, 1–86; L.F.F.R. Thomaz, ‘O Malogrado Estabecimento Oficial dos Portugueses em Sunda e a Islamização de Java’, 442–43, 459–61, 466–67, especially 461, note 297.   2. L. de Albuquerque, Crónica do Descobrimento e Primeiras Conquistas da Índia pelos Portugueses.

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  3. A.A.B. de Andrade, João de Barros Historiador do Pensamento Humanista Português de Quinhentos, 46: ‘Barros advoga a tese de que todos os nobres, no início provêm das camadas baixas’ (observação que está de acordo com as posições de João de Barros a respeito da ‘política de casamentos’). (Barros suggests the theory that all the nobles at the beginning came from the lower strata (which is an observation in line with his position regarding the ‘policy of marriages’).) For another discussion on the various types of nobility as a sphere in which to consider the rivalry among captains and feitores of fortresses, see M.E.M. Santos, ‘O Confronto entre Capitães e Feitores no Estado Português da Índia’, 531–36.   4. G. Rebelo, ‘Informação das Cousas do Maluco dada ao Senhor Dom Constantino de Bragança’ (1569), vol. III, 1955, 345–508. On the interpretation by the Castilian chroniclers on the Moluccas Question, see notes by Varela, ‘La imagen de D. João III en los Cronistas de Carlos V’, 51–52. In view of the observations of Southeast Asia in Gómara and Oviedo, the observations of Marcel Bataillon on Colombo remain valid, ‘Historiografía oficial de Colón de Pedro Mártir a Oviedo y Gomara’, 207–32.  5. Hanke, The Spanish Struggle for Justice in the Conquest of America, 48; Brading, The First America: The Spanish Monarchy, Creole Patriots, and the Liberal State 1492–1867, 79–101, especially 86–87.  6. Las Casas, Historia de las Indias, vol. I, 459–93.  7. Tamara, El Libro de las Costumbres de Todas las Gentes del Mundo, fls. 28, 328.  8. Piero, ‘Della Vita e Degli Studi di Gio. Battista Ramusio’, 5–112; Picchio, Mar Aberto: Viagens dos Portugueses, 311–82.  9. Silveira, Cartas de Capistrano de Abreu a Lino de Assunção, 22; McGrath, ‘Polemic and History in French Brazil 1555–1560’, 385–97; Butler, ‘Mem de Sá, Third GovernorGeneral of Brazil, 1557–1572’, 111–37, especially 123, note 31; Cartas Jesuiticas, III, 162–63; Annaes da Bibliotheca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, XXV (1903), 215–308; ‘Carta de Pero Goes para El-Rei. Da Vila da Rainha’ [29 April 1554], Revista do Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro, vol. 5 (1843), 443–46. 10. Staden, Duas Viagens ao Brasil. 11. J.M. Garcia, Cartas dos Jesuítas do Oriente e do Brasil 1549–1551. Donald F. Lach believes that the publication of these letters reveals the moment of a break in the rigid control of information imposed by the Portuguese authorities, see Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. I – The Century of Discovery, book 1, 153. On the arrival of the Jesuits in Asia in the middle of the sixteenth century as an essential sign of the Portuguese missions, see Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, 65–66, 232. 12. Leite, História da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, vol. II (1938), 534–41. 13. Mourão, ‘Duarte Coelho: Facetas de uma Personalidade Empenhada na Construção Política do Império’, 206–16. 14. D.P. de Lima, As Cartas dos Jesuítas, 215–43. 15. Braudel, La Méditerranée et le Monde Méditerranéen a l’Époque de Philippe II, vol. II, 46. 16. On António Galvão, see Loureiro, ‘António Galvão e os seus Tratados HistóricoGeográficos’, 85–102. 17. For a non-linear history of European perceptions of Indian medicine, one should note the deprecatory reports of the travellers François Bernier and John Fryer, who travelled to India in the second half of the seventeenth century, see Adas, Machines as the Measure of Men: Science, Technology, and Ideologies of Western Dominance, 55–56.

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18. On the knowledge of and ability to describe the medical situation in Goa, see A. da S. Carvalho, Garcia d’Orta, 85–95. 19. More recently, Charles H. Talbot believed that Boxer’s thoughts were unfounded regarding the fact that Monardes in his Dialogo Llamado Pharmacodylosis o Declaración Medicinal (Seville, 1536) had deprecated the drugs from the New World, arguing that in this rare work there is no reference to the Americans and stating that Boxer was led to an erroneous opinion based solely on the biography by Francisco Guerra, see ‘America and the European Drug Trade’, 841–42. On Monardes and tobacco, see Sauer, ‘Changing Perception and Exploitation of New World Plants in Europe, 1492–1800’, 819; Goodman, Tobacco in History: The Cultures of Dependence, 44–47, 75–76 (references to Monardes). On the Iberian context of publication and the various inquiries into the New World in the second work by Monardes, see Elliott, The Old World and the New 1492–1650, 37–38. 20. Boxer, Two Pioneers of Tropical Medicine: Garcia d’Orta and Nicolas Monardes. On the persistence of the medical doctrines of Galen throughout the sixteenth century, see Brockliss and Jones, The Medical World of Early Modern France, 90–119; Maclean, Logic, Signs and Nature in the Renaissance: The Case of Learned Medicine, 37–39. 21. Scammell, ‘The New Worlds and Europe in the Sixteenth Century’, 389–412, especially 393, 395 (where there is discussion as to the impact of the discoveries, including the acquisition of new knowledge by the Portuguese outside Europe in comparison with other knowledge and values, particularly those of antiquity). 22. On this, see the works of João Manuel Pacheco de Figueiredo, especially ‘Ayurvedic Medicine in Goa According to the European Sources in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, 225–35. 23. Sassetti, Lettre dall’India (1583–1588), 162, 177; A. da S. Carvalho, Garcia d’Orta, 130–31 (including a note on the Venice edition: Herdeiros de Girolamo Scotto, 1597). 24. Matos, L’Expansion Portugaise dans la Littérature Latine de la Renaissance, 57; M.L.G. da Cruz, Controvérsias ao Tempo de D. João III sobre a Política Portuguesa no Norte de África, 123–99. 25. Wicki, ‘Duas relações sobre a situação da Índia portuguesa nos anos de 1568 er 1569’, 133–220. 26. Elliott, Imperial Spain 1469–1716, 170. 27. More recently it was suggested that proposals for the destruction of the local temples and construction of Christian churches on their ruins were documented from 1518, see Â.B. Xavier, ‘“Aprejo y disposición para se reformar y criar otro nuevo mundo”: A Evangelização dos Indianos e a Política Imperial Joanina’, 797. 28. Kamen, Spain 1469–1714: A Society of Conflict, 93. 29. Holanda, Visão do Paraíso: Os Motivos Edênicos no Descobrimento e Colonização do Brasil, 89. 30. J.F. de Vasconcelos, Comedia Eufrosina (text dated 1555, with versions dated 1561 and 1566), 122 (on the context of this, see Asensio, Estudios Portugueses, 326–27; Camões, Obras Completas, vol. III – Autos e Cartas, 245–46). 31. J.F. de Vasconcelos, Comédia Aulegrafia, 240, 258–60. 32. J.F. de Vasconcelos, Comedia Eufrosina, 122: ‘E os nossos Portugueses que sohião ser mais temperados que os Laconios viuem caa muy desordenada e viciosamente, em tanto que dizem os naturais da terra, que ganharão a India como caualeyros esforçados, e que a perderão como mercadores cobiçosos e viciosos, sostentenos Deos por exalçamento de sua fee.’ (And our Portuguese who claim to be more temperate

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than the Laconians here live in disorder and immorality, so say the natives of the land, and they took India like chivalrous men and will lose it like greedy, corrupt merchants calling on God as a sign of their faith.)   See Asensio, Estudios Portugueses, 326–27. This last excerpt can be compared with another one contained in a letter attributed to Luís de Camões, written in Goa: ‘Da terra vos sei dizer que é mãe de vilões ruins e madrasta de homens honrados. Porque que se cá lançam a buscar dinheiro, sempre se sustentam sobre água com(o) bexigas; mas o que sua opinião deita á las armas, Moriscote, como a maré corpos mortos à praia, sabei que, antes que amadureçam, se secam’ ( I tell you of this land that it is the mother of disgraceful villains and the stepmother of honourable men. For while they throw themselves into seeking money they support themselves on water like bladders, but their opinion is thrown to the winds like the tide takes corpses on the beach, and you should know that before they ripen they dry out). See Camões, Obras completas, vol. III – Autos e cartas, 245–46. 33. A.A.B. de Andrade, João de Barros Historiador do Pensamento Humanista Português de Quinhentos, 46: ‘Barros advoga a tese de que todos os nobres, no início provêm das camadas baixas’ (Barros supports the theory that of all the nobles these came from low strata at the beginning) an observation in line with Barros’s position on the ‘policy of marriages’. 34. Teive, Commentarius de Rebus a Lusitanis in India apud Dium Gestis Anno Salutis Nostrae MDXLVI; Nunes, História Quinhentista (inédita) do Segundo Cêrco de Dio, 110; Ibid., Crónica de D. João de Castro. Diogo Bernardes dedicated a sonnet ‘aos cabellos da barba, que D. João de Castro Viso-Rey da India empenhou á cidade de Goa’ – see Obras Completas, vol. I, 126 (Sonnet CXLIV). See also on D. João de Castro, Jordan-Gschwend, ‘Uomini Illustri: A Série de Retratos dos Vice-Reis Portugueses em Goa’, 73–78; R. Moreira, ‘D. Álvaro de Castro e a encomenda’, 81–88. On the first Siege of Diu and the hero António da Silveira, see L. de S. Coutinho, Historia do Cerco de Diu. On the context of the Siege of Diu, see Pearson, The Portuguese in India, 53. 35. Serrão, A Historiografia Portuguesa. Doutrina e Crítica, vol. I – Séculos XII–XVI, 269–71; Ibid., introduction to Brás Afonso de Albuquerque, in Comentários de Afonso de Albuquerque, vol. I, V–XXVII; Marques, ‘O Elogio Fúnebre de Afonso de Albuquerque de Frei Sebastião Toscano’, 267–313. 36. Miguel, António Pereira Marramaque, Senhor de Basto, Subsídios para o Estudo da sua Vida e da sua Obra, 197. 37. R.B. Smith, António Correa Baharem, 42–44. 38. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World 1780–1914, 44–45. 39. An example of the establishment of a gallery of heroes can be found in Fr. Tomé de Jesus, Imagem da Vida Cristã, 458–60. J.B. de Macedo, ‘Damião de Góis et l’Historiographie Portugaise’, 104, 130 (reflections on the narrative of the deeds of noble warriors). 40. G. de Leão, Desengano de Perdidos, 41–44, 159. For thoughts on urban themes, see ibid., part III, chap. IV, 212–14, and the interesting observations of Godinho, Mito e Mercadoria, Utopia e Prática de Navegar, 561–62. 41. Epistolae S. Francisci Xavierii, I, 139–43 in Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente Índia, vol. III – 1543–1547, 42–47. 42. Barros, Ásia: Segunda Década, book V, 187–246. 43. Maffei, Le Istorie delle Indie Orientali, 174–75. 44. Ibid., Déc. II, book V, chaps. III–IV.

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45. On Tanadarias, see A. de Albuquerque, Cartas, vol. I, 147–50. 46. Castanheda, História do Descobrimento & Conquista da Índia pelos Portugueses, book III, chap. VIII, 20–22. 47. B.A. de Albuquerque, Comentários de Afonso de Albuquerque, Parte II, chap. XX, 114–20. 48. Asensio, Estudios Portugueses, 249–50. 49. Barros, Ásia: Segunda Década, Déc. II, book V, chap. XI, especially 240–43. For another contextualization of this text by Barros, see Boxer, ‘Fidalgos Portuguêses e Bailadeiras Indianas’, 83–106, especially 84. An exhaustive analysis of the context of this debate should also consider the statute on the purity of blood in the kingdom at the time of the creation of the Mesa da Consciência e Ordens (1532) and the Tribunal do Santo Ofício (1536). As Boxer suggested, it is necessary to explore the links between the political and religious changes in Portugal in the period of the Council of Trent and in the State of India, see The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415–1825, 95. 50. Castanheda, História do Descobrimento & Conquista da Índia pelos Portugueses, book III, chaps. XLIII–XLIV, especially 107–9. 51. On the Cochin group, see Bouchon and Thomaz, Voyage dans les Deltas du Gange et de l’Irraouaddy 1521, 380–82; Guerreiro and Rodrigues, ‘O “Grupo de Cochim” e a Oposição a Afonso de Albuquerque’, 119–44; Subrahmanyam, The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History, 68–69, 73, 97; Livermore, ‘The Crisis in Portuguese India of 1526’, 187–204, especially 194. 52. G. Correia, Lendas da Índia, vol. II, 375.

Part II

Written Culture and Practices of Identity, 1570–1697 If we accept that the works of Luís de Camões, Diogo do Couto, Manuel Severim de Faria, D. Francisco Manuel de Melo and P. António Vieira are part of a process of questioning identity, what is the meaning one should attribute to this process? A reply to this question must take into account the intensity of reflection on the nation in the 1570s and the 1620s. Camões and Couto are the easiest figures to be recognized in this period. The east, particularly the exploits of the Portuguese in India, remained at the centre of interest, while an interest in Brazil led to the first literary productions. There follows a second period that is particularly sensitive to the events unleashed by the competition between several European nations, which was to end in about 1660. The Discursos vários politicos (1642) and the Notícias de Portugal (1656) by Manuel Severim de Faria are two of the most important works of this period. The fragmentary nature of the works of this choirmaster of Évora are also to be found in many sermons and letters of Father António Vieira and in the Epanaphoras (1660) of D. Francisco Manuel de Melo. From the 1620s, reports and discourses in pamphlet form were circulated, reaching a peak after the Restoration of 1640. The Atlantic is the main theme of this literature, although Manuel de Faria e Sousa (Epitome de las historias portuguesas, Madrid, 1629) focused on economic matters, presenting the state of India as having an income of 413 contos while Brazil brought in a trifling 63. The recovery of Pernambuco from the Dutch was one of the most relevant events of this period. A third and final period, corresponding in part to the reign of Afonso VI and Pedro II, is characterized by the production or publication of works with a more systematic or general tone. This is the case with the publication of Manuel de Faria e Sousa’s history (republications of the Epitome,

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1663, 1673–74, 1677 and publications of Ásia, 1666–1675 and África, 1681), of the Crónica da Compania de Jesus do Estado do Brasil (1663) by P. Simão de Vasconcelos, S.J., of the História das Guerras Angolanas (1680–1682) left by António de Oliveira Cadornega in manuscript form and of Portugal Restaurado (1679–1690) by the Count of Ericeira. The last decades of the seventeenth century are also the period of greatest output by the poets of Bahia – Gregório de Matos Guerra and Manuel Botelho de Oliveira – the former born in 1633 and the latter in 1636. One could ask regarding this final period how the reflections on the Portuguese Empire are related to a ‘European crisis of conscience’, to use the famous words of Paul Hazard, from the late seventeenth century into the century of enlightenment. A literary culture brought about by the process of Portuguese expansion in the world is hard to sustain. What I wish to develop here is related to the potentialities of a method of circumscriptive analysis of different types of discourse and the experimentation of various modalities of contextualization. One task must be to establish what the relations are between written culture and identity in different political and social frameworks; there are at least three types of relations that should be explained. The first of these relations relates to knowing how far it is possible to rebuild the point of view of other societies and civilizations with whom the Portuguese and Europeans were in contact, through written texts that in the majority are written by Europeans. In those texts that are most interested in describing other cultures, and therefore that are more able to perform a decentralization of texts of Jesuits, who were missionaries in Brazil, Africa and the east, it is possible to detect a different, ethnographic view as opposed to propaganda intended to confirm the virtues of society. Diogo do Couto records the violent behaviour of his heroes – ‘os maravilhosos feitos e altas cavalarias’– in a letter from Goa to the king dated 1589 and in his Décadas1 (‘espantosas cavalarias’) – and simultaneously he is interested in the history of local civilizations as well as some of the Brazilian colonials who leave in search of El Dorado and who are still interested in describing the Indians even when they acclaim as heroes those who perform the most violent atrocities against them. The second type of relation between written culture and identity relates to the importance of the works of foreign authors or those in languages other than Portuguese. If one recalls that the process of overseas expansion includes different European nations and several religious orders, it is necessary to put in context the place of works written in Portuguese. It would also be interesting to note the European circulation of Portuguese works: for example, Peregrinação, by Fernão Mendes Pinto (1st edition

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1614; 2nd 1678), was translated into numerous editions (in Castilian in Herrera Maldonado’s version, 1620, 1627, 1645, 1664; in German, 1625, 1671, 1674; in French, 1628 and 1645; and in English, 1663, 1692). A third and final type of relation is determined by the framework of battles in which the Portuguese were involved throughout the seventeenth century. Charles Boxer concluded that the Portuguese were defeated in the seas of the east, particularly by the Dutch, while they were victorious in conflicts for the territorial control of both sides of the Atlantic.2 The need to include an analysis of written culture in the matter of conflicts leads one to take into account this division between on the one hand the Indian and Pacific Oceans and on the other the Atlantic, particularly Brazil but also the coast of west Africa. A separation between the east and the Atlantic is arbitrary when one considers that the function of groups such as the Portuguese in Peru is explained in part by the export of silver and the import of African slaves by the River Plate, but also by the fact that it was on the Manila galleons that the precious metal was extracted across the Pacific. The same division is arguable when one considers the attempts at the institutionalization of the European presence; it is possible to discover the imprint of other countries in areas that are apparently beyond Portuguese control by lançados, tangomaos or other types of privateers.3 A final limitation, which must be clarified from the outset, relates to the exclusion of those works relating to North Africa and the Atlantic islands – the Azores and Madeira. Regarding the first of these, it is possible to draw a line starting with the African expedition or the battle of Alcácer-Quibir (1578), for which the Italian publication of Connestaggio (1585) stands out, together with Relacion del origen y sucesso de los Xarifes (1586) of Diego de Torres up to the works of Agostinho Gavy de Mendonça (1607), D. Gonçalo Coutinho (1629) and Jerónimo de Mascarenhas (1648).4 With the exception of África portuguesa (1681) by Manuel de Faria e Sousa – which deals exclusively with the conquests in North Africa, the conquest of Ceuta to the siege of Mazação in 1562 – the second half of the seventeenth century is characterized by a lack of interest in the production of works on the areas of North Africa. The same cannot be said of the literature relating to the Atlantic islands, particularly the Azores; through Saudades da Terra by Gaspar Frutuoso it is possible to draw up a strong body of Azorean literature, an analysis of which I shall largely leave aside while of course recognizing its importance.

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Notes   1. D. Couto, Década IV, book VIII, chap. XI, vol. I, 460; A.C. Martins, ‘Sobre a Génese da Obra de Couto (1569–1600) Uma Carta inédita’, 171; C. Martins, ‘Introdução à Leitura da Década Quarta de Diogo do Couto’, vol. I, LXXIX.   2. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415–1825, 110, 119.   3. D. Curto, O discurso político em Portugal, 180–81.   4. Manuppella, ‘Ieronimo de Franchi Conestaggio Gentilhvomo Genovese’, 216–87; Torres, Relación del Origen y Suceso de los Xarifes y del Estado de los Reinos de Marruecos, Fez y Tarudante; A.G. de Mendonça, História do Cerco de Mazagão; R. Ricard, Mazagan et le Maroc sous le Règne do Sultan Moulay Zidan (1608–1627) d’Après le ‘Discurso’ de Gonçalo Coutinho Gouverneur de Mazagan (1629); J. Mascarenhas, História de la Ciudad de Ceuta.

Chapter 6

The World Theatre and Imperial Thought


In 1570, Abraham Ortelius dedicated his collection of maps entitled Theatrum Orbix Terrarum to Philip II.1 The work, which has been republished dozens of times, is a response to the interests of a European public in cartography and, simultaneously, to the initiatives of Philip II regarding geographic knowledge. On this last point, one should recall the Peninsular strength in the area of cartography, geography and topography.2 The map of Portugal by Fernão Álvares Seco that is reproduced in Ortelius’s book takes on a meaning within a framework in which the Peninsular states display their interests in geographical knowledge. But while it is easy to establish this general relationship between world powers and cartography, the multiple meanings of works such as that by Abraham Ortelius remain to be determined. For example, one should note the organization of the maps contained in the original edition: first, a mappa mundi, followed by maps of America, Asia, Africa, Europe, the British Isles, the Iberian Peninsula, Portugal, several European countries and, finally, North Africa. In comparison with this traditional order of presentation of the continents, the inclusion of America first is, undoubtedly, a novelty – a sign of the impact caused by the New World and of its increasingly greater importance in imperial policies. If we examine the Castilian translation of this collection, which was published in Antwerp in 1578, we will see another order of the maps, presented after the picture of the author. First, a mappa mundi, followed by maps of Europe, Asia, Africa and, finally, America. Here, there is something like a return to a traditional order of presentation of the continents, going

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from the Old to the New World. After this series of maps, there are separate maps of Spanish America – New Spain, or Mexico, Culiacán, Cuba and Hispaniola, Peru, Florida and Guastecan. Then there are the British Isles and, following that, the Azores, shown in a map by Luís Teixeira, dated 1584. The novelty of this reference to the Azores is related to the victories of Philip II over the Portuguese resistance and to the recognition of his legitimacy in those islands. It is only later that maps of the Iberian Peninsula and Portugal appear.3 Respect for this traditional order of the continents is once again present in 1603 in the Castilian translation of Relazioni universali by Giovanni Botero.4 First, a mappa mundi, then the maps of Europe, Asia, Africa and America. The discussion as to the meaning of Ortelius’s atlas does not stop at the question of the organization of his maps but is also present in the various readings on this. In the Peninsular historiographic context led by Historia de España by Padre Juan de Mariana, S.J. (Latin edition of 1592, and Castilian translation of 1601), and by Historia general del Mundo by António de Herrara (1601–1612), Excelencias de la monarchia y reyno de España by Gregório López Madera (1597) represents a project on a unified Spain, although it is compatible with the specificity of each one of the kingdoms. López Madera clearly defends the splendour and power of what he considers to be the Kingdom of Spain, in itself and in its various parts. This is a defence that opposes the ideas of Brother Domingo de Soto, who argued that extensive kingdoms were not capable of good administration of justice or of defending themselves. Faced with these arguments relating to the calculation of benefits afforded by the empire, López Madera developed his ideas regarding the splendour of Spain: The Kingdom of Spain has a great advantage over all the kingdoms of this world, as can be seen in this discourse, and this greatness cannot be seen by the many who are or who have been subject to its monarchy but which has been reunited (as must be done according to Aristotle) … saying that in itself it contains everything that can be desired by men for their needs, profit or delight, and also to satisfy their ambition and desire.5

By collecting arguments regarding the splendour of Spain, the author refers to the fact that the country is seen as the head of Europe; he alludes to the various Roman provinces and adheres to the argument that Spain has been the mother of all kingdoms, the first of which is Castile and Leon, then Aragon and, finally, Portugal.6 Based on the maps published by Abraham Ortelius, López Madera argues that in spite of the inclusion of Portugal, ‘mayor la Monarchia del Rey Don

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Phelippe nuestro señor que ninguna de las passadas’7 (the monarchy of King Don Phelipe our lord was greater than any other of the past). Granting a separate space to the voyages and navigation to east India undertaken by the Portuguese, the author praises Portugal’s discoveries and her ability to exceed the knowledge of the ancients.8 In studying the specificities of each of the Peninsular kingdoms, López Madera identifies Portugal almost exclusively with the discoveries and expansion in the Indian Ocean. However, his main occupation lies in defending the idea that the kingdom of Spain is only one, in spite of its being divided into many parts.9 Giovanni Botero gives another view of the Peninsular empires. In a discourse that questions the actual existence of peoples conquered by the Portuguese, Botero refers to the Portuguese empire as a group of ports lying in strategic areas intended for the domination of the seas. Emphasizing the harm caused by the depopulation of the Iberian Peninsula because of the expansion, he believes this bleeding of people to be a type of monetary expenditure without any form of return. The scarcity of the population is thus presented as a main reason for imperial decline. He completes his analysis by establishing a comparison with the grandeur and power of the Roman Empire. For the ancients, every care was placed in a population development policy, not only regarding marriage and settlement but also citizenship to those who were colonized; Botero believes that the Portuguese and Castilians only made use of their own soldiers in the armadas and voyages to distant, separate territories. In the Peninsular context, Botero’s criticism regarding the misdeeds of the Peninsular empires is not at all exceptional; many other authors of reports, both Castilian and Portuguese, denounced the impoverishment and decline of the Iberian Peninsula caused by the imperial expansion.10 But an inventory of attitudes towards imperial policies should also include those of royalty, who were duty-bound to defend a respect for the diversity of the kingdoms; Vargas Machuca wrote: ‘el Principe deue gouernar sus Reynos, diferenciando las ordenanças Reales, acomodando sus causas y calidades’11 (the Prince must govern his Kingdoms, stating the Royal ordinances, stating its causes and qualities). During the late sixteenth century and beginning of the seventeenth, during which the benefits of the Peninsular empires were being discussed, other European nations began overseas exploits, and a group of printed works circulated reports of voyages and descriptions of several continents. The Dutch merchant and historian Jan Huygen van Linschoten published his Itinerario near cost ofte Portugaels Indien in 1596, which was to be translated into English and German two years later and published as two different Latin editions in 1599, with a

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French edition in 1610, which was reproduced several times along with the Dutch version.12 In 1609, Hugo Grotius published a chapter of his manuscript De Indis, entitled ‘Mare liberum’, with which he intended to influence negotiations with the Spanish authorities and at the same time defend the imperialist plans of the Dutch East India Company against the rights demanded by the Portuguese as well as against those who were opposing this aggressive imperialism internally.13 Acting more from commercial than political motives, Théodore de Bry and his sons published a well-illustrated collection of voyages in Frankfurt that was entitled Collectiones peregrinationum in Indiam orientalem et occidentalem (1590–1634), of which there was a second edition in German. Richard Hakluyt published his collection of voyages in three large volumes entitled The Principal Navigations, Voiages, Traffiques and Discoueries of the English Nation (1598–1600), which was carried on by Samuel Purchas (1625). It is possible by studying these collections to verify the strategies of an affirmation of power by England on a global scale.14 Hakluyt also published an abbreviated translation of António Galvão entitled The Discoveries of the World from their first originall vnto the yeer of our Lord 1555 (1601). This is an appropriation by the English of a Portuguese work of a particularly intellectual kind. In other cases, one must note the meaning of conflict, assumed by many, between the Portuguese and English. For example, in 1615, seven years before an Anglo-Persian alliance took Hormuz from the Portuguese, Thomas Roe planned the taking of Goa by the English.15 In 1611, there was a new report of the voyage undertaken by the Frenchman François Pyrard de Laval that was inspired in part by Linschoten’s information.16 His Discours du voyage des français aux Indes Orientales was to be published in 1615, 1619 and even in 1678.17 For his part, Jean Mocquet’s work, Voyages en Afrique, Asie, Indes Orientales et Occidentales, was published for the first time in Paris in 1617 (with reprints in 1645 and 1665).18 One should add to these reports of voyages to the east, published in Dutch, Latin, English and French, the manuscript letters relating to Goa by the Florentine Filippo Sassetti and by Chrysztoph Pawlowski, dated 1588 and 1596 respectively and written in Italian and Polish; the Viaggio nell India orientale by the Venetian Cesare Federici (1587, with an English translation in 1588), followed by the report of voyages undertaken in 1579 and 1588 by his compatriot Gaspare Balbi (Viaggio dell’Indi orientali, 1590), as well as the report in Castilian by the ambassador to Persia, with the departure from Lisbon in 1614 and passage to Goa written by D. Garcia de Silva y Figueroa, which remained in manuscript until its French translation and publication in 1667.19 In a general manner, the methods of writing and publishing made for competition between

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the Portuguese, Dutch, English, French and Venetians (Linschoten, Hakluyt, Purchas, Pyrard de Laval and Mocquet, Federici and Balbi), a tendency towards creating a unified Hispanic policy (Silva y Figueroa) and recording the cultural habits of the mercantile and noble elites (as in Sassetti and Pawlowski). Still in general terms, it should be added that in the final decades of the sixteenth century, the new factor was the greater European attention given to China, Japan and the Philippines rather than India,20 as reflected in some of the publications of the Jesuits and the works of Bernardino de Escalante – Discurso de la navegacion que los Portugueses hazen à los Reinos y Prouincias de Oriente, y de la noticia q se tiene de las grandezas del Reyno de la China (1577)21 – by the Augustinian friar Juan Gonzalez de Mendoça, Historia de las cosas mas notables, ritos y costumbres, del gran Reyno de la China (1585);22 and, later, Francisco Herrera Maldonado’s Epitome historial del Reyno de la China (1620).

Notes   1. A. Ortelius, Theatrvm Orbis Terrarvm: 1. Typvs Orbis Terrarvm; 2. Americae Sive Novi Orbis, Nova Descriptio; 3. Asiae Nova Descriptio; 4. Africae Tabula Nova; 5. Europae; 6. Angliae, Scotiae et Hiberniae … ; 7. Regni Hispaniae … ; 8. Portugalliae; Last map of the collection: Barbariae. See Karrow, Mapmakers of the Sixteenth Century and their Maps: Bio-Bibliographies of the Cartographers of Abraham Ortelius, 1570.   2. Parker, ‘Maps and Ministers: The Spanish Habsburgs’, 124–52; Kagan, ‘Writing History in Habsburg Spain’, 73–99, especially 84–99.   3. Ortelius, Theatro de la Tierra Vniversal (all the maps in the collection of the John Carter Brown Library are in colour, Z O77 1588 1 / 2-Size).   4. First edition in Venice, 1589.   5. ‘tiene el Reyno de España grande ventaja sobre todos los Reynos del mundo como se uera en este discurso, y esta grandeza, no solo se pueda considerar por lo mucho que esta y ha estado sujeto a su Monarchia, sino por si misma juntado (como se deue hazer segun Aristoteles) a la grandeza las demas comodidades, y partes de tanta importancia que hallo en ella Solino, diziendo que contiene en si sola todo lo que puede dessear los hombres para su necessidad, prouecho, o gusto, y aun para hartar su ambicion, y desseo.’ López Madera, Excellencias de la Monarchia y Reyno de España, fls. 61v–62.   6. It is interesting to note the part that Portugal plays in the argument in the defence of the grandeurs of the empire presented by Gregório López Madera: ‘El tercero reyno es de Portugal de cuya potencia son testigos Africa y Asia, y en esta la India Oriental a do nunca llego el poder de los Romanos, ni tento de sujetarla Alexandro en medio del corriente de sus victorias que parecian prometerle el señorio del mundo, y despues del que auia sido segundo tras Semiramis la famosa Reyna Babilonica, no se atreuieron a entrar, a acometer los mas poderosos Monarchas que ha auido con caerles tanto mas cerca de sus tierras, quedando guardadas para este Reyno.’ Ibid., fls. 63v–64.

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  7.   8.   9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21.

Ibid., fl. 66. Ibid., fls. 67v–70. Ibid., fl. 72v. Botero, Relaciones Universales, fls. 15–16v, Part II, 103 (maps: fl. 1 i Orbis Terrarvm; fl. 1 ii Europa; fl. 82 Asia; fl. 107 Africa; fl. 1 iii Americae); Curto, O Discurso Político em Portugal 1600–1650, 182. Machuca, Milicia y Descripcion de las Indias, 2. Linschoten, The Voyage to the East Indies, 2 vols; Parr, Jan van Linschoten: The Dutch Marco Polo. On the English translation as part of the strategy for the creation of an English Empire, see Comarck, Charting an Empire: Geography at the English Universities, 1580–1620, 7. Tuck, Philosophy and Government 1572–1651, 170. Hakluyt (1552?–1616), The Principal Navigations, Voyages and Discoveries of the English Nation; Purchas (1577?–1626), Hakluytus Posthumus or Purchas his Pilgrimes, vol. II, book VII, chap. VI, 1122–48: ‘A Ruter of Don John of Castro’ (p. 1122, the compiler believes that this contains ‘a more full intelligence of the red Sea, than any other Rutter which I have seene’; note, however, that this work was only produced once in Portuguese in 1541; in Paris, in 1833); book IX, chap. X, pp. 1506–33: ‘Don Duarte de Meneses the Vice-roy, his tractate of the Portugall Indies, containing the Laws, Customs, Reuenus, Expenses and other matters remarkable therein: here abbreuiated’. Roe and Foster, The Embassy of Sir Thomas Roe to the Court of the Great Mughal, 1615–1619, as Narrated in his Journal and Correspondence, vol. I, 99. Bouchon, ‘A French Traveller in Portuguese India (1601–1610): François Pyrard de Laval’, 301–14, especially 306–7 (included in Inde Découverte, Inde Retrouvée 1498–1630, 335–43). Laval, Viagem Contendo a Notícia de sua Navegação às Índias Orientais … , 2 vols. Mocquet, Voyage à Mozambique & Goa. Marcucci, Lettera Edite e Inedite di Filippo Sassetti; Stasiak, Les Indes Portugaises à La fin du XVIe Siècle d’après la Relation du Voyage Fait à Goa en 1597 par Christophe Pawlowski, Gentilhomme Polonais (Portuguese translation, Loureiro, ‘Goa em Finais do Século XVI: “Relação de Viagem” de Chrysztoph Pawlowski’, 175–186); Silva y Figueroa, Comentarios … de la Embaxada que de parte del Rey de España Don Felipe III hizo al Rey Xa Abas de Persia, 2 vols. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. I – The Century of Discovery, book 1, 227. Bernardino de Escalante suggested an embassy should be sent to the emperor to persuade him to convert to Christianity and allow Christian missions. He was averse to other methods of conversion, explaining that ‘quererlo intentar por conquista, será cosa tan escusada, y dificultosa, como se puede entender por lo que se à referido de su poder y grandeza’ (to want to gain it by conquest would be such a bad and difficult thing as can be seen when regarding his power and greatness), Escalante, Discurso de la navegacion que los Portugueses hazen à los Reinos y Prouincias de Oriente, y de la noticia q se tiene de las grandezas del Reyno de la China, fls. 95v–96. Further, he felt the conquest was impossible, since the emperor was able to mobilize an army of 300,000 men, who although not warriors like the Spaniards had plenty of artillery, ibid., fl. 97v. For all these reasons, Escalante advised Philip II to send an embassy whose authority would be reinforced should he obtain a Papal blessing, ‘pues cae este grã Reino en el distrito de la conquista de nuestro Rei catolico’ (for this is the great Kingdom in the area of conquest by our Catholic King), ibid., 98.

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22. The third part of this work, Ytinerario del Padre Custodio Fray Martin Ignacio de la Orden del Bienauenturado Sant Francisco, que Paso ala China en Compañia de Otros Religiosos de la Misma Orden (pp. 341–440), was published a year later: Itinerario y Compendio de las Cosas Notables que ay desde España, Hasta el Reyno dela China, y dela China à España, Boluiendo por la India Oriental, Despeues de auer dado Buelta, à Casi Todo el Mundo.

Chapter 7

The State of India

Between Zain Al-Din and the Tradition of the Décadas


An Arab chronicle written by Zain al-Din, or Zaynuddin Ibu Gaffali Ibu Ali Iby Ahmed recounts the history of Portuguese rule in Malabar from 1498 to 1583. The work, written in Arabic, probably in 1579, and originally dedicated to Ali Adil Shah, the governor of Bijapur (1557–1579), was the subject of several additions during its lengthy circulation in manuscript, particularly within several Muslim families in the region. About 100 years ago, the great historian David Lopes believed that ‘Zinadim is unjust to us’. The publication of a Portuguese translation of the chronicle allows for the reconstruction of the viewpoint of other civilizations with whom the Portuguese were in contact. Thus David Lopes was aware of the importance of his work as an orientalist, but he did not fail to state: In truth we were not always very gentle with the Muslims but before accusing we must take note of the circumstances in which we found ourselves regarding them. This gentleness was impossible. Conflict of beliefs in the first place, commercial competition next; they were aiming to discover who would be the victors. Our author attributed to us the greatest injuries against his religion and interests; but he considers all the attacks and violence against us were good, whatever the situation. He praises in his own men acts that when committed by ours are an outrage; his exaggeration and partiality are obvious.1

To compensate for this partiality, David Lopes noted, Zain al-Din felt that one of the reasons for the stability of the territory held by the ‘frangues’ – which is what the Portuguese were called since their arrival in the Indian Ocean – lay in their discipline and a sense of hierarchy, which

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were non-existent among the Muslims.2 In a summary of this work completed in the 1620s, one finds proof as to how much the Portuguese hated the followers of Muhammad as well as their dominion of the seas. In addition to the fact that the sovereignty of Delhi in Jehangir had been granted to the English along with authorization to construct a factory in Surate, in Gujarat we find the differences between the Portuguese and English: The creed of this nation is different from that of other Europeans, particularly the Portuguese, with whom they are constantly at war. They believe that Jesus was mortal and God’s prophet; that there is only one God; and that He has no equal, nor does He have a wife or son, as the Portuguese wish. The English have their own king, independent of the king of Portugal, to whom they owe no obedience; but to the contrary, wherever they are, these two peoples fight to the death. At the moment thanks to the intervention of Padixá Jehangir they are at peace with one another, but only God knows how long they will allow the adversary to have factories in this city and live as friends.3

Meanwhile, what was the place occupied by the national authors who were interested in the production of knowledge on the State of India? João de Barros’s legacy remains alive in the dispute on the publication and continuation of the Décadas in which his heirs, Diogo do Couto, João Baptista Lavanha and the Crown itself, participate. Couto is particularly interested in following Barros’s example as to the use of local documents.4 Other uses of Barros’s work led to the circulation of excerpts from his work. This is the case when Fernando Alvia de Castro published his Aphorismos y exemplos politicos, y militares: Sacados de la primeira década de Juan de Barros (1621). Diogo do Couto in turn continues the publication of the Décadas da Ásia in Lisbon (IV, 1602; V, 1612; VI, 1614; VII, 1616), relating to the period of the Portuguese presence in the east from 1526 to 1564. In this work, he claims on several occasions the stature of the privileged historian on matters of the orient, having direct knowledge of India and not being thousands of leagues away as, in his opinion, was the case with European writers. We find within this set of allusions both João Baptista Lavanha, another author who continued on from João de Barros, and more obviously Bartolomeu Leonardo de Argensola.5 The expectations of those connected to the king and his viceroys regarding Diogo do Couto are well known. In 1597, the king asked the viceroy of India for information as to his abilities and ordered him to favour him if he found him worthy of this.6 A year later, he ordered him to hand over ‘all those documents that are not letters or instructions other than permanent matters that should be kept safely’.7 However, in spite of the

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interest of those in power, in 1607 Diogo do Couto wrote to the Count of Vidigueira, D. Francisco da Gama: in the decade when I entered with D. Antão de Noronha I worked hard because I have everything and if there was some anger there as there is here I am surprised that there is no fidalgo in the kingdom who will persuade and shout at the ministers to grant me some honour in order to raise my spirits. And I tell your lordship and this is signed by me that if I am not granted any honours and no one praises what I have written then before my death I shall order that my papers be burned in front of me.8

This account – that is comparable with many ideas on the life and work of Luís de Camões – raises two questions. The first relates to the relations between the writer and power: is it that the honours demanded by Diogo do Couto suggested a subservient relationship between the writing of history and the powers that distributed honours? If we consider the career not only of Diogo do Couto but also that of João Baptista Lavanha, we could conclude that it is impossible to view their careers as historians within a sphere separated from the interests of power.9 In this context, one could say that, far from dealing with a subservient relationship between the two separate spheres, it is the powers that give rise to the writing of history and make this writing one of their deeds. A second question relates to the manner of transmission of a work. When Diogo do Couto threatened to burn his papers, so preventing others making use of them, he set in motion the usual procedure of transmission of the work. On this, we know of the case of papers of Diogo do Couto relating to the chronicle of John III, for which, following his death, two historians were nominated to look after them – António Pinheiro and António de Castilho. They took the papers to Castile after 1580, since at the time the Count of Portalegre dearly wanted them.10 However, it was only in 1613 that the Crónica de D. João III by Francisco de Andrade was published, while that written by Brother Luís de Sousa remained in manuscript. The fate of the papers left by João de Barros appears to have been more complicated. The transmission by his successors of the part of the work that had remained in manuscript led António de Barros de Almeida to take out a legal case against João Baptista Lavanha, who in 1615 published the Quarta Década.11 In this case, the person of the author would have been regarded within the argument of family succession in contrast with the individual in the service of the king. In Diogo do Couto’s work, the reports of heroism in war and the interventions of Providence present in the Décadas lie side by side with an analysis of society and with reports relating to the organization of

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the state in O Soldado prático. There were those who later continued the theme – Brother António Freire and Francisco Rodrigues da Silveira – of the contrast between the reports of individual bravery and the need for military discipline that are present in the latter of these works.12 The discussion on the nature of political power in the State of India of nobles and fidalgos (noblemen) is also a principal construction in the continuation of the Décadas.13 Alongside this type of debate, an analysis of the reasons for trade and merchants exhibited by Duarte Gomes de Solis originated, particularly, in the drama of Jorge Ferreira de Vasconcelos. Other authors were dedicated to the history of Portuguese exploits in the east, such as António Bocarro, António Pinto Pereira, Francisco de Andrade and Brother Luís de Sousa, with his Anais da vida de D. João III. Bocarro is also the author of a well-known description of the State of India, while the work entitled Sítio da Cidade de Goa is attributed to Francisco de Castro.14 Another problem as to the character of the author relates to the conditions that come between the construction of a work and its publication, as well as its various uses including, in this case, translations. The most obvious case is Fernão Mendes Pinto’s Peregrinação, which was written in the middle of the sixteenth century but published in 1614. How did posthumous publication change the original text? This question was posed from very early on, and one must add to that the polemic reception the work received, to be found in translations into Castilian and French.15 Another case is that of the Historia da India, no tempo em que a governou o Viso-Rey D. Luis de Ataide by António Pinto Pereira, published in Coimbra in 1617 but written about forty years earlier. This was followed by the Vida del grande D. Luís de Atayde (1633) by José Perreira de Macedo, the pseudonym of Brother Francisco de Santo Agostinho de Macedo.16 There are also reprints, which suggest a work may have found, years later, a new meaning. For example, the reprint in 1619 of the Cronica de D. Manuel by Damião de Góis should be related to the entrance of Philip II into Lisbon that year, for as is repeated at the end of this edition, ‘se acabou Véspora da Visitaçam de Nossa Senhora … e dous dias depois que elrei dom Phelipe II de Portugal entrou neste Reino de 1619’ (the eve of the Visitation of Our Lady was over … and two days later the King D. Philip II of Portugal entered this Kingdom). The same can be said of the reprint in 1622 of Garcia de Resende, although here the work indicates content that has been edited/updated. Where in the edition of Miscelânea we find ‘Portugueses, Castelhanos/nom os quer Deos junto ver’ (Portuguese, Castilians, whom God does not wish to see together) this becomes ‘Portugueses, Castelhanos/Já os quer Deos junto ver’17 (Portuguese, Castilian, whom God wants to see together).

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Thus it is not sufficient to place an inventory of the principal Portuguese works of history against descriptions and reports of foreign voyages and so suggest a body of ‘autonomous literature’ during Philip’s rule.18 It is necessary to analyse how the works were formed in accordance with the strategies of their authors or the families and circles to which they belonged. One must also consider that while on a European scale the descriptive reports converged with various other types of reports of voyages, in Portugal chronicles and histories continued to be controlled by the ‘art of description’.19 The centrality of history was complemented by a biography of a hero or an argument for the justification of exploits, generally influenced by allegiance to family or an employer, the idea being to obtain an honour (from the biographies of Paulo de Lima Pereira by Diogo do Couto and António de Ataíde, to the Vida de D. Joao de Castro, 1651, by Jacinto Freire de Andrade). The context of the Restoration led to justification and debates regarding events such as the fall of Hormuz in 1622 (Luís Marinho de Azevedo, Apologeticos discursos, 1641; and Commentarios do grande capitam Rui Freire de Andrade, 1647). Works regarding the siege of fortresses and shipwrecks – of which there are numerous examples in Diogo de Couto’s Décadas and other writers – also belong in this framework of justification of exploits. The extension of this tradition can be found in António Duran’s work in Castilian, Cercos de Moçambique desfendidos por Don Estevan de Atayde (1633). Then one must consider how arguments and justifications are articulated in epic poems,20 reports of sieges, of shipwrecks and land and sea journeys – as in Fernão Mendes Pinto’s Peregrinação (whose first edition dates from 1614)21 – in the relationship between the Archbishop D. Frei Aleixo de Meneses and Brother António de Gouveia22 and between Nicolau de Orta Rebelo, Pedro Teixeira and Brother Gaspar de S. Bernardino; in diaries and sea routes and in relations between the armadas;23 and from the reports24 and descriptions of fortresses or administrative structures (in the early stages of Portuguese rule) of the State of India.25 Present-day classifications such as ‘historical’, ‘literary’ and ‘political’ do not cover all of the types of written culture in this configuration and could therefore be considered arbitrary. Its objective lies merely in defining some lines of strength. The novelty lies now in attempts at imitations of the epics of Camões and in the proliferation of advice and political opinion, which one can particularly relate to the new wave of publication of reports of shipwrecks.26 However, regarding this classification of works of discourse it is important not to forget the bibliographies of the age relating to the overseas expansion of the Iberian Peninsula, such as those published at the beginning of the seventeenth century by the Benedictine Brother António de

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San Román (Historia general de la India Oriental, 1603), by Melchior Estácio do Amaral (Tratado das Batalhas, 1604) and then in Castilian by Francisco Herrera de Maldonado in his translation of Mendes Pinto’s Peregrinação (Historia oriental de las peregrinaciones, 1620). These were to give way to the more in-depth works of the 1620s by Tomás Tamayo de Vargas, which remained in manuscript (1624) and by António de León Pinelo (Epitome, 1629).27 While bibliographies such as that by León Pinelo place the problem of the system of classification relative to printed works, there is also the problem of omissions in spite of the importance of an event or a person. For example, the siege of the Portuguese in Hugli in 1622, an event that led to their expulsion, had no place in printed works in spite of the importance that can be attributed to this defeat.28

Orientalists and Chroniclers To identify the historiographic models that were available during the sixteenth century, it is necessary to return to two different approaches in classical Greek regarding the writing of history: the global focus of Herodotus; and the local focus of Thucydides.29 While Herodotus’s curiosity regarding other civilizations can also be found in the works of historians such as Polybius or Diodoro Siculo and geographers such as Strabo, Ptolemy and Pliny, the histories by Suetonius, Titus Livius and Tacitus primarily relate to Thucydides and a more local focus in looking at the politics of Rome as well as the wars along the empire’s frontiers. It was against this Greco-Roman ethnocentrism that Judo-Christian narratives reacted. In the fourth century, Orosius insisted on the importance of the eastern legacy that had been incorporated by the Roman Empire, but he did this within the framework of a narrative going back to the Creation. In turn, the providential, ecumenical dimension of medieval historiography that could integrate Asia and Africa gave way with the Renaissance and Reformation to a centring on dynastic questions and the territories where national states were formed.30 The threat of Islam, which lasted in the Iberian Peninsula until the fall of Granada in 1492 but which, on the Mediterranean and European scale, is marked by the fall of Constantinople in 1453 until the siege of Vienna in 1683, would also have contributed to a lack of interest in the history of other societies lying beyond the frontiers of Christianity. It was necessary to await the Age of Enlightenment and for Voltaire’s Essai sur les mœurs to find once again a history with world or globalizing preoccupations. Clearly from the beginning of the European process of expansion information on other societies lying beyond the limits of Christianity had accompanied the

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circulation of merchandise. However,31 the interest in other civilizations was displayed most of all in reports of voyages, diplomatic correspondence, investigations on sciences, medicine, astronomy and mathematics or information that was commercial. European knowledge on other societies occasionally leaned towards research of their histories so allowing the formation of new historiographic models. At least this is what occurred with Voltaire’s Essai. Within this framework, we should include Portuguese historiography of the east in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Indeed, sixteenth-century Portuguese historiographies regarding the east have in turn been the subject of specific studies that, in spite of their complementary element, seem to be quite different in their leanings. There are those studies that prefer to explore the internal organization of the debates within a work and that seek to reconstruct corresponding rhetorical and oratorical models, while other studies are interested in evaluating the quality of information transmitted by these works. In a recent study dedicated to historiography of the Renaissance in Portugal, Nair de Nazaré Castro Soares exemplified the ‘concept of history as a school of virtues’.32 A method of writing history led by the construction of moral virtues is often confused with the aesthetic preoccupations of authors inspired by the histories of Classical Antiquity; for example, in the prologue to Década III, by João de Barros. According to Castro Soares, history was for Barros, more than anything, ‘an aid in understanding’, while Damião de Góis, Fernão Lopes de Castanheda, Gaspar Gorreia and Diogo do Couto sought, in the words of Góis, ‘to give truthfully praise or criticism as deserved’.33 However, even if one considers the differences in approach between sixteenth-century historians, ‘the raising of the figure of the king and his actions becomes a constant in Portuguese historiography from this period that was essentially national and dynastic and granted the greatest importance to military triumphs and to the courage of a peoples in those remote outposts where the empire extended’.34 This celebration of heroes and national exploits on the scale of the empire, which to a large extent is led by the celebration of the figure of the virtuous king, was formed on models inspired by the classical age. On this, the relation between history and epic that appears in the works of Titus Livy and Virgil had a parallel in Portugal in Barros’s Décadas and Camões’s Lusiads. In her interest in reconstructing the rhetorical models that organize the writing of history, Nair de Nazaré Castro Soares has developed a systematic work;35 however, her perspective contrasts clearly with those that lean more to the evaluation of the type of information supplied by a work. In 1947, for example, in his inaugural lecture as holder of

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the Camões Chair of Portuguese, Charles Boxer chose as his theme the works of three principal Portuguese historians of the east: João de Barros (1496–1570), Diogo do Couto (1542/3–1616) and António Bocarro (1594–1649?).36 His main argument lay in demonstrating how far these authors were pioneers as Orientalists in offering a vast wealth of information on the societies of Asia and the east coast of Africa, noting a generalized lack of such pioneers outside Portugal, despite the number of principal Orientalists (Henry Yule, A.C. Burnell, Donald Ferguson, Henri Cordier, Gabriel Ferrand and Paul Pelliot).37 In order to prove the value of such works, Boxer used various criteria to reveal, first, and most importantly, the presence of a theory of knowledge that is more realist than reflexive as to categories and classifications that are used. The author sought to evaluate whether each work contained information that was as true as possible on the different regions of Asia. Barros, for example, is analysed according to his ability to ‘collect the most faithful information on China’.38 His information on Malaysia is seen to be inferior to that of his contemporary Fernão Lopes de Castanheda, who in fact did visit Malacca and the Moluccas. However, his knowledge of Asia could only be properly evaluated with the use of his Geografia, the manuscript of which was lost (as was the case with the work on inter-Asiatic trade by Couto).39 The information on Ceylon in Couto’s work was vast, and it was plagiarized more than a century later by François Valentyn (Oud en Nieuw Oost-Indien, 1724). It is also interesting to note how Boxer values Couto’s perception of Malacca as a commercial trading post and its subsequent turn to Islam at the end of the fourteenth century, although this was a period prior to the arrival of the Portuguese. As for Bocarro, the emphasis is on his ‘exhaustive description’ of the River Zambezi region as well as Macau. All this wealth of information on Asia, ending with Bocarro’s Livro do Estado da India Oriental (1635), was part of a series of texts beginning with the geographical and commercial texts of Tomé Pires and Duarte Barbosa and to which the scientific investigations of Garcia de Orta also belong. Besides the realism and informative value attributed to the Portuguese historians, there is the attention granted by Boxer to the voyages undertaken by the historians: Barros, although he was constantly absent from Portugal, travelled to and remained briefly in S. Jorge da Mina; Couto, a resident of Goa, never went to Cabo de Comorin; and Bocarro resided in Cochin and Goa. He also grants attention to the sources they used. This is the case, for example, with the information Barros had available on Siam, which he got from a Portuguese man who had lived there as a slave and served as a soldier for twenty-five years. Boxer also recalled that neither Barros nor Couto understood the Asiatic languages, which both

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tried to overcome by use of ‘qualified translators’.40 Barros, for example, used the knowledge of a Chinese slave, while Couto used several types of agent in his careful work of interpretation and description of Asiatic societies.41 Finally, Boxer studied the accumulation, collection and study of manuscripts used by the Portuguese historians,42 amongst which it was found that Couto managed to associate the history of Barlaam and Josafat, a golden legend of medieval Christianity, with the life of Buddha (Década V, bk VI, Ch. II).43 In his preoccupation with demonstrating why Barros, Couto and Bocarro should be seen as pioneer orientalists, he includes a biographic sketch of each of them44 and looks at the style and writing models they used, revealing the influence of Livy on Barros and of Tacitus on Couto. But considering the writing models used for depicting Asia and the Portuguese implies a comparison between works of an historical character and geographical, topographical, commercial and statistical texts. According to Boxer, the Décadas da Ásia was intended to promote a taste for past glories and to be an incentive to those looking to imitate the same heroic actions. Later, the author even considers that, this being the general intent of the works of the sixteenth-century Portuguese historians, the image that remains of the Portuguese presence in the east is that of the heroism of military conquest (to the point where orientalism can be seen as being on the periphery).45 More suggestive of this is the fact that Couto – the Keeper of the Records in Goa – was dedicated to the verification of petitions and records of service of officers and captains, distinguishing between acts that were true and those that were fiction or lies, many constructed with a view to the granting of royal gifts. As to works that corresponded more to a geographic type, the contributions of Barros and Couto were lost, as Boxer stated, but at least in the case of Bocarro it is possible to appreciate his description of the Portuguese presence in Asia. Bocarro’s work belongs to a series that reached its zenith during the 1630s and 1640s, with his collaborator Pedro Barreto de Resende continuing this work in 1693–1701 with a description by Peter Van Dam, the Dutch East India Company lawyer.46 While intellectual biographies include references to the writing models and styles used by Barros, Couto and Bocarro, Charles Boxer paid particular attention to the rivalries between Barros and Castanheda (curiously, Boxer does not refer to another contemporary, Gaspar Correia), as well as those between Couto and Duarte Nunes de Leão, or the enlightening silences of Bocarro regarding his collaborator, Pedro Barreto de Resende.47 Relationships between figures in power and intellectuals, particularly their dissatisfaction regarding recompense, are also mentioned. Thus connections with patrons are added to the rivalries

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between intellectuals holding the same post: D. Francisco da Gama, Conde da Vidigueira, in the case of Couto; and D. Miguel de Noronha, Count of Linhares, in that of Bocarro. Boxer also considered the history of publication of each of the works, concluding with the idea of their reduced impact for lack of readership. In his analysis of the works of three Portuguese historians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Charles Boxer evaluated their ability to make known Asiatic realities.48 João de Barros, Diogo do Couto and António Bocarro were appreciated as orientalists and the position of pioneers in European orientalism was attributed to them. More than half a century after the publication of ‘Three Historians of Portuguese Asia’, the works of Edward Said and his followers on the notion of orientalism influences the way we read the article today article in the present.49 Indeed, the concept of orientalism is, nowadays, identified above all as a type of knowledge on the exercise of forms of symbolic, imperial violence by the west over the populations of Asia. On this, orientalism, at least in some of its versions, appears as another mode of imperialism, being more revealing of the viewpoints of those exercising power than of the observed reality. Without falling into the error of wishing to update a text published in 1948, it is important to note how the simultaneous interest in orientalism and in the biography of intellectuals anticipated some of today’s preoccupations. On the one hand, regarding European knowledge of Asiatic societies, Boxer declared the desire of the historians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to make known the societies and civilizations with which the Portuguese came in contact, removing themselves from a Eurocentric perspective. According to Barros, the Chinese believed that the Portuguese ate small Cantonese children, an image that existed in Chinese tradition regarding foreign peoples from distant territories. On the other hand, Boxer reconstructed the various mediations between power and knowledge, be this historical or geographic, anticipating a response that was as empiric as it was subtle in the words suggested later by Michel Foucault and Said. The complexity of these mediations is present in the existence of hybrid figures of the historian-soldier such as Couto, to which can also be added the cases of António Bocarro, Pedro Teixeira (also a new Christian), João Ribeiro and António de Oliveira Cadornega,50 as well as in the relationships of patronage and protection such as existed between the Vidigueira household and Diogo do Couto or the Count of Linhares and António Bocarro.51 Whatever the case, Boxer did not need to turn to any model of contextualization of the chroniclers, historians and geographers to reconstruct the meaning of the works he analysed. His preoccupation was with

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evaluating the most faithful sources in their capacity to describe observed reality. Thus his predilection was for the figure of the historian-soldier, thrusting a sword in one hand and a pen in the other, while an important place was also given to the ecclesiastics, in particular the Jesuits with their descriptions of the societies where they exercised their missionary activities, in the Far East and Brazil. According to Boxer, in Brazil more than in Asia the preponderance of an ecclesiastical culture was clear in the European perspective well into the eighteenth century. The same was the case with the histories of China and Japan, since their authors belonged almost exclusively to religious organizations. Within the ambit of this configuration, where military, commercial and, above all, religious interests are to be found, orientalism – understood as the knowledge of the east by the Europeans – takes on specific limits.52 It is necessary to wait until the end of the eighteenth century to find the formation of a generation of ‘professional orientalists’.53 In evaluating sources in relation to their descriptive ability, Boxer places the origins of orientalism in Barros and Couto. However, one must note the discontinuities that one finds between Portuguese writers and, with the arrival of the eighteenth century, the ‘professional orientalists’ with their enlightened powers of knowledge. Some traces of a defence of the Portuguese orientalist tradition exist; for example, in a work written between 1835 and 1836, Brigadier Raimundo José da Cunha Matos (1776–1839) considered that during the good times of the monarchy, the Portuguese carried out very serious studies on the geography of nations with whom they were in immediate contact, and even about more remote countries: Diogo do Couto, João de Barros, Galvão, Mendes Pinto and D. João de Castro applied themselves to geography and history in a manner that still today honours those estimable men.

And he went on, ‘Everything that has been written recently on the places that were visited by the Portuguese is based on what they said.’54 This being the case, Boxer’s acknowledgment of the pioneering qualities of the Portuguese regarding orientalist knowledge belongs in this same sequence.55 But there is a second issue that is to be resolved when considering the evaluation of knowledge gathered by Portuguese sources regarding other civilizations. This concerns the fact that praise of the Portuguese orientalist tradition runs alongside a criticism of the absence of works written by Portuguese on their overseas exploits and the little care given to circulating these works in printed form.56 For example, João de Barros,

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in his prologue to Década I, writes ‘the Portuguese nation is so careless regarding how prepared and diligent it is in the effects arising through malice that they prefer to do rather than to speak’,57 implying the Portuguese were better soldiers than philosophers. On this, Boxer refers several times to the History of Sumatra (1782) by William Marsden, since in this one finds that the Portuguese had more interest in conquering other nations than in studying their customs and antiquities.58 Brigadier Cunha Matos is further critical of the Portuguese and Brazilians regarding Portuguese possessions in Africa: Many foreign writers have noted the small number of Portuguese works on their old African possessions and they note even more the lack of reports on their travels to the interior of Africa. The foreign writers are right, and the Portuguese are even more so when they complain about the calamities afflicting their homeland and give a reason for the loss of almost all memories on the exploits of those times. I know that the Portuguese who went into the interior of Africa were better soldiers and businessmen than inquirers as to works and nature; and, if they had organized some memories, descriptions and itineraries apart from those that appear scattered in the few books that have been printed on this singular subject they have disappeared for ever or are buried in the dust of the archives of the religious houses or those of noblemen and captains whose heirs today and successors have no curiosity in searching them out, nor do they know how to value them or they do not want to give up these respectable monuments of the ancient and modern glory of Portugal.59

In defence of a lack of interest in written works relating to expansion, there is an interest in glorifying those who dedicated themselves to this work of investigation and the many political or academic institutions dedicated to research and propaganda of the Empire and the Nation (study centres, commissions, etc.).60 The essentially bio-bibliographic perspective adopted on various occasions by Boxer expanded to include generalizations regarding Portuguese cultural backwardness.61 In a book published in 1981, Boxer suggested the Court, the Church and the University as the three kingpins of Portuguese culture in the sixteenth century. However, although John III had an interest in improving education, this was mainly centred on theological education in Paris, Louvain and Bordeaux. Meanwhile Salamanca continued to attract the greatest number of Portuguese students – about 800 during the first half of the sixteenth century. In 1537, The University was transferred to Coimbra and ‘it continued to be’ – according to Boxer – ‘a meeting place for neo-scholastic ideas and obscurantism’. Around this time, control over the university by the Crown became more pronounced.

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Within court circles, the Infanta Maria (1521–1577) and the Infant Luís (1506–1555) acted as patrons and managed to attract several humanists. But, in general, the influence of the royal court on a ‘spiritual, cultural and material’ level was always stronger. The education of the clergy was always very rudimentary, since the creation of seminaries only became common at the end of the Council of Trent (1563). The main preoccupation lay in the creation of the Inquisition (1536), which became the ‘most obscurantist’ activity of the Catholic Church. Boxer adds to this portrait the scarcity in Portugal of the production of books. Thus Boxer’s thesis, which ran from the period of the Renaissance of João de Barros to the Enlightenment of Ribeiro Sanches, reveals above all a negative judgement regarding the Portuguese cultural configuration and a preoccupation in implicitly denouncing what is absent – that is, a lack of modernity. In moving from a global, macro perspective to studies of specific subjects, Boxer reveals a preoccupation with the descriptive abilities of the authors and also the various processes of textual transmission.62 On this, it is necessary to note the examination of sources used by Diogo do Couto as suggested by Coimbra Martins, in particular the plagiarisms of Castanheda and Gabriel Rebelo.63 Equally, one must note the use of Couto’s work by the Jesuit João de Lucena, since ‘he copied what had been copied’.64 A small scale analysis compromises not only aspects of textual transmission but also the reconstruction of more pertinent contexts that give meaning to the works of the authors. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, for example, practices of writing are moulded by a political culture that is centred on gifts and honours. On this, Couto wrote ‘at the time the kings had measured and recorded the honours to men which, when they handed out the fortresses they were to take them over at once and, surprisingly, they found that more than two had been given a fortress since the kings liked to see their vassals praising the honours that they gave’ (Décadas IV, bk VIII, ch. 2).65 However, while the idealization of the distribution of honours had as its centre the figure of the monarch, the protection offered by the noble houses seems to play a more important role still. Inspired by the works of Coimbra Martins, Boxer refers to these relationships of patronage, including in the case of Diogo do Couto, and protection, such as that offered to Bocarro by the Count of Linhares. Equally, other analysis regarding Portuguese literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has sought to describe the types of patronage, of persecution or of censure that characterize the relationships between the noble houses and the writers.66 The connection between Castanheda and the governor Nuno da Cunha, who served in India during the period between 1528 and 1539 and to whom

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he dedicated VII and VIII of his História is well known.67 The case of Gaspar Correia – who in 1561 was probably assassinated at the orders of Estêvão da Gama, the son of Vasco da Gama, who was viceroy of India from 1540 to 1542 – is more obscure.68 Equally, criticisms arising from the publication in 1566 of the first part of the Chronica do felicissimo Rei dom Emanuel by Damião de Góis are well known. For example, in a manuscript attributed to the Count of Tentugal, D. Francisco de Melo, an allusion to the ‘many evils of all those in the House of Braganza’ is denounced.69 In this series of examples, one can include the event in Goa in 1601 – a ‘viradeira’ or ‘turning point’ in the suggestive terms of Antonio Coimbra Martins. While from the time when Francisco da Gama took power in June 1597 the symbols of homage to Vasco da Gama increased, when Diogo do Couto took part in several ceremonies and wrote panegyric works on the house of Vidigueira, with the arrival of the new viceroy, Aires de Saldanha, the history of the da Gamas and their dependents fell into obscurity. Other arguments such as approval of works also belong to this framework of noble protection that gives meaning to the practices of writing. The Décadas of Barros, for example, appeared in the register of services to the king of his descendants and caused conflict among his heirs, who wanted to give value to the services granted by their predecessors.70 Thus the written work, like other acts, finds one of its main meanings in the arguments on family and relationships. The same can be said of the aggravating conflicts between religious orders interested in the writing of descriptive, historical and edifying works. For example, the Archbishop of Goa, the Augustinian friar Aleixo de Meneses, explains in a letter of 1603 the reason for the existence of a work dedicated to him: This year there is a large document that Brother António de Gouveia is sending to you on the journey I made to the mountains [Jornada do Arcebispo de Goa Dom Frei Aleixo de Menezes Primaz da India Oriental Religioso de S. Agostinho. Quando foi as Serras de Malauar & lugares em que morão os antigos Christãos de S. Thome (1606)], the main part of which is taken from that written by D. Francisco Rodrigues, who is bishop in the area and other various documents that others have written and given me and I agreed to them since I know they contain things that have little basis apart from the priests of the province charging this to people from there, since I believe they are bored of seeing them and another was printed in Lisbon by Nicolau Pimenta, the visitor of the Society of these parts who mentioned the journey in few words, that are almost nothing, although he printed a letter I had written without my knowing it until it arrived in print from Portugal and the visitor went to thank those of the Society who accompanied me saying that without them nothing would have been done.

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I ordered that they attach a letter written to me by the priests in Persia on what they had experienced there, and I added something in praise of the Order and things that I found in some churches that were most edifying, but since I suspect that our priests might decide to publish this, I expressly ordered that on pain of annoying me enormously they should not do so without your permission and they should send it first so that you can remove what you feel fitting.71

Curiously it is in the framework of writing traditions that one finds noble protection, reasons for relationships and also strategies of affirmation by several religious orders that took part in the formation of different colonial and national identities. Thus those dedicated to writing from the sixteenth century well into the eighteenth can only be understood with difficulty beyond this framework that is characterized by strong social pressures and by the distribution of honours. This is the same as saying that the figure of the writer, like that of the artist, working for the market and free of other involvements and commitments of a social and political nature did not exist.72 What remains to be known is whether the same type of analysis made regarding the chroniclers and orientalists of the past is also not pertinent when applied to twentieth-century authors. For example, the effects of a politicization of historical analysis become evident with respect to a Portuguese orientalist tradition based upon the works of Barros, Couto and Bocarro, and of its opposition to the theories regarding the integrating ability of the Portuguese. On this last matter, one should note that authors such as Orlando Ribeiro, instead of evaluating a supposed Portuguese orientalism, considered more the ability of the Portuguese to integrate the exotic through a ‘family paradigm’. Regarding this interpretation, Orlando Ribeiro noted the example of Vasco da Gama’s chief pilot, who compared Melinde with Alcochete, with their ‘identification of the exotic with the habitual’, or ‘the means of integrating them in the same concept of life’. In parallel with this type of perception, the well-known geographer presented the theme of the ‘attraction to coloured races’ based on ‘living with women of the land’ able to give rise to a ‘coloured, abundant offspring’. In this way, the Portuguese became bound to ‘the people of the land and by assimilation, conversion and mixed blood could broaden the framework of our action being integrated among the small number of people that some of our most loyal and proficient collaborators possess’.73

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Notes   1. D. Lopes, introduction to Zinadím, História dos Portugueses no Malabar: Manuscripto Árabe do Século XVI, XCVIII. Suggestion as to the date of the work in Bouchon, Inde Découverte, Inde Retrouvée 1498–1630: Études d’Histoire Indo-Portugaise, 281. For an analysis of the work, see Mathew, ‘Reflections on the Socio-Political Content in Tuhafat-ul-Mujahidin and the Portuguese in Malabar’, 477–84.   2. D. Lopes, introduction to Zinadím, História dos Portugueses no Malabar, XCIX. For a different view on how Lopes interpreted the work Zain al-Din, see Subrahmanyam, ‘Through the Looking Glass: Some Comments on Asian Views of the Portuguese in Asia, 1500–1700’, 387–88, 401.   3. Zinadím, História dos Portugueses no Malabar, 96–97.   4. D. Lopes, Chronica dos Reis de Bisnaga, LVI–LVIII.   5. D. do Couto, Década 8.ª da Ásia, vol. I, 18, 363–64, 761, note 3.   6. Boletim da Filmoteca Portuguesa, 2, 1955, 225.   7. Ibid., 246.   8. ANTT, Convento de Nossa Senhora da Graça, Miscelâneas, box 6, vol. II–E, 652, see A. Baião, ‘Prefácio’, in D. do Couto, Décadas: Selecção, 2 vols, LXXII.   9. BL, Add., 28427, fls. 328–332V (on João Baptista Lavanha). 10. M.L. de Almeida, intr. to F. de Andrade, Crónica de D. João III, XLIX; P. de Azevedo, ‘Documentos Inéditos sobre João de Barros’, 311; AGS, Secretarias Provinciales, 1456, fl. 68, bis (13/8/1583). 11. Azevedo, ‘Documentos Inéditos sobre João de Barros’, 290–92. 12. Winius, ‘Francisco Rodrigues da Silveira: the Forgotten Soldado prático’, 773–86; Fr. A. Freire, Primor e Honra da Vida Soldadesca. For an analysis of this context, see G. Parker, The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West 1500–1800, 30–31. 13. ‘E porque nos vem aqui a pelo, não deixaremos de estranhar a desconfiança (a que não sei outro nome) dos Governadores, e Viso-Reys da India, que por não chamarem aos conselhos públicos homens, que não sam Fidalgos, se arriscão muitas vezes a desacreditar; porque muitos Cavalleiros, e homens nobres ha na India, que não foram peior nascidos, que alguns destes Fidalgos, que tem mais experiencia, e discursos nos negocios todos, e que seu parecer póde aproveitar muito ao serviço de Deos, e d’El Rey; porque, que razão ha pera dar o Fidalgo de quatro dias na India seu voto nas cousas arduas, que se offerecem de Malaca, Maluco, Ceilão, e dos Estreitos, se nunca víram mais que a Armada do Malavar, quando ha Cavalleiros honrados, e velhos, que as víram, e tratatáram, e que de tudo podem dar muito boa, e certa informação’ (And since we see this, we cannot be surprised at the distrust (for there is no other word for it) of the governors and vice-roys of India, who because they don’t call the ordinary men to the counsels, since they are not Fidalgos, they often risk distrust of many Knights and noble men who are in India for they were no less well born and some of these fidalgos who have more experience and business negotiations could be of much service to God and the king since for reason of being called fidalgo after four days in India their work in difficult matters that occur in Malacca, Malucco, Ceylon and the Straits was never witnessed more than in the Armada of Malabar when the honourable Knights and old men saw that they can supply much good, true information), Couto, Década 5.ª, IV–11, quoted by M.A.L. da Cruz, ‘A Viagem de Gonçalo Pereira Marramaque do Minho às Molucas ou os Itinerários da

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14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.





Fidalguia Portuguesa no Oriente’, 327. See quoted in the edition of the Décadas, this chapter is not in the edition of Marcus Jong. See L. Nunes, Crónica de D. João de Castro, XXVIII. F.L. de Faria, As Muitas Edições da ‘Peregrinação’ de Fernão Mendes Pinto. I. de S. Ribeiro, Frei Francisco de Santo Agostinho de Macedo, 62–63. See Serrão, A Historiografia Portuguesa, vol. II, 12. Cidade, A Literatura Autonomista sob os Filipes. Alpers, The Art of Describing: Dutch Art in the Seventeenth Century; Seed, Ceremonies of Possession in Europe’s Conquest of the New World 1492–1640, 160, 175. Asensio, ‘España en la Épica Portuguesa del Tiempo de los Felipes (1580–1640): Al Margen de un Libro de Hernâni Cidade’, 455–93; Cirurgião, Fernão Álvares do Oriente. Boxer, The Christian Century in Japan, 453–54. On the context of the writing of this work and the debate with the Jesuits, see Beylerian, ‘Cinq Lettres Inédites de D. Frei Aleixo de Meneses’, 573–604, especially 594. On the mission of Aleixo de Meneses to the Christians of São Tomé that created an alliance that was ‘più forzata, che libera’, see Caterina da Siena, Il Viaggio all’Indie Orientali, 180. Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, vol. IV, 243 (where he refers to the main route); Godhino, Mito e Mercadoria, Utopia e Prática de Navegar, 553 (he believes that ‘as listas de armadas e navios da viagem de Lisboa a Cochim ou Goa … tornaram-se uma moda – quase um género literário’ (the lists of armadas and ships travelling from Lisbon to Cochim or Goa became in a way – almost a literary type). D. do Couto, Soldado prático; Solis, Discursos sobre los comercios de las dos Indias; Solis Alegacion en favor de la Compañia de la India Oriental; Fr. A. Freire, Primor e Honra da Vida Soldadesca; F.R. Silveira, Reformação da Milícia e Governo do Estado da Índia Oriental. Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, vol. IV, 260 (refers to Descrição das Indias Orientais, ms. from about 1602); Bocarro, Livro das Plantas de Todas as Fortalezas, Cidades e Povoações do Estado da Índia Oriental; on Bocarro, Resende and others, see L. de Matos in a note to D. Lopes, Expansão da Língua Portuguesa no Oriente nos Séculos XVI, XVII, XVIII, 10–11. On these descriptions there is also Luz, Livro das Cidades e Fortalezas que a Coroa de Portugal Tem nas Partes da India, e das Capitanias e mais Cargos que Nelas Ha, e da Importancia Delles; Veiga, Relação das Plantas, e Descripsões de todas as Fortalezas, Cidades, e Povoações que os Portuguezes tem no Estado da India Oriental; Purchas, Hakluytus Posthumus or Purchas his Pilgrimes: Contayning a History of the World, in Sea Voyages, & Landetrauells, by Englishmen & Others, vol. II, Book IX, Chap. X, 1506–33: ‘Don Duarte de Meneses the Viceroy, his tractate of the Portugall Indies, containing the Laws, Customs, Reuenus, Expenses and other matters remarkable therein.: here abbreuiated’. Paragraph I: ‘A Register or Collection of the Uses, Lawes, and Customs of the Canarins, or Inhabitants of this Iland of Goa, and of the Townes thereunto belonging’. Paragraph II: ‘A copie of the order that the Vice-Roy of the Estate of India shall hold in matters of Justice, as also of the other Magistrates, in the diuers places holden by the Portuguals in India’ (very important for an analysis of the forms of communication and written records). Paragraph III: ‘The Receipt of the Revenues of the State of India: as also the Expenses publike therein’. Curto, ‘Littératures de Large Circulation au Portugal (XVIe–XVIIIe siècles)’, 299–329, especially 315–19.

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27. Rogers, Europe Informed: An Exhibition of Early Books Which Acquainted Europe With the East. 28. Subrahmanyam, The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History, 167; Flores, ‘Entre Bandel e Colónia: O Regresso dos Portugueses a Hugli, ca. 1632-1820’, 335. 29. Hartog, Le Miroir d’Hérodote: Essai Sur la Représentation de l’Autre. 30. Cochrane, Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance. 31. Burke, ‘European Views of World History from Giovio to Voltaire’, 237–51. 32. N. de N.C. Soares, ‘A Historiografia do Renascimento em Portugal: Referentes Estéticos e Ideológicos Humanistas’, 23. 33. Ibid., 23. 34. N. de N.C. Soares, ‘A Historiografia do Renascimento em Portugal’, 23. 35. N. de N.C. Soares, ‘Humanismo e História: Ars Scribendi e Valor do Paradigma’, 15–59. 36. Boxer, ‘Three Historians of Portuguese Asia (Barros, Couto and Bocarro)’, 15–44. 37. On Ferguson, D. Lopes, ‘Bibliografia do Editor’, in Ferguson, Cartas de Raja Singa II, Rei de Candia, aos Hollandeses (1636–1660). 38. Later, Boxer takes up Barros’s analysis on China at greater length in João de Barros: Portuguese Humanist and Historian of Asia, 106–8. 39. About Geografia by Barros, see Viterbo, ‘O Orientalismo em Portugal no Século XVI’, 317–30; A.A.B. de Andrade, João de Barros: Historiador do Pensamento Humanista Português de Quinhentos, 174–75. 40. On Couto’s limited linguistic knowledge and its use by translators, see Thomaz, ‘Línguas de Mouros e Gentios’ and ‘As origens dos Mogores (Mogóis): confronto da lição de Couto com as fontes em língua Persa’, 105–7 and 111–14. 41. Subrahmanyam noted the errors in Couto regarding the history of India and at the same time suggested its use in Islamic historiography as well as the record of facts lost to memory, ‘Invasões do Guzerate’, ‘Os Timúridas’, ‘A guerra entre Mogores e Patanes’, 24–25, 136–37, 139–40. Thomaz evaluated the meaning of the use of the Persian chronicles by Couto, ‘As Origens dos Mogores (Mogóis): Confronto da Lição de Couto com as Fontes em Língua Persa’, 111–14. 42. A full list of Asian books and manuscripts used by Barros can be found in Boxer, João de Barros: Portuguese Humanist and Historian of Asia, 119. 43. Vida do Honrado infante Josaphate Filho del Rey Avenir, Frei Hilário da Lourinhã’s version and identification by Diogo do Couto (1542–1616) of Josaphate with Buda, ed. M.C. de Lacerda (Lisbon: Junta de Investigações do Ultramar, 1963). 44. Boxer once again insisted on the fact that João de Barros was a pioneer of Orientalism, a collector of Chinese manuscripts and interested in collecting information given to him by his Chinese slave, see ‘Some Aspects of Western Historical Writing on the Far East, 1500–1800’, 308–9; ‘Some Portuguese Sources for Indonesian Historiography’, 218–19; ‘Camões e Diogo do Couto: Irmãos em Armas e nas Letras’, 30; ‘Some Remarks on the Value of Portuguese Sources for Asian History, Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries’, 195; João de Barros: Portuguese Humanist and Historian of Asia. 45. Boxer, ‘The Portuguese in the East 1500–1800’, 211; Boxer, ‘Camões e Diogo do Couto: Irmãos em Armas e nas Letras’, 29–33. 46. Since Duarte Barbosa, Tomé Pires and António Nunes, there have been several attempts to inventory books about geography, see A.A.B. de Andrade, João de Barros:

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Historiador do Pensamento Humanista Português de Quinhentos, 175; Cid, ‘O Livro das Plantas de Todas as Fortalezas no contexto das obras sobre o mesmo tema’, 33–35. 47. Studies on such conflicting relations between sixteenth-century chroniclers can be found in: A.C. Martins, Correia, Castanheda e as ‘Diferenças’ da Índia, 1–86; J.B. de Macedo, ‘Damião de Góis et l’Historiographie Portugaise’, 55–243; ibid., Os Lusíadas e a História. 48. Boxer, ‘Three Historians of Portuguese Asia (Barros, Couto and Bocarro)’, 15–44. 49. Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient. On the discovery of Hinduism within British societies and academies in India, see Kopf, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance: The Dynamics of Indian Modernization 1773–1835; Marshall, The British Discovery of Hinduism in the Eighteenth Century; Clarke, Oriental Enlightenment: The Encounter Between Asian and Western Thought; Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870. The last of these is, in Edward Said’s view, one of the strongest criticisms. 50. Boxer, ‘António Bocarro and the “Livro do Estado da India Oriental” (A Biobibliographical Note)’, Garcia d’Orta, special edition dedicated to Portuguese India and included in the Commemorations of the Fourth Centenary of printing in Goa (1956), 219. 51. Boxer, ‘Camões e Diogo do Couto: Irmãos em Armas e nas Letras’, 25–37; ‘António Bocarro and the “Livro do Estado da India Oriental” (A Bio-bibliographical Note)’, 219. 52. Boxer appears not to grant importance to the ‘eye of the merchant’ to use the words of Godinho, Mito e Mercadoria, Utopia e Prática de Navegar. 53. Boxer, ‘Some Aspects of Western Historical Writing on the Far East, 1500–1800’, 307–21. 54. R.J. da C. Matos, Compêndio Histórico das Possessões de Portugal na África, 62 (my italics). 55. Boxer’s perception of a Portuguese orientalist tradition is not referred to by other authors of the catalogue O Orientalismo em Portugal (Séculos XVI a XX): Exposição. Porto, Edifício da Alfândega (Lisbon: Edições Inapa, 1999). 56. The topic of the absence of literary works, particularly chronicles and epic poetry, narrating the great deeds of the Portuguese is to be found at the beginning of the prologue to Cancioneiro Geral by Garcia de Resende and in Os Lusíadas (v. 95–96) by de Camões. For other notes on the same subject at the beginning of the sixteenth century, see A.C. Ramalho, ‘Os humanistas e D. João III’, 891. 57. Quoted by A.A.B. de Andrade, João de Barros: Historiador do Pensamento Humanista Português de Quinhentos, 9 (my italics). 58. Boxer, ‘Three Historians of Portuguese Asia (Barros, Couto and Bocarro)’, 26–27; Boxer, ‘Background to Angola: Cadornega’s Chronicle’, 665; Boxer, ‘Some Remarks on the Value of Portuguese Sources for Asian History, Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries’, 193. 59. Matos, Compêndio histórico das possessões de Portugal na África, 64. 60. As an example, A.T. da Mota, ‘Notas Sobre a Historiografia da Expansão Portuguesa e as Modernas Correntes da Investigação Africana’, 229–94, especially 233–35, 276. 61. Boxer, João de Barros: Portuguese Humanist and Historian of Asia, 13–25. 62. This preoccupation is clear in the edition of a manuscript by D. do Couto, ‘Diogo do Couto’s Unpublished Account of Angkor’, 264; Boxer in Groslier, Angkor et le Cambodge au XVIe Siècle d’Après les Sources Portugaises et Espagnoles; Boxer, ‘A História de Cadornega no Museu Britânico’, 291–98.

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63. C. Martins, ‘Introdução à Leitura da Década Quarta de Diogo do Couto’, XXV–LI, CVII. An inventory of the works quoted by Diogo do Couto was published more recently by Rui Manuel Loureiro, A Biblioteca de Diogo do Couto. 64. A.C. Martins, ‘Introdução à Leitura da Década Quarta de Diogo do Couto’, LI– LXIII. 65. Quoted by A.C. Martins, ‘Introdução à Leitura da Década Quarta de Diogo do Couto’, LXXII. On honours and the State of India, see A.B. Freire, Emmenta da Casa da India from 1503 to 1583 (list of those who went to India with emphasis on the members of the royal); L. Ribeiro, Registo da Casa da Índia; L. de Albuquerque, Um Exemplo de ‘Cartas de Serviços’ da Índia; V.L.G. Rodrigues, ‘Sebastião Lopes Lobato: Um Exemplo de Ascensão Social na Índia Portuguesa de Quinhentos’, 375–88. 66. R. Jorge, Francisco Rodrigues Lobo: Estudo Biográfico e Crítico; Luís de Matos, A Corte Literária dos Duques de Bragança no Renascimento; E. Asensio, ‘D. Gaspar de Leão y su “Desengano de perdidos”’, V–CIX. 67. Avelar, Fernão Lopes de Castanheda: Historiador dos Portugueses na Índia ou Cronistado Governo de Nuno da Cunha. 68. A.C. Martins, ‘Quem na Estirpe seu se Chama …’, 283–95. 69. Prestage, Crítica Contemporânea à Chronica de D. Manuel de Damião de Goes. Ms. Do Museu Britânico Publicado e Anotado, 10. 70. Baião, Documentos Inéditos Sôbre João de Barros, offprint from Boletim da Segunda Classe da Academia das Sciências de Lisboa. 71. Beylerian, ‘Cinq Lettres Inédites de D. Frei Aleixo de Meneses’, 573–604, especially 594. On Fr. António de Gouveia, see Gulbenkian, ‘O Padre António de Gouveia e a Autoria da “Breve Relaçam” de 1609 sobre a Pérsia’, 211–63. 72. Haskell, Patrons and Painters: A Study in the Relations between Italian Art and Society in the Age of the Baroque, 120–45. 73. O. Ribeiro, ‘O Infante e o Mundo Novo’, 63–64.

Chapter 8

Remedies or Resolutions


In 1607, in Cochin, the scribe at the Portuguese factory, Francisco da Costa, sent a report organized in three parts to the king with several recommendations regarding the pepper trade. In the first, and longest, Costa recalled his twenty-one years’ experience and the responsibilities he held in protecting the trade that was administered by royal officials. He also criticized the disadvantages caused to the treasury by the system of contracts with businessmen, who had representatives in the east. This ran alongside a description of business practices – weights and prices, taxes, accountancy records and the loading of pepper – and an analysis of the commercial circles around Cochin, or from Canara to Malabar together with Malacca, and their influence on the Casa da Índia in Lisbon. The second part of the report, the shortest, deals with the cultivation of pepper. Costa’s aim is to ‘inform those curious about agriculture’ and provide a type of model for ‘practical administration’, in particular for Cochin. The third and final part of the report deals with the funerals of the kings of Cochin. Francisco da Costa recalls that when the previous king had died 47 years earlier there were few who knew the correct way to perform this ceremony, and it was necessary to make inquiries with the older men to determine what the tradition was. The same would have been the case at the time of the coronation, which the new captain and the overseer of the treasury, Cosme de la Fecta, attended on behalf of the Portuguese. The ceremony included public corteges at the exit and entrance of the cathedral, reception by the officials of the council at the door of the cathedral and an oath at the coronation itself, with the gold

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crown given by Manuel to the king of Cochin. Costa recalled that the oath of the king of Cochin and its record were a form of vassalage to the king of Portugal. This dispelled the idea that the king of Cochin and the king of Portugal were brothers in arms, a notion that, according to Costa, the kings had attempted to enforce to the detriment of the reputation of the city and the Portuguese.1 In the report, the trade and cultivation of pepper were part of the same framework as the royal ceremonies of succession and royal investiture. This framework implies a pedagogic modality, which can be found in the evaluation of ‘practised’ and ‘experienced’ officials whose written discourses taught their successors how things functioned. The need to make use of written discourse was, for Costa, all the more important because the ‘practised’ officials had disappeared from the factory, which the scribe says he was aware of when he arrived there. As part of his discourse, Costa wanted to have a say on a new set of regulations suitable for the local methods of negotiation.2 A final practical objective envisaged in his discourse is of a personal nature: in exchange for his advice Costa wanted honours. In his words, since ‘pepper is the temporal fruit that the king has in India and for this reason this business must be dealt with with much consideration, and whoever does this serves his king and is deserving of honours from the king’.3 Here it appears clear that there was no contradiction between public service and personal interest or, in other words, the service of the king and honours. For the scribe of the Cochin factory, the written record, whatever its type, held a high value, whether this was related to books of accounting of the officials and contractors, sets of regulations or the swearing of allegiance by the king of Cochin. On this, Costa shows his pedagogic interests: ‘with much reason the exercise of those who write with the intention of communicating what they know to those who want to know is praised and from this results what those in the future will know and learn or what those of the present and the past will gain by experience’.4 At the same time, the scribe criticizes his predecessors for their lack of interest in written records of the pepper trade, although he considers that this did not equate to a lack of knowledge and understanding, for he confesses: ‘at the beginning of my time here there were many men experienced in this matter from whom I learned what I know now’.5 Costa is suggesting a change in attitude regarding the transmission of experience: in earlier days, this by personal contact and oral communication and from then on by the written word. Costa realized he was participating in a new rationality characterized by the use of the written word and new regulations. From an earlier system where learning was based on personal contact and oral transmission, Costa believed himself to be the heir of

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the values of ‘experience’ and ‘practice’. Simultaneously, his recourse to the notion of ‘curiosity’ signalled a new sphere of cultural distinction and was used to justify the inclusion in his report of the description of the way pepper was cultivated. As Costa wrote: It is not beyond possibility rather than making much of what I have done in this report to deal with the cultivation of pepper in it so that nothing is unimportant, but rather it should tell of the cultivation of pepper so that the curious who read it will miss nothing. So much so that it is true that men who live here know little or nothing and give as the reason for the same reason it is talked of in Portugal, where curiosity is greater and therefore trade in pepper is the most important thing the crown of Portugal possesses.6

‘Experience’, ‘practice’ and ‘curiosity’ belong to a system of classification that ties commerce and the cultivation of pepper to the death and coronation of the kings of Cochin. Today we would view the report as comprising of economic and political thought. Clearly, Francisco da Costa recognized that each of the three parts of the report was a distinct material group, to use the language of Marx. But in his opinion, Portuguese officials could only ‘overcome the doubts that the Malabares produce daily’ and intervene in the ‘markets [where] there is never any lack of malice’ by having the kind of knowledge included in the threepart report.7 As already mentioned, the pepper trade and the funerals and coronations of the kings of Cochin share a dependence on the pedagogic transmission of knowledge, which can mean increased prestige, whether such knowledge is to save the embarrassment of a captain of the city over his lack of knowledge regarding the death of a king, or help someone intervene in the coronation and vows of a new king or continue good business practice. The particular theme of death and burial of the kings and, in a general manner, of the rites and ceremonies present in many of the descriptions of antiquity known by historians of the sixteenth century also constituted one of the sets of reports – about voyages and of the descriptions of other civilizations.8 The inclusion of a rubric of ceremonial content in a report on the pepper trade is intended to highlight the actual act of writing as important or distinct for another reason. For Francisco da Costa the establishment and practice of ceremonies of succession were one of the conditions necessary for the retention of an order that had as its main characteristic the relation of vassalage between the king of Cochin and the captain who represented the king of Portugal. The ceremonies fixed an order whose continuity could remain beyond the particular agents participating in it.

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The written record of the ceremonies had as implicit the idea of dignitas non moritur (dignitas does not die). On this, Francisco da Costa believed that a person’s dignity remained beyond death and referred to his work as being an act of service to the king and the factory. Costa constructs in his report the image of an author who retains the ownership of his work and who wishes by it to obtain one of the most prestigious forms of payment, honour and gifts from the king in exchange for his advice. One should note that there were five years between Francisco da Costa’s writing of the report and its implementation in 1613, a year after his death. It was in 1612 that the Conselho de Índia presented regulations on pepper, the intention being to organize the trade and shipment of the product from its two main trading posts along the west coast of India, Goa and Cochin. One should recall that Costa’s report on the pepper trade centred on Cochin and its connection to Malacca and he argued the necessity of maintaining trade under the direct administration of royal officials. The ruling of 1612 followed an inverse direction based on a system of contracts and leases and an administration by officials. The principal advice given by Costa was followed and a royal appointment was made9 after his brother Luís brought up the knowledge recorded in the report. An individual work had been transformed into a type of family heritage.10 As for honours that were coveted, it is not known what happened. Seen as a discursive document, the report does not lose its significance in the relationship it maintains with its author, in its political or administrative use or as serving a purpose for those close to him. Francisco da Costa’s report lies within a framework that supposes the existence of groups, institutions and markets with specific products, practices and interests. One had to consider the king of Cochin and his authorities, the local merchants, the Dutch regarding Malacca as well as groups of Portuguese, who by working directly with China damaged the state more than the Dutch.11 The scribe compares the officials of the treasury – acting together with the captain and overseer of the treasury – with the representatives of important businessmen who held pepper contracts. The former worked in the interests of the king while the latter worked for private individuals within a royal monopoly in which there existed contracts for lease.12 Francisco da Costa emphasizes the opposition between the officials of the treasury and the representatives of the important businessmen. The importance given to this opposition, which today we would translate as an inevitable antagonism between bureaucrats and businessmen, has as its main intent the defence of the interests of the treasury and the continuation of a monopoly that had been practised during the previous ten years. The rationale behind the

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bureaucracy is explained by Costa, and the praise he gives to the advantages of the pepper trade remaining a royal monopoly coincides with his most immediate interests as scribe of the factory in having the rights to half a vintém on every quintal of pepper that was shipped to the kingdom.13 However, the opposition between the two systems was not as clear in practice as a reading of Francisco da Costa would have one believe – as Vitorino Magalhães Godinho demonstrated.14 There were many instances when the smuggling activities of pimenteiros benefited from the complicity of the captains and crown agents; it was only the threat to hang captains who allowed the pimenteiros to escape that solved the finances of the State of India.15 Had the scribe acted in defence of a particular group within the interior of the financial administrative body? The same question should also be asked regarding other texts that are presented in the form of resolutions, such as O Soldado Prático by Diogo do Couto; Discursos (1622) and Alegacion (1628) by Duarte Gomes de Solis; Primor e honra da vida soldadesca (1630) by Brother António Freire; and the opinions of Francisco Rodrigues Silveira.

The Advice of Captain Coelho Captain André Coelho gave information in 1621 on the situation of the Dutch in the east and the southern archipelago and how their trade could be stopped and their fortresses and factories taken.16 From Negapatan or São Tomé on the coast of Coromandel to the Gulf of Bengal, a vast area that covered Pegu and Tenasserim, Dutch ships sailed to factories in various ports and controlled the local navigation by a system of licences. On seeing their ‘galiotas apataxadas’ (ships with masts) being taken, the Portuguese did not even dare to sail to these particular ports. There were four Dutch fortresses, as opposed to the three Portuguese, in the Moluccas islands, particularly in Cravo and Ternate. Dutch fortresses also existed in the islands of Tidore, Moutel, Maquien, Batachina, Engeilo, Naboconora and Bachan. They also had control over Amboino, Banda, Java major and minor, Sumatra, Timor and Solor (‘com o trato do sândalo que leuão pera Cochinchina’) (with the cargo of sandalwood that they take to Cochinchina). They also had factories and trade along the entire coast of Champá, with a contract with the local king, who allowed them to build ships – pataxos and galiotas. They also had factories in Borneo, where there were different qualities of stone. From there they could sail so easily to Japan to the point that they planned to get together four or five thousand Japanese to sack Macau with them. Far from fearing the armada in Manila, the

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Dutch contracted and established factories in Siam and Cambodia and in the islands of Celebes and Mindanau, which caused many Chinese to move to Sunda. They brought in annually more than twenty shiploads of Chinese products carrying musk, gold, silk and other products considered to be the best in India, with the Dutch having the major part of this trade. Their presence in Surat and their ability to create enmity among the neighbouring kings against the Portuguese resulted in Portuguese negligence and the reduced income that could be made in the customs house of the State of India. As a remedy to this situation that was considered calamitous, Captain Coelho did not hesitate in suggesting a merger of arms between the powers of Spain and Portugal. The main objective of this merger was to send an armada of twenty galleons directly to the port of Sunda in the same manner as the Dutch. This would lead to the enemy taking cover and the populations under them to ‘rise up against them since the relationship they have with these people is no more than through necessity and the lack of our armadas’.17 From there, the armada would sail to Manila to take on more supplies, and once it has joined up with the armada that has already gained many victories and was already there it could go on to the Moluccas islands. These projects, intended as the concentrated force of the viceroy of India and the governor of Manila against the Dutch enemy were to take place, as was to be reported in 1632 in a letter sent to Goa.18 In parallel with this notice sent to the viceroy, Captain Coelho was told to order strong support in the form of the galleons, pataxos and galiotas to assist an armada to the Philippines. Under no circumstances was the armada to go to any of the Portuguese fortresses. For this undertaking, the viceroy was to send a large amount of provisions to Bengal for the ‘criminals and holders of royal positions and letters of honour and favours for the people in those parts’ so that all would respond with supply ships for Malacca.19 Captain Coelho also argued that: We should not ignore how much risk the present government runs and whoever holds the post that is so important should know how to preserve it and defend it at times of calamity and misery ensuring that people on the sea, at war, as well as ships, naus, galleons and artillery and the soldiers who are so involved in the constant wars with these enemies are strong enough to assist the buildings and fortresses if necessary so that their reputation is not entirely lost for the fortress and Hormuz and the buildings on the strait will be lost due to lack of aid.20

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To justify the reason for this, Coelho recalled his experience as a soldier and then as a captain during which time he had always served zealously in parts of the south such as Malacca, Amboino, Manila and Coromandel, the Strait of Hormuz, the Red Sea, Malindi and the rest of India, Ceylon, Achem ‘within and without’ and the two straits of Singapore. The miserable state in which the State of India found itself following the arrival of the enemies of Europe had led to the discredit of the Portuguese nation. This was the case along the entire coast of Negapatan, where the Portuguese residents and their neighbours were prevented from maintaining their business with the fortresses of Mannar, Ceylon, Tuticorin, the coast of India, Malacca and Bengal. Along the coast of Pulicat the impact on the factories and trade by the so-called rebels in the ports of Airemugan, Calicaree, Montepolim, Carieiro and Petepulin could be felt, and a new factory was planned in the port of Raqam with the consent of the local king. Added to this was the action of four ‘galiotas apataxadas’, which, in 1620, had arrived there to set down roots for the Dutch and prevent Portuguese trade. The attacks against the fortresses of Mozambique and Malacca and attempts to make the local potentates allies were the main evidence of their intention to control the whole of India. All these conquests were the result of a lack of aid from Portugal. Meanwhile, according to André Coelho, they are very inferior in bravery to our nation and very low and humble, without any bravery, and almost all are the same as has been seen in the Moluccas islands, they do not wish to understand and attack the fortresses that Your Majesty has on these islands unless they are close to them, and there are many other frontier fortresses with many people, naus and armadas that are so large that they almost look as though they are sailing on the sea.21

More recently, the Dutch rebels had started to associate with the English, and the Danes had demonstrated their interest in taking over Ceylon. Since the Danes were already allies of the Nayque of Tanjaor they were creating a situation that threatened the Portuguese in Jaffnapatnam, and there was the fact that the governor, Fernão de Albuquerque, had not wanted to ask for help. Not only the king but also the Pope must have been advised of this situation given the threat to the religion by the concentration of such wealth in the hands of the rebels. From a strategic point of view, the solutions suggested for each of the areas were different. Above all, the Dutch route from Singapore via Makassar and Borneo to Malacca,

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Manila, Amboina and Banda had to be taken into account as well as how they could be encircled to give up some of their fortresses in the southern archipelago. The fortress at Amboina, situated between Malacca and Banda, was considered the best of all those that the Dutch had in the archipelago, having good fortifications with its stores of gunpowder and munitions and with forty pieces of artillery ‘all of pure bronze and valuable’. Coelho advised the future armada to disembark along the west coast, where there were ‘many places that are very friendly to the Portuguese who continue today their war with these rebels without giving in to them’. The same could not be said of the Dutch fortresses in the Banda islands.22 One of the reasons that determined who should govern the seas or the islands lay in the fact that the natives did not produce their own food, which had to come from outside. As to the four fortresses on the island of Ternate, the main one of which was Malaio, these too could overtaken by hunger. Of the two fortresses held by the enemy in Tidor, the main one was Mariequo and was considered to be large and strong. Equally, according to the opinion of the natives, it was felt that only the island of Varenula produced 2700 bares of cloves. To rid the coast of Coromandel and Pulicat of the enemy, the Portuguese felt necessary to control the xaja plant trade leaving the ports of Mannar and Jaffnapatnam so that it could go on to Meliapore. The black population and the Portuguese who waylaid the trade along this route were threatened with being sent to the galleys. These measures took into account the fact that xaja found in other places, particularly in Masulipatnam, did not have the quality necessary to dye clothes, which had great value in the southern archipelago. Prevention of Dutch trade, particularly in Java, was an important coup. The fortress of Pulicat, which the rebels kept for trade in quality clothing, could become a problem, since the natives and local Nayques were moved mostly by commercial interests. However, the largest number of hostages possible had to be taken to occupy the fortress with men and artillery. Once things had been settled it would be necessary to control the xaja trade and eight rowing galiotas in order to take the ships that sailed with Dutch licences from the coast of Masulipatnam to Pegu, Bengal and Tenasserim. Thus four galiotas were to be posted at the bar of Tenasserim and another four at the bar of the ports of the kingdom of Pegu. It was foreseen that the rewards arising from this plan would be many and enormously valuable and once they had met up in October they should return to Malacca. From Malacca, they were to sail to the coast of Tenasserim at the end of December so that in the second half of January they would cross to Masulipatnam,

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burning all the ships, naus and Moorish and Dutch boats in the bay as they are usually not prepared and after this they will hurry along the coast to São Tomé and cause the same destruction in the bar of Palicat, not leaving any naus or other form of ship, firing on and burning everything and from here the armada can go to Ceylon and await our fleet from the south, Malacca and Bengal and safely go with it to Goa.23

According to Captain André Coelho, the increase in wealth of the State of India based on these gains would equal those achieved in the strait of Mecca. Equally, as far as the natives were concerned, the Dutch could not assure sufficient security and so they would be excluded from Pulicat. The war methods used should produce the effect of ‘terrifying them so much that the inhabitants will not agree with them or allow them to use any port of the many there are as far as Masulapatão although some of the Naiques are very interested and want to let them in and to enjoy their land’. On this strategy, it was suggested that certain individuals from Goa should arm seven or eight large galiotas that could be rowed at certain times. Their captains should be married men, brave and experienced, and their soldiers would be sheltered with a house, wife and family and could be selected from the many who lived in Nossa Senhora da Luz, São Pedro, Nossa Senhora do Monte and similar places. The galiotas would go to the strait of Mecca to await the ships coming from Quedar, Achem, Pegu, Tenasserim, Masulipatnam and Bengal and also Mangalore and the coast of India, some sailing without licences and others with Dutch licences. The galiotas could return with the takings via Muscat in order to pay the soldiers and supply themselves with arms that would be of help in the Strait of Hormuz. The objective was to cause a ‘very great war to all the natives who have sheltered the Dutch in their ports or traded with them’. For this reason, a rowed armada was also proposed to secure the Strait of Malacca and all the ships coming from China, Malacca, Manila, Borneo, Makassar, Siam, Cambodia and Patane were to return to that port. Once it had freed the strait of enemy ships, six or seven ships of the armada would go to the Sunda Islands – eighteen or twenty leagues away – in order to meet up with ‘twenty fishing boats loaded with many riches’ that travelled there when trading with the Dutch. They would fight them as much as possible and prevent the Dutch from continuing this trade. It should, however, be noted that the main intention was to prevent the clothing trade from Coromandel and Surat. With the objective of waging total war against the Dutch, they would also attack all the natives who had traded or been friendly with them. Finally, André Coelho recommended that the soldiers should remain on board for the greater part of the time,

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‘since soldiers who are idle on land are of no use and instead would cause trouble in the fortress and its neighbours and thus we would avoid fighting and other great scandals that would cause harm to Your Majesty’s vassals with their presence’.24

Political Participation and Recommendations The broadening of political participation revealed by recommendations influenced the old categories of topics – specifically of arms and letters – to be found within a humanist ideal. Clearly, both Diogo do Couto and João Ribeiro – the latter of whom wrote more specifically on Ceylon in the second part of the seventeenth century – continued to turn to the old topics to make known and justify their criticisms and imperial projects. One can add to this the innovative discursive forms of writing that appear alongside more traditional elements in requests for honours, in a logic of dissemination which the Ancien Regime would retain. What is certain is that the emergence of a literature of recommendations and policies pointed to the modernization of structures of state and empire even when this process translated into ideas of reform, restoration or a return to a political order that was seen as being older. Simultaneously, works that were dedicated to recommendations could not be reduced to a specific style of writing. This was the case with the famous scribe of the factory of Cochin, Francisco da Costa, regarding the officials specializing in matters of the treasury, or in a more radical form with Duarte Gomes Solis in relation to the new Christian merchants, whose practical knowledge was to be felt on a global scale. For this, work that is based on institutional structures such as the courts, the tribunals or mandates for representation granted by the town councils had to accommodate more personalized forms of writing that is reflected in recommendations and advice. The final decades of the sixteenth century to the middle of the seventeenth saw the emergence of a foreign literature on the Portuguese east. This literature achieved wide circulation and reached the level of printed books; its wide-ranging but to a good degree repetitive character was in part only achieved by the correspondence of the Jesuits, who were involved in a network of communication centred on Rome. Indeed, from Linschoten to Dellon we come across a series of reports of voyages among which Fernão Mendes Pinto’s Peregrinação belongs – the first edition of which, in 1614, was followed by numerous translations across Europe – reflecting to a large degree the so-called decadence of the Portuguese Empire and constructing a type of Black Legend. The topics of corruption, intolerance, warrior mentality and the inability to

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organize rationally the capitalist exploitation that the nations further north in Europe had managed in the orient were here explored for the first time. More complicated is understanding how this literature, with its undignified criticisms of the Portuguese Empire, finds a type of response in the multitude of analyses and suggestions regarding the reformation of the empire that is in the literature of advice and recommendations. At the same time, a response to the Black Legend is found in the large international circulation of Jesuitical writings describing other civilizations, without overlooking the edifying character of their efforts at conversion and their mission, for which it was necessary to suffer martyrdom. It was also at this time that a more systematic effort to follow the proposals made by Schumpeter and Magalhães Godinho was being made, with the intention of thinking not only of the economy and its autonomous sphere but also politics. This scheme of autonomy corresponds above all to the separation of religion from morals, a rupture started at the beginning of the sixteenth century by Machiavelli. At the end of the sixteenth century, Giovanni Botero collected a group of Machiavelli’s ideas for use in Catholic Europe, while not disregarding the specific reference to the missions inspired by the ideals of Trent and made possible through the Portuguese expansion in the east. For Machiavelli the example of Rome and its expansion, precedes and surpasses the experience of the Portuguese and Spanish empires. For Machiavelli, it is not so much about knowing how to conquer or expand a political unit but how to preserve the empire and colonies. It is from this that Botero reflects on the continuous or discontinuous structure of the empires, comparing their advantages and using the case of the Spanish and Portuguese Empire, respectively, and the role played by cities and fortresses. Botero does not hide his reserve regarding the retention of empires – to a large extent inspiring those making recommendations who are also critical of the empires but at the same time supportive of the existence of averagesized states. But the idea that should be retained at this moment relates to the creation, in part by Botero, of publications on empires, which supposes a comparative history of these empires, which from then on became the subject of numerous reuses and reconstructions.25 From Charles Davenant in the second half of the seventeenth century to the end of the nineteenth, to Leroy-Beaulieu, Ippolito Santangelo Spoto, Oliveira Martins and Cristóvão Pinto, without forgetting more recently Fieldhouse and Wallerstein, there are publications and comparisons relating to the empires that transcend to a large extent the mere designation of a network. This does not take into account the framework of the Portuguese presence in the east, at least if one wishes to analyse

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an imperial structure through the categories used in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is within this ambit that the Thesaurus Políticus, a work in two volumes attributed to Philippus Honorius (1617–1618) takes its entire meaning. This is a large miscellany of discourses of a political nature that correspond to a broadening or a rupture with more traditional methods of considering politics. The objective of discussing Machiavelli (without, however, moving from the terms used by him) that follows a line of thought to Botero appears as a constant. One of the chapters comprises a short ‘treatise on the several opinions regarding the use of fortresses or the introduction of colonization, or the retention of armies to control the States’. In this, it is explained that firstly the Greeks, then the Romans, used the system of colonization to retain their rule over the conquered populace. However, there were two problems with this system: in handing out land to those who are not indigenous, those that are indigenous cultivate a feeling of resentment against the prince who owns the land. The other problem is that the men transferred to newly conquered territories become accustomed to it – in Latin, acquistam, in the Italian translation, accomodano – and end up preferring the country that has been colonized to their homeland. The Portuguese, in order to secure their rule of India, sought to avoid these problems by practising a method of colonization that was far more secure and bearable. Firstly, they transferred some contingents little by little, according to the needs of populating the new countries that had recently been discovered – that is, they did not populate the colonies entirely but constructed them progressively. Goa was the best supplied of all the colonies that they established. There the Portuguese developed relationships with the indigenous population and lived together with them as best they could, and through this friendship they could avoid the use of violence. Each year, they reinforced this form of colonization among the peoples so that they were submissive. Praise for this Portuguese manner of forming colonies was justified because of the tolerance and security to be found there. But the text continues by referring to the fact that the Castilians had done the same thing in the West Indies, with some not happy with the establishment of colonies alone but had sought to convert the Indians to Catholicism, a task for which they counted most of all on the support of the Jesuits. Besides the colonies, the second form of retaining conquered territories lay in the foundation of fortresses, which Machiavelli considered to be useless. This was because for him the prince could occupy a country with an army, making fortresses pointless. However, according to the author, this was a rationale based upon extremes and did not take into account the moderation and equilibrium of a central position. The third method of

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retaining the conquered territories lay in the presence of an army, which the mamelucos did and, at the time, the Turks. Finally, the text discusses the best instruments for the retention of a state – fortresses or armies – concluding with the argument that fortresses, contrary to armies, did not oppress populations. Thus citadels were far more bearable than armies, in spite of the fact that the latter are more necessary than the former at moments of conquest. This form of publication that covered colonies (with emphasis on the idealized instance of a colonial territory such as Goa and fortresses and armies) should be linked with another group of intentions on viewing the framework of the Portuguese presence in the east. On this, I refer to the relationship between the rule of the seas and that of the land, conceived by the military treatises throughout the sixteenth century and easily recognized in Arte Militar by Luís Mendes de Vasconcelos (Lisbon, 1612). The strategic option attributed to D. Francisco de Almeida regarding the rule of the seas, raising it in importance above the rule of the land, received great support from Severim de Faria and careful study by António Sérgio. I should like to recall this same theme by using the work of Duarte Gomes Solis. For him – an enormously knowledgeable man on traffic not only between Europe and India known as the India Route, but also trade within the Indies, while the conquest had been achieved by arms, the retention of the dominion had been achieved through the control of the maritime routes and commercial exploitation. From Ropica Pneufma to Euphrosyne, it is possible to find allusions to trade and the control of the seas stated within the same terms. However, what Gomes Solis appears to introduce once again is an analysis of economic and financial mechanisms, which in the opinion of some members of the councils of Madrid, who had access to his advice, did not always appear easy to follow. It is, however, possible to reconstruct, beyond the differences of trade routes and traffic with particular recognition of the importance assumed by trade within the Indies, a clear notion of the value granted to pepper and other spices, textiles and precious stones and metals. An understanding of a hierarchy of products, values and transactions leading to a system of monetary and financial mechanisms, confirms and at the same time precedes contemporaneous analyses of the development of capitalism by Braudel, Godinho and Gentil da Silva. For the moment, it is necessary to interpret a fact of another nature to which Gomes Solis calls our attention in his Discursos, printed in 1622. In a discussion on the best form of administrating the presumed monopoly of Portuguese trade in the east, the author clearly defends a system of contracts. Why? Due to the ineptitude of the officials, whose duty was royal administration, the experience of merchants – and the

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infiltration of Jews and new Christians – was key to creating a system of credit on a global scale. Gomes Solis advocated that the retention of new Christians and Jews was the only way to stop them using their enormous resources to assist the Dutch expansion in the east, with whom they had already managed to attract assistance and collaboration with the Asiatic merchants, particularly through access to silver. For Duarte Gomes Solis, the appropriation or, at least, the infiltration of institutions of the state and the empire by a group that possessed the necessary means, experience and financial instruments was the sole form of guaranteeing the retention of these institutions. I believe that this is an excellent point of departure for further studies concerning a social history of the institutions of the State of India, which has been well investigated in the study undertaken by Boyajin on the new Christian families who successfully controlled the economy of the State of India between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. With all the weight and formality that one can attribute to these institutions of the Ancien Regime, it would be hard to invest in them social and economic control that does not leave a wide margin for corrupt practices, contraband, heterodoxy and what we would nowadays call circles of parallel economy. On this, much has been said in studies by Boxer of the Portuguese, who settled abroad by using the frontiers of the State of India in the service of other princes and creating business opportunities, without counting on any form of institutional support. The numbers of Portuguese who were integrated through institutional structures and those who did not report to them are impressive, in 1600 being 10,000 and 5,000 respectively. However, it is also necessary to recognize that other groups existed that make one question the institutions that formed the State of India. I would risk saying that while the business of married men has implications on a micro-economic scale, it is also important to mention the groups that influenced the macro-economic orientations of the State of India. Gomes Solis’s Discursos, when insisting on the importance of credit on a global scale, shows us clearly the way in which the history of empires is becomes confused with the history of different modes of globalization. Another line of investigation that brings us to the vocabulary of the age under investigation relates to another topic where one finds again Machiavellian connotations. I refer here to the uses of religion as an instrumentum regni, which naturally depended on the motivation and devotion of so many missionaries. I cannot develop further a topic on which authors such as Severim de Faria have already left us important critical perspectives. It is only through an unhurried study of the categories that created comparisons between the various imperial

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configurations – many of which were created as a result of Dutch and English objectives of propaganda intended to produce a war of pamphlets – that it would be possible to detect similarities and differences existing among imperial structures and visions. Finally, it is necessary to recognize the risk of Eurocentrism present in my work. However, in using a large number of discourses that are fundamentally European in nature, it obliges one to see them in their context of production and to reconstruct their inclusion in a history of social types and circles that give them meaning. The case of the literature of recommendations and advice of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries served thus as the starting point for a return to studying categories of the time. It was possible to find in this type of political literature some examples of analyses and projects relating to the Portuguese colonial empire. I would emphasize that while the views we find in works like the Thesaurus politicus and Discursos sobre los comercios are partial they reach a degree of generalization that allows us to understand better the framework of the presence of the Portuguese in the east. On the one hand, we find the existence of a series of cities and fortresses connected by the sea. The State of India is thus seen through this specific foundation and method of retention of the colonies. On the other hand, in order for control to be maintained, groups of merchants were the only ones capable of confronting the threats created by the arrival of other European empires in the east. There is a tension to be found between the most institutionalized structures of the Portuguese colonial empire, such as the cities and fortresses, and social forces that infiltrate, interlink but at other times are marginalized or excluded from these structures (supported as they were within their own networks). The adoption of cities and fortresses as descriptive units of the State of India, as by António Bocarro in his book of 1635, is a point of view I consider as basic to the development of future investigations of the Portuguese empire. For this reason, it is odd that the Dicionário de História dos Descobrimentos that resulted from the collaboration of a group of authors under the direction of Luís de Albuquerque has no entry regarding cities or fortresses. Equally strange is the fact that from Jean Aubin’s studies, and those of his students, there is a tendency to consider social groups in the State of India either in terms of factions (a magic word that when we remove the dynamic of class has the objective of arguing with the supposed supporters of Marxist ideas) or in terms of deportees or renegades without ever having sought to understand the complex contest between institutions and groups.

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Notes  1.  2.  3.  4.  5.  6.  7.  8.

 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.


17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Rego, Documentação ultramarina portuguesa, vol. III (1963), 293–361. Ibid., 303. Ibid., 336. Ibid., 303. Ibid., 303. Ibid., 349. Ibid., 296, 353. BPE, Manizola, cód. 29: M. Barradas, Tratado dos Deuses Gentílicos de Todo o Orente e dos Ritos e Cerimónias que Usam os Malabares, 1618, see F. Rodrigues, Brotéria, vol. XVIII (1934), 39–44; compare with BPE, Manizola, cód. 594, no. 6: Philosophia Secreta da Gentilidade; F. Hernandez, Antiguedades de la Nueva España, chap. XVII, 52–54: ‘De la sepultura de los reyes mexicanos’; Herrera Maldonado, Epitome Historial del Reyno de China. Muerte de su Reyna, Madre deste Rey que Oy Viue, que Sucedió a Treinta de Março, del Año de Mil y Seiscientos e Diez y Siete. Sacrificios y Ceremonias de su Entierro. Con la Descripcion de Aquel Imperio (the author is the translator of Fernão Mendes Pinto into Castilian, including in the version of Peregrinação some funeral ceremonies not included in the Portuguese version); see, also, CODOIN, vol. LIII. Rego, Documentação ultramarina portuguesa, vol. III, 363–72. Ibid., 373–79. Ibid., 321, 334–25. Ibid., 313–342. Ibid., 319. Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, vol. III (1982), 53–69. ‘Treslado de unas Advertencias que Dio Jacques de Coutto al Conde de Liñares, Virrey que en este Año de 1629 Fue para la Yndia’, in Coutre, Andanzas asiáticas, 434, see, on the same theme, Disney, ‘Smugglers and Smuggling in the Western Half of the Estado da Índia in the Early Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, 59; Lobato, Política e Comércio dos Portugueses na Insulíndia: Malaca e as Molucas de 1575 a 1605, 235–39; Tavim, ‘A Cidade Portuguesa de Santa Cruz de Cochim ou Cochim de Baixo. Algumas Perspectivas’, 152–53. BNP, COD. 638 – André Coelho, Relação de muita himportançia que trata das fortalezas, prisidios, e feitorias que o hinimigo olandes tem nestas partes da India … (eighteenth-century copy), fl. 2v: ‘o anno paçado de 620’ (last year, 620); fl. 4v: ‘perda de Urmuz, e os mais prizidios daquelle estreito que por falta de socorros conuinientes se perderão’ (loss of Hormuz and the most prized of that strait for lack of proper aid they will be lost); fl. 5v: ‘o anno paçado de 620’ (last year, 620); fl. 18: ‘setas peçoas desta cidade’ (seven people of this city); fl. 18: ‘em Goa dos muitos que viuem a Nossa Sõra da Lus, Sam Pedro, Nossa Sõra do Monte’ (in Goa of the many who live in Our Lady of Light, St Peter, Our Lady of the Mount). Ibid., fl. 3v. Shirodkar, ‘Portugal in the Far East: Trade Strategy in the 17th century’, 365. BNP, COD. 638 – André Coelho, Relação, fl. 4. Ibid., fl. 4v. Ibid., fl. 6. Ibid., fl. 10.

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23. Ibid., fl. 17. 24. Ibid., fl. 19v. 25. Manuel Severim de Faria echoes Botero’s ideas, particularly on printing in the Portuguese empire, see Notícias de Portugal, first discourse, paragraph 3, p. 20 of this edition.

Chapter 9

Forms of Christianity in the East


Besides the competition between the various European nations, the framework of the various experiences in the east had to concede a broad space to the communication channels of the Jesuits. The Portuguese Jesuits dominated the Society of Jesus, as Donald Lach has suggested,1 and one cannot overstate the need to analyse their texts within an international context. Numerous exchanges between Portuguese and other languages such as Latin, Castilian and Italian, have been recorded, as illustrated in the methodical catalogue by P. Pedro Ribadeneyra, Illustrium Scriptorum Religionis Societatis Iesu Catalogus (1608). One of the most comprehensive studies of Portuguese exploits can be found in a book of more than 900 pages by the Jesuit Giovan Pietro Maffei, Le Istorie dell Indie Orientali, the first edition of which was published in Florence in 1589 (following the Latin edition, Historiarum Indicarum Liber Duodecimus, 1588). The exploits of Spanish Jesuits are the main subject of P. José de Acosta in his Historia natural y moral de las Indias (1590), in which he explores the geography, religion, forms of communication and social and political organization of the Mexican people with whom the Spanish had come into contact. By comparing Maffei and Acosta, it is possible to find a tension between historiographic projects relating to both propaganda and edifying acts and the ethnographic attention to cultures and systems of local beliefs. The main channel of communication and propaganda used by the Jesuits was in the form of letters and their diffusion in manuscripts regarding histories and hagiographies.2 The latter of these centred on

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the life and origins of the missionaries, such as Francis Xavier, Italians Alessandro Valignano and Orazio Torsellini and the Portuguese Manuel da Costa, Manuel Teixeira and João de Lucena with his História da vida do P. Francisco Xavier (Lisbon, 1600). The publishing initiatives that culminated with the canonization of Francis Xavier in 1622 include Peregrinação, by Fernão Mendes Pinto, the first edition of which appeared in 1614 and which contained broad references to the activities of the Jesuits, and the evaluation of the activities of the Dominicans in Japan by Lope de Vega.3 In Castilian there are two volumes of the Historia de las Missiones que han hecho los religiosos da le Companñia de Jesus … em la India Oriental, y en los Reynos de la China y Japon by P. Luís de Gusmán (1601) that were continued in Portuguese with the large annual reports compiled by P. Fernão Guerreiro (vol. I, Évora, 1603; vols II–V, Lisbon, 1605, 1607, 1609, 1611). In turn, these were translated by Cristóval Suárez de Figueroa in a version presented as ‘sacada, limada, y compuesta de Portugues en Castellano’4 (drawn up, edited and published by Portuguese in Castilian). For Guzmán and Guerreiro, the printed book served the interests of propaganda of the Society of Jesus, and the same was the case in France with the work by the Jesuit Pierre du Jarric (1608–1614).5 As Guerreiro indicates in the preface to the first volume of his reports, it was important to state the advances of Christianity, and ‘news of the qualities of the lands, peoples and individuals’ should be part of this edifying proposal. For example, when he describes the territory of Salcete when speaking of Goa, we find thirteen churches where about 33,000 Christians would meet, the hope being for an even greater number. Recorded in 1600, the responsibility for the success of the church is attributed to a catechism drawn up by the priests in dialogue form that the children, particularly, knew by heart: ‘and there are some so small that they cannot say anything else except their doctrine and the questions that they hear from the older ones’.6 Father Sebastião Gonçalves lived in India for twenty-five years (1594–1619) and in part produced the plan of writing a history of the Jesuit missions in the east from 1542 to 1605, including the mission in east Africa (Mozambique and Ethiopia), Mesopotamia, Hormuz, Persia, Socotra, India, Ceylon, Malacca, Moluccas, China and Japan. It should be noted that this work, which was planned as a general history of the missions, dedicates the first five books to the life of Francis Xavier, together with a series of biographies that were intended to promote his canonization. The remaining books so far known of, which form the first part of the work, written in Goa and sent in manuscript to Lisbon and Rome around 1615, concentrate on the missionary actions and organization of the various provinces from 1542 to 1570, with the emphasis

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on the arduous labours and the martyrdoms suffered by the Jesuits. The second part, of which we know the outline, but which unfortunately it has not yet been possible to find, deals with the history of São Tomé and the Christian communities along the coast of Coromandel, the activities of Father Ricci in China and the voyage to Portugal and Rome of the Japanese princes (on which Buxeda de Leyva also left an important book in Castilian), of the attempts at missions in Japan and the resistance by the local political structures around 1600. In this most informative work that acts as a form of propaganda for the Jesuits, it is in the ninth book of the first part that the author most nearly approaches a compendium of the uses, customs and social organization of the Canarims and Brahmins of Goa.7 However, this interest, that today we would call ethnographic, occupies a very restricted place and is immediately followed by a description of the forms and instruments used for conversion. The chapter dedicated to the foundation of the college at Salcete and to the ‘manner in which we cultivate Christians’ serves as an example of this aspect and can be compared with the information given by Father Fernão Guerreiro referred to earlier: In all the churches there is a school for reading and writing and counting. They learn the doctrine of Marcos Jorge which is adapted to the ability of the pupils, translated into Canarim, and they discuss this in the churches during the hurricane season. The children who live near to the churches go every day in the morning to doctrine and those who live far away meet in the sheds that have been built for this in the villages. In some churches there are pictures that teach the ignorant the mysteries of our holy faith, for the images are books from which the people learn.8

Among the Jesuits who wrote in India, one must consider Father Manuel Barradas, who arrived at only nineteen. He remained there from 1591 to 1646. His vast bibliography, like many of the Jesuit writings, was little circulated in print. The manuscript report of the miracles performed by Francis Xavier, of which he wrote, and which was finished in Cochin in 1617, was an integral part, intended to prove the sanctity of the Jesuit missionary. It is an enquiry based upon a hearing of witnesses in Cochin and Malacca, whose style was common in the processes of canonization and which was intended to prove the veracity of miracles.9 Besides the annual letters from the provinces in Malabar of 1613, 1615–17 and 1619 and other works, Father Barradas is the author of a Tratado dos deuses gentilicos de todo o Oriente e dos Ritos e cerimonias que usam os Malabares (1618).10 This work, which was regularly referred to within the Society of Jesus, is an adaptation of the Livro da seita dos índios orientais, written in 1608 by Father Jácome Fenício, and also includes some additions

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from the Historia do Malavar by Father Diogo Gonçalves.11 During the same period, it is possible to document the fashion of these compilations regarding the systems of belief among the Indians. Some reports of the customs ‘of the gentiles of east India’ from the beginning of the seventeenth century are known of, probably accompanied by engravings of Indian idols.12 The interest in systems of beliefs lay most of all in describing the reading that some Brahmin castes made of other Hindu castes for, as Father Gonçalo Fernandes Trancoso suggests in his Tratado sobre o Hinduísmo, written in Maduré in about 1616, ‘most of the people are judged to be incapable of deserving anything, or of anything by which they can achieve glory’.13 In the eyes of the Society, by emphasizing the Brahmins these works on Hinduism served the more general schemes of adaptation to the local uses for achieving conversion. Thus when in 1619 the archbishop of Goa, Brother Cristóvao de Sá, called together two groups of theologians and those versed in the canons to ascertain whether the line of the Brahmins was superstitious, only a few Jesuits disagreed. The Jesuits argued for a respect for local customs, but the Archbishop and other orders were averse to what they considered to be superstitions of the castes.14 In this sequence, the translation by Father Francisco Garcia of the histories of the king of ‘32 perfections’, produced in Goa or within its boundaries between 1610 and 1633, is presented as a model for the education of the princes and fidelity within the family and also shows how the Brahmins ensured that they were respected, even by the kings.15 Manuscript versions of translated KonKani prose and of the Sanskrit poems Ramayana and Mahabharata, written in Roman script with annotations in Latin and Portuguese, belong in this framework, dating from the end of the sixteenth century.16 Finally, one must note the translations of Father Thomas Stephens, Doutrina Christam em Lingoa Bramana Canarim published in Rachol (1632); by Father Diogo Ribeiro, Declaraçam de doutrina christam collegida do cardinal Roberto Belarmino da Cõpanhia de Iesu e outros autores composta em lingoa Bramana vulgar also published in Rachol (1632); by Father Estêvão da Cruz, in his Discursos sobre a vida do apostolo S. Pedro em que se refutão os principaes errors do oriente, compostos em verso, em lengua bramana published in Goa (1634); by Father João de Pedrosa, Soliloquios divinos compostos pelo P. Bernardino de Vilhegas, da Companhia de Jesus … traduzidos da lingua bramana (1640); and even the Arte da Lingoa Canarim published in Rachol (1640) by Father Stephens, with additions by Father Ribeiro, as indications of the Jesuit interest in the conversion of the Brahmins.17 In spite of the fact that one detects a general orientation, the ideology of the Jesuits regarding adaptation to local customs varied from author to author and thus from reader to reader. Father Trancoso, in his Tratado,

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written for the information of his superiors, limits himself to describing the Brahmins and Hinduism, while retaining some valuable judgements in order to respond to some of the suggestions made by Father Roberto da Nobili. In this, after comparing the Brahmins of the ‘gentile republic’ with the priests of the ‘Christian republic’, the Jesuit talks of the ‘absurdities’, the ‘indecencies’ and the ‘lies’ of the Hindu doctrines.18 The Tratado by Father Manuel Barradas, dedicated to the king, starts by presenting various valuable judgements on the creeds he describes. This was a book that Jácome Fenício of our Society wrote. He is most virtuous having been a Christian among gentiles for more than 30 years. And it is about the gods of these gentiles, especially the Malabares and their rites and ceremonies and he could write it well since he has much knowledge of the language and letters of the Malabares that he knows well and in which he has an excellent vocabulary. So, helped by the work of many Brahmins and other gentiles and his books he put in order their disorganized lies so that one can see them and he argued against them intelligently with saints and reasoning of which these barbarians have little. This book is divided into eight parts on each subject, which I have restructured into five that accompany this. Four have been added in which he talked of the god Visna. I have restructured the history because I did not get involved in the arguments in order to have less work and to save time as these matters are clearly related and there is no need for them and any Christian with the caring reason of the faith can contradict them. I would add that all this was the invention of the devil and it is the same stupidity to which these oriental gentiles are subject by necessity and have created fables on this; and since we have to deal with them at times the unclean words cannot be excused however much they would like to accept them in dishonest matters which has caused me some trouble if I am to continue with the work …. Secondly it seemed right to advise that in the last book of the history by Father Jácome Fenício I added some things from the other text that Father Diogo Gonçalves, also of the Society and 25 years a Christian wrote and told me; and some others that I know and knew for certain; and if I am not mistaken I am sure that they are beyond the scope of this history.19

This tradition of the Jesuit works regarding Hindu customs and rites, although related to the construction of missionary methods founded on the knowledge of the local customs and an adaptation to these, cannot be said to label such rites as a form of religious waywardness in the manner of a scientific and objective perception of Indian culture later formed by the Dutch. The vitality of Hindu customs and rites would continue to manifest in the works of other Jesuits such as Father Athanasius Kircher, who included long tracts on Hinduism in his China monumentis,

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qua sacris qua profanes, nec non variis naturae et artis spectaculis, aliarum que rerum memorabilium argumentis illustrate (1667).20 Likewise, tracts by Father Fenício are published in Dutch in a work in which there are several plagiarisms, as can be seen in the reports of the voyage to Malabar and Coromandel by Baldeus, also published in Amsterdam in 1672. It is in this same context that the work of the Dutch missionary Abraham Rogerius, who lived for about ten years on the coast of Coromandel was published posthumously, this being De Open Deure tot het verborgen heydendom (1663), translated into French as Le theatre de l’idolatrie ou La porte ouverte, pour parvenir à la cogmoissance du paganisme cache, et la vraye representation de la vie, dxes moeurs, de la religion & du service divin des Bramines, qui demeurent sur les costes de Chormandel, & aux pay circonvoisins (1670).21 His principal informant, as he himself says, was a Brahmin who had fled from Goa with whom he communicated in Portuguese texts translated from Sanskrit.22 At the order of the bishop of Coimbra, D. João Soares, the Cartas que os Padres e irmãos da Companhia de Jesus, que andão nos Reynos de Iapão escreverão aos da mesma Companhia da India, e Europa desdo o anno de 1549 até o de 66 (1570) was published, followed by another compilation in Castilian published in Alcalá five years later, and later still the Cartas que os padres e Irmãos da Companhia de Jesus escreverão dos Reynos de Iapão e China aos da mesma Companhia da India e Europa (1598), published at the order of the Archbishop Teotónio de Bragança. This is a large volume that has a second part dedicated exclusively to Japan, including in it correspondence between 1549 and 1589. Examples of letters relating to the east, in particular to Japan, are given by Father Luís Fróis, whose correspondence between 1557 and 1605 was circulated throughout Europe in more than sixty printed editions, as was work by Father João Rodrigues Girão.23 Besides many varied letters, there is also the enormous História de Japam written by Father Luís Fróis in manuscript form. He had left Lisbon for Goa at the age of sixteen and arrived there in 1548, reaching Japan in 1563, where he died in 1597. The reason for the origins of this work lies primarily in a request by Father Maffei, who in 1579 was in Portugal looking for material for his work.24 This type of collaboration was common among the Jesuits, and the first part of the work was finished in 1586. That the work remained in manuscript, in spite of being ready for publication, must be attributed to Father Alessandro Valignano, the Provincial Visitor of India, who believing that the work was too long did not send it to Lisbon or Rome.25 In 1601, he reproduced a História del principio y progresso de la Compañia de Jesús en las Indias Orientales, covering the years from 1542 to 1570. As the Jesuit historian Father José Wicki said, ‘one does not note a direct

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dependence on Fróis, although Valignano knew and had read at least a part of his work’.26 Regarding the content of the História de Japam, it is organized into annals of the progress of the Jesuit missions from the arrival of Francis Xavier in 1549 until 1594. For the beginning of this history, the Jesuits planned to present a treatise, of which one version is known, on the climate of the land, the qualities, nature and customs of the Pananese, of the creed and veneration of their idols, since their matters are in so many ways different from ours and so foreign to and distant from the customs and behaviour in Europe that it is hard to form a concept of these without first having a broad narrative in order to have a clearer view of them.27

Like Father Luís Fróis, Father João Rodrigues, following a usual practice in the Society of Jesus, left Portugal when he was only sixteen years old and was in Japan in 1577. In the thirty-three years he lived there, he only left once for a brief visit to Macau in 1596. Father Michael Cooper has written an excellent biography on him. After his arrival in Nagasaki, it is assumed that he lived much like the merchants who had come from Macau or, more probably, that he lived among the Jesuits. It was in that year of the arrival of the young Rodrigues that Father Organtino recognized that, in comparison with the Japanese, ‘siamo barbarissimi’28 (we are barbarians). The recognition of European inferiority in relation to the oriental civilizations, particularly with regard to China and Japan, would have been the cause of many Jesuit initiatives to adopt local rites and customs. The Provincial Visitor Alessandro Valignano was a great admirer of these initiatives, as was Mateo Ricci, who adopted the same initiatives in China. On his three visits to Japan, the first being in 1579, Valignano insisted on the need for the Jesuits to study and speak Japanese, to adapt to the local customs in their daily lives and understand the rules of court etiquette.29 These orders contradicted those of Father Francisco Cabral, who from 1570 was Superior of the Province of Japan. In his opinion, it was more important to establish a college to train local interpreters, since he considered it impossible for the Europeans to learn Japanese, and besides this, he had no appreciation for the local culture and did not favour the creation of a local clergy.30 In 1580, the entrance of João Rodrigues into the novitiate of the Society signalled a victory for the ideas of Valignano over those of Cabral, since of the twenty candidates only six or seven were Portuguese.31 Alongside this, the introduction of printing into Japan must be seen as one of the instruments of the missionary policy. According to

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Father Cooper, from the first of Valignano’s visits to Japan, thought was given to the use of printing for students. In 1587, an Italian priest who accompanied the Japanese legation on its return to Europe had learnt with a Portuguese Jesuit the art of printing while staying in Goa. The press and characters had been imported from Europe, and Valignano used it as soon as he arrived in Macau for the printing of two books for teaching Latin and Japanese. In 1588, the first book to be printed in Macau with moveable characters was published with the title Christiani Pueri Institutio by Father Juan Bonifácio.32 Two years later, a report in Latin on the Japanese legation in Europe appeared, and there is evidence that yet another book was published.33 In 1584 another Jesuit, the Italian Father Miguel Ruggieri, had a catechism in Chinese characters printed in Macau or Canton using an engraving process.34 After its arrival in Japan in 1590, and until its return to Macau in 1614, the press was used between 1591 and 1611 in Amakusa, Katsusa and most of all in Nagasaki. It was used to produce more than eighty books, such as a Japanese translation of Aesop, shortened versions of Japanese classics, partial translations by Brother Luís de Granada and the Imitatio Christi by Thomas à Kempis.35 Several linguistic works were published. In 1594, an abbreviated version adapted for use in Japan of De Institutione Grammatica36 by Father Manuel Álvares appeared. Valignano was also connected to the preparation of a Japanese dictionary, which was published in Amakusa in 1595: Dictionarium Latino Lusitanicum, ac Iaponicum ex Ambroossii Calepini volumine de promptum.37 In 1603–4, the Vocabulario da Lingoa de Iapam was also published, with the collaboration of Father João Rodrigues.38 At the time, the reputation of this Jesuit as an interpreter at court was well established and he had been in Nagasaki for the printing of his Arte de Lingua de Japam, which had been started in 1604 and finished only in 1608. In essence, this was an adaptation into Japanese of the principles of Latin grammar and the use of Portuguese and Latin as a basis for transcription of Japanese in the characters available. It is in the second part that Rodrigues distances himself from the principles of Father Alvares and becomes more original in the advice he gives to the newly arrived missionaries in Japan, who are interested in learning Japanese. It is also there that he notes some of the linguistic variations in Japan and even some principles of Japanese poetry. There were financial reasons for delaying the publication; Father Valignano indicates in a letter written from Macau in 1603 that it was necessary to economize by closing the college and stopping any print work.39 A version of Arte that was much revised was published in 1620, by which time Rodrigues was already in Macau.40

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When in 1615 Father Nicholas Trigault published a book entitled Rei christianae apud Japonios Commentarius in Augsburg, with the humility appropriate to introductions, he apologized as to the character of his work and recalled that another Jesuit was in Japan at the same time preparing a more complete history of Japan (the book De Christiana Expeditione apud Sinas, Augsburg, 1615, had eleven editions in the ten years following the first).41 Indeed, from 1613, Father Mateus de Couros had been charged with this task, but he refused to take it on since he was sick. In his place, after 1620, it was Father João Rodrigues, by then resident in Macau, who took on the work. Although he was conscious that since he had lived so many years outside Portugal his style might bore his readers, in 1622 he had created a description of Japan and a report of the first twenty years of the history of the mission (1549–1570), which he added to in about 1590. Why yet another history of the Jesuit mission in Japan? According to Father Rodrigues, the História by Father Fróis was incomplete at the time of his death in 1597, and in Europe many had hoped to realize the project, although without any direct knowledge of Japan; this included Father Valignano, who had visited Japan three times but did not speak Japanese. João Rodrigues felt himself competent to complete the work, but it was all the more necessary to call attention to the need for financial support from his superiors to support the mission. However, perhaps because to this day only a description and a report of the first three years of the mission are to be found (in which one senses again an interest in the life of Francis Xavier and the first Jesuits in Japan), Rodrigues does not manage to demonstrate his knowledge of the history of Japan and his ability as an eye witness.42 Thus, just as Father Gonçalves made use of the texts of João de Lucena, Rodrigues shows himself to be dependent upon both.43 In Portugal, and also in Italy, in the 1640s, we find a new proliferation of writings on Japan. With his broad experience in the mission in the Far East, Father António Cardim is the central figure in publicizing across Europe the fact of the martyrdoms suffered by themselves and other Christians in Japan. While it is possible to speak of the Christian Century in Japan, to use Charles Boxer’s perfect formula, and to document from the outset the resistance and prohibitions that the missionaries encountered, the events of 1639–1640, in particular the Ximbara Revolt and the execution of the ambassadors sent from Macau, mark the end of this period. In a work dedicated to John IV that is presented as a report on the State of the Province of Japan up to 1649, Father Cardim reviews the history of the Jesuit missions across the Far East from the arrival of Francis Xavier in Japan and clearly emphasizes the fact that there were always individual or general persecutions: ‘individuals, taken

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by the Tonos, the lords of Japan and Yacatar, gentile kings who can punish with the death penalty as absolute lords in their lands and kingdoms; others, taken by the emperors of all Japan who hate our holy Faith’.44 Cardim notes that the first martyrdoms began in 1557. Through a succession of martyrdoms and persecutions, the image of Christianity in Japan created by these and other Jesuits was that of a type of ideology or resistance against the powerful. A translator of Peregrinação by Mendes Pinto into Castilian, Francisco de Herrera Maldonado based his work on many of the Jesuits’ writings in order to produce his Epitome historial del Reyno de China (1620). The report of the voyage – departing from Manila and the shipwreck on the coast of China of Father Adriano de las Cortes – remained in manuscript form. Writing in Castilian about the events between 1625 and 1626, the Jesuit who accompanied one of many commercial expeditions between the Philippines and Macau was a prisoner for about a year and was finally released at the initiative of the Jesuits in Macau. His description of China was accompanied by drawings of a view of Macau with notes.45 The Portuguese Jesuit Álvaro Semêdo wrote a new work on China that was first printed in Castilian in a translation by Manuel de Faria e Sousa (Imperio de la China y cultura evangelica en el por los religiosos de la Campañia de Jesus, 1642), and this was followed by several translations in Italian (1643), French (1645) and English (1655). Ásia Extrema was produced in China by Father António de Gouvea, who knew the local languages and who in 1644 had had ten years’ missionary experience there. The Jesuit, who was an eyewitness, also used other sources such as annual letters, which were most of all his own and were printed by Father Semêdo as well as in Chinese chronicles and descriptions. In the prologue to his reader, he begins by stating that he purposefully produced the work in his mother tongue, which is Portuguese, which was a veiled criticism of those who used other languages to produce their written work, as was the case with Father Semêdo. He then presented the work of Christianity in China as exclusive to the Society, attributing to the Jesuits the same ability to ‘compose, in the Chinese language and letters, many and very erudite books that touch not only the creation of Christians but also European sciences, to the astonishment of the Chinese’.46 This evaluation of science as being equal to missionary aspects reflects a tradition started by Father Matteo Ricci of exchanges between the Jesuits and Chinese court circles. Indeed, the scientific curiosity of the Chinese for European knowledge had shown itself far more in the acceptance of the Jesuits than their missionary work.47 In the Jesuit writings, it is possible to identify other means of communication. Father António de Andrade, for example, in his Novo descobrimento da

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Gran Cathayo ou Reynos de Tibet (1626), which was widely known in Europe, describes alternatives to oral communication based upon the use of religious images, which he attempted to exchange in Tibet. Thus, Jesuit means of communication – usually leaning towards an adaptation of local customs – should be analysed based upon context. Ethiopia was another of the areas in which there was competition between various Jesuits. Father Pêro Pais was already working in Ethiopia in 1607, and two years later he sent a manuscript report of the arrival of the Jesuits in the region to his superiors. However, it was the publication of the Historia de la Sagrada Orden de Predicadores, en los remotos Reynos de la Etiopia (1611) by Brother Luís de Urreta, whose work was disputed by Father Nicolau Godinho in his book De Abassinorum Rebus (1611), that led the great speaker of the Abyssinians’ language to produce a large História da Etiópia, which he sent to Portugal in 1622.48 In 1628, Father Manuel da Veiga published a Relaçam geral do estado da Christandade de Ethiopia (Lisbon), while reports on the same era from the Jesuits Afonso Mendes and Manuel de Almeida remained in manuscript form.49 The intention to argue against Brother Luís de Arreta can also be found in the work of Father Manuel Barradas, who was in the area during the 1630s. His Tratados, which he completed in 1634, was sent to Severim de Faria a year later.50 Father Jerónimo Lobo S.J. also dedicated a large part of his Itinerário, about the return journey from Lisbon to Goa, to a description and history of Ethiopia. Having completed the manuscript relating to his voyages on the return to Lisbon in 1639–40, the question that arises is why the work was not printed. One reason was the disagreements that arose amongst his superiors regarding the work, not to mention the intrigue created around the publication of works on Ethiopia within the Society generally.51 It was necessary to wait until 1660 when Father Baltasar Teles’s lively work, Historia da Ethiopia, was printed in Coimbra. He was also the author of a Chronica da Companhia de Jesu, na Provincia de Portugal; e do que fizeram nas Conquistas deste Reyno (1645–1647). Father Jerónimo Lobo in his description of his arrival in Goa gives us one of the most curious reflections on the customs of the kingdom, presenting ideas that were totally contrary to the general spirit of adaptation to the local customs argued for by so many Jesuits. It is worth highlighting where the internal tensions of the Society occur but not only this: We went with our ship and that of the viceroy, who was also leaving. We all arrived at the beach that was covered with people coming to see, receive and please the people of the kingdom, which is what we call them

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in the first months after their arrival in India, while some remain longer and even their whole life according to the needs and events since among the Indians or those born in those parts or who have lived a long time in India even a novice should be called a person of the kingdom for they are judged to be very intelligent since there are so many here who do not turn to the arms and tricks of India, a place where malice prevents reason in the children and those who are older become much higher, or because of the air, the climate and the nature of the place they learn earlier and transmit these qualities or learn this impious doctrine from those born and educated there.52

With their books, letters and reports, the Jesuits, who were interested in publicizing their own works, belittled the work of other religious orders in the east. Ethiopia oriental (1609), by the Dominican João dos Santos, should be read in the context of the competition among the various religious orders interested in missions in East Africa, as should Relações Dominicos nas sumarias de alguns serviços que fizerão a Deos, & a ests reynos, os Religiosos Dominicos nas partes da India Oriental nestes annos proximos passados (1635). In the latter work, the Dominicans António da Encarnação and Miguel Rangel include some references to Solor and Timor.53 But one of the most explicit references to the conflicts found among the various religious orders can be found in the work of Brother Paulo da Trindade. Written between 1630 and 1636, his history of the Franciscan mission in India entitled Conquista Espiritual do Oriente, which remained in manuscript form in spite of the efforts of its author to see it published, is a response to the erroneous declarations of the Jesuit Maffei. As the Franciscan clearly says, his work was written ‘after I read a book that a certain author wrote in Italian and published in Rome in which, with no less temerity than bravery, he dared to state that the Franciscan friars in India did not work at creating Christians but only in burying the dead and singing Requiem masses’.54

Printing in the East The questions posed by the printing press in Goa are not in general different from those that can be applied to other colonial cities; all of them are found to be related to the difficulty in reconstructing today the actual printing movement given the precarious conditions of conservation and, in the greater number of the cases, the disappearance of books and any documentation regarding publication of books.55 The principal problem relates to the need to understand the extent of the use of printing presses

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in spreading missionary work and the ruptures created by a lack of paper, which was scarce and not easy to find.56 We know of at least forty books published in Goa between 1556 and 1674, as described by Charles Boxer.57 However, it is necessary to understand the most intense periods of publication. The years from the 1560s (up to 1573, with the publication of Desengano de perdidos by Brother Gaspar de Leão) and from 1640, respectively, mark the intensification of work of the archbishopric (in response to the initial use of printing by the Jesuits) and to a general increase in a set of political discourses (following the Restoration and the generalized search for different types of legitimacy). Besides the place occupied by the Coloquios (1563) by Garcia da Orta, there are the works by Gaspar de Leão and O Primeiro Concilio Provincial çelebrado em Goa, no anno de 1567 (1568).58 In turn, a rupture exists in the knowledge of printed books in Goa in the period between 1588 and 1616, which corresponds exactly to a change in missionary interests in the Far East, particularly Japan. This interval should therefore be related to the introduction of the European printing press in Japan. From the end of the seventeenth century, most editorial groups were controlled by the Dutch Trade Company in Batavia. As is well known, Portuguese works published in Goa inspired rapid responses from other groups, as was the case with the book by Brother Juan Baptista Morelli de Castelnovo, Luzeiro Evangelico que mostra à todos os Christãos das Indias orientais o caminho vnico, seguro, & certo da recta Fè, para chegaram ao porto da salvaao eternal … A devoção do Sargento-maio D. Francisco de Olavide, morador da Manilla. Escrita em S. Thome Cidade da India Oriental. Anno 1708.59 The author was a member of the Franciscan Province in Rome and was a missionary belonging to the Propaganda Fide. His book was intended to contest the Lutheran and Calvinist doctrines that were spreading in books published in Portuguese.60 Throughout the eighteenth century, and at least until 1821, government resistance to and prohibition of the reinstallation of the printing press in Goa can be explained, at least from the middle of the century, by anti-Jesuitical intentions.61 Following the studies by Henri Cordier and Paul Pelliot regarding China, Charles Boxer went on to the description, placement and commentary of eleven works published in China between 1662 and 1718, chosen since they had the greater part of the text in a European vernacular and used woodblock printing.62 Corresponding in the main to the period during which Kangxi (1661–1772) was emperor of China, this set of prints can be related to several instances in the history of European relations in the Far East.63 On missionary and ecclesiastical organization matters, the works played a part in the debates then running on the

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famous question of rites and patronage. The work of the Dominican Domingo Fernandez Navarrete, Controversias Antiguas y Modernas de la Mission de la Gran China, clearly criticized the syncretic use of Chinese rites, symbols and customs by the Jesuits.64 This inspired several responses by the Jesuits, including the Informatio pro veritate published in Peking (1717), described in the article as number ten and which after being prohibited by Rome in 1720, according to Boxer, would have been the end of this cycle of responses. As to the question of the defence of Portuguese Royal Patronage, an example can be seen in the Relacion sincera y verdadera (1712).65 Besides the works that questioned missionary methods and problems of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, another place is occupied by the Jornada que o senhor Antonio de Albuquerque Coelho (1718). This is a description of the journey from Goa to Macau made by António de Albuqeruqe Coelho, who was named governor of Macau. It was written by the captain of his crew, João Tavares de Velez Guerreiro, immediately after his arrival in May, 1718. The work was reprinted in Lisbon several times: in 1732 in the Music Printing House and by J.F. Marques Pereira in 1905 and 1913 and in the Biblioteca de Clássicos Portugueses, founded by Melo de Azevedo.66 The books that were produced by printers in Mexico City, Lima, Buenos Aires, Goa, Batavia, Macau and Manila acted most of all as an instrument in the service of missionary activities. This is the conclusion reached if we remember the variety and quantity of catechetical works printed by the Portuguese and Spanish. However, alongside the catechisms as well as the vocabulary and grammar books by the missionaries, one should note some rare works of a literary or informative character (Manuel Jácome de Mesquita, Relaçam do que socedeo na Cidade de Goa, 1643). Indeed, regarding the understanding of the principal uses of print and books in the colonies and Iberian countries, there was an insistence on the importance of religious or catechetic books to the detriment of other types of literature such as chivalric romances in the Spanish Empire.67 Thus an analysis of printing within the sphere of European expansion poses several questions regarding its early use within the Spanish Empire, most of all in the city of Mexico in 1539 (a century before the establishment of the first printing press in Cambridge, Massachusetts); its non-existence in Brazil, in spite of vague attempts and in clear contrast with events in Spanish America; its monopolization by the Jesuits from Goa to Japan, in spite of sharp interruptions (Goa, 1560–1582; Goa and Rachol, 1616–1674; Japan, mainly in Nagasaki, 1590–1613); the control exercised by the Dutch East India Company over the presses in Batavia from 1668, and simultaneously the diversity of initiatives that included the important emergence of British printing activities in India c. 1778–80.

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The Restoration in Macau: The Jesuits and Local Forces In Macau at the beginning of June 1642, more precisely on the night of the feast of the Holy Ghost, there could be seen in the Church of the Jesuit College a depiction of a figure breathing tongues of flame from its mouth while holding up in its right hand a sword and in its left the royal standard. Around the figure, which was meant to represent John IV, the six provinces of Portugal were featured with their respective cities and inscriptions. It was a strange spectacle, involving tongues of flame, which caused many to come out of their houses. The torrential rain and gusts of wind managed to spoil the festivities. But the intention was well meant, at least in the opinion of its eulogist.68 This was a public demonstration of the joy at the Restoration of Portugal, the official news of which had only arrived in Macau a few days earlier. António Fialho Ferreira, who had landed in the city on 30 May, had brought the news. It was a long story that has in part been told.69 For now, only some of its details are of interest. Most of all, it is important to note that, prior to that date, there had already been rumours in the city as to events in Lisbon that were brought by the Dutch via Siam and Cambay. In the opinion of the eulogist of the festivities, these rumours led the ‘people’ to run all about the place at the time that António Fialho, following his landing, was being received in the council buildings by the Captain, the governor of Bispado, the principal ecclesiastics, councillors and members of the government.70 What would have been the atmosphere in the council buildings? As António Fialho Ferreira was to note later, the city ‘was crowded, with the greatest controversy that to this day has existed in the Portuguese nation’.71 The meeting, which went on late into the night, would have been the scene of heated discussion, although any information available on this is more suggestive than descriptive. One of the reports that sought to evaluate the importance of the viceroy of India in the acclamation of John IV in Macau believed that doubts had existed about the Restoration until the letters sent with António Fialho by the king were opened.72 A report published in Goa in 1643 adopts the point of view that, from the start, the envoy was perhaps more interested in the gifts that he would receive from Lisbon should Macau be favourable to the acclamation than in presenting the official letters of authority that he had been given in Batavia by the viceroy of India. Fialho was said to have been torn between obligations of service to the king (or in this instance to the viceroy) and personal interests. He had in January 1641 received the privilege of the post of Captain of the ships sent from China to Portugal. However, a reading of reports published in Lisbon at the end of 1643 and in 1644 that favour António Fialho, as well as

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documentation available on Macau at the time, suggests a climate of micro-conflict that makes the opposition of public service versus private interest merely polemic. Fialho, it should be noted, was in 1673 involved in the judicial and financial dispute between the merchants of Macau and the officials of the viceroy sent from Goa, and following the hatred that ensued, he was forced to leave the city for Madrid. Seeking support from the authorities in Europe, he was by chance in Lisbon on 1 December 1640. The installation in Lisbon of a new monarch and the opportunity for acclaim in the various territories of the Portuguese crown appealed to António Fialho. On 24 January, he received the decree that named him carrier of the news of the Restoration to Macau. Invested with such an honour, António Fialho returned to Macau at his own expense. Returning to the meeting in the Council buildings of Macau, on reading the letter, or rather, ‘the copy from his Majesty to this city with the faith of the Secretary of State for the State of India’, ‘the joy at the publication of the news was such that many lost their decorum that gravity places upon those whom years of prudence have taught to respect’.73 The following day, 31 May 1642, at a further meeting, a document of obedience was signed and preparations began for ‘public demonstrations’ to take place between the feast of the Holy Ghost and Trinity Sunday, when oaths would be made to the king and crown prince. However, these ceremonies only took place on 20 June. The principle witness to these festivities is found in the Relação by Father João Marques Moreira. The legible part of this printed document, published in Lisbon in 1644, shows a set of demonstrations clearly favourable to António Fialho and shows the cycle of festivities in praise of the monarchy and the acclamation of the new king lasting until 10 August. This immediately raises the question of how well the organizers of the festivities in praise of the monarchy make use of these same festivities for their own ‘public demonstrations’. This should be taken into account when one considers the figure blowing fire from his mouth. Such a figure was a ‘curious spectacle’ in the opinion of the author of the Relação, but how many were able to recognize who and what the figure represented? The question could be extended to other representations of John IV that appeared during the two months of festivities in Macau. On the afternoon of 21 June, for example, a procession left the Cathedral to parade through the streets of the city following the Holy Sacrament, with the Augustinians dancing and playing instruments. Among them was a triumphal carriage, the work of the Dominicans. Decorated with silk, the carriage carried a live figure ‘that represented the person of the King our Lord with his sceptre in his hand, his crown on his head together with four figures representing the four virtues,

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Justice, Mercy, Piety and fear of God, mounted on four horses, four live figures, in front of which was Honour on horseback with the royal standard’. At the door of the Cathedral, Honour dismounted and went to the triumphal carriage and there, in the presence of the Sacrament, went up to the king exhorting him to maintain the virtues, ‘to which he replied that he would do what they asked of him’. Days later, on 7 July, 120 young Macau boys, who, according to the eulogist, had Portuguese blood, presented a masquerade that had notable parallels with the parade organized by the governors of the Council days earlier. The procession was led by a masked boy who carried the royal standard, and immediately after him a dance was performed by villagers and those from the countryside. These were followed by two lines of Chinese, who represented the government of China. Their tunics were reminiscent of the togas worn by Venetian rulers and their berets looked like Chinese characters. Then it was the turn of those exiled from Japan, the new converts to Catholicism, who had been forced to abandon their homeland. In addition were the Persians and Dutch. At the rear of the procession, in the place of honour, was the Portuguese nation, surrounded by a guard of archers dressed in German costume and at the end ‘a live figure on horseback that entirely represented the Royal Majesty with a sceptre in his hand and a crown on his head that was richly adorned with stones and several diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls and seed pearls and it seems that the horse was chosen specially for this figure of the King our Lord’. Although they did not specifically represent John IV, there were still two more processions. The first of these was a ‘pavonada’ or rich display organized by Portuguese boys from S. Lourenço, held on 11 July, and had at the rear ‘a kaffir of the Society who represented some of the Kings of the coast of Melinde or Mombassa’. The second procession was organized by the young boys from the city centre and Santo António on 10 August and again included a representative slave, the property of a nobleman. How should one interpret the positioning of ‘Kaffirs’ or slaves at the rear of the precession? With the processions presented as authentic panegyrics, there is the risk of missing the fact that representations can carry symbols and messages purposefully intended for propaganda or to reach a certain public. On the other hand, there is the risk of investing these representations, as well as the ceremonies of which they are part, with a degree of seriousness or an official character that is hard to find in practice. Let us change continent. In Rio de Janeiro, John IV was acclaimed on 10 March 1641. The anonymous Relação published in Lisbon at the beginning of November that year gives a version of the events.74 I shall

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emphasize some points without losing sight of Macau. In the first place, we can look at the importance of letters. Without granting the same degree of conflict as in the earlier case, there is a precedence: it was by letter from the viceroy of Brazil, the Marquis of Montalvão, brought by a Jesuit priest, that the governor, Salvador Correia de Sá, learned of the Portuguese Restoration. And again there was a demonstration of agreement; a document signed by all in a meeting called by the governor at the Jesuit College. Were there no diverging opinions and interests? The Relaçam suggests that Correia de Sá, who was married to a Castilian woman, and so possessed large wealth, particularly in Peru, would not have taken any notice of the acclamation of John IV (equally, in the case of Macau, the same acclamation was seen by some to question the legitimacy of trade relations with Manila).75 Other information suggested by the same publication relates to the fact that it was only signalled on 19 March with the arrival of a letter coming directly from the king to the governor, who acknowledged it with a note that, ‘all the rumours were let loose’, with similar vocabulary found in the case of Macau. The oath given by the governor and the members of the government occurs on the same day as the arrival of the news. After the meeting in the Jesuit College, those present went in a procession to the Cathedral with the royal standard, and there at the altar, erected in the middle of the chancel, they made ‘a solemn oath of allegiance and homage to hold, maintain, recognize and obey the Lord King Dom John IV’. Contrary to what occurred in Macau, there is no information as to any oath to the crown prince or an oath made in the presence of the symbols of royal power (in Macau the sceptre and crown). But, as in Macau, an oath is first made to the king and he is then acclaimed (in Lisbon this was precisely in reverse). In the Relaçam, after the oath, the governor and those who followed him repeated ‘God save the King’, which the people increased with loud applause without knowing why, how or to whom they were granting such honour, believing that Heaven was confirming the election in which the more ignorant among them had allowed themselves to take part without asking nor knowing to whom they were giving their “vivas” that were being repeated in all the squares of the city when the royal standard was raised there in the name of His Majesty.

This is an example of a ritual practice – that of acclamation in the squares – that does not suggest any recognition of the figure of the monarch who is represented there by the royal standard (in Macau, John VI is specifically represented not only through symbolic instruments such as the flag but also through live performers). In this way, the ceremony is, above all,

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affirming the presence of the group that presents it and not so much communicating some message. In Cochin, no antagonism that existed between groups emerged during the forty days of ceremonies.76 As was suggested regarding Macau, in Brazil, too, the ceremonies in praise of the monarchy were matched to feasts on the liturgical calendar, and the authorities had to wait about a week in order to see that the high point of the festivities for the Restoration coincided with Easter. The ceremonies intended to celebrate the Restoration in Macau began with a small reconstruction of the programme used by the Jesuits, beginning with the representation of the different groups of the city of Macau and ending with a comparison of Macau ceremonies and those in Brazil. It was an analytical procedure with exemplary objectives, in that the intention was to move to one side studies of the history of the Jesuits – which were limited to the impressions that the Jesuits themselves wanted to give of their actions and methods of conceiving the world – in order to allow room for the contextualization of their missionary work and propaganda. Indeed, historiographic discussions as to the methods of conversion, organization and internal control and the actual religious vocation of the Jesuits based in the main on sources used by them would run the risk of producing an evaluation that uses the same criteria the Jesuits use to evaluate themselves. For this reason, it is only through a consideration of larger contexts that one can put their work in perspective and avoid a more or less instructive perspective relating to the Jesuit mission. The discourses and correspondence of Father António Vieira, with his involvement in political, economic and diplomatic matters, allow one to place the missionary projects within a broader perspective, as do the writings of Father Luís da Gama, the Jesuit Visitor, who explores how the Jesuits in Macau depended in the first place on the survival of the city, with reports covering the years from 1665 to 1671. It is perhaps the survival of the city that da Gama had on his mind when he questioned almost daily in his descriptions the supply of rice to Macau as well as the new trade routes found by all who traded in Southeast Asia from Siam to Cambodia, from Makassar to Timor, in the period following the closure of trade with Japan. The dependence of Macau on the local authorities – these being both the mandarins of Canton and the implacable delegates from the court of Peking – was another aspect that deserved particular attention. Of the emperor’s representatives, it is stated that at a determined moment in the tense relations with Canton, ‘the trade and well-being of Macau depended entirely on them’.77 Showing how dependent the missions led by the Jesuits were on this context of supplies, trade and good diplomacy in relation to the authorities of Canton and Peking, Luís da Gama also

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tells of the slow progress of the legation of Afonso VI to the emperor, which was led by Manuel de Saldanha. He also mentions on several occasions the way in which decisions were taken in the Loyal Senate, which was the central organ defending Portuguese interests.78

Notes   1. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. III, book I, 315.   2. Manuel, Missões dos Jesuítas no Oriente nos Séculos XVI e XVII; J. Correia-Afonso, Jesuit Letters and Indian History.   3. Salgueiro, Relaçam das Festas que Fez a Religião da Companhia de Jesus na Provincia de Portugal, na Canonisação dos Gloriosos Sancto Ignacio de Loyola seu Fundador, & S. Francisco Xavier Apostolo da India Oriental; Cummins, Lope Felix de Vega Carpio: Triunfo de la Fee en los Reynos de Japon.   4. Suarez de Figueroa, Historia y Anual Relacion de las Cosas que Hizieron los Padres de la Compañia de Iesvs, por las Partes de Oriente y Otras, en la Propagacion del Santo Evangelio los Años Passados de 607 y 608. On Japan, the Jesuit L. Pinheiro published in Castilian Relacion del Svcesso que Tuvo Nuestra Santa Fe en los Reinos del Iapon, Desde el Año de Seyscientos y Quinze.   5. G. Bouchon, ‘L’Asie Portugaise au Début du XVIIe Siècle: Introduction a une Nouvelle Lecture de Pierre du Jarric’, 106–15.   6. F. Guerreiro, Relação Anual das Coisas que Fizeram os Padres da Companhia de Jesus nas suas Missões, 4.   7. S. Gonçalves, Primeira Parte da História dos Religiosos da Companhia de Jesus, vol. III – História da Companhia de Jesus no Oriente (1560–1570), 9–90.   8. Ibid., 100–1.   9. Schurhammer, ‘Uma Relação Inédita do P. Manuel Barradas SI. Sobre São Francisco Xavier’, 43–90. 10. BPE, Manizola, cód. 29: M. Barradas, S.J., Tratado dos Deuses Gentilicos de Todo o Oriente e dos Ritos e Cerimonias que Usam os Malabares; see F. Rodrigues, Brotéria, XVIII (1934), 39–44. 11. D. Gonçalves, Historia do Malavar (Hs. Goa 58 des Arch. Rom. S. I.); Fenício, The Livro da Seita dos Indios Orientais (Brit. Mus. Ms Sloane 1820). On Dutch fortunes, see Mitter, Much Maligned Monsters: A History of European Reactions to Indian Art, 57–59, 297–98. 12. Collecção de Noticias para a Historia e Geografia das nações Ultramarinas, que Vivem nos Dominios Portuguezes, ou lhes são Vizinhas, vol. I, no. I–III, 1–126. On the images corresponding to the treaties published here possibly in later copies, see the sales catalogue published in Germany in 1989 entitled Travel and Exploration – Portugal and Spain (Glashûtten: Reiss & Auverman, 1989), numbers 35–37. 13. Trancoso, Tratado sobre o Hinduísmo (Maduré 1616), 5. 14. ‘Memorias dos Estudos em que se Criarão os Monges de S. Jeronymo … Escritas em o Anno de 1772, e em 17 de Janeiro Forão Entregues ao Illustrissimo e Exm. Sñr Bispo de Beja, que as Mandou Escrever por Ordem de S. Magestade’, Boletim da Biblioteca da Universidade de Coimbra, vol. VI (1919–1921), 202–76; vol. VII (1922– 1925), 233–57; especially vol. VI, 262–64; Trancoso, Tratado sobre o Hinduísmo, 308. 15. F. Garcia, O Homem das Trinta e Duas Perfeições e Outras Histórias, XIX–XX.

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16. Biblioteca Pública de Braga [Public Library of Braga], ms. 771–773, see Feio, ‘Notícia Bio-bibliográfica’, XIX. 17. D. Lopes, Expansão da Língua Portuguesa no Oriente nos Séculos XVI, XVII, XVIII, 145–46, 158–59 (biographical notes by Luís de Matos); Estêvão, Doutrina Cristã em Língua Concani; Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. III, book 1, 344. 18. Trancoso, Tratado sobre o Hinduísmo, 300, 303, 306. 19. BPE, Manizola, cód. 29, dedication dated Cochin, 1 December 1618. 20. Kircher, China Monumentis, Qua Sacris quà Profanis, Nec non variis Naturae & Artis Spectaculis, Aliarumque rerum memorabilium Argumentis Illustrata, Auspiciis Leopoldi Primi, Roman. Imper. Semper Augusti, Munificentissimi Mecaenatis. 21. Rogerius and Arnold, Abraham Rogers Offne Thür zu dem verborgenen Heydenthum: Oder, Warhaftige Vorweisung dess Lebens, und der Sitten, samt der Religion … der Bramines, auf der Cust Chormandel, und denen herumligenden Ländern … French translation: Le theatre de l’idolatrie ou La porte ouverte, pour parvenir à la cogmoissance du paganisme cache, et la vraye representation de la vie, dxes moeurs, de la religion & du service divin des Bramines, qui demeurent sur les costes de Chormandel, & aux pay circonvoisins (Amsterdam: Jean Schipper, 1670). 22. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. I – The Century of Discovery, book 1, 439ff.; Mitter, Maligned Monsters, 51–59. 23. J. Wicki, introduciton to Luís Fróis, História de Japam, vol. I, 42. 24. P. Maffei, ‘Carta’ (Coimbra, 6 November 1579) in Fróis, História de Japam, vol. I, 397. 25. Valignano, ‘Carta’ (Macau, 30 October 1588) in Fróis, História de Japam, vol. I, 401–3. 26. Wicki, introduciton to Luís Fróis, História de Japam, vol. I, 14. 27. Fróis, História de Japam, vol. I, 2; ibid., Kulturgegensãtze Europa-Japan (1585): Tratado em que se Contem Muito Susinta e Abreuiadamente Algumas COntradições e Diferenças de Custumes Antre a Gente de Europa e Esta Provincia de Japão. 28. Cooper, Rodrigues the Interpreter: An Early Jesuit in Japan and China, 363; Boxer, ‘Padre João Rodriguez Tçuzu S.J. and his Japanese Grammars of 1604 and 1620’, 338–63. 29. Boxer, ‘Padre João Rodriguez Tçuzu S.J. and his Japanese Grammars of 1604 and 1620’, 338–63. 30. Ibid., 53–54. 31. Ibid., 55. 32. Copy in BA. 33. J.M. Braga, ‘The Beginnings of Printing at Macao’, 29–137, especially 34–35. 34. M.C. de Matos, ‘A Produção Tipográfica da Companhia de Jesus no Oriente entre os Séculos XVI e XVII’, 410–11. 35. J.M. Braga, ‘The Beginnings of Printing at Macao’, 36. 36. Copy in BPE. 37. Copy in BNP, see D. Lopes, Expansão da Língua Portuguesa no Oriente, 140–46. 38. Cooper, Rodrigues the Interpreter, 223. Copy of Vocabulario in the Bodleian Library in Oxford. 39. Cooper, Rodrigues the Interpreter, 224. 40. Boxer, ‘Padre João Rodriguez Tçuzu S.J. and his Japanese Grammars of 1604 and 1620’, 338–63. Copy in the edition of 1620 in BA. 41. BNP, Res. 3562v. 42. BA, 49-IV-53.

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43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

56. 57. 58.



61. 62. 63. 64. 65.


Cooper, Rodrigues the Interpreter, 295–312. Cardim, Batalhas da Companhia de Jesus, 8. Las Cortes, Viaje de la China. Gouvea, Ásia Extrema, book I, 185; ibid., Cartas Ânuas da China. Spence, The Memory Palace of Matteo Ricci. P. Pais, História da Etiópia. Serrão, A Historiografia Portuguesa, vol. II, 294–98. Schurhammer, ‘Uma Relação Inédita do P. Manuel Barradas SI. Sobre São Francisco Xavier’, 48. M.G. da Costa, ‘Introduction’, in Lobo, Itinerário e outros escritos inéditos, 104. Lobo, Itinerário, 211. Rego, Documentação para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente. India, vol. 5 (1958), 279–346. Trindade, Conquista Espiritual do Oriente, Parte I, 5. In the case of Mexico there are printing presses from at least 1539. In 1866, Harrisse believed that the number of works published in Mexico throughout the sixteenth century was no more than 100 while in 1912 José Toribio Medina felt the number was nearer to 200, see on this, La Imprenta en México (1539–1821), vol. I (1912), VIII–IX. On the matter of a lack of paper as an explanation for the gaps in publication, see Medina, La Imprenta en México, vol. I, LXVIII. C. Boxer, ‘A Tentative Check-list of Indo-Portuguese Imprints, 1556–1674’, 19–41. An interesting, earlier pattern of comparison can be found in Constituciones del Arçobispado y Prouincia dela Muy Ynsigne y Muy Leal Ciudad de Tenuxtitlã Mexico de la Nueua España; see Medina, La Imprenta en México (1539–1821), vol. I, chap. IV and chap. LXIX. Morelli de Castelnovo, Luzeiro evangelico que mostra á todos os Christãos das Indias orientais o caminho unico, seguro & certo da recta Fé, para chegarem ao porta da salvaçao eterna ou instrucçao dos principais Artigos da Religiaõ christaõ controvertidos, os quais se explicaõ con claridad et se provaõ com evidencia pela escritura sagrada, pelos sacros Concilios, & santos Padres dos primeiros seculos. As for the publisher, Toribio Medina, La Imprenta en México (1539–1821), vol. I, CXLIX, believes that one should doubt whether it was printed by Diego Fernández de León, by the heirs of Francisco Rodriguez Lupercio, by Francisco de Ribera Calderón, by the widow of Miguel de Ribera Calderón or by the heirs of Guillena Carrasco. See also Toribio Medina, La Imprenta en México (1539–1821), vol. III, 422–23. Priolkar, The Printing Press in India, 26. Boxer, ‘Some Sino-European Xylographic Works, 1662–1718’, 199–215. One of the best introductions to this period of the history of China can be found in J.D. Spence, Emperor of China: Self Portrait of K’ang-hsi. The best edition is that of J.S. Cummins, The Travels and Controversies of Friar Domingo Navarrete (1618–86). One should recall, from the point of view of the Propaganda Fidei, the Relatione delle Missioni dé Viscovi Vicari Apostolici Mandati dalla S. Sede Apostolica alli Regni di Siam, Cocincina, Camboia et Tunkino (Rome, Stamperia della Congregatione della Porpaganda Fidei, 1677). For a manuscript version of this work, see Academia das Ciências de Lisboa, Manuscritos, Série vermelha, 625.

Forms of Christianity in the East  •  169

67. Leonard, Books of the Brave: Being an Account of Books and of Men in the Spanish Conquest and Settlement of the Sixteenth-Century World. 68. J.M. Moreira, Relação da Magestosa, Misteriosa, e Notavel Acclamaçam, qve se Fez a Magestade d’ElRey Dom Ioam o IV Nosso Senhor na Cidade do Nome de Deos do Gran Imperio da China, & Festas, Pellos Senhores do Gouerno publico, & Outras Pessoas Particulares, fls. 4v–5. 69. J.A.F. de Vasconcelos, A Aclamação del Rei D. João IV em Macau (Subsídios historiográficos e biográficos); Boxer, A Aclamação del Rei D. João IV em Goa e em Macau – Relações Contemporâneas Reeditadas e Anotadas; ibid., Macau na Época da Restauração; ibid., Embaixada de Portugal ao Japão em 1647. Relação inédita’. On the earlier involvement of António Fialho Ferreira in trade with Manila and cooperation with Lopo Sarmento de Carvalho, who was also involved in voyages to Japan, see G.B. de Souza, The Survival of Empire: Portuguese Trade and Society in China and the South China Sea, 1630–1754, 41; ibid., ‘Commerce and Capital: Portuguese Maritime Losses in the South China Sea, 1600–1754’, 336–37. 70. J.M. Moreira, Relação da Magestosa, Misteriosa, e Notavel Acclamaçam, qve se Fez a Magestade d’ElRey Dom Ioam o IV, fl. 3v. 71. A.F. Ferreira, Relação da Viagem que por Ordem de S. Mg. de fez …, deste Reyno à Cidade de Macao na China; J.A.F. de Vasconcelos, A Aclamação del Rei D. João IV em Macau, 20. On groups and divisions in Macau, see for an earlier period BPE, CXVI/2-5, ‘Carta e Regimento do Cargo de Capitão Geral da Cidade de Macau’, fl. 27v; Blanco Velez, ‘A primeira Capitania Geral de Macau, 1623–1626’, 13, note 37; J.M. Flores, ‘Macau e o Comércio da Baía de Cantão (séculos XVI e XVII)’, 42–44. 72. Mesquita, Relaçam do que Socedeo na Cidade de Goa e em Todas as Mais Cidades; & Fortalezas do Estado da India, na Felice Acclamação delRey Dõ Ioão o IIII; Boxer, A Aclamação del Rei D. João IV em Goa e em Macau, 42. India acclamation: ANTT, Documentos Remetidos da Índia, book 49, see Subrahmanyan, The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History, 174. 73. J.M. Moreira, Relação da Magestosa, Misteriosa, e Notavel Acclamaçam, qve se Fez a Magestade d’ElRey Dom Ioam o IV, fl. 3v. 74. Morais, Relaçam da Aclamaçam que se fez na Capitania do Rio de Janeiro. See also Boxer, Salvador de Sá and the Struggle for Brazil and Angola 1602–1686, 140–54. 75. AGS, Estado, 2665 (Conselho de Estado, 16 April 1641) discusses the measures to be taken in order to prevent Portuguese traffic, particularly of silver, to Buenos Aires). 76. BPE, cód. CXVI/1-23 – A. de A. Gato, Triunfos Festivaes da Indigna e Nobre Cidade de Santa Crux de Cochim, fl. 15v; Tavim, ‘A Cidade Portuguesa de Santa Cruz de Cochim ou Cochim de Baixo. Algumas Perspectivas’, 163–64. 77. J.F.M. Pereira, ‘Uma Ressurreição Histórica (Páginas Inéditas d’um Visitador dos Jesuítas) (1665–1671)’, 753; see original BNP, COD. 9447 – História Antiga de Macau. 78. G.B. de Souza, The Survival of Empire: Portuguese Trade and Society in China and the South China Sea, 1630–1754, 41; Wills, Embassies and Illusions: Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi, 1666–1687, 82–126.

Chapter 10

Reports of Voyages to Goa and the State of India


In the descriptions of Goa and the State of India at the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth, some authors such as Linschoten analysed expedient phenomena or, to use an arbitrary language that is closer than that found in O Soldado Prático, the evils of decadence. A new configuration that runs from the second half of the seventeenth century and into the first decades of the eighteenth, reaching its greatest intensity in the three final decades of the seventeenth, takes as accepted this image of decadence while at the same time it records the grandeur of the Portuguese past. In this new period, the reports of voyages written and published by foreign authors outside Portugal continue to be at the centre. A rapid enumeration of the authors of reports of voyages that include descriptions or references to Goa and the State of India should include Pietro della Valle, (1658–1663) (English translation, 1665), Johan Albrecht Mandelslo, 1662 (translated from German into French by Wicquefor, Amsterdam, 1727); Baldaeus, 1672 (included in the collection of voyages in English by Churchill); the Carmelites Giuseppe Maria Sebastiani (1666, 1672) and Vincenzo Maria de S. Caterina da Siena (1672); Jean Baptiste Tevernier, 1676 (republished 1679); Sebastián Pedro Cubero (1680; Thevenot, 1684) (English translation, 1687); Gabriel Dellon, 1687 (French edition, 1688 and English, 1698); Carré (who refers to Dellon); John Fryer (1698); Francesco Gemelli Careri, 1699 (with a translation into English and inclusion in the Churchill collection in 1704); Niccolò Manucci, 1705; some years later, Alexander Hamilton, 1727 (a further edition in 1739);

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and Innigo de Biervillas (the pseudonym of Saunier de Beaumont), 1739.1 An appreciation of these reports of voyages, where Linschoten’s inspiration continues to be felt, reveals that the exactitude and veracity of the information contained are a constant as is autobiographical or biographical information, narrated in what we would nowadays consider to be the novel form. The coexistence of these two tendencies reveals to what point the criteria of establishing the truth based upon experience and scientific verification lie alongside the creation of meanings that are necessarily ambiguous in fiction and the novel narrative. A third aspect of the reports relates to depictions of the customs of voyage and the reading of reports being a cultural practice of the European elite.2 Thevenot and Gemelli Careri are perhaps the authors who best represent the first of these tendencies. This is at least the opinion existing in the work entitled the Construction of Maps and Globes, published anonymously in London at the beginning of the eighteenth century.3 For this author, the reports of voyages should be organized with a view to a reconstruction of reality, so allowing a scientific advance in geography and cartography. Equally, the author considers that reports of voyages intended to reconstruct reality should precede the writing of a new history.4 The Histoire des Indes Orientales anciennes et modernes (1744) by Abbot Guyon serves as an example of this. In his description of Goa, the author uses, among others, Pietro della Valle, Dellon, Mandelslo, Tavernier and Thevenot in order to repeat an image of the decadent city.5 In this way, one could say that, in the case of Goa, myths about its decadence are true. As for the tendency towards the novel form that runs through these reports of voyages, one extreme case is to be found in the work of Innigo de Biervillas and in the description of his time in Goa.6 The author tells of his move to Goa in order to take over a family inheritance. The references to seductive women and to libertine behaviour including sensuous practices occupy a central position in a discourse where there are few references to the space and society of Goa. In other words, the narrative of autobiographical or biographical events, including some erotic allusions, suggests a form of subjectivity that is detrimental to a description that should be objective. When Innigo de Biervillas alludes to the Inquisition in Goa and to its practices of superstitious intolerance, he takes up a theme of Dellon’s in his Relation de l’Inquisition de Goa (1688).7 For Dellon, he personally knew the inquisitorial prisons and could therefore use his authority in the denunciation of a tribunal that had jurisdiction over religious matters. However, Dellon’s work and personal experience, particularly within the context of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes and the Inquisition in Goa, should be evaluated alongside that of other

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authors. From Tavernier, for example, and the description of his audience with the Head Inquisitor, there is the idea of an open and controlled tolerance, in contrast with the opinions of Dellon, who describes how he was received warmly by the Head Inquisitor: After crossing two large galleries and some salons I entered a small room where the Inquisitor was waiting for me, seated at the head of a large table in the shape of a billiard table and both the table and the furniture of the room were covered in a green cloth brought from England. As soon as I entered he told me that I was very welcome and after I made my compliments he asked me what was my religion. I replied that I professed the Protestant religion. He immediately asked me whether my father and mother were also of the same religion. I told him yes, and he asserted again that I was welcome and then called some men who entered as close as they could. One of the sides of a tapestry was then lifted and I saw ten or twelve people who were waiting in a room to the side. The first who entered were two friars of the order of St Augustine, followed by two Dominicans, two barefoot Carmelites and other clerics, to whom the Inquisitor began to say who I was and that I had not brought any prohibited book, as knowing the rules I had left my Bible in Mingrela. We entertained ourselves for another two hours with many things, most specifically my voyages and the entire company told me that they had pleasure in listening to my narrative. Three days later the Inquisitor sent for me and asked me to dine with him in a beautiful house half a league from the city that belonged to the barefoot Carmelites.8

With regard to this nucleus of reports of voyages by foreign authors or those published outside Portugal, what were the works that most suggested an image that could be called ‘national’? The posthumous publication of Ásia Portuguesa (3 vols, 1666–1675), by Manuel de Faria e Sousa, written in Castilian – with which the author intended to pay homage to João de Barros, the author of the Décadas da Ásia – was an extension of a tradition centred on the historic narrative of heroic deeds. Some years later, José Martinez de la Puente published, again in Castilian, this time in Madrid, his Compendio de las Historias de los Descubrimientos, Conquistas y Guerras de la India Oriental, in the tradition of Barros, Lavanha, Couto, Zurara, Castanheda, Coelho de Barbuda, António de San Román, Bernardino de Escalante, Gaspar da Cruz, Geronimo Román, Marco Polo, Manuel Correia Montenegro and João de Lucena. He criticizes books of fables and adventures, among which he includes Fernão Mendes Pinto and the Viaje del Mundo by Pedro Ordoñez de Cevallos and takes up the tradition of preceding his historic narrative with a brief description of the east, including in this Goa.9 One

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must add that the works of Faria e Sousa and Martinez de la Puente represent works of a religious nature. The Jesuits in turn continued to display a solid written culture. They had an interest in publishing books in local languages, including (in Goa) Father António de Saldanha’s life of St Anthony (1655) and Father Miguel de Almeida’s Jardim de pastores (1658–59).10 In 1665, the report of the journey by land from Bassein to Portugal by Father Manuel Godinho made a fine introduction to the political changes occurring in India with the expansion of the Mughal territorial empire. Leaning, as was the custom, in the direction of praise for the Jesuit missions, Godinho shows how far the Society of Jesus was frequently opposed to Portuguese practices of identity: The mission in Maduré is one of the glorious things that the Society has today; they occupy there eight religious workers of virtue and letters who wear Indian clothing and sandals and there are gentiles among them who have a disgust of the world, who are penitents and masters of law. The fathers change their clothing there so that they are not recognized as Portuguese, who are regarded there as being of low castes and unworthy to work with them because they eat cow. However the Madurenses do not fail to know them and profess and teach the priests the same law that the Portuguese have.11

While conflict may always be implicit in the relationship between missionaries and locals, the most evident forms of conflict were between the various religious orders and jurisdictions, including the Royal Patronage, and the Propaganda Fide.12 In a context where the canonization of Francis Xavier was known to be attributable to the work of the Society of Jesus, the news of the martyrdom of João de Brito was taken up by several authors, including: Fernão de Queiroz, Historia da vida do veneravel Irmão Pedro de Basto (1689); Inácio Manuel, Preparaçam para a Eternidade (1705); Francisco de Sousa, Oriente Conquistado a Jesu Cristo (a work completed in 1700 and printed in 1710); and Manuel de Sá, Sermões varios, pregados na India a diversos assumptos (1710).13 The letters, reports and As doze excellencias do Imperio da China by Father Gabriel de Magalhães (1609–1677) introduce us to a new configuration regarding European contacts with China. In a context dominated by the end of the Ming dynasty and by the diplomacy of the Dutch, interested in the establishment of trade relations, the preparation of the last of these works, which was requested in 1650 but was only finished in 1668, signals one of the final attempts at affirmation by the Portuguese Jesuits of their French brothers, whose importance continued to grow after 1685. On

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this, the fact that Father Magalhães’s work was printed firstly in Paris in 1688 in a French translation entitled Nouvelle relation de la Chine and republished twice, in 1689 and 1690, is significant. It was also translated into English in 1688. Assuming a moderate position as to the divisions caused by the different nationalities of the Jesuits – which the Jesuits who lived at the court of Peking found easier to avoid than those Portuguese Jesuits resident in Macau – Magalhães shows in his letters the degree of micro-conflict that many internal relations bestowed on the Society. As for the bigger issues that rocked the Jesuits on this occasion, according to the historian Irene Pih, Magalhães demonstrates himself to be more moderate than his compatriots regarding the creation and development of a clergy comprising native Chinese, and he lines himself up with the majority of the Jesuits, who, from Matteo Ricci, defended the closeness between Christian doctrine and the classical Confucian texts. This syncretic position is well illustrated in the Latin reports by Father François de Rougemont, which were published in Portuguese a year before publication in Louvain, in a translation by Father Sebastião de Magalhães: Relaçam do estado politico e spiritual de imperio da China, pellos anos de 1659, até o de 1666.14 Throughout the 1670s, Lisbon publishers followed each other with the publication of a small group of edifying works on the activities of the Society of Jesus. The harshest attacks on their activities and their ideas of syncretism came from the Dominican Brother Domingo Navarrete. This is regarding the famous Chinese Rites controversy, which is explored most significantly in his work Tratados historicos, politicos, ethicos y religiosos de la monarchia de China (1676).15 In 1651, the Franciscan Brother Manuel dos Anjos published in Lisbon his Historia Universal, about Europe, Asia and Africa. In this compilation of texts of various authors, it is hard to detect any antagonism between the different religious orders, with, for example, the chapter on Japan presented as being based upon the books of Lucena, Ribadeneyra and Maffei.16 The same convergence of different religious orders, put together for national pride, can be found in the Agiologio Lusitano by Father Jorge Cardoso (3 vols, 1652,1657 and1666), a type of catalogue of saints, martyrs and other virtuous and exemplary persons: ‘those who with apostolic zeal and the great glory of Portugal and the entire Catholic Church leaving their homeland with admirable fruit sowed the Evangelical doctrine in such remote and diverse provinces conquered by us’.17 The publication in Rome in Castilian of the Itinerario de las missiones del India Oriental (1653) written by Brother Sebastião Manrique was one of the first great publishing initiatives of Portuguese Augustinians wanting to make known their missionary work, in particular between the communities in the Gulf of Bengal and Macau. In a large

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report written in Castilian, Manrique, who was from Porto, describes the conflicts caused by the Mughal invasion and the existence of small communities of Portuguese or Christians. Macau, with its organization and institutional structures, impressed the Augustinian so much that he described it as ‘all being so safe as though one were in the middle of Portugal’.18 The end of the seventeenth century saw the publication of the Historia da Fundação do real convento de Santa Monica da Cidade de Goa, Corte do Estado da India & do Imperio Lusitano do Oriente (1699) by Brother Agostinho de Santa Maria, the famous author of the Santuario Mariano (10 vols, 1707–1723), whose final volumes relate to the cult of Mary in the east and Brazil. Into the beginning of the eighteenth century, we see the use of European languages and cultural forms by members of the clergy born or brought up in the east. For example, two clerics of Goa, António João de Frias and Leonardo Pais, discuss in their work the hierarchy of the Hindu castes to which they belong within the sphere of the history of Christianity.19 During this same period, the Capuchin friar Brother Jacinto de Deus, who was born in Macau and lived in Goa, published his Tribunal da provincial da Madre de Deus dos Capuchos da India Oriental (1670), and his Vergel de Plantas, e Flores da Provincia da Madre de Deos dos Capuchos Reformados, completed in 1679, was published posthumously in 1690. The latter work contains parts that are plagiarized from As doze excellencias do Imperio da China by the Jesuit Gabriel de Magalhães.20 But perhaps more important than what this plagiarism shows as to the generalization of the different religious orders in the use and transfer of discourses that were common among the Jesuits is what is said regarding the appropriation of a Eurocentric discourse based upon Christianity by the authors who write in the context of Goa. The Franciscan friar makes himself clear on the ‘Orient’ and considers India to be ‘a principal part of Asia’. In his words: We should praise the place for its substance and for its character … Its character makes it more worthy, since God planted in it paradise on earth and there is no lack of those who settle in Ceylon, since it is very much like what is actually India. He first created man and formed the first woman, the first of human creation. In it he worked the mysteries of the Incarnation and Redemption and in it there is the land of promise that is so abundant and fertile that it produced milk and honey. In it Christ Our Lord was born, lived, gave the Evangelical Law, performed miracles to save us and was resurrected to take us to the power of eternal life … In it the first policies existed as well as the first writings and sciences that the Greeks learned from the Hebrews, Phoenicians, Magos and Brahmins. Here the sciences were first revealed, both the Testaments and the sacred Theology.21

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Such an evaluation of Ceylon was common in descriptions and histories of the country that were written or published in the 1680s, and this needs to be considered as having contributed to a European crisis of conscience, of which Paul Hazard spoke, in the final decades of the seventeenth century. The competition between the various European nations in the east – characterized by a series of Dutch conquests over the Portuguese and the handover of Bombay to the English – is also a theme of works on Ceylon during this period: the works in English by Captain Robert Knox and the Dutch missionary Baldaeus, as well as the book in Castilian written by the Portuguese João Rodrigues de Sá de Meneses, while the books in Portuguese by the Jesuit Fernão Queiroz, the author of Conquista de Ceilão, completed in 1687, remained in manuscript form until the twentieth century.22 While works in Portuguese appeared to have a restricted circulation in manuscript form in comparison with the wider diffusion achieved by the Dutch and English in their strategies of propaganda, Portuguese had established itself as the lingua franca in the ports to which Europeans travelled. Alexander Hamilton, who travelled round the east from 1688 until well into the eighteenth century, complained that, given the impossibility of making himself understood in English and of learning the many local languages, it was Portuguese that he had to use, observing that ‘along the coast the Portuguese had left as a mark their language, although the language is very corrupted it is the language that many Europeans learn first, being able to converse among themselves and with the different inhabitants of India’.23 La Barbinais Le Gentil notes that well into the eighteenth century, on arrival at a port on the Chinese coast near Canton, it was the work of local interpreters using corrupt Portuguese (‘un langage demi Portugais’) that was needed, and various groups attracted local curiosity with their ability to speak, more or less, a creolized Portuguese (‘un mauvais jargon Portugais’).24 In Macau, local interpreters were called jurubaças25 occupying official positions in the Council, and were able to support themselves sufficiently, since for these descendants of the Portuguese, second to the standing of priests the position of interpreter was the most prestigious.26 Other European travellers of the age confirm Hamilton’s report, including David Lopes, who completed during his investigations of Cunha Rivara and Sebastião Dalgado the decisive study on the diffusion and use of Portuguese in the east, A Expansão da Língua portuguesa no Oriente. However, it is necessary to note the limits that the author placed on the dissemination of Portuguese:

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The influence of the Portuguese vocabulary on Asian languages is incontestable, but its study is still incomplete and confused. In as much as one can assert, this action was very superficial either because the languages are very distant from Portuguese or because, given the large area they cover, ours only scratched the edge and died once the cause – political power – no longer existed … . One could even say that they influenced ours more deeply and intensely.27

The diffusion of Portuguese was particularly intense in Batavia, where the Dutch India Company had its headquarters. There among old slaves, who had come not from Indonesia but from Malacca, Bengal, Coromandel and Malabar, the various attempts to impose the use of Dutch were resisted, as they identified as a Portuguese community and had had since 1663 a Protestant pastor, Father João Ferreira de Almeida, who was from Mangualde. The conflict among the various communities in Batavia and the Dutch missionary intent to spread the Gospel among the populations that spoke Portuguese led to the development of some publications in Portuguese at the initiative of this pastor.

Notes  1. Della Valle, The Travels in India; Mandelslo, Mandelslo’s Travels in Western India (A.D. 1638–1639); Baldaeus, ‘A True and Exact Description’ (Dutch original, Amsterdam, 1672), chap. XIV relating to Goa; Santa Maria, Prima Speditione all’Indie Orientali; ibid., Seconda Speditione all’Indie Orientali; Caterina da Siena, Il Viaggio all’Indie Orientali; Tavernier, Les Six Voyages de … qu’il a Fait en Turquie, en Perse et aux Indes; Cubero, Breve Relacion de la Peregrinacion que ha Hecho de la Mayor parte del Mundo … con el Viage por Tierras desde España, Hasta las Indias Orientales; Thevenot, Voyages de Mr de …, Contenant la Relation de l’Indostan, des Nouveaux Mogols, et des Autres Peuples et Pays des Indes, English translation also consulted, The Travels of Monsieur de … into the Levant in Three Parts, part III– The East Indies; Dellon, Relation de l’Inquisition de Goa and A Voyage to the East Indies; Abbé Carré, The Travels of the … in India and the Near East 1672 to 1674; Fryer, A New Account of East India and Persia Being Nine Years’ Travels, 1672–1681, 1–30; Careri, Giro del Mondo, vol. III; Manucci, Storia do Mogor or Mughal India 1653–1708, vol. III; A. Hamilton, A New Account of the East-Indies, 2 vols; Biervillas (pseudonym of Saunier de Beaumont), Voyage d’… a la Côte de Malabar, Goa, Batavia, & Autres Lieux des Indes Orientales. See other works that belong to this same collection, such as the French translation of the work of P. Jerónimo Lobo, S.J., published simultaneously in Paris and The Hague, with two different frontispieces, Relation (Voyage) Historique d’Abissinie (1728) and Lobo, Itinerário e outros escritos inéditos, 125–26. In addition, Relations de Divers Voyages Cvrievx, qvi n’ont Point Esté Pvbliees, ov qvi ont esté Traduites d’Haclvit, de Purchas, & d’autres Voyageurs Anglois, Hollandois, Portugais, Allemands, Espagnols; et de qvelqves Persans, Arabes, et Avutres Auteurs Orientaux (Paris, 1663) that included Rovtier povr la Navigation des Indes Orientales avec la

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 2.  3.  4.  5.  6.

 7.  8.


10. 11. 12.

Description des Isles, Barres, entrées de Ports, et Basses ou Bancs, dont la connoissance est necessaire aux Pilotes par Aleixo da Mota, 60 pages with each text differently numbered (this report precedes a folding map by João Teixeira dated 1649, with the east coast of Africa and India); following this is Memoires dv Voyage aux Indes Orientales dv General Beaulieu, dressé par luy-mesme. Among the reports that remain in manuscript, see the impressions of P.F. Ramponi, in C. de Azevedo, ‘Um Artista Italiano em Goa: Plácido Francesco Ramponi e o Túmulo de S. Francisco Xavier’. Frantz, The English Traveller and the Movement of Ideas 1660–1732. Construction of Maps and Globes (London, 1717), 139, 186, 189 (this praises the reports of Thevenot and Gemelli). Ibid., 211. Abbot Guyon, Histoire des Indes Orientales, vol. II, 69–79. Biervillas (pseudonym of Saunier de Beaumont), Voyage d’… a la Côte de Malabar, Goa, Batavia, & Autres Lieux des Indes Orientales, 77–120 (references to this work in D. Lopes, Expansão da Língua Portuguesa no Oriente nos Séculos XVI, XVII, XVIII, 71–72); as for his pseudonym, see R. Castelo Branco and F. Castelo Branco, ‘Goa vista por alguns viajantes estrangeiros (de seiscentos a oitocentos)’, 139–60, especially 148–51. On Dellon, see R. Castelo Branco and F. Castelo Branco, ‘Goa vista por alguns viajantes estrangeiros (de seiscentos a oitocentos)’, 141–47. ‘Après avoir passé deux grandes galeries et quelques appartements, j’entray dans une petite chambre où m’attendoit l’Inquisiteur assis au bout d’une grande table faite en forme de billard, et tant la table que tout le meuble de la chambre estoit couvert de drap vert qu’on apport de l’Angleterre. Dés que je fus entré il me dit que j’estois le bien venu, et après que je luy eus fait mon compliment, il me demanda de quele religion j’estois? Je luy répondis que je faisois profession de la religion Protestante, Il me demanda derechef, si mon pere et ma mere estoient aussi de la même religion? et lui ayant dit que ouy, il m’assura encore une fois qui j’estois le bien venu, criant à quelque gens qui étoient proche qu’ils pouvoient entrer. On leva en même temps un bout de la tapisserie et je vis parêtre dix ou douze personnes qui estoit dans une petite chambre à costé. Les premiers qui entrerent furent deux Religieux Augustins, qui furent suivis de deux Dominicains, de deux Carmes Dechaussez, et de quelques autres gens d’Eglise, à qui l’Inquisiteur dit d’abord qui j’estois et que je n’avois avec moy aucun livre defendu, et que sachant les ordres j’avois laissé ma Bible à Mingrela. Nous nous entretinmes plus de deux heures de plusieurs choses; et particulierment de mes voyages, toute la compagnie me temoignant qu’elle prenoit plaisir d’en entendre le recit. Trois jours aprés l’Inquisiteur m’envoya prier d’aller diner avec luy dans une belle maison qui est à une demi-lieue de la ville, et qui appartient aux Peres Carmes Dechaussez’, Tavernier, Les six voyages…, 140. Martinez de la Puente, Compendio de las Historias de los Descvbrimientos, Conquistas, y Guerras de la India Oriental, y sus Islas, desde los tiempos del Infante Don Henrique de Portugal su inventor; hasta los del Rey D. Felipe II. de Portugal, y III de Castilla. Y la introduccion del Comercio Portugues en las Malucas, y sus operaciones Politicas, y Militares … Y añadida vna Descripcion de la India. Priolkar, The Printing Press in India its Beginnings and Early Development, 21; Boxer, ‘A Tentative Check-List of Indo-Portuguese Imprints’, 593. Godinho, Relação do Novo Caminho que Fez por Terra e Mar Vindo da Índia para Portugal no ano de 1663, 237. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415–1825, 235–37.

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13. Nevett, João de Brito e o seu tempo. See Wicki, ‘Dois Compêndios das Ordens dos Padres Geraes e Congregações Provinciais da Província dos Jesuítas de Goa, Feitos em 1664’, 343–532. 14. Magalhães, Relaçam do estado politico e spiritual de imperio da China, pellos anos de 1659, até o de 1666. 15. Pih, Le Père Gabriel de Malgalhães: Un Jésuite Portugais en Chine au XVIIe Siècle, 232; Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. III, book 1, 358–59; Cummins, The Travels and Controversies of Friar Domingo Navarrete (1618-86), 2 vols. 16. Anjos, Historia Universal, 313–17. 17. M. de L.C. Fernandes, ‘História, santidade e identidade. O Agiologio Lusitano de Jorge Cardoso e o seu contexto’, 25–68. 18. Manrique, Itinerário (Rome, 1653), vol. II, 145. 19. Frias, Aureola dos Indios e Nobiliarchia Bracmana. Tractado Historico, Genealogico, Panegyrico e Moral; L. Pais, Promptuario das Definições Indicas, Deduzido de Varios Chronistas da India, Graves Auctores, e das Historias Gentilicas. 20. S. Viterbo, O Oriente Portuguez, vol. VIII (1911), 52. 21. J. da Madre de Deus, Vergel de Plantas, e Flores da Provincia da Madre de Deos dos Capuchos Reformados, 2–3. 22. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe, vol. III, book 1, 360–61. João Ribeiro (1622– 1693), author of Fatalidade Histórica da Ilha de Ceilão (1685), was the son of a Lisbon beret-maker who had served as a soldier in Ceylon between 1640 and 1658. When he returned to Portugal, he took part in the restoration campaigns and fought in the battles of Ameixial (1663) and Montes Claros (1665) and became a Christian. He was able to conceal his origins in order to marry a noblewoman from Madeira, where he was sent after the campaigns. His work avoids the artifices of the age, as shown in Conquista Espiritual e Temporal de Ceilão, written in Goa and completed in 1687 by the Jesuit Fernão Queirós. Boxer argues that Fatalidade Histórica, although it cannot be considered as important, completes the information given by the Conquista by Queirós, which also remained in manuscript, and by An Historical Relation of the Island of Ceylon (London, 1681), published by Robert Knox. In fact, the work remained in manuscript until it was published in 1863 by the Academia das Ciências de Lisboa, but its circulation in manuscript (including one bought by Boxer) led to its translation in French in 1701, see Boxer, ‘An Introduction to João Ribeiro’s Historical Tragedy of the Island of Ceylon 1685’, in Ceylon Historical Journal, 234–55. On the translation in French by Abbé Le Grand, dedicated to the Countess of Ericeira, Luís de Albuquerque wrote: ‘Le Grand explains, in a preface to his version [Amsterdam, 1701], that he added to the original “several chapters” as additions, which is correct, and in addition he annotated it with a few notes; but one should add that he frequently cut the original, as an anonymous preface writer of the Academy edition noted’, ‘Comentário’, in J. Ribeiro, Fatalidade histórica da Ilha de Ceilão, 206. On the question of the French translation, the observations of D. Ferguson in ‘Captain João Ribeiro: His Work on Ceylon, and the French Translation Thereof by the Abbé le Grand’ are more in-depth. Fatalidade Histórica is divided into three parts. In the first, João Ribeiro describes the island and its inhabitants as well as how the Portuguese crown took over the dominion of Ceylon as the legal heir to the throne. For example, João Ribeiro – like Queirós and Knox but in greater detail – describes the caste system as well as the organization of the provincial administration and the towns. He also explains how about 700 Portuguese soldiers (many ex-prisoners of the Limoeiro prison) aided by about 15,000 sinhalese

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23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

were strategically distributed in four main camps and controlled the island until 1658. Boxer relates the racism Ribeiro uses and the desertions en masse in areas in which the Portuguese exercised their power. The second part of the book is dedicated to the wars started in 1638 against the forces of Raja Sinha and against the Dutch East India Company. Ribeiro then evaluates some aspects of war that historians tend to forget, such as the participation of the Sinhalese forces both on the Portuguese and the Dutch sides. João Ribeiro considers that following the siege of Colombo (October 1655–May 1656) the Dutch behaved with a greater courtesy towards the Portuguese, which is not usually admitted by Portuguese authors. The third part is an explanation of the decadence in the State of India and a suggestion of Ribeiros’ that instead of sending forces from Sofala to Japan one should concentrate on Goa, Hormuz, Malacca and on colonizing Ceylon. Boxer finds here the reason the manuscript remained in existence. Hamilton, A New Account of the East-Indies, vol. I, XIX–XX. La Barbinais, Nouveau Voyage Autour du Monde, vol. I, 162, 224. J.M. Braga, ‘Interpreters and Translators in Old Macao’; Boxer, Portuguese Society in the Tropics: The Municipal Councils of Goa, Macao, Bahia, and Luanda, 1510–1800, 46. Furber, Rival Empires of Trade in the Orient, 1600–1800, 323. D. Lopes, Expansão da Língua portuguesa no Oriente, 138.

Chapter 11

Brazil, or the Province of Santa Cruz


The manuscript entitled Tratado da Terra do Brasil by Pêro de Magalhaes Gandavo was probably produced between 1568 and 1569. The História da Província de Santa Cruz, by the same author, opens with some trios by Camões and was probably written in 1573 and published in Lisbon in 1576. It is significant that this work on Brazil was addressed to D. Leónis Pereira, with the author and Camões celebrating the achievements of Pereira in the east, most particularly in Malacca. Brazil is thus dependent upon the promotion of the heroes of the State of India. Gandavo, as his name suggests, came from a line of Flemings from Ghent and was born in Braga. He remained some time in Brazil, but it is not known for how long. According to Capistrano de Abreu, he would have had direct knowledge of São Vicente as well as Bahia and Ilhéus, but he was never in Pernambuco, of which he also writes. In his Tratado, the objective of the author is to ‘announce in a few words the fertility and abundance of the land of Brazil, so that this fame will come to the notice of many people who live in poverty in this kingdom that they should not hesitate in choosing the place as a remedy’. The description has therefore one objective: to attract a greater number of inhabitants. As for the patterns of colonization, there are apparently only two: farming of the land, with the main produce being that of sugar (he also mentions cotton and the use of Pau Brasil), and mining. On the latter, it is strange to note that the Tratado ends with an allusion to the discoveries of gold within the interior of the Captaincy of Porto Seguro. The description relates to the coastline, which comprises eight captaincies with ports; in the interior

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there are no Portuguese towns ‘because the Indians don’t allow it’. When writing of Pernambuco, he states that the amount of sugar produced and the activity in the port were greater than in all the other captaincies. The captaincy of Bahia is considered to have the most Portuguese inhabitants (1,100), with eighteen sugar mills; Ilhéus follows with 200 inhabitants and eight sugar mills. There, the presence of the Aimoré Indians, who would attack the inhabitants in small groups, led the author to defend the settlers and to celebrate the fact that they had managed to kill some of the Indians. The damage caused by the Aimorés was also felt in the captaincy of Porto Seguro and indeed in the captaincies of Espírito Santo, Rio de Janeiro and São Vicente. In his short description of the captancies, Gandavo notes physical characteristics, particularly with regard to the good ports, the wealth and the number of inhabitants, jurisdiction and the existence or not of a Jesuit monastery. Settlers were granted land by the captains under the policy of sesmaria and lived off the work of their slaves. However, slaves often carried out attacks and were constantly fleeing: ‘if these Indians were not so keen to flee and to change, there would be nothing to compare with the wealth of Brazil’, as Gandavo laments. He compares this resistance by the Indians with the behaviour of the slaves brought in from Guinea: ‘these are safer than the native Indians, because they never run away and anyway they have nowhere to go.’ The author also values the fact that so many intertribal wars among the Indian population allows the Portuguese to live there thanks to a policy of alliances and the exchange of European goods. There is no concern from the author as to the celebration of the massacre of the Indians promoted by the governors and captains, nor their fleeing into the interior. He also gives particular attention to cannibalistic practices, concluding that the Indians lived like wild animals, ‘without order or agreement among men’. The system of possession of slaves had already been denounced by the Jesuits, yet Gandavo states that methods of control and the conditions of capture meant they did ‘very well with their farms’. The fact that one can live without working from the moment one manages to become the owner of four or six slaves, each costing the tiny sum of 10 cruzados, is what makes a grand life in the colony: ‘the inhabitants of these captaincies look after themselves well and they are richer than the people of this kingdom, both in eating and in clothing of their persons, and they enjoy helping each other with their slaves and very much favour the poor who are starting to live in that country’. For Gandavo, in speaking of the many pious works in Brazil, it makes an idealized picture of colonial society complete. In Brazil, all the poor are able to survive without having to go begging from door to door as was the case in Portugal.1

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Compared with the Tratado, which remained in manuscript form, the História da Província de Santa Cruz by the same author opens with recourse to a great number of literary stereotypes, including the little care the Portuguese give to written records of their achievements. This is in contrast with the interests of the Greeks and Romans, who preserved their own people in a ‘perpetual memory’. Regarding historical evolution, the printed book by Gandavo records the discovery of Brazil in 1500 by Pedro Álvares Cabral, the ships sent from Portugal and the division of captaincies ‘in the way it is now’. After a fleeting glance at these historical facts, the book goes on to be more a description of Brazil. The author starts by insisting on the importance of its original name, Santa Cruz, at a time when religious conflict displayed a tendency to forget the sacrifice of Christ. He then describes in summary the area and the qualities of the ‘province’, with emphasis on the rivers: ‘all is clothed in high, thick trees, watered with waters from many and precious rivers … the springs in the land are infinite’. Gandavo then refers to King John III’s division of Brazil into eight captaincies and acknowledges a direct relationship between its population and the fact that the captains personally assisted in this. Two more captaincies – one being in Bahia, relative to the north, and the other in Rio de Janeiro, relative to the south –established in December 1572 lasted only until 1577, since the difficulties of coordination as well as the development of new institutional conflicts led to their suspension.2 Repeating the same ideas contained in the manuscript Tratado, the printed História defends the colonies and celebrates the fact that many Indians who initially lived along the coast were massacred by the governors and captains or fled to the interior, leaving unoccupied land that, in some cases, was close to the colonial townships. The individualized description of each captaincy leads the author to mention the different forms of collaboration between the Indians and the settlers: in Pernambuco, for example, the inhabitants obtained many slaves from the native Indians, which allowed them to develop sugar mills; in the captaincy of São Vicente, more precisely in São Paulo, there were many inhabitants and ‘the greater part of them are the offspring of native Indian women and sons of Portuguese’. The ideals of colonization based on slave labour and on a life of abundance associated with exercising magnanimity and liberality are once again present. However there are differences between the manuscript and the work that was circulated in printed form. In the Tratado, Gandavo considered: ‘the people who want to live in Brazil as soon as they become inhabitants there, however poor they are, if each achieves two pairs to half a dozen slaves (with each one possibly costing little more than about 10 cruzados) they immediately have the ability to survive’. While in the printed História he declares that

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‘The first thing that [the inhabitants] want to acquire is slaves to work in them [the sesmarias] to make their farms and if someone comes to that country and gets two pairs or half a dozen slaves (even if they possess nothing else) they have the possibility of discovering honourably how to support their family’. By this different pronouncement it is possible to find that the almost Utopian idealization of the figure of the settler who does not need to work that exists in the manuscript gives way to a more contained form in the printed work. These are differences in detail regarding the invitation to colonization, since the História ends with the same references as the Tratado to an ‘El Dorado’ of gold mines in the interior of Brazil, in this respect gathering a larger amount of information than in the manuscript version. The História da Província de Santa Cruz is more prolific with regard to the description of the flora and fauna than the manuscript version. Plants, fruit and herbs, the various types of animals, birds and fish are the subject of an inventory where there is no lack of creativity and a preoccupation with presenting various strange things, as is the case with an allusion to the monstrous sea creature found dead in São Vicente. In a clearer form than in the manuscript, the description of the Indians is now part of the same inventory. However, the biggest difference with the printed work is a more explicit evaluation of the work of the Jesuits in the ‘domestication’ of those they consider to be wild. Indeed, in the Tratado there are only sporadic allusions to the Society’s monasteries in the description of the captaincies, as well as a limited reference to the interference by the Jesuits in ransoming the slaves. In the História there is an entire chapter praising the ‘fruit that the fathers of the Society make in these parts with their doctrine’, where the Jesuits’ interference in the old system of ransom acquires another dimension. Despite a lack of enthusiasm regarding the Jesuits found in the Tratado, the História gives way to declarations of general approval of their work: (‘it is enough that we know how their works are seen as holy and good’), their work is met with general approval. This evaluation of the Society of Jesus in a work in whose manuscript form there appeared a clear defence of the settlers poses the question as to which version the author wished to present in his work. That is, under what conditions is a book on the Land of Brazil ‘substituted’ by another on the Province of Santa Cruz? Whatever these conditions are, the hypothesis of censure by the Jesuits that can be found in the meaning of the História cannot be established in opposition to the interests of the author. This is because by a royal decree dated 29 August 1576 Pêro de Magalhães Gandavo was nominated overseer of the treasury of the captaincy of Salvador da Bahia de Todos-os-Santos. It is thus that his work was recognized.3

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On the scale of analysis of a work such as the História da Província de Santa Cruz, it is possible to observe contrasts between the interests of the settlers and those of the Jesuits and to verify how they become compatible. This analytical exercise should be broadened to other texts if we want to avoid the weight of various historiographic traditions based upon presenting the contrasts in an over-rigid form. Settlers are in general associated with economic interests of exploitation of labour and forms of violence in the establishment of relations with the Indians, while the Jesuits’ interests are more humanitarian, and they seek to apply curiosity in their contact with the Indians in a way that we would nowadays see as ethnographic. The contrast represents above all a moral opposition between the forces of good and evil, stereotypes that the historian should attempt to overlook by use of analyses that are interested in the determination of multiple meanings of a discourse. At the time Gandavo was writing his works (Tratado and História), Gabriel Soares de Sousa settled by chance in Bahia in 1569. On embarking from Lisbon, he had seen his objective as being to take part in the expedition to Monomotapa. Once he was established as head of the mill in Jaguaripe and Jequiricá in Bahia, one of his brothers, João Coelho de Sousa, started exploring the hinterland in search of deposits of precious metals. It would have been through the influence of his brother that Gabriel Soares de Sousa moved back to Portugal and then on to Madrid, where he remained between 1584 or 1585 and 1590. Although we do not know the specific nature of his decisions following the discovery of gold, silver and precious materials, we do know the favours granted to him that were promised by the king in 1590 – governor of the discovery and conquest of the São Francisco river with the right to nominate all the officers of justice and treasury besides the concession of the religious habit for himself and his four brothers-in-law and two cousins who went with him, and the ability to be able to confirm 100 cavalier-noblemen among his companions, at which point he took the title of Marquis. But, more than anything, what was important was that he discovered the mines. In 1591, Gabriel Soares de Sousa went to Bahia with 360 men and four Carmelites. With the support of the governor of Bahia, he started penetrating the interior. However, he died during this expedition. The Notícia do Brasil, which Gabriel Soares presented to Cristóvão de Moura in Madrid in 1587, was an exchange of advice for favours granted by the king.4 For this reason this discourse of action is part of a negotiation where the figure of the author contributes to the credibility of the person claiming favours.5 However, this is a discourse of action regarding the discovery of mines in Brazil that, far from being able to be considered an

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isolated case, has parallels with many other attempts, as was clear in 1606 in relation to the gold mines in São Vicente.6 In the first part of the work, which remained in manuscript, Gabriel Soares de Sousa describes aspects of the physical geography of Brazil, its administrative organization, the flora, fauna and various groups of Indians in the territory. In the second part, the author focuses specifically on Bahia and finishes – as had already been the case with Pêro de Magalhães Gandavo’s description – with the allusion to the precious stones and metals to be found in the hinterland of Bahia. Among the several aspects worthy of emphasis in this description, two warrant particular attention. One of them relates to the capacity shown by the author to capture the differences between the various groups of Indians and to give a description of their customs that is not reduced to stereotypes of wild men. He refers among several customs to the fact that they are seen as ‘great musicians and dancers among all the people, great composers of improvised songs for which they are highly esteemed by people wherever they go’. On the Tamoios of Rio de Janeiro, he does not conceal the way in which they were massacred and captured for slavery because of their alliance with the French. On the other hand he does not fail to refer among their several customs to the fact that they are seen as ‘great musicians and dancers among all the people, great composers of improvised songs for which they are highly esteemed by people wherever they go’. In this way the celebration of the violence exercised by the settlers over a group of Indians is compatible with an interest that nowadays we would consider ethnographic. The second aspect to point out in the Notícia do Brasil relates to the description of the urban groupings. For him, with his interest in the discovery of precious metals, establishing a town or city consists of the following elements: the initial construction of a fortress and the expulsion of the Indians in the area, and an enumeration of households concentrated there with a view to the creation a defence force; in the case of Rio de Janeiro the fortification had already been erected by the French together with the Tamoios, and its takeover following a war was followed by the expulsion of the Indians to the interior and eventually the construction of new walls supplied with artillery and finished with the building of churches, a casa da misericórdia, a hospital and a Jesuit monastery. Giving the greatest attention to Bahia, he states that the building of the city began with the construction of walls with artillery, streets, the foundations of the cathedral, the Jesuit college, other churches, houses for the governors, the council, prison, and a customs house and treasury. He then goes on to refer to its population as well as the surroundings, particularly its defences, as well as the ‘honest square’ (which is used for bullfights)

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and the various civil buildings to the south of the square. Also to the south is the road to the port, while to the north is the merchants’ street going towards the cathedral that lies beside the casa da misericórdia and other religious buildings. A last word of praise in this description is for the philanthropic work of the Misericórdia. In all, the definition of urban order suggests for the author of the Notícia do Brasil the establishment of fortified limits and the use of armed defence. The specific demarcation of areas of civil and religious activities in which the square occupies a central place is nowadays what we would consider to be urban planning.7 In this sequence of evaluations of the colonial cities, it is important to consider the work Milicia y descripcion de las Indias, which, in 1599, Bernardo de Vargas Machuca published in Madrid. In this work, the author begins by presenting the qualities of the captains and soldiers, whose duty it was to go on expeditions into the interior of the Americas and following a takeover put on ceremonies. The detailed report of the rites to be performed on the foundation of a city has as its focal point the main square and the church. The creation of a new social order implied the resolution of the two major problems of colonization: the distribution of land among the new population, which formed one of the principal risks with which the captains had to contend, and the damage that colonization implied for the Indians, who should be compensated through the retention of a market without the interference from new inhabitants as well as permanent payments or gifts. Vargas Machuca also recalls the need to establish forms of peaceful interaction between the new inhabitants and the Indians but also the ability to make use of their divisions or even to foment internal divisions (such as Gandavo had referred to). In these references that are more programmatic and descriptive, we find preoccupations regarding urban centres that are not very different from those that can be detected in Gabriel Soares de Sousa. The author adds to this programme of colonization a brief description of all the West Indies, which comprised New Spain, running along Florida and New Mexico, the New Kingdom of Granada and Peru, as well as the coasts that had already been defined relating to the River Plate and Brazil. On Brazil, Vargas Machuca begins by specifying that El Dorado was still to be conquered, ‘que es un largo termino de tierra, segun la noticia que della ay’8 (that is a wide stretch of land according to news coming from there). Later on the territory of Brazil is once again defined in relation to the coastline between the River Plate, more precisely Buenos Aires, and Pernambuco. For the author, this land of Brazil has a Royal Audience: Bispado. It is a hot country and not healthy in some parts and in other parts it is temperate and healthy.

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It is well supplied. These peoples are Portuguese. Between this land and the general mountain range of the new kingdom of Granada, and Peru, there is El Dorado, a mountain range that rises between this land and the plains, between the river Maranhao and the river Canela, close to the equator, in the Austral part less one degree. This mountain range runs Northeast, Southeast, according to the most accurate relations. It will be far from Brazil, three hundred leagues, and from the Kingdom’s general mountain range, a hundred leagues; and of which this Dorado exists and its great wealth is certain, and thus everywhere is spread its fame, which has cost a great number of lives, and farms, for lacking their true news and path.9

In his publication Historia General de los hechos de los Castellanos en las islas i tierra firme del Mar Oceano (1601), António de Herrera published a description of the West Indies, including a description of the ‘provinces and lands of Brazil’. He starts by speaking of the discovery of Brazil, how it had been completed at the orders of the Catholic King and Queen by Vicente Yanñez Pinzon and then followed up by Diego de Lope. Only later did Pedro Álvares Cabral arrive in Brazil, purely by chance. He specifies its main products: sugar, cotton and pau-brazil and shows Brazil as being divided into nine captaincies, including seventeen townships with 3,300 households. Taking an idea from Gandavo, he refers to the ‘gran multitude de Indios belicosos, que no han dado lugar a los Portugueses a poblar sino en la costa’ (a large number of warlike Indians who have not given way to the Portuguese to populate it except along the coast). He then considers the many rivers and ports that favour navigation. He next resumes mention of the Jesuit monastery, ‘que han hecho grandissimo prouecho en la poblacion desta tierra, y conuersion de los Indios y su libertad’ (which has had much profit in the population of this land and conversion of the Indians and their freedom). In summary, while António de Herrera wishes to remove from the Portuguese and from Pedro Álvares the prestige of discovering Brazil, as argued by Magalhães Gandavo in his História, he clearly shows himself to appreciate Gandavo’s descriptive references and the role played by the Jesuits.10 Manuel Correia de Montenegro, a Portuguese royal publisher at Salamanca University, ends his book Libro Quinto de los Reyes naturales de Portugal with a description of the province of Brazil. Calling it ‘una grande region maritima’ (a great maritime region), the author begins by referring to the limited fertility of the land: The land of Brazil is agreeable, and very fresh and has much good air even though it does not produce gold or silver, there is an abundance of supplies and a seed they call corn, which is used for bread, and pau-brasil, which is

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taken to Europe and exchanged for cloth, and new explorers have planted sugar, produces in great quantity.11

Its inhabitants are described as living in an infantile state that does not recognize idols or any divinity. He then describes its discovery by Pedro Álvares Cabral, giving particular importance to the Mass celebrated with the presence of the natives. For Manuel Correia, this ‘admirable spectacle’, where the natives knelt down, copying everything that they saw the Europeans doing, meant the possibility of a type of contact that was far different from what actually occurred. The author writes of how the newly arrived people scandalized the natives, ‘tomandolos sus tierras, y despojandolos de sus aueres’ (taking from their lands and removing their possessions). Montenegro then lists the armadas sent to Brazil in order to survey the land. During Manuel’s reign, Gonçalo Coelho was the captain of one of these armadas, and King John III sent over Cristóvão Jaque. However, it was Duarte Coelho, who, on asking John for the captaincy of Pernambuco, oversaw the most consistent process of colonization and was responsible for the foundation of a city. It was then that ‘los brasiles’ (the Brazilians), allied with the French, sought to resist but were defeated and had to leave the coast, retreating to the interior. Manuel Correia uses the reference to this flight of the Indians to the interior to make another valuable judgement: such a start to colonization prevented their conversion to Catholicism, since they began to consider all Christians as cruel and as thieves from abroad. Then there is a reference to the captaincy of João de Barros and the poor behaviour in the Bahia region of Francisco Pereira Coutinho, who was assassinated by the Tupinambas. Following this assassination, King John III determined on making Bahia the capital of the government of Brazil so that from then on it would be possible to secure the defences of the other captaincies. Montenegro suggests that, in 1549, Tomé de Sousa was chosen as governor general, with his powers supplanting all those that had previously been granted to the other captaincies. Dr Pedro Borges and António Cardoso de Barros accompanied him, the former as judge general and the latter as overseer of the treasury. The creation of the city appears as the creation of a new order: ‘Fundose la ciudad, con su cerca, y baluartes, la Iglesia mayor, y otras, y las casas para los padres de la companñia. Gastose en polbora, syeldos y ornamentos, mas de trezientos mil ducados’ (The city was founded with its battlements, the great Church, and others, and the houses for the priests of the company. More than three hundred thousand ducats were spent on gunpowder and ornaments). The following year, John III sent another armada to assist. This time the bishop, D. Pedro Fernandes Sardinha, died together with more than 100 others at the hands of ‘Los Brasiles

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Cayres’ (the Cayre Brazilians). The report goes on to tell of the battles against the Indians and the French, particularly those led by the governor Mem de Sá. In concluding his description of Brazil, Manuel Correia Montenegro considers: That with care and planning the growth of this land and new region can become one of the greatest states of the world at little expense and will become a great Empire as King John III determined, and in ten years this will succeed, since it has more than a thousand leagues of coast and the land is most suitable.12

The list of the qualities of the land includes its suitability for the production of every type of fruit, the quality of its water, its natural ports that could harbour large ships, the facilities with which one could produce cattle, sugar, cotton, wheat, corn and even wine, as well as the fact that there existed metals, namely silver and gold, and even emeralds and other stones of a thousand colours. In a discourse written in Castilian, he compares Brazil with the Castilian Indies, considering Brazil superior to these, since there ‘no hay mas, que oro y plata, y perlas, y en esta nuestra tambien hay muchos estimados metales, y sin ellos otras muchas cosas, prouechoss, y saludables a la vida humana’ (there is no more than gold and silver and pearls and here there are many precious metals and they lack many other things that are profitable and for the good of human life). What should be done, according to the author, is to people it with many inhabitants, so creating new cities and fortresses, after which it could be called New Lusitania or New Portugal, ‘que es nombre mas nueuo, y mas insigne, y notorio en el mundo’ (which is a very new name and has more meaning and importance in the world).13 When in 1618 Ambrósio Fernandes Brandão described Brazil in Diálogos das grandezas do Brasil (a dialogue between the characters of Brandónio and Alviano), his main objective lay in showing the wonders of the country to those who believed it was sterile land. It is interesting to note how the criterion for demonstrating the wonders supposes a calculation of the benefits of the production and trade of sugar, to which one could add the introduction of pepper and other oriental spices. The main beneficiaries of this wealth from sugar production were the owners of the mills as well as their families. Fernandes Brandão then evaluates the merchants of different standing and the trade between Brazil and Angola or the River Plate and Peru, which were more important than exchanges with Portugal itself. In this framework, the author describes Brazil as the ‘world market’, ‘where one easily learns all the policies, a good way of speaking … how to negotiate and other similar attributes’. The wealth

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allows the first sons of poor men who had come from Portugal – ‘exiles and men of bad living’ – to enter into contact with new waves of nobility, ‘so that there is a mixture of quite noble blood’. From this view of a new society supported by wealth the result was ‘that the sons of Lisbon and the furthest parts of the kingdom come to learn from it good words with which they are different in their ways, which previously they lacked’. For this new society, able to attract and civilize those coming from Portugal, Fernandes Brandão established how to attract more people by predicting the markets of Portugal. At the centre of this prosperous social order were the mills and agricultural land with their oxen and their black or native slaves. The owners, ‘as they have their houses in the towns and cities, do not build residences there, since the countryside is their usual habitation’.14 However, the fact that the sugar mill was at the centre of Brazilian society does not preclude the importance given to the deposits of metals and precious stones or the cities themselves. For example, Olinda, with its mercantile activities, its buildings and monasteries, is considered ‘a little Lisbon’, while Bahia is described as the seat of overall government – although in practice Pernambuco was more attractive as a residence for the governor, the Episcopal see, and the Tribunal da Relação (the author declared himself against this tribunal). In this framework, there is a reference to the noble owner of a mill who with his wealth and without gaining anything from it gave the inhabitants of the city of Paraíba whitewashed stone houses together with land and even gave the city a building to house the Misericórdia. Fernandes Brandão also tells the story of a Peruvian who supposed the possibility of shipping silver from all the mines well into the hinterland by river. He also mentions the enormous gold nugget discovered near São Paulo and how Rio de Janeiro became rich with trade along the River Plate. Without overlooking the fact that the colonization of Brazil had been built upon ‘making sugar’ and was fought for ‘on the beaches’, as opposed to the Castilian conquests in the South American interior, Fernandes Brandão ends by acknowledging the mines as equal to the sugar mills in the creation of the country’s wealth and in turn the compatibility of the countryside/hinterland with the life of the urban centres.15 Translated into our language of today, the author shows himself above all to be interested in demonstrating the integrating function of Brazil. Within this picture, Brandão records the various social hierarchies and refers to several elements that disturb the idealized social order. Five hierarchies are named. In first place are the maritime people, who are to be found most of all in the ports and whose occupation consists of loading, transporting and unloading products. Then come the merchants, who are

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interested in buying and selling products – in particular sugar, pau-brazil and cotton. Many of them had opened shops and acted as representatives of other merchants from Portugal. There were also the merchants who went to the mills and farms to sell products they had bought from other merchants in the cities and towns. For the author, the intention of many merchants was to take 11 per cent and ‘make themselves rich through trade, they do not want to get more land, but rather want to enjoy life as much as they can’. However, criticism of merchants is compensated by the praise of those who have either become rich through business or established themselves as mill owners and the ability of natives to trade with foreigners. The ambiguity recorded in the evaluation of the merchants is repeated in the analysis of the third social group, consisting of mechanics. On the one hand, Fernandes Brandão feels that the mechanics practice their trade, ‘ … without having any thought for the common good’. On the other hand, the author states the necessity for more mechanics in order to overcome Brazil’s shortcomings. The fourth group comprises the ‘men who work for others for a salary’, who are employed to do various jobs, such as packing sugar, cattle breeding, and transporting or accompanying their employers as servants. They are also seen as having ‘no care for the common good’. The final group comprises those in agricultural work, including the rich mill owners, whose titles depended upon royal approval, with the most modest occupied mostly in planting vegetables and other food products. Although Fernandes Brandão shows his interest in evaluating the central function of these groups, he does not disguise his criticism of those who want to become rich quickly in order to return to Portugal and who do not dedicate themselves to creating benefits such as ‘farms, orchards and gardens, water deposits and large buildings, like ours in Spain’.16 The criticisms of the five groups of inhabitants, particularly the denouncement of their private interests, are because of the author’s belief in the creation of a perfect society. This idealized society is only possible if the visions of those from the kingdom of Portugal (‘os reinóis’) are overlooked. One of the characters in Fernandes Brandão’s dialogue is presented as being ‘still a “reinol” and shortly arrived in this land’ and therefore has erroneous views on the potential of Brazil. Alviano refers to this as the ‘sickness of the land’, while Brandónio – the character with whom the author’s ideas are identified – seeks to convince him otherwise, since his experience of the country dates back many years, when he was ‘new to the land’. The author claims that there is ‘no inhabitant in the whole of this State who is so removed that he has no relative or friend in the Kingdom’. However, in the case of a tribunal, those who do not have relatives/friends ‘are forced to take care of themselves with

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much expense on the journey [to Lisbon] and it is necessary for them to take money on account which is very difficult to obtain in Brazil, which is not mentioned, as I have said, in the papers that are sent to the Kingdom’. Fernandes Brandão acknowledges the limits of the Relação de Bahia and proposes its replacement by three magistrates, to be situated in Pernambuco, Bahia and Rio de Janeiro, in order for legal disputes to be settled internally in Brazil.17 In Diálogos das grandezas do Brasil, Africans and Indians are described not as marginalized groups but as integrated into the same social order of Brazil. The black enslaved population gives rise to a discussion as to their biblical origins and their physical attributes, and they are seen as one of the greatest things about Brazil, yet this is in the framework of their being in service of an employer and having a market value: while in Brazil there has been created a new Guinea with the great number of slaves from there who are to be found there now; so much so that in some captaincies there are more of them than natives of the country, and all the men who live there have put almost all their wealth into this trade. For this reason in Brazil there are so many people of this black colour and curly hair that we cannot fail to deal in this market.18

The image of the Indians presented by Ambrósio Fernandes Brandão is more controversial. Their lack of a system of written records is interpreted as a sign of a lack of collective memory and, therefore, a lack of ‘policy’ or civilization.19 Meanwhile, his description of Indian customs accentuates their cannibalism and alcoholism, the use of violence and cruelty and their superstitious beliefs. An exception to this negative image of the Indians is a reference to the Amazons as virgin hunters, descendants of Diana. Regarding the barbarism of Indians, which is considered all the greater because of the many tribes, the author evaluates the civilizing work undertaken by the settlers with support from the religious orders – a social order organized by white inhabitants. The author of the Diálogos das grandezas once again identifies this social order as a negative, and so that the civilizing actions of the settlers are understood, compares it with the world of the hinterland, a large territory occupied by barbaric Indians. However, in specifying the impact of these civilizing actions or, rather, the missionary work, Fernandes Brandão doubts the ability of the Indians to learn what they have been taught regarding how to dress, reading, writing, elementary arithmetic and also the arts. He considers that the Indians, in spite of all efforts, ‘always turn to their natural inclination’ and so tend to revert to their ‘barbarous customs’. The character of Brandónio states:

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The Priests of the Society have taught one of these Indians, as they think he is capable, to read and write and even a little of the arts; once he appeared able and to have good habits, they began to allow him to take minor orders and I believe I also heard that he taught the Epistle and the Bible so that they could ordain him as a priest at mass. But the good Indian, giving in to his natural inclinations, disappeared one morning and went with other relatives to the hinterland where he performed his barbaric customs until he died and did not remember the good customs they had taught him.20

The author ultimately questions the efficacy of the Jesuit’s work but does not write off the efforts of the settlers. One should consider some of the common themes found in texts that explore the topic of Brazil. The first of these relates to the names by which one can identify the territory. In the epic poem Prosopopeia (1601), which Bento Teixeira dedicated to Jorge de Albuquerque Coelho, the captain and governor of the captaincy of Pernambuco, the name ‘New Lusitania’ appears in a description of Recife. This ancient name stemmed from the native population – the Lusitani (an Indo-European people) – and was associated with the expansion of Catholicism. The present name, Brazil, denotes the importance of the extraction and trade in pau-brazil, while the term ‘Brasilienses’ identified inhabitants from the homeland and not merely the Indians. At first sight, the author of the Diálogos da grandeza do Brasil (1618), far from the sixteenth-century idealizations of Brazil as ‘El Dorado’, presents a new, mature consciousness regarding the contradictions of the colonial society of which Ronaldo Vainfas speaks.21 It is important to reinforce here the idea of Ambrósio Fernandes Bandão regarding a break in social relations along the coastline, the centre of the occupation of Brazil. One should note the representation of the River Plate that is part of the Roteiro de todos os sinais, conhecimentos, fundos, baixos, Alturas, e derrotas que há na costa do Brasil desde o cabo de Santo Agostinho até ao estreito de Fernão de Magalhães (1582–1585) attributed to Luís Teixeira.22 In 1595, Pêro Roiz Soares records in his Memorial the arrival in Lisbon of a fleet from Brazil with Peruvian ‘reales’. Pedro Craesbeeck published in Lisbon in 1602 the work by Martín del Barco Centenera, Argentina y Conquista del Rio de la Plata, and, significantly, three years later El Inca Garcilaso, which recalled the first land he had seen when he travelled from Peru was Portuguese – the islands of Terceira and Faial, as well as the city of Lisbon.23 An ambassador from Venice stated in 1602 that the kingdom of Portugal ‘è unito quello d’Algarve, le isole Terzere, il Brasile, il Perù la costa d’Africa fuori dello Stretto, le Indie Orientali,

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le isole dell’Oceano verso levante, ed il diretto dominio di quell gran pelago’ (is united with the Algarve, the island of Terceira, Brazil, Peru the coast of Africa beyond the strait, east India, the island of the Ocean to the Levant under the direct rule of that great sea). Nine years later, the same ambassador, Girolamo Soranzo, once again referred to the territories belonging to Portugal and included the ambiguous expression ‘il Brasil nel Perù’ (Brazil in Peru).24 Finally it is necessary to complete my analysis by looking at texts that relate the French occupation of Maranhão and the Portuguese response to this. Within this framework of territorial occupation, running from 1613 to 1616, which was magnificently achieved by Capristano de Abreu,25 the descriptions of Maranhão by Claude d’Abeville (1614) and Yves d’Evreux (1615) hold an important place. Following the first expedition from Pernambuco in 1614 to take Maranhão, organized by the new governor, Gaspar de Sousa, with Jerónimo de Albuquerque as second-in-command and Diogo de Campos Moreno as sergeant, there was a French retreat in 1615. A French report on this defeat describes the events on the Ilha do Maranhão in the country of the Tupinambus between the French and Portuguese, both sides being aided by ‘wild men’. The main objective of the pamphlet is to moderate the presentation of the events against other versions: ‘parce que l’issue en a esté douce et toute autre que quelques ennemis de la paix et jaloux de la double alliance que est entre les deux plus grandes Couronnes qui soyent en l’Europe de France et d’Espagne ont voulu publier mal à ce propos’ (because the result is sweet and some enemies of peace who are jealous of the double alliance between the two greatest crowns in Europe of France and Spain have wanted to write maliciously on this matter). This is a moment when the two monarchies established ties through marriages between the main heirs. The presentation of the events distant from Maranhão is thus affected by this new European political scenario.26 Following the Restoration, the Amazon region once again became the object of historical description by Blaise François, Comte de Pagan.27 What is not known is how far this work corresponds to a new French imperial project including the region of Maranhão. Other attempts if not at appropriating the same territory but at least towards the establishment of direct trade relations were attempted by other European powers, as was the case with some Dutch initiatives. However, it is necessary to acknowledge the competition between nations regarding the takeover of Maranhão with the intent to reconstruct the captaincies and landholdings that had developed from the 1620s to well after the Restoration.28

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The Brazilian New Christianity From 1549 to 1598, 128 Jesuits went to Brazil as a result of 23 expeditions. Forty of these were killed by the French pirate Jacques Soria in 1570 and twelve were assassinated by the French and English in 1571. According to an estimate of 1600 that included new arrivals to the Society, the number of Jesuits was 183.29 For his part, the first visitor of the Holy Office, Heitor Furtado de Mendonça, arrived in Salvador da Bahia in 1591 accompanying the Governor Francisco de Sousa. In 1593, he went to Pernambuco, where he performed his duties, increasing his responsibilities to the captaincies of Itamaracá and Paraíba until 1595. Let us fix our attention on the descriptions of Brazil by Father José de Anchieta, particularly those that were produced in 1584–85. For this Jesuit, there are two overriding themes in these descriptions: the first is the main powers and their agents acting in Brazil; the second is the nature of the Indians in their diversity and interaction with the settlers. Anchieta evaluated the role of the governors; the bishops and prelates; the French, whose presence was felt most of all in the region of Rio de Janeiro; and the different religious orders – most of all the Jesuits. This evaluation led the author to criticize all those who, as far as he was concerned, mistreated the Indians, be they inhabitants who were poorly led by their captains, or a bishop who was ‘not very zealous in the conversion of the Indians’.30. The role of the Jesuits – with their colleges, their villages, their hierarchical organization and their use of the local language in works of conversion – deserves particular attention, as one would hope. Regarding the description of the Indians, Anchieta covers amongst other things: the diversity and unity of the languages and notes the absence of the letters F, L, Z, S, R, as Gandavo also stated; their wars and practices of cannibalism; their marriages and forms of succession; their ceremonies; the consumption of alcohol; and, in particular, the ‘sanctity’ movements.31 However, this interest that nowadays we would call ethnographic is, in the writings of this Jesuit and others, most of all an introduction to the more general problem of conversion. Anchieta reveals the necessity of subjecting Indians to the missionary discipline established in the Jesuit villages. He regrets the many epidemics that cut down the indigenous population; and he bitterly criticizes the attempts of the Portuguese inhabitants to enslave the Indians, leading to the desertion by the Indians to the hinterland.32 Anchieta seems to want the reader to believe that the opposition between the Jesuits and the settlers can be reduced to a battle between the forces of good and evil. He wished to substitute the violence employed by the settlers in the control of the Indians with other forms of control that he saw as being more effective,

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and he praises the work of the Jesuits in assisting the governors and captains during the ‘just wars’ against the Indians.33 He supports the Jesuits’ use of ‘fear and subjection’, noting a growing number of converts since the governorship of Mem de Sá. This was seen as necessary in the conversion of the Indians, who possessed a ‘restless nature’ and were considered a tabula rasa on which it would be possible to ‘print’ good.34 Finally, one should note that Anchieta does not deny praise for governor Mem de Sá, ‘who always went to confession and communion with the Society’.35 Ronaldo Vainfas notes that Mem de Sá was an exponent of the ‘art of massacre’ practised by the settlers. The Brazilian historian concludes that ‘the governor general and the Jesuits, Mem de Sá and Anchieta, [were] two sides of the oppression that was imposed on the indigenous population of the sixteenth century’.36 Anchieta’s writing allows us thus to illustrate on the one hand how missionary interests affected what we would now days class as an ethnographic description and, on the other, the forms of control practised by the Jesuits that allowed them to become collaborators rather than opponents with the settlers, which included penetrating the systems of belief of the Tupi-Guarani. As Alfredo Bosi demonstrated, Anchieta records ‘a strange imaginary syncretism that is not simply Catholic nor purely Tupi-Guarani’.37 As we shall see regarding the other Jesuits, this is not an isolated case. Thus missionary means of control gave way to inventive forms. As Bosi stated, ‘the transposition to the New World of patterns of behaviour and language produced unequal results. At first sight educated culture appears to repeat, without any alternatives, the European model but when placed in a (colonial) situation regarding the Indians it is stimulated or even constrained to invent’.38 In particular, Bahia during the 1580s saw a movement of ‘sanctity’, protected by an ambitious mill owner, which was crushed by the forces of the governor Manuel Teles Barreto in 1585. Anchieta describes this religious movement as the result of the inventions of certain witchdoctors, called Pagés, which were translated into dances and songs accompanied by drink. The principal messages related to food produced without effort, the transformation of old women into young girls, the punishment of being metamorphosed into a bird for those who did not follow the movement, and the spirit that the witchdoctors possessed in being able to kill etc., ‘so that one can well believe that particularly there the devil works among them which is generally ruinous’.39 As demonstrated by Laura de Mello e Souza, in alluding to witchdoctors and the devil, the Jesuits exemplified the value of demonology in the control of the other.40 However, a reading of the inquisitorial documentation regarding this movement of ‘sanctity’ reveals how far Tupi-Guarani

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beliefs are combined with syncretic forms of the Catholic message. On this subject, Ronaldo Vainfas wrote: It was, however, on the informal and pragmatic plan of the gestures and interstices and mediations of each universe of beliefs that the possible Catholic-Tupinambá fusion was operating of which the Amerindian sanctity was a carrier. Some witnesses state that the Indians called the church of sanctity the ‘New Jerusalem’. Jerusalem, the centre of the world in the sacred sphere of the Christians would, if one is to believe these reports, become the symbol of the indigenous “new fire”. It is perfectly possible, I believe, that some Indians thought in this way, particularly those who went to the missions and heard the Jesuits speaking in the local language of the true Holy Land, the sacred city of the passion and resurrection of Christ.41

The Jesuit Fernão Cardim arrived in Bahia on 9 May 1583. The first of his letters is dated October 1585 and was written following a general visit undertaken by the Jesuits to the Province of Brazil. The second letter is dated May 1590, when Cardim was the rector of the Society’s College, a post he retained until 1593. It is also known that in 1596 he performed the duties of the rector of the College of Rio de Janeiro, where he lived with Father José de Anchieta, who died a year later. In 1598, he was elected procurator of the Province of Brazil in Rome, but in 1601 he returned. It was on this journey that he was taken prisoner by the English, who retained his manuscripts when he was released from hostage in 1603. Between 1604 and 1609, he was Provincial of Brazil and promoted the collection of the first instruments intended to prove the miracles and saintly life of Anchieta. He then returned to his old post as rector of the College in Bahia, where he received the young António Vieira and was present at the conquest of the city by the Dutch in 1624. He died on 27 January 1625, in the same year as the short treatise on the customs of the Brazilian Indians that he had written in 1584 was published in English in the collection of voyages with which Samuel Purchas continued the work of Richard Hakluyt. What are the spatial units used by Fernão Cardim in order to define the colonization of Brazil? To answer this question, it is necessary to recall different scales of analysis. Most important is to consider what distinguishes Portuguese land occupation along the coast and the unknown, wild hinterland, where it was possible to make some incursions but where it was recognized that it would be impossible to have a permanent presence. It would also be necessary to recall the attention granted to some urban centres, namely S. Salvador da Bahia, Pernambuco, Rio de Janeiro and São Vicente. In the description of these centres, the references to

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institutions and to the Jesuit churches and colleges take on particular importance in comparison with other texts interested in informing of the existence of these cities or towns. However, it is necessary to recognize that spatial units that are most valued by Cardim are the villages and the mills. While the former are the privileged area of interaction and missionary work performed by the Jesuits, the mills also appear as centres of multiple functions and are evidence of economic and social vitality. Clearly for the Jesuits, this vitality, based upon the sugar trade, is the object of an ambiguous evaluation. On the one hand, the economic potential of the mills allowed the development of integrated cells of social life, including a hierarchy of various types of officials and slaves, Indian and black, with an emphasis on the mill’s chapel and its chaplain. This is an idealized model, but in Cardim’s opinion it was established in many of the thirty-nine mills in Bahia. On the other hand, the wealth of the mill owners, who in Pernambuco numbered sixty-six, led to over-consumption, symbolized by silk clothes and displays of vanity and arrogance. In the opinion of the Jesuit priest, ‘in Pernambuco there is more vanity than in Lisbon’. Their arrogance when they talked of their origins in Viana do Castelo was recorded by the Jesuit with a note of disgust and condemnation: ‘the men from Viana are the owners in Pernambuco and when there is any talk against a man from Viana instead of saying ‘aí que d’elrei’ (for the good of the king), they say ‘aí que de Viana’ (for the good of Viana).42 The letters and short treatises by Fernão Cardim suggest a second question: what are the main social groups and types of relations that existed among them? As already said, one must consider above all the social hierarchy of the mill, headed by the owner, with the chaplain next, mechanical officials at mid-level and the slaves at the base, with an emphasis on those from the coast of Guinea – the number varying between 60 and 200 on each plantation. Within this spatial and social unit, a ‘father interpreter’ would act in converting and integrating the ‘slaves from Guinea’.43 In the villages in the Bahia region visited by Cardim that had a Jesuit presence, there were schools for reading and writing, where the priests taught the Indian boys, who also learned to count, sing and play the flute, violin, harpsichord and organ. ‘These boys’, says Cardim, ‘speak Portuguese, sing the doctrine in the streets at night and commend their souls to purgatory’.44 In these villages, there are also brotherhoods of the Blessed Sacrament, of Our Lady and of the dead, with the post of bursar held by the most important Indians. The signs that reveal this ‘new Christianity’ also include the participation of the Indians at masses and on the feast of St John, Palm Sunday and Ash Wednesday, which they celebrated with bonfires.45 Cardim then pays particular attention to the rites and ceremonies practised by the Indians

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both within the sphere of their own ancestral beliefs, with emphasis on cannibalism, and in the sphere of new Christianity. Alongside the festive and ceremonial demonstrations of Indians, Cardim describes the various linguistic practices: in all this province there are many and several nations of different languages, although one is the principal that some ten nations of Indians understand; these live on the sea coast and along a long stretch of the hinterland but they all speak only one language although some words differ and this is the language the Portuguese understand; it is easy, elegant, smooth and broad, its difficulty lies in there being many forms; however almost all the Portuguese who come from the kingdom and are here communicating with the Indians learn it in a short time and the sons of the Portuguese who are born here speak it better than Portuguese, both men and women, principally in the captaincy of São Vicente and with these ten nations of Indians the priests communicate so that they can learn the language and be better educated and predisposed.46

Moving from this linguistic subject, the author describes in brief the different groups of Indians: the Pitiguara of Pernambuco, the Viatã, the Tupinambá, the Caété, the Tupinaquim, the Tupiguae, the Tegnegmino, the Tamuia of Rio de Janeiro and the Carijo. The Tapuia included different nations who were enemies of the above, speaking ‘different languages’.47 One could say that the Jesuit Fernão Cardim shows himself to be aware of the diversity of the Indians and has an interest in describing their customs and conflicting relationships. However, this ethnographic intention serves a clear missionary intent. This is what can be found when Cardim, on finishing his brief description of the Indians, establishes a programme intended for the conversion of the Tapuias of the hinterland. This programme was based upon the example practised by the Jesuits with the Tapuias who lived along the River S. Francisco. Brought in from the hinterland and living in villages, controlled by the priests, they were baptized and married, acting as interpreters in the missionary works. The same could thus be done with the remaining Tapuias, which was far more difficult because of their nomadic way of life and their different languages that were very hard to learn. ‘There is only one remedy’, concluded Fernão Cardim, ‘if God our Lord does not show us another, and it is to have some of their sons here to learn the language of those by the sea and by acting as interpreters they will bring fruit even though it will be very difficult for the reasons stated above and many others’.48 In 1589, the Jesuit Giovan Pietro Maffei began by referring on his first contacts with Brazil to the ceremonies of celebration of the mass and the ritual raising of a cross. The ‘barbaric’ Indians attend mass, and although

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they cannot understand a single word, they hear the word of God with ‘a wonderful attention’. He states that one of the first names of the country was derived from the Holy Cross, or Santa Cruz, until the enormous use of the abundant pau-brazil inspired the current name. Pedro Álvares Cabral appears as the main hero, followed by the Florentine Amerigo Vespucci, who, at the order of King Manuel, discovered all parts of America. The agricultural production and the sugar trade are other themes of identification of Brazil. Then to references relating to the flora and fauna can be added some notes on the customs and quirks of the Indians. The description tends to accentuate the barbarity of the Indians. The women, who gave birth painlessly, went back to work immediately, while the husband remained lying down, receiving visits and gifts. Without knowing how to read, their religious knowledge was limited, according to Father Maffei, to some vague references to Noah and the Flood. They also had no knowledge of wine or cereal until the arrival of the Portuguese, and they would feed on a root from which they made manioc flour.49 They slept on hammocks and were able to spend days without eating and then would not stop eating day and night. There was an intemperance to which there corresponded an absence of reflection on the future. They did not believe in any reward after death for the good works performed in life. Their shelters were distant from each other, which showed the absence of urban organization, and there were no magistrates or laws. Concluding their negative characteristics was the fact that the Indians had no F, L or R in their alphabet, which was significant since these suggested the notions of faith, law and rex. They had little recall of the benefits they had received and their behaviour swayed between anger and revenge. In total, for the Italian Jesuit, the Indians of Brazil seemed to be more beasts than men. It was only those who lived along the coast, Maffei ended, who could benefit from the Bible, which had been brought to them by the Society of Jesus, as well as the ‘discipline delle buone arti, ridotti ad habitare in ville, e castella, sono instrutti con graui fatiche alla humanità, e alla pietà’ (‘trained in craftsmanship, made to live in cities and fortresses, they are instructed with serious acts of humanity and devotion’).50 The manuscripts of Coisas notáveis do Brasil were written between 1590 and 1596 by Father Francisco Soares, S.J., who spoke the native language of Brazil. Fernão Cardim confesses in one of his letters his debt to Soares and the visitor Cristóvão de Gouveia regarding information on Brazil. Present in this work is Soares’ criticism of the legitimacy of certain works dedicated to a description of Brazil. For example, he denounces at the beginning of one version of his manuscript those who in order to write about Brazil gathered information ‘from those who had little idea of this, for there are many in Bahia who have not left there for the last 30 years

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and are just like anyone living in Lisbon’.51 The author counters this with his own legitimacy, which results from the experience of having travelled the country and gathered personal knowledge of many of the territories. Two aspects can be highlighted in the available versions of Coisas notáveis. The first of these relates to the position of the Indians within a hierarchy of civilization. Based upon his confessing them ‘through an interpreter of their language’, Father Soares argues for the necessity of considering the Indians ‘in the opinion of what they are, and not so low since up to now they have only recently turned away from being Christians and if they flee it is because of the treatment they receive from their owners’.52 In support of this (his ideas being contrary to Father Maffei’s as to the bestiality of the Indians), the Jesuit cites their military abilities and the assistance given by some groups of Indians to the Portuguese in their wars against the French and English. On this, Soares, like Cardim, refers to the fact that the king himself recognized this value and granted to a forcibly enlisted Indian soldier the insignia of a knight of the Order of Christ.53 The author also cites the Ten Orders: 1st Order: They have no god whom they adore, they are subject to prophecies, but not the Christians. 2nd They have few or no solemn promises. 3rd Those who become Christians never miss mass, and this is in every village and almost every day they demand Holy Communion, so that they know the dialogue by heart and the prayers in their language. They do not drink wine at their meetings, and because they are so desirous on these things, old and uncultured, I saw that they knew the most essential matters in half a day, with some 70 there.54

He then exhibits the results of the Society’s work, stating the number of Christians and referring to ‘our villages’.55 However, it is this same author who relates the limitations of this work, particularly regarding the Indians’ reading ability: in the villages the Indians, particularly the boys, are very inclined to sing, which they do marvellously at mass but, although they are able to sing works in Portuguese learnt by heart, ‘they scarcely know how to read’.56 The second aspect to be found in Coisas notáveis do Brasil is the author’s criticism of the wars promoted by the settlers of Brazil against the Indians, intended to capture them as slaves, which is the principal obstacle to the missions. Father Soares then demonstrates how the settlers in disunited bands go searching for them in an unjust war and at times with tricks and those who do this joke and see themselves as honourable and this has occurred so much that the Indians do not wish to come, since they know of these tricks, wearing our clothes and caps like priests of the

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Society, so that they can trick them. And there have been Portuguese who have made them slaughterers, giving them human flesh and making them eat it so that there are wars among themselves and they will have slaves.57

The report of the missionary activities compiled by Father Fernão Guerreiro was initially published in Lisbon in 1603 and concentrates on themes that would be repeated in Jesuit writings. In this it states that the Society exercised its work on three orders of people: the Portuguese, the African slaves and the indigenous population, or the ‘brasis’. The principal effects of these actions lay in distancing them from major sins and preventing them from continuing to live with such mutual hatred. With the slaves from Guinea, who were distributed among the various mills and thus incapable of going to the towns and villages, it was necessary to go looking for them at the farms, ‘since if the priests do not do this, very few of these souls will be saved’. They are judged to be ‘so ignorant that one can hardly teach them the use of reason’. Finally, he states that ‘all the brasis’ who live along the coast in villages and townships neighbouring those inhabited by the Portuguese were converted; however, he says it is necessary ‘to look for them in the hinterland, in the interior, where they have collected in order to escape the vexations of the whites and their attacks in order to capture them’. Based upon this statement, Guerreiro praises the sufferings of the Jesuits on these trips, including those who were the first to go to Maranhão, where Father Francisco Pinto was killed.58 Written in 1608 or 1609, the Relação da Missão do Maranhão by Father Luís Figueira was one of the first descriptions of the vast Ceará region, which the author, together with Father Francisco Pinto, intended to explore. For the Jesuit, the various groups of Indians were divided and were the subject of persecution from several enemies. In a village in the Serra de Ibiapabá, for example, the inhabitants feared the whites – who went there in mixed groups, probably with those of mixed blood – as well as the Indians supported by the French, particularly the Tapuia, and, of course, contagious diseases.59 An image at the beginning of the book presents a description of the Amazons imbued with myth: The hinterland is very big and has an infinite number of pagans. The river that we call the Amazon has its mouth below the equator, and has many large islands which are populated by the Amazons, who are women who do not allow men among them except at a certain time in order to multiply and then they throw them straight out and if they have boy babies they eat them and keep the girls: they are warriors and hunters and very dextrous in making well-worked nets and their bows are painted; and they, like most of the pagans, use the same common language of Brazil.60

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However, it would be a mistake to generalize and assume that the entire text talks of an opposition between reality and myth. The meetings of Jesuits with Indians present an interesting description. Father Figueira considers that the local populations greeted the Jesuit priests in the same way as their witchdoctors – with fear and deep respect.61 He considers that the ‘poor’ and ‘barbaric’ Indians whose nomadic way of life is like that of the ‘ancients’ saw the Jesuits as ‘coming from heaven’, just as they honoured their own people as ‘servants’ of the being they believed to be the true god.62 In 1610, a Jesuit from Bordeaux, Pierre du Jarric, continued this tradition of descriptions of Brazil.63 He indicates that his main objective was to relate the methods used in teaching Indians the Christian religion. The description of the country and its original inhabitants is placed below the missionary intent. Benefiting from the network of information in the Society, the author takes up Maffei’s themes as to the importance of Pedro Álvares Cabral and the first borders of Brazil. He shows himself to be most concerned with the importance of sugar, then picks up the principal ideas of the Italian Jesuit regarding the flora and fauna, specifically their singularity, and finally comments on the barbarity of the Indians. Du Jarric also picks up the theme of the naming of the country as Santa Cruz, alluding to the ceremonies of embedding a large cross in stone. For Jarric, the colonization of Brazil by the Portuguese is signalled more than anything by the foundation of five principal cities: Itamacara, Pernambuco, Ilhéus, Porto Seguro and São Vicente. Contrasting with an image of urban order, the Indians are described as wild cannibals in constant battle with the Portuguese, with whom they do not trade. The Portuguese are thus seen as obliged to kill the Indians or imprison them and use them as slaves in their sugar mills. The Indians, because of their vengeful nature, try to free themselves and their relatives. In 1549, Tomé de Sousa was made governor of Brazil with the objective of establishing order between the Portuguese and the Brazilian Indians. Regarding this nomination, it is important to note that it corresponds with the arrival there of the priests of the Society of Jesus. From an historical point of view that is interested in celebrating the endeavours of the Jesuits, this moment is presented as the foundation of a new order. Pierre du Jarric tells how the Jesuits who accompanied Tomé de Sousa, as well as others, came in procession to found the City of the Saviour, which was about half a league from the old city. They began by erecting a beautiful cross with great solemnity and show. It did not take long for the inhabitants of the old city to come and live in this new one, where the governor granted each a piece land, including one for the establishment of the Society’s church.

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The creation of a new political order symbolized by a well-run city that also has a religious order is well-illustrated by the city of Salvador. Pierre du Jarric wants to make one believe that its inhabitants were happy with the creation of this new order and, particularly, with the presence of the Jesuits. These men preached to and consoled the ordinary population in their illnesses and suffering. Some Brazilians were already living around the city and these were duly ‘domesticated’ to establish relations with the Portuguese. In comparison with this urban religious order, in the furthest areas of Brazil, particularly in São Vicente, some Portuguese who were surrounded by uncivilized people and without any religious support had become half wild themselves (‘à demi sauvages’). Fathers Leonardo Nunes and Diogo de S. Tiago were sent to São Vicente in order to convert the Brazilian Indians. From the start, they were obliged to use the Portuguese as translators, but they soon realized the need to learn the language of the country. Their mission was delayed, however, both because of the wild and inconstant nature of the Indians, who were frequently involved in wars and cannibalism, and because of the poor example and lack of virtue of the Portuguese living there. With the series of histories and descriptions written by Jesuits at the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth, it is possible to isolate three recurring themes. The first and possibly the most marginal theme with regard to later developments and the importance they would assume in the middle of the seventeenth century is African slaves. In the idealized representation of the mill by Father Cardim, they are described as a well-integrated group needing religious care, which is supported by Anchieta in his writings. However, it is important to remember the Jesuits who in 1587 refer to the threats that they had created: ‘The first enemies are the Africans from Guinea, brought up as they are in the mountains, from whence they come to attack and cause many problems and the time may come when they dare to attack and destroy the farms as their relatives do on the island of São Tomé’.64 The second theme that appears in the Jesuit writings is the perception of local societies and the suggested model of interaction. One could say that there is a general tendency to see the Indians only in relation to missionary intentions and educational programmes, broadening the abilities of translators and adjusting Catholic rituals to systems of local belief – measures that had been established following the arrival of the Jesuits in Brazil in the middle of the sixteenth century. The same writings reveal a controversial point regarding the classification of the Indians within the frame of a process of civilization. Indeed, the suggestion that the Indians were not as wild as might be thought, as presented by Father Soares in his Coisas notáveis do Brasil, clashes with the suggestions of wildness attributed to

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the Indians by Fathers Maffei and du Jarric. The third of the themes is to be found in the different spatial, economic, social and political units used by the Jesuits who describe Brazil. Whether this deals with urban organization of the coastline as opposed to the hinterland, the mill or the village, there is a general preoccupation in defining an integrated social order resulting from idealized projections rather than an actual portrait of the situation. Such an idealization is challenged both by the movements of resistance by the Amerindian population, whose ‘sanctity’ Anchieta emphasizes and by the Portuguese inhabitants, who are seen as rebellious in capturing and enslaving Indians. However, one must emphasize that the idealization of the social order tends to value more greatly the forms of integration than those of conflict and, therefore, reveals some traces of collaboration between the civil powers and the Jesuits.

Notes   1. Gandavo, Tratado da Terra do Brasil História da Província de Santa Cruz, 21–65.   2. Serrão, O Rio de Janeiro no Século XVI, vol. I – Estudo histórico.   3. Gandavo, Tratado da Terra do Brasil, 69–150.   4. G.S. de Sousa, Notícia do Brasil, 2 vols.   5. Salvador, História do Brasil 1500–1627, chap. 24, 312–14.   6. Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe Siècle: Documents Inédits Relatifs à l’Atlantique Portugais, 229–46.   7. Ibid.   8. Vargas Machuca, Milicia y descripcion de las Indias, fl. 127.   9. ‘tiene esta gouernacion del Brasil, Audiencia Real: es Obispado. Es tierra caliente, y mal sana, en algunas partes, y en otras templada, y saludable. Es bastezida y regalada. Estas poblaciones son de Portugueses. Entre esta tierra y la Cordillera general del nueuo reyno de Granada, y Piru, en paraje de Pasto, cae el Dorado en una cordillera que se leuanta en medio desta tierra y llanos, entre el rio Marañon, y el de la Canela, bien cerca de la Equinocial, a la parte Austrial, menos de un grado. Esta Cordillera corre Nordeste, Sudueste, conforme a las mas precisas relaciones. Estará distancia del Brasil, trecientas leguas, y de la Cordillera general del Reyno, cien leguas: y de que aya este Dorado, y su gran riqueza, es cosa cierta, y asi por toda parte esta tn estendida su fama, la qual ha costado gran numero de vidas, y haziendas, por carecer de su verdadera noticia y camino.’ Ibid., 174. 10. Herrera y Tordesillas, Descripcion de las Indias Ocidentales. Frontispiece of the description with a map of Peru, America and Brazil, fls 2–3: folded map, ‘Descripcion de las Indias Ocidentales’, included Brasil. 11. ‘Es la tierra del Brazil, amena, y fresca en demasia, y de mui buenos ayres aunque no produze oro, ni plata, ni tiene grande abundancia de bastimentos, sino una semilla, que llaman maiz, que sirue de pan a los moradores, y el palo del brasil, que se uae a Europa para tenñir panos, y los nueuos descubridores han plantado açucares, que da en gran quantidad.’ Manuel Correia de Montenegro, Libro Quinto de los Reyes naturales de Portugal, fl. 917.

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12. ‘que si con cuidado y artificio se continuare a cultura desta tierra, y nueua region, con pocas expensas se puede hazer uno de los mayors estados del mundo, y fundarse en el un grande Imperio como el Rey Don Ioan Tercero determinaua y se uyuera dize años mas, lo vuiera effectuado, porque tiene mas de mil leguas de costa, y la tierra de suyo es mas acomodada.’ Manuel Correia de Montenegro, Libro Quinto de los Reyes naturales de Portugal, fl. 920. 13. BNP, COD. 13091: Manuel Correia de Montenegro, Libro Quinto de los Reyes Naturales de Portugal, fls. 917–20v. 14. Brandão, Diálogos das Grandezas do Brasil, 155–6, 271–73. 15. Ibid., 42, 50–52, 65–72, 75–76, 158. 16. Ibid., 46–47, 154–55, 271. 17. Ibid., 44, 70, 116, 156, 162. 18. Ibid., 99. 19. Ibid., 114. 20. Ibid., 296, see also 281, 289, 292, 295. 21. Vainfas, Ideologia e Escravidão: os Letrados e a Sociedade Escravista no Brasil Colonial, 85. 22. M.F. da Costa, Roteiro de todos os sinais, conhecimentos, fundos, baixos, Alturas, e derrotas que há na costa do Brasil desde o cabo de Santo Agostinho até ao estreito de Fernão de Magalhães, fl. 22. 23. El Inca Garcilaso, La Florida, 96. 24. Barozzi and Berchet, Relazioni degli Stati Europei lette al Senato dagli Ambasciatori Veneti nel secolo decimosettimo, série I - Spagna, vol. I, 40, 439. 25. Capistrano de Abreu, in Salvador, História do Brasil, 377–80. 26. Histoire Veritable de ce qvi s’est Passé de Nouveau entre les François & Portugais en l’Isle de Maragnan au Pays des Toupinambous. 27. Comte de Pagan, Relation Historique et Geographique, de la Grande Riviere des Amazones dans l’Amerique. 28. Macedo and Motta, ‘António de Sousa de Macedo, Capitão geral e Governador da Ilha de Joanes’, 119–73, especially 163–73; Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, ACL, Conselho Ultramarino, 009, cx. 5, doc. 599: From the Conselho Ultramarino to the prince regent, D. Pedro, on the request for the captaincy of Ilha Grande de Joanes by António de Sousa de Macedo, in which he asks permission to support the Indians and build a town with them, Lisbon, 20 May 1675. 29. S. Leite, História da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, vol. I, 560–84. 30. Anchieta, Cartas, Informações, Fragmentos Históricos e Sermões, 308–9. 31. Ibid., 328–32, 433–34. 32. Ibid., 316–17, 334, 435. 33. Ibid., 316–17, 334, 435. 34. Ibid., 435. 35. Ibid., 304. 36. Vainfas, A Heresia dos Índios: Catolicismo e Rebeldia no Brasil Colonial, 47–48. 37. Bosi, Dialéctica da Colonização, 31. 38. Ibid. 39. Anchieta, Cartas, Informações, Fragmentos Históricos e Sermões, 331. 40. L. de M. e Souza, Inferno Atlântico: Demonologia e Colonização – Séculos XVI–XVIII. 41. Vainfas, A Heresia dos Índios, 111. 42. Cardim, Tratados da Terra e Gente do Brasil, especially 335. 43. Ibid., 319.

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44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

Ibid., 315. Ibid., 316–17. Ibid., 194–95. Ibid., 198. Ibid., 206. On social hierarchy and the consumption of manioc in Brazil, see ‘Enformacion de la Provincia del Brasil para Nuestro Padre’, attributed to P. Fernão Cardim, in F. Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe siècle. Documents Inédits Relatifs à l’Atlantique Portugais, 157–58; E.C. de Mello, Um Imenso Portugal: História e Historiografia, 20, 31, 96 (on manioc flour as the bread of the poor). Maffei, Le Istorie delle Indie Orientali, 59–65. A.G. Cunha, Coisas Notáveis do Brasil, vol. I, 3. Ibid., 13. Ibid., 3; Cardim, Tratados da terra e gente do Brasil, 346. Cunha, Coisas notáveis do Brasil, 13. Ibid., 73. Ibid., 9. Ibid., 63. F. Guerreiro, Relação Anual das Coisas que Fizeram os Padres da Companhia de Jesus nas suas Missões, vol. I – 1600–1603, 379; Ibid., vol. II – 1604–1606, 425–27. Leite, Luís Figueira: a Sua Vida Heróica e a Sua Obra Literária, 118–19. Ibid., 108. Ibid., 122, 125. Ibid., 112, 121. Du Jarric, Histoire des Choses Plus Memorables Advenues tant ez Indes Orientales, que Autres Pays de la Descouuerte des Portugais … et Principalement de ce que les Religieux de la Compagnie de Iesvs y ont Faict, second part, 248–359. Vainfas, Ideologia e Escravidão: os Letrados e a Sociedade Escravista no Brasil Colonial, 87.

Chapter 12

The Dutch in Brazil Conflict and Dialogue


On 6 November 1625 in the Alcacer in Madrid, the company of Andrès de la Vega presented to the king, the Count of Olivares and to the court a play that Lope de Vega (the ‘Phoenix of wits’) had completed on 23 October – El Brasil restituido.1 The play was intended to celebrate the recovery of Bahia from the Dutch by D. Fradique de Toledo on 1 May 1625, of which the news had arrived in Madrid on 6 July of the same year. The first act of the play shows the taking of Bahia by the Dutch in 1624 and dramatizes the action of the new-Christian merchants, who in order to flee the persecution of the Inquisition had supported the arrival of their allies in trading interests. Guiomar, the daughter of the merchant Bernardo, sees her origins revealed by her lover, the Portuguese noble D. Diego, and finally attaches herself to the Dutchman Leonardo de Vinn. At the end of the act, one sees the first signs of resistance to the Dutch occupation. Brazil, represented by an Indian girl, laments the Dutch occupation and Honour intervenes to advise the monarch, Philip IV, of the invasion. In the second act, the preparations for battle are described. This begins with the voyage of the Hispano-Portuguese armada to Brazil, followed by the arrangement of the forces for the start of battle. Praise of D. Fadrique de Toledo, the commander of the Spanish armada, is completed by a reference to the ‘nueva union’ (new union) of the Spanish and Portuguese. Many other historical characters are referred to, with D. Manuel de Meneses playing an important role as the commander of the Portuguese armada. There are also symbolic characters, such as the Catholic Religion fighting against Heresy and the mythological figure of Apollo, who, surrounded by muses and poets, takes part in the battle.

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Finally, in the third act we have the battle and then the celebration of a peace agreement. D. Fadrique is praised for his exhortation of the ‘Portuguese nobility’. The apologetic meaning attributed to this character acquires its greatest expression at the moment when D. Fadrique is presented as the delegate of Philip IV, with whom he communicates by speaking to a portrait of the king. From this brief resumé, it is possible to produce a first set of problems of interpretation. First of all, one must establish a hierarchy of the characters in the play. An analysis that is solely based on the written text will distinguish the historical characters (for example, D. Fadrique de Toledo, D. Manuel de Meneses and the Dutch colonel), the fictional characters (D. Guiomar, D. Diego and the joking Machado), the allegorical or symbolic characters (Honour, Religion, Heresy) and the mythological Apollo. But how far does this hierarchy assist in reconstructing the meaning of the act of representation of El Brasil restituido? In what was perhaps his first performance at court, Andrés de Vega, the director of the company, is supported by Arias, one of the most famous actors of the time. Arias plays the part of D. Fadrique de Toledo, ‘with a French-style beard’, the Dutch colonel and even the role of Apollo. With this valuing of the characters by the Honour of an actor, the role of D. Manuel de Meneses is much reduced, since his part is given to a mere musician.2 Thus the dialogues that D. Fadrique has with D. Manuel, which in the written text appear to have equal standing, acquire another meaning. Thus the play underrepresents the role of Manuel de Meneses in the recovery of Bahia. On this, it is necessary to recall the reaction of Bartolomeu Guerreiro, who in a pamphlet published in Lisbon in 1625, restricts the report of the capture of Bahia to the facts found in the ‘papers of the royal secretaries of the Crown of Portugal’. Tomás Tamayo de Vargas heavily criticized this in a book published in Madrid in 1628. Thus the theatrical representation is one of the first acts of a polemic confrontation that was to continue with several printed pamphlets, with the discussion as to the merit of the Portuguese forces continuing in 1660. D. Francisco Manuel de Melo attributes the victory above all to the ‘nobility of Portugal’, acting with ‘the zeal of the honour of the motherland’.3 Love, honour, religion, loyalty to the king, the defence of Catholicism, the battle against heresy and the comic, as portrayed by the joker, are the main themes developed throughout the three acts, and they can also be found in many other works by Lope de Vega and other authors of the time. Some investigations have sought to evaluate the global significance of these works, such as the treatment of the Jews in the plays by ‘Fénix’, as Lope de Vega was known. Here I would like to advance the theme of a perceived Jewish betrayal and capture its meaning from the specific

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moment of its representation. One should note that Lope constructed the web of betrayal on two distinct levels: firstly, Guiomar on seeing that her Jewish origins have been revealed by D. Diego vows to take revenge, which she does through her amorous relationship with the Dutch heretic. On the second level is Bernardo, Guiomar’s father, who fears persecution by the Inquisition takes the initiative of contacting the Dutch and assisting them in taking the city. The Dutch victory is therefore portrayed as a result of Jewish betrayal. This theme has been discussed both directly and indirectly by historians in relation to the initiatives or interests of the community of new Christians in Bahia.4 On this, one should note other explanations for link between the Jews and the Dutch victory of the age: in a report published in 1626, Severim de Faria attributed the Dutch conquest of Bahia to the fact that soldiers, particularly black soldiers, who were on the Portuguese side, had deserted. Luís Álvares Barriga pointed out the lack of maritime and land forces and, years later, D. Francisco Manuel de Melo stressed the fact of there being about 80 soldiers incapable of resisting the 3000 fighting under the Dutch flag.5 What should also be pointed out is the preoccupation with assuming the play represented a supposed Brazilian reality, when there was another reality – that of the Madrid public, and more specifically the court of Madrid, for which the play had been written and presented. In 1625, the Portuguese Jews living in Madrid took part for the first time in the assiento and, with support from Olivares, prepared to replace the Genoese, who until then had been the main bankers to the State.6 In this context, Lope de Vega’s play, which is a type of anti-Judaic pamphlet, could have been seen as a form of warning against the support given to the Jews by Olivares. As for the multiplicity of registers and artifices used in the presentation of the play, it is important to discuss at least one of the instances. This is the entrance on the scene of a portrait of Philip IV (would this have been the 1625 portrait by Velazquez?)7 and the impact of the painting within a theatrical setting. However, it is not easy to accept the idea proposed by José António Maravall for whom ‘other forms of expression are subject to the laws of painting’.8 Honour and Apollo, surrounded by poets and muses, represent well the obsession with the effects of the actions in which the play, the painting or the emblems participate without, however, holding the key to a possible knowledge of the effects. The image of the god Apollo surrounded by muses and poets leads to another order of questions regarding the configuration of the literary sphere. Lope de Vega gave one of the keys to this sphere when, in 1630, he published Laurel de Apolo, an inventory of writers that was subject to many schemes of classification and distinction.9 On this, the central problem can be formulated as follows: is the play and the events

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that it is relating a simple pretext for the affirmation of relations or for the recognition of positions within this same sphere? To answer such a question forces one to review the configuration of the actual sphere of the writers. When in 1629 António de León Pinelo published his Epitome de la Bibliotheca Oriental y Occidental Nautica y Geographica, one of the first maritime bibliographies of the East and West Indies, he included some of the dramatic works of Lope de Vega alongside other types of discourse such as reports of voyages, histories or descriptions.10 These references to Lope de Vega can be interpreted as the result of an act of reading conditioned by descriptions of sociability that are not necessarily easy to define given their unstable character. In this case, Lope de Vega’s recompense is clear, in the immediate instance, in the actual approval of the work that is clearly laudatory and, a year later, in the inclusion in Laurel de Apolo of the name of León Pinelo. For Lope de Vega, the fact that António de León was a Jew was not an obstacle, for his father appears to have been persecuted by the Inquisition and educated in Peru. Lope de Vega also maintained contacts with other new Christians; for example, the Portuguese Manuel Soeiro – an historian and translator of Sallustio, whom Olivares used as an agent and spy in Flanders – to whom he dedicated Lucinda perseguida in part XVII of his Comedias, which was published in 1621.11 To identify such relations with Lope’s hypothetical intellectual circle, which was partially open to the Jews, implies considering these relations in their necessarily fragmentary character – that is to say, it is important not to move too rapidly from an analysis of the relations to the definition of the groups or circles.12 The names of the authors and the works relating to the taking of Bahia listed in León Pinelo’s bibliography point to other reports by the author of El Brasil restituido. Three names are cited: those of the Jesuit, Bartolomeu Guerreiro, of Tomás Tamayo de Vargas and of Lourenzo Van der Hamen. Regarding the Jornada do Brasil, published in Lisbon and written by Guerreiro, it is interesting to consider it within the polemic context of requesting honours from the king and court, developed by those who took part in the recovery of Bahia. Guerreiro responds explicitly in his pamphlet of 1625 to the interpretations of four printed reports by Castilians.13 However, for now it is the names of Tamayo de Vargas and Van der Mane that deserve more attention. The support given by Tamayo to Lope dates at least from the time when ‘Fénix’ was the object of attack from Aristotelian thinkers, contrary to the aesthetic concepts of the author of Nuevo arte de hazer comedias deste tiempo. In about 1617–18, when the polemic reached one of its most intense moments, Tamayo de Vargas became involved in another dispute, since he defended the name and historical work of Father Juan de Mariana. Lope, who in 1618

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dedicated one of his works to Father Mariana, in 1620 was to dedicate El cuerdo loco to Tamaya in part XIV of his Comedias and, in 1630, he once again referred to him in Laurel de Apolo.14 The same reciprocity, although lacking a polemical meaning, is to be found in the relationship between Lope and Lorenzo Van der Hamen. In 1624, in a work dedicated to the Count of Olivares, Lope de Vega dedicated some fragments to writers and painters, among whom were Lorenzo, his brother, the famous painter Juan de Van der Hamen and Vicencio Carducci. The last of these, the author of Dialogos de la pintura, is also known as the master of Félix Castelló and had painted the recovery of Bahia with Juan Bautista Mayno for the Buen Retiro.15 Lorenzo responded to Lope in the biographies he wrote of Philip II and John of Austria, published respectively in 1625 and 1627, ending with high praise for the literary qualities of ‘Fénix’.16 One can attribute a horizontal direction to these relationships but they cannot be dissociated from other, vertical relationships. In this context, the presence of Olivares is a constant. Lope de Vega dedicated to him El Brasil restituido just as he had dedicated other books to friends: he dedicated his Triunfos Divinos con otras rimas sacras to the Countess of Olivares and, a year earlier, dedicated La Circe con otras rimas y prosas to D. Gaspar.17 Lope’s desire to please Olivares is explicit elsewhere. The project of the União de Armas (Union of Arms) that was integrated into a unified concept of the Spanish monarchy, of which Olivares was at least the political executor, lay in one of the arguments of the play, which presents the Hispano-Portuguese armada in harmony.18 At this time, Olivares had recovered the historical theories of Father Juan Mariana, finding in them a justification of a unified Spain19 and, within the same order of ideas, promoted the reprint in 1625 of Excellencias de la Monarchia y Reyno de España by Gregorio Lopez Madera.20 The defence of Mariana by Lope is recognized along with his connection to Lopez Madera, to whom he dedicated in 1620 La Arcadia in part XIII of his Comedias.21 In spite of all these affinities, the ‘Phoenix’ was far from being able to be considered a peaceful collaborator of Olivares. Was it his longstanding connections with the Duke of Sessa – his great patron – that had prevented him from forming closer relations with Olivares?22 Whatever the answer, it is better to try to understand the configuration of the groups to which Lope belonged. For the moment, it is possible to distinguish at least the two spheres of definition of these groups: on the one hand, inside the court; on the other, within the broader framework of the Respublica literaria (Republic of Letters). As for the groups or factions within court society, it should be remembered that the play can be read

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as a form of warning against any and all support of the Portuguese new-Christians – in the case of Bahia, the merchants; and in the case of the court in Madrid, the bankers whom Olivares was planning to support.23 As for the agents who participated in the Respublica literaria, the problem lies in knowing how its function, associated with family, urban, court etc. relations, is subject, with Olivares, to one sole logic – that of the court.24 It is certain that, with regard to the centralizing and monopolizing attempts by one sole centre of praise, Lope de Vega is displaced. His behaviour corresponded better to other times.25 A court play, El Brasil restituido was not at the time circulated in a printed version. The fact is all the more important when one learns of the direct interest of Lope in the questions of the publication and the perimeters of large circulation.26 The absence of any circulation of the play in print prevented the establishment of a rapid association between the play and the methods of propaganda of the monarchy, inspired by its grandeur and ostentation. In this way, the play was a type of court ritual or a group of performances that expressed and, simultaneously, formed the presentations of the court regarding a determined event: the recovery of Bahia from the Dutch. However, this symbolic character adopted by the play does not exclude the possibility of differing readings that can be either contradictory or conflicting.27 To reconstruct the meaning with this and other plays suggests a greater knowledge of the chronology and organization of the Madrid celebrations, at least in 1625. This was an annus mirabilis, because, among other things, of the victory in Brazil and also the capitulation of Breda, which was later painted by Velazquez and celebrated in a play by Calderón de la Barca.28 Severim de Faria wrote that the victories that year were so notable ‘that to refer to them required vast volumes’, and Brother Vicente do Salvador, on listing the successes of the year in Cadiz, Breda and Bahia, relates them to the canonization of St Isabel.29 However, 1625 is also the year in which censorship of the theatre intensified. In March, the Junta de Reformacion decided to prohibit the publication of comedies, and in June it was decided that the forty companies be reduced to twelve. Finally, in December, presentations were restricted to one place only.30 Perhaps because the distinction was confirmed by the possibility of transgression, El Brasil restituido is an example of the privileged way in which these restrictions relating to the theatre were practised partly at court. Regarding the restrictions that fell on the representation or publication of comedies, the ceremonies of a political or military character and those of a religious meaning offer several alternatives. In October 1625, for example, there were ceremonies in praise of St Francis Borgia that lasted six days, with processions, illuminations and comedies.31 In the same

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month, the Third Order of St Francis, following the example of Portugal, celebrated an important feast for the canonization of Isabel of Portugal. The canonization had taken place in Rome on 1 June and in July a procession had taken place in Madrid in celebration of the occasion.32 It is known that the poetic debate of this new celebration, on 28 October, was to be organized by Lope, whose experience in this type of debate was known, but it was finally directed by Sebastian Francisco de Medrano. In this episode, what is most intriguing is why ‘Fénix’ no longer belonged to the Third Order.33 Had this anything to do with the possible resistance of the groups of Portuguese in Madrid who did not like the play?

Discourses and Polemic Interaction In December 1627, Matias de Albuquerque told the Count of Olivares that at least sixty ships, each of which carried between 300 and 700 cases of sugar, had been captured by the Dutch in 1625 and 1626. Pointing out the importance of this merchandise, alongside pau-brasil and, to a lesser degree, tobacco and cotton, he suggested three remedies: to secure navigation on the Atlantic, to fortify some centres and, finally, ‘empremiar algunos naturales y moradores de aquel Estado que alla han serbido, y siruen con satisfaçion’ (reward some natives and residents of that State who have served it and serve well). A year later, Matias de Albuquerque revealed in a letter a profound strategic meaning, describing the economic potential, the income and political organization of the various captaincies of Brazil. One of the arguments lay in the necessity of considering the division of the government of Brazil into three blocks. The first block formed the captaincies of Pará, Maranhão and Ceará. These yielded nothing for the Crown, since they belonged to the governor of Maranhão. The captaincies of Rio Grande, Paraíba, Itamaracá and Pernambuco formed a second block, and it was thought that they should also have an autonomous government, since the governor general in Bahia could not easily get to these northern captaincies. Finally, a third block formed the captaincies of Sergipe, Bahia, Ilhéus, Porto Seguro, Espírito Santo, Rio de Janeiro and São Vicente. In this information on the captaincies of Brazil, written in Lisbon, the Amazon is described as having the greatest river discovered up to that point and as including the greater part of the West Indies, possessing all metals and pearls. With the express agreement of the monarch, Matias de Albuquerque had sent the pilot António Vicente Cochado 400 leagues up river. All this information dated from 1628, the year when the Dutch East India Company achieved immense profits with Pieter Heyn’s attack on a Spanish fleet that was carrying mostly silver

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along the coast of Cuba. In this sequence, Matias de Albuquerque was named superintendent of the war in the captaincy of Pernambuco and the fortifier of the captaincies of the north, leaving Lisbon on 12 August 1629. The large armada of the Company (3,780 crew members and 3,500 soldiers) reached the lake of Pernambuco in 1630. Matias de Albuquerque then began a guerrilla war against the Dutch.34 On the scale of an individual figure, it is thus possible to understand the three principal movements that model the political culture related to Brazil in this period: the increase in written communication containing descriptions and projects of reform, the various forms of war and negotiation with the Dutch and the organization of expeditions to Maranhão. It is in this context that one should read the História do Brasil, which the Franciscan Brother Vicente do Salvador dedicated to Manuel Severim de Faria. This was a fresh work that remained in manuscript form, written following the recovery of Bahia. The first book of the História takes up many earlier descriptions on the name, geography, climate, flora, fauna and organization of the Amerindian societies. The remaining books relate in chronological order the colonization of Brazil, taking as the first signs of action the different governors general. The final chapters of the last book are dedicated to relating the events in the recovery of Bahia from the Dutch, with the Franciscan not failing in his praise for D. Fadrique de Toledo and in a more general way the Castilian nobility.35 Matias de Albuqerque is also the object of significant praise and it is with this that he ends the work: ‘Matias de Albuquerque was all the time that he served both as captain of Pernambuco and as governor general of Brazil, which was seven years (1620–1626), always with very clean hands, not accepting anything from anyone, nor taking positions to give to his servants.’36 The praise for the virtues of Matias de Albuquerque continues, but it is important to note that immediately following his list and the reference to the good luck he had in his government, ‘since the times were so unlucky and calamitous’, Brother Vicente puts a full stop on his História do Brasil in the following manner: ‘and I shall put an end to this history of mine, since I am 73 years old and it is not time to deal solely with my life and not that of others’.37 This opposition between the common good and individual interests that is emphasized at the end of the work was also one of the principal arguments of Brother Vicente’s criticism of the situation of colonial Brazil. Indeed, Brother Vicente do Salvador widened the discussion of the name of Santa Cruz, which had already been a topic in the early descriptions and histories. For the Franciscan, the forgetting of the first name of a religious character would have been the work of the devil. Men, forgetful of the holy cross, elected as a symbol of their identity a piece of wood

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used as fabric dye. obligation to live according to the law of Christ. The image of a determined decadence in the face of religion is also defined as the basis of the guilt attributed to the kings of Portugal as well as to the people of Brazil. The first kings – did not even come to be known as the lords of Brazil, even after the death of John III, the only king to be concerned with Brazil’s colonization. From this resulted the idea that the reputation and esteem of Brazil ended with that monarch. For Vicente do Salvador, this period of decadence conflicted with the Jesuit image of the advance of Christianity and the beginning of systematic missionary work precisely from the reign of John III, in spite of his failure to deny praise of Anchieta and other priests of the Society and their protection of the Indians against the greed of the Portuguese.38 Although interested in explaining the decadence as based on the little interest shown by the monarchs regarding Brazil, Brother Vicente do Salvador appears ambiguous in his support of Philip II and his successors. On the one hand, he considers that António Prior do Crato, the nobleman defeated by Philip II in the succession to the Crown of Portugal, had committed a strategic error in fleeing to the Azores instead of choosing Brazil, ‘so that he was forced to be king with his Portuguese in another land, which could not possibly be better than this’.39 On the other hand, he praised the action of the Castilian forces supporting the Portuguese in Brazil who were faithful to the Catholic king against the attack of the English ships that were working in the name of Prior do Crato – praise that developed in the report of the recovery of Bahia.40 As for the responsibilities attributed to the settlers during the decadence of Brazil, Brother Vicente do Salvador criticized the defence of personal interests to the detriment of the common good. In an argument in which beautiful literary images are not foreign, he starts by criticizing all those, even the richest and most settled in Brazil, who wanted to take their wealth to Portugal. ‘And this is not only about those who came here from Portugal but even those who were born here … that one and all use the land not as owners but as beneficiaries, only to make the most of it and leave it destroyed’. Thus ‘not one man in this country is a republican’ or, in other words, ‘none of it is a republic, in every house’. This is because, as he explains when talking about the houses of the rich, they are all provided with wealth and necessary produce that at times cannot be found on sale in the town, where no one thinks of the common good, particularly with regards to the construction of fountains, bridges and roads.41 Sorties into the interior, with the intention of capturing Indians, were also the object of strong criticism both because they revealed the greed and private interests of men and because it went against settling there and seeking mineral wealth.42 It can thus be understood that the

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land in the interior of Brazil, the hinterland, had not been explored ‘through the negligence of the Portuguese who, being great conquerors of land, do not put it to good use but are content to cross it scratching along the sea coast like crabs’.43 An inventory of the types of discourse regarding Brazil at the time should consider, alongside the histories and descriptions, the advice. For example, it has already been noted that Matias de Albuquerque suggested a division of the government of Brazil into three regions. With Brother Vicente do Salvador, his consciousness of the decadence is translated more into moral and religious criticisms than into advice and colonial projects. He also recorded the movement of news regarding the discoveries of mines to present to the king, with a view to the concession of privileges, but the news was proved to be false.44 The battles with the Dutch would also give rise to another movement of counsel and reform, particularly at a military level. The Propuesta de las advertencias, que de necessidad forçada se deuen justamente descursar, sobre la seguridad y certeza con que se deue recuperar el puerto de Pernambuco, defenderse y conseruarse el Estado del Brazil, recuperarse el Comercio de la Mina by Luís Álvares Barriga, dated about 1635, belongs to this framework. As was usual in texts of an arbitrary nature, the author begins by pointing to the principal cause for the loss of Pernambuco – the absence of a militia on the land and of an armada for the defence of Brazil. Further on is the fact that the brother of a rich merchant, João Baptista Rovelesca, had gone to Holland, and this lay in the origin of the Dutch projects for the conquest of Brazil. In turn, the recovery of Pernambuco from the Dutch implied a reconquest of the sources of supply of African slaves, which was suggested as being an easy task, since both Cacheu in Guinea and Luanda in Angola had no recourse to any form of defence. Another of the elements to consider regarded trade and contraband in sugar, produced in the northwest of Brazil and carried on through Lisbon, Viana do Castelo, Madeira and the Azores. In these transactions, more specifically in the customs house taxation, the author found the necessary income to support what formed the essentials of the creation of an armada. As to its execution, Luís Alvares Barriga, who at 66 had a broad experience of life, lamented having twice sent the same suggestion to Olivares, once at the end of 1631 and again at the beginning of 1633. As the author states, Olivares should have sent it, as was the custom in good government, to the Portuguese institutions.45 A discourse regarding public interest gives rise to a criticism of private interest. The author accuses his Portuguese compatriots of only being in the service of the king for selfish interests, but he realizes that such an accusation could be seen as a mere instrument to achieve an honour himself. This accusation,

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which was common in arbitrary discourses, is made by Luís Álvares Barriga about the Portuguese counsellors, who ‘vinieron a concluir que me arbitrio era una quimera inuentada solo alfim de alcançar la merçed de pagamiento que pedia’ (‘decided that my recommendation was absurd and merely invented in order to achieve the payment which he was demanding’).46 Methods of articulating private interests and public benefits are mentioned in the context of war with the Dutch by Pedro Cadena de Vilhasanti, the Provider of the State of Brazil. Above all, it is important to note information dated 1636 sent by him to the Conselho da Fazenda in Portugal regarding the Dutch plans for an overall conquest of Brazil. Since the territory was occupied by Indians, who could not resist a Dutch takeover, it was up to the Portuguese to counter the Dutch plans. However, in the opinion of a Dutch spy, whose ideas Pedro Cadena records, ‘the Portuguese nation’ was formed above all by Jews and the exiled, both of whom were enemies of the Spanish Crown, and therefore easy to persuade. Thus with a view to an effective conquest, these Portuguese had to be treated with care, ‘allowing to each one freedom of conscience and exercise of their religion’, with the Dutch West India Company taking a contribution from the inhabitants in exchange for which they would remain ‘free from the tyranny of the Inquisition of Spain’.47 When the Dutch surrounded Bahia in April and May, 1638, Pedro Cadena wrote letters daily recounting the situation. The image he wished to transmit in these letters was that of the perfect functionary – zealous in public matters, particularly with regard to supplies to the city and the payment of the military forces – continuing with condemnation of judicial processes of other, corrupt functionaries. In 1637, his behaviour and his writings led the Conselho da Fazenda to describe him ‘as so zealous in the service of His Majesty’.48 The description in writing of the image of an exemplary official also includes the practice of writing ‘information and warnings’ referred to by his superiors in the Conselho da Fazenda.49 The image of the zealous official achieving public good following Catholic precepts corresponds with his valuing the processions and ‘divine favours’ that assist those under siege against the practices of the Dutch ‘dirty war’.50 However, following the retreat of the Dutch from Bahia, and in spite of his defence of the res publica, he ends up favouring private interests to a large degree. This was a type of discourse belonging to petitions for royal honours, as he confesses in a letter to the king: ‘with all the due submission, I cannot stop complaining that in the 34 continuous years I have served Your Majesty with my person, spending much of the dowry of my wife and obtained by my industry and work today I am poorer than when I began serving Your Majesty’.51

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The Dutch occupation of Pernambuco continued to raise a multiplicity of opinions. For example, after the recovery of Recife in January 1654, a written discourse by one who had personally taken part in the campaigns, Francisco de Brito Freire, advised as to how the possessions acquired by the military force should be maintained. In his discourse addressed to the king, he began by addressing the potential threat of the Dutch returning to Brazil supported not by the Dutch Company but by the state itself. The fact that the Dutch nation was accustomed to long wars and had available an army capable of destabilizing the republican political system if it remained idle weighed heavily. Clearly, there were those who argued that the Dutch Company had collapsed due to the losses caused by such a prolonged war and that Pernambuco by this time had well fortified areas, as well as its population of soldiers, settlers and Indians, who could be considered able fighters. But, according to the author, one could not trust in the peace made with Holland with the mediation of France. The Dutch threat was a serious question, perhaps not against Pernambuco, which was better defended, but in relation to Bahia or, more probably, Rio de Janeiro, without forgetting the fact that maritime operations could take over islands such as Fernão de Noronha as a base. Bahia was an easy target because it had no great military experience. As for Rio de Janeiro, what must be considered is that there were about 300 Dutch who had surrendered in Recife; that it did not have people used to military discipline; that its port, although excellent, was not sufficiently fortified; and that it was a greater attraction due to the rumours of the existence of gold in Minas de São Paulo. The threat of the Dutch limiting their operations to maritime attacks against Portuguese ships could be achieved from bases lying along the coast of Brazil, or they could easily be converted into a type of blockade on the Lisbon bar. Regarding this situation, the author suggests various measures. Firstly, artillery and infantry resources available in Recife would have to be shared among other areas that should also be better fortified and have militarily disciplined militia. As for the threats to the fleets, the direction to be taken was clearly the removal of transport of merchandise, particularly sugar, by small ships in order to concentrate on the use of tall ships that could be armed with soldiers and artillery. It is then that the author recalls his experience as admiral of the fleet of the Companhia de Comércio do Brasil, set up in 1649 in response to harsh criticism of the concentration of fleets and most of all the expenditure made by the commissariat of the Companhia. It would be preferable to arm the merchant ships that, together with the Royal Armada and the Companhia, had the greater control of the Atlantic. In addition to the plans of military strategy, the author added others of

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a more political character. In the final considerations of this discourse, we come across the desire to celebrate the restoration of Pernambuco and to interpret this as a plan of ‘great hopes’. Through the mediation of France, peace had been celebrated between Portugal and Holland. But during these negotiations, the Portuguese representative, D. Francisco de Sousa Coutinho, had suggested that the territory of Pernambuco should be handed over to the Dutch. Regarding this damaging situation of the interests of the kingdom and its conquest, the author suggests that Portugal should celebrate peace with Castile. Prince D. Afonso should not marry a French princess but a daughter of Philip IV. Finally, he states that: The Spaniards who are great politicians, in order to serve their own interests, should end their internal wars and have a king of their own nation who is not an Austrian through marriage with the Portuguese prince and this princess will unite all the interests and all the kingdoms; and we, who are less well advised as to seeking a lower position, will have improved our position, assisting in the grandeur of the King of Spain.52

The occupation and restoration of Pernambuco also brought about a small number of justificatory or celebratory printed texts. Brother Manuel Calico and Diogo Lopes de Santiago considered that those who had restored Pernambuco were divided into two factions – those loyal to João Fernandes Vieira from Madeira and those opposing him because of a ‘lack of revolutionary spirit or in pure and simple betrayal’, to use the words of the great Brazilian historian Evaldo Cabral de Mello.53 Based on sources of this type, the historians of the nineteenth century, headed by Varnhagen, mythologized the figure of Vieira and projected native preconceptions that were more able to explain the nineteenth-century conflicts among patriots and reinóis than comprehend the social and political dynamics of the mid seventeenth century. These dynamics, in their conflicting aspects, should according to Cabral de Mello be analysed based on the division between old landowners – who had seen their possessions confiscated, particularly the sugar mills, with the Dutch occupation – and the new landowners, who had bought their mills during the occupation.54 When presenting the figure of João Fernandes Vieira as being central and praising his cause in O Valeroso Lucideno, the chroniclers of the age were responding to a recommendation by Vieira. In this way, the chroniclers, particularly Brother Manuel Calado, participated in strategies of individual glorification that were very close to the discourses presented by those desiring royal honours. However, it is worth reconstructing some of the arguments used in O Valeroso Lucideno as well as

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in other works of the age if we wish to understand both the meaning of the strategies of recognition of individual acts and the principal ruptures between groups involved in conflict with the Dutch. While one of the proposals in Brother Manuel Calado’s chronicles lies in the praise of the virtues and actions of João Fernandes Vieira, the same work also contains various signs of a devaluation of Matias de Albuquerque. On arriving in Brazil, he organized celebrations at the birth of the prince, who was Castilian, instead of preparing immediately for war. Then he allowed himself to be influenced by some ‘very rich, fat-bellied men’ and avoided meeting the enemy on the beach, preferring to meet them in the town. In addition, the same general, in the company of his brother Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho, left the battle early in order to dine with D. António de Oquendo, who commanded the Spanish armada.55 In a framework defined by the restoration of Portuguese independence, the devaluation of the Albuquerque faction, which was connected with the Castilians, extended to criticisms relating to the actions of the Count of Bañolo. With the arrival of the Count in Pernambuco,‘the success of the war was going from bad to worse’, writes Brother Manuel Calado. The diplomatic contacts established with the Dutch, in particular the exchange of gifts, allowed some traitors to supply information to the Dutch.56 It would be interesting also to ascertain how the chronicler presents other groups and individuals. Gaspar Dias Ferreira, ‘a man in part of the Hebrew nation’, is described as a collaborator because he went to live with the Dutch and had accompanied John Maurice Nassau in the attempted capture of Bahia.57 Prior to the occupation, the new-Christians had begun to turn to Judaism, which the chronicler states led to divine punishment on the arrival of the Dutch. During the occupation, Jewish rites and ceremonies were not practised openly. Jews arriving from Holland, who were descendants of Portuguese and who had become wealthy ‘with their agreements’, acted as intermediaries between the Flemings and the Portuguese of Pernambuco.58 Another group that was the target of devaluation by Brother Manuel Calado was that of the ‘native Indians’ or more generally ‘the Indians of the Pitiguares territory, usually called caboclos and the Tapuias, all great enemies of the Portuguese blood’.59 Indians were the main supporters of the Dutch, and the Dutch occupation is mainly attributed to them. The settlers in Pernambuco feared them more than the Dutch themselves. Their behaviour was characterized as being that of ‘rough, wild animals of the bush’ (who could not pronounce the letters L, F and R); they were beyond the reach of the Jesuits, Benedictines, Franciscans and Carmelites in their attempts to civilize and convert them.60 This devaluation of the Indians,

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who are shown as the principal enemies of the Portuguese, had one of its strongest moments in the denunciation of a man of mixed blood, Domingos Fernandes Calabar. According to Calado, it was only thanks to his collaboration that the Dutch succeeded in ruling the region of Pernambuco. Calabar had earlier plundered the royal treasury and had continued, under the protection of the Dutch, to make numerous attacks on the settlers. The story of this enemy of mixed blood ends precisely with the celebration of his execution, the quartering of his body and the placement of his head on a wooden post.61 But while there is a lack of respect for those of mixed blood in general and of the mameluco, one should recall the appreciation of the Indian António Camarão, who went and offered his services to Matias de Albuquerque and who by royal gift was granted the title of ‘Dom’ and given the habit of Christ. On this, O Valeroso Lucideno offers more than one sole opinion of the Indians. The same can be said of the Dutch, who as enemies are usually the object of criticism and associated with low groups and elements, who deserve some praise. This, for example, is the case with Nassau regarding his efforts at urban planning, as well as the flourishing economy of Pernambuco based above all on the sugar trade.62 In 1654, the Memorias diarias de la Guerra del Brasil by Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho was published – significantly in Madrid. However, one cannot maintain that the book is an attack on the patriotic sentiments of the Portuguese, as would have been expected of a work published in the kingdom of Castile within the context of the Restoration. On the contrary, one should note the praise of Maria de Sousa, an example of ‘Portuguese womanly worth’. She was the wife of Gonçalo Velho and considered one of the most noble in Penambuco. Her spirit is compared by the author with that of many soldiers. The identity attributed to the Portuguese nobles and their wives is thus the subject of a clear evaluation. However, it is to Matias de Albuquerque, the brother of the author, that the main praise is dedicated, with emphasis on his military qualities in spite of a constant lack of military assistance and supplies. There are some 200 Indians recorded among the forces that collaborated with the general, and at the head of these was António Felipe Camarão and the interpreters João Mendes Flores and António Pereira. In addition, was a force of about forty men, ‘algunos dellos mamelucos, como allá los llaman, y son hijos de blancos, y de indias, y algunos mulatos’ (some of the mamelucos as they call them there are the children of whites and Indians and some mulattos), and some Indians from the Jesuit villages organized by Father Manuel de Morais are also mentioned.63 Regarding the Dutch, the enemy that behaves ‘mas como mercader que como soldado’ (more like a merchant than a soldier), and the local forces who associated with

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them, the emphasis is once again on Domingos Fernandes Calabar, a mulatto, and the Tapuias, whose ‘natural crueldad’ (natural cruelty) was feared by the settlers.64 A final example of this configuration of texts relating to conflicts with the Dutch is to be found in the Epanaphoras de Varia Historia Portugueza by D. Franciso Manuel de Melo. Evidence in Portuguese of the journey to Brazil of this great writer to whom is attributed the work entitled Paraíso de Mulatos, Purgatório de Brancos, e Inferno de negros is thin on the ground. However, the history of the recovery of Pernambuco in 1654 assists the author in emphasizing some individual acts and in characterizing the principal groups and collective identities involved.65 Starting with the conflicts with Brazil in the period between 1630 and 1654 that were preceded by the events in Bahia in 1624–25, the author’s idea is clear: to emphasize the success of the forces and the Portuguese nobility in detriment to the Castilian junta in their organization of the recovery of Pernambuco. This praise of values of the homeland, identified with the Lusitanians and Portugal, has one of the most explicit expressions in the dedication by the author to an unknown friend, who, one supposes, is a Portuguese man who is part of the various expeditions to America ‘in the service of the homeland’.66 However, one must note that this evaluation of service to the country includes praise of local heroes who were born or settled in Brazil. João Fernandes Vieira, ‘rich and honoured inhabitant of Pernambuco, now a noble captain’, is presented as the head of a popular resistance, formed by a body of 1,500 young men, and the hero of ‘freedom’.67 However, it was not only the Dutch enemy who were seen as a reason for what was considered ‘the resolution of those people’ (in spite of the fact that they themselves were respected in Europe as a noble republic), for they also had to consider, among the ‘natives, those who with more discourse or interest considered it impossible’.68 In this way, D. Francisco Manuel de Melo reveals the existence of a local faction that had become accustomed to the Dutch occupation and was against armed resistance. Besides the praise for João Fernandes Vieira, he also praises André Vidal de Negreiros, who was Mestre de camp and considered a ‘valiant and very able leader, who from the start of the war served and led’; Henrique Dias, governor of Minas (who was black); and Caramão, who led the Indians, ‘astute and brave with 300 of his soldiers’.69 This praise of some local forces, particularly of some individuals, is contrasted with his disgust for some groups: starting with the caboclos or Indians who supported the Dutch, ‘people unworthy of respect and military courtesy because of the cruelties they practise’, and ending with the ‘mulattos, blacks and mamelucos’, who collaborated with the Dutch but who are pardoned following the recovery of the area, although this pardon was

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also granted to the Jews, in spite of the fact that they had benefited from the capture of Pernambuco.70 Although limited to a much-reduced set of discourses, an analysis of the conflicts caused by the Dutch occupation of Brazil that is interested in textual or literary realities suggests at least three conclusions. The first relates to the standing of the discourses analysed. Among manuscript works such as histories (Brother Vicente do Salvador), suggestions, reports or letters (Luís Álvares Barriga, Pedro Cadena, and a report attributed to Francisco de Brito Freire) and printed books published in the period after 1640, such as those of Brother Manuel Calado, Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho and Francisco Manuel de Melo, the main objective lies in breaking with a little-considered concept of literature. It would be better to contradict the assumed judges of aesthetic order on the literary level of the texts, using a small number of manuscript works of a global character or to printed books, with a criterion of selection that is interested, on the one hand, in the way in which discourses analysed here are constructed and used within the various areas of communication and, on the other, in the way the discourses are above all acts of agents who are competing for a share of power. Francisco Manuel de Melo, for example, explains how his own discourse is based upon ‘notices, letters and information from the leaders who did the work’.71 Thus the exhibition of a criterion of authenticity for the discourse contributes to breaking down divisions between different textual genres. Other ways these divisions are broken down relate to the contamination between the discourses of petitions with a view to obtaining honours and the reports or histories. For example, when in 1657 Henrique Dias asks for a reward from the king for services in war, the acts of military bravery recalled are equivalent to those to be found in many of the printed works.72 Another method of conceiving communication as a sphere of sharing and competition among the political agents relates to diplomatic correspondence, where most of all the practices of negotiation are recorded and a reduced importance is granted to acts of military bravery. The vast correspondence of Francisco de Sousa Coutinho written during his ambassadorship in Holland (1643–15650) to the king and the Marquis of Niza, who was living in France, and to other diplomatic agents involved in European negotiations following the restoration of Portuguese independence form a specific type of political discourse. Within this type of discourse of action it is possible to detect a broader spectrum of negotiating scenarios and situations; for example, the discussion on the opportunity to hand over Pernambuco to the Dutch in exchange for recognition of Portugal in the peace treaties signed in Europe at the end of the 1640s. Father António Vieira, who was also charged with diplomatic negotiations by

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John IV, would have considered this option that would have been met with many contrary opinions within a framework of Sousa Coutinho presenting himself as a candidate for the governorship of Brazil. Another of the aspects to be found in this correspondence relates to a perception of the different cracks and divisions that prevented viewing the enemy, Holland, as a stumbling block. This ability to describe the other (which was more elaborate than in published works) is also due to a more direct interest in practices of negotiation.73 A second conclusion lies in knowing which is the most meaningful discursive context for placing each of the analysed texts. The importance of the Restoration of 1640 has already been noted several times as an explanation for certain national acts as well as individual interests in the gaining of an honour. From the point of view of works published in Portugal, such as that of Brother Manuel Calado, or by the Portuguese, such as Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho, the difference in accentuation of this or that individual is notable. In the 1670s, the same occurs with Francisco de Brito Freire, with his Nova Lusitânia (1675),74 and Rafael de Jesus, who published his Castriosto lusitano (1679). But it is the works of Dutch authors or those who argue their point of view that should above all be taken into account if one wishes to understand the polemical workings in which many of the discourses of the era are included. Of importance are Johannes de Laet (1593–1649), who published his Historie ofte Laerlijck Verahal in Leiden (1644) regarding the unfolding events from 1621 to 1636; Gaspar Barleus (1584–1648), who dedicated his history Rerum per octennium in Brasilia et alibi nuper gestarum sub praefectura Illustrissimi Comitis I, Maritii, Nassoviae (Amsterdam, 1647) to Nassau; Pierre Moreau, with his Histoire des derniers troubles du Brésil entre les Hollandais et les Portugais (Paris, 1651); and, later, in 1682, Johannes Nieuhof (1618–1672?) with his Gedenkweerdige Brasiliaense Zee-en LantReisei.75 In turn, the interest in recording the plans of the Dutch West India Company is to be found in Portuguese writings. In addition to Pedro Cadena, who included in his discourse translations in Portuguese of Dutch discourses, one can add as an example that which is to be found in a letter addressed to the king by João Fernandes Vieira in 1652.76 A final conclusion relates to the discussion of the traditional thesis regarding the reinforcement of Brazilian identity during the conflicts with the Dutch. José Honório Rodrigues put it as follows: ‘the conflict for the Dutch expulsion is far more the work of many of the mazombos, Brazilians, brasis and blacks, than of the Portuguese forces’.77 Another statement by the same author relates to the connection between the modern and capitalist spirit of the Dutch and the implicit archaism of the Portuguese system. More recently, Evaldo Cabral de Mello roundly

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criticized the association between the experience of Dutch rule and the birth of a ‘nativist sentiment’ and tried to explain the social dynamics existing in Brazil, insisting on the divisions – within the ambit of an economy based on sugar – between the owners of mills who were excluded or favoured by the Dutch occupation.78 How far can an analysis that is concerned with introducing practices of identity and is based upon different types of discourse assist in prolonging this exercise in which the intention is to introduce a greater complexity and deconstruct existing ideas? A response to this question implies a revision of the strategies of individual affirmation and a recognition of the divisions between the principal groups described in the analysed texts. Regarding the first aspect – relating to the way in which the individuals and their dependents construct versions of the events that are concerned with their own defence – one of the clearest examples is to be found in the evaluation of João Fernandes Vieira and Matias de Albuquerque by Brother Manuel Calado and Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho respectively. But it would also be interesting to ascertain in a more general manner the different methods of discourses in explaining individual gains – of the authors and of the economic functionaries of a sugar-based economy – in relation to public interests. As for the work of reconstructing the principal divisions between groups, it is necessary to recall the various criteria for their definition. Whether these are on a national scale (Portuguese, Castilian and Dutch) racial or ethnic (Jewish, African, Indian, mameluco or mulatto) or social (the rich), the most important conclusion lies in the difficulty in separating clearly the forces supporting the Dutch from those who opposed them. Against this thesis, in which anachronistic nationalist readings are projected, according to which it was local and native groups who were the basis of the opposition to the Dutch, it is necessary to recall with Francisco Manuel de Melo that, following the restoration of Pernambuco, the collaborators (mulattos, black and mamelucos) also had to be pardoned.79 Equally, in the versions that Father António Vieira has left of the occupation and recovery of Pernambuco, it is possible to isolate the close collaboration between the Dutch and Amerindian groups. On this, at the moment of capitulation and in spite of being pardoned for collaboration, they fled to the hills because they feared the revenge of the Portuguese.80 On the other hand, in the more specific case of the Dutch presence in Maranhão (between November 1641 and February 1644), when many Portuguese ‘became accustomed to the customs and even the rites of the Dutch’, with some Portuguese women marrying them, Vieira notes that it was at the instigation of a Jesuit priest that many Portuguese and Indians rebelled against the Dutch.81

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Notes   1. On the date of the presentation of the play, see Shergold and Varey, ‘Some Palace Performances of Seventeenth-Century Plays’, 218. Vega, El Brasil restituido, critical edition from the autographed manuscript, with introductory study by Gino de Solenni. Other editions: Vega, Obras; Viqueira Barreiro, El lusitanismo de Lope de Vega y su comedia ‘El Brasil restituido’ (uses the text published by Menéndez y Pelayo, and not the critical edition as assumed in a note published in the review Brasília in 1951, 184–96).   2. The list of actors, or rather authors, to use the word of the time, was published by Rennert, ‘Sobre Lope de Vega’, 372–73 (see Rennert, ‘Notes on Some Comedias of Lope de Vega’, 96–110).   3. F.M. de Melo, Epanaphoras de varia Historia Portugueza, 486.   4. Boxer, Salvador de Sá and the Struggle for Brazil and Angola 1602–1686, 51; França, ‘Um problema: a traição dos cristãos-novos em 1624’, 21–72. On this community, see D.G. Smith, The Mercantile Class of Portugal and Brazil in the Seventeenth Century: A Socio-economic Study of the Merchants of Lisbon and Bahia, 1620–1690.   5. M.S. de Faria, Relaçam Vniversal; Providence, John Carter Brown Library, Ms. Codex Sp 27: Luís Álvares Barriga, Propuesta, fls. 3, 4–4v; F.M. de Melo, Epanaphoras de varia historia portugueza, 169.   6. A. Dominguez Ortiz, Politica y Hacienda de Felipe IV, 123; Boyajian, Portuguese Bankers at the Madrid Court, 1626–1650.   7. E. Tormo y Monzó, Pintura, escultura y arquitectura en España, 169.   8. Maravall, La Cultura del Barroco: Análisis de una estructura histórica, 508.   9. Vega, Laurel de Apolo con otras rimas, compare with Casa de la memoria by de Vicente de Espinel, Corte de la Turquia by de Gil Polo and with Viaje del parnaso, by de Cervantes), to which Jacinto Cordeiro replied with Elogio de poetas lusitanos (Lisbon: Jorge Rodrigues, 1631). 10. León Pinelo, Epitome de la Bibliotheca Oriental, y Occidental, Nautica, y Geographica (copy at BNP with manuscript notes is in a modern edition by A. Millares Caro). On this author see Altamira, ‘La extraña historia de la Recopilación de Antonio de Leon Pinelo’, 98–118, 280–304; Saban, Los Marranos y la economia en el Rio de la Plata, 77–82; D.B. Machado, Bibliotheca Lusitana, vol. I, sub voce. 11. On Soeiro e Lope, Rennert, ‘Sobre Lope de Vega’, 465 k. On Soeiro e Olivares, see Elliott, The Count-Duke of Olivares, 217. On Soeiro and his activities, see Israel, The Dutch Republic and the Hispanic World, 1606–1661. 12. Yerushalmi, From Spanish Court to Italian Ghetto. A more complex and in-depth point of view is argued by Asensio, ‘La peculiaridad literaria de los conversos’, 327–351. 13. B. Guerreiro, Iornada dos vassalos da Coroa de Portugal, fl. 59v. 14. Entrambasaguas, Vida de Lope de Vega, 137–38, 156, 264–66. 15. On pictures of the Buen Retiro, see Brown and Elliott, A Palace for a King, 161–90. 16. Van der Hamen, Dom Filipe el Prudente, segundo deste nombre, fl. 190 (includes a dedication to, among others, Tamayo de Vargas); Van der Hamen, Dom Juan de Austria: Historia, fl. 327. 17. Vega, Triunfos Divinos; Ibid., La Circe, Con Otras Rimas Y Prosas. 18. J. Elliott, ‘Power and Propaganda in the Spain of Philip IV’, 184. 19. Elliot, The Count-Duke of Olivares, 175–76. 20. A work published for the first time in Valladolid, 1597.

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21. On the defence of Mariana, see Entrambasaguas, Vida de Lope de Vega, 156. On Lope and Lopez Madera, see Rennert, ‘Sobre Lope de Vega’, 456–57. 22. Correspondence between Lope and the Duke of Sessa in 1625, quoted by Entrambasaguas, Vida de Lope de Vega, 236. 23. Boyajian, Portuguese Bankers at the Madrid Court, 1626–1650; Elliott, The CountDuke of Olivares, 301–3. 24. Elliott, ‘The Court of the Spanish Habsburgs: A Peculiar Institution?’, 142–61. 25. As one of his friends said, in 1625, ‘que sea Principe de los Poetas castellanos Lope, ni a mi me passa por el pensamiento dezirlo, ni a el creerlo, que como esta embestidura no la da el Imperio, tantos son ya en España los Principes de la Poesia, quantos son los amigos de los Poetas, porque cada uno tiene su Principe’ (‘to say that Lope de Vega is the prince of the Castilian poets neither comes to mind nor should he believe it, since as this honour is not granted by the Empire there are already so many princes of poetry in Spain as there are friends of the poets, for each one has his own prince’). L. de la Carrera, ‘A los desapassionados, y doctos’, in Vega, Triunfos Divinos. 26. Garcia de Enterría, Sociedad y poesia de cordel en el Barroco, 86–90. 27. Elliott, ‘Power and Propaganda in the Spain of Philip IV’, 187. 28. Whitaker, ‘The First Performance of Calderón’s El sitio de Breda’, Renaissance Quarterly, 31 (1978), 515–31. 29. M.S. de Faria (pseudonym: Francisco de Abreu), Relaçam vniversal do qve svccedeo em Portvgal; Salvador, História do Brasil 1500–1627, 493–94, 503–5. 30. Pastor, Bulletin Hispanique (1908), 250–51. 31. Alenda y Mira, Relaciones de solemnidades y fiestas publicas de España, vol. I, 245. 32. M.S de Faria, Relaçam vniversal. 33. Entrambasaguas, Vida de Lope de Vega, 238–39. 34. Viana, Estudos de História Colonial, 244–51. 35. Salvador, História do Brasil, 493. 36. Ibid., 512. 37. Ibid., 513. 38. Ibid., 58, 162, 171, 180. 39. Ibid., 162. 40. Ibid., 252, 493. 41. Ibid., 59. 42. Ibid., 65, 171. 43. Ibid., 61. 44. Ibid., 66. 45. ‘Mas teniendo por costumbre los mas de los portugueses de nuestros tiempos, que son oydos, trabajar para dañar todo lo ageno, que ellos no poeden hazer suyo sin respetar lo que dnan al seruicio de su Mag. Porque solo atienden al fin de sus intento deuió S. Ex.ª, ser tan mal informado de mi person’ (‘It being the custom that the majority of today’s Portuguese who are heard in audience work to prejudice the achievements of others which they cannot claim to be their own and this is highly prejudicial to the service of the king, since they only consider their own objectives and I believe your excellency has been misinformed about me’). Ibid. 46. Providence, R.I., John Carter Brown Library, Codex Sp 27: Luís Álvares Barriga, Propuesta de las advertencias, que de necessidad forçada se deuen justamente descursar, sobre la seguridad y certeza con que se deue recuperar el puerto de Pernambuco, defenderse y conseruarse el Estado del Brazil, recuperarse el Comercio de la Mina.

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47. 48. 49. 50. 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.

Vilhasanti, Relação diária do Cêrco da Bahia de 1638, 107, 109. Ibid., 103. Ibid., 188. Ibid., 55, 70–71, 76, 88. Ibid., 95–96. ‘Parecer sobre os meios mais faceis para conservar e melhorar os estados do Brazil’ [1654], in Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe siècle. Documents inédits relatifs à l’Atlantique portugais, 259–78. E.C. de Mello, Olinda Restaurada: Guerra e Açúcar no Nordeste, 1630–1654, 249. Ibid., 250–51. M. Calado, O Valeroso Lucideno e Triumpho da Liberdade, 10, 25. Ibid., 14. Ibid., 41. Ibid., 8–9, 53. Ibid., 25. Ibid., 25–26. Ibid., 14, 22–23. Ibid., 52–53. D. de A. Coelho, Memorias diarias de la guerra del Brasil, fls. 18, 23, 27. Ibid., fls. 77v–78, 84, 91, 146–46v. Prestadge, D. Francisco Manuel de Melo – esboço biographico, 291. F.M. de Melo, Epanaphoras de varia historia portugueza, 480. Ibid., 498, 508. Ibid., 498. Ibid., 507, 518, 520, 523. Ibid., 492, 521, 536. Ibid., 482. F. de Vasconcelos, Henrique Dias: herói da Restauração de Pernambuco, 21–24. F. de S. Coutinho, Correspondência diplomática durante a sua embaixada em Holanda (Coimbra and Lisbon: Imprensa da Universidade – Centro Tipográfico Colonial, 1920–1926–1955), especially vol. II – 1647–1648 (Maio), 225, 232–33, 229–30, 370; vol. III – 1648–1650, 116; Cortesão, O Ultramar português depois da Restauração, 121; E.C. de Mello, O Negócio do Brasil: Portugal, os Países Baixos e o Nordeste, 1640–1669. M.L. de Almeida, ‘O Historiador da Nova Lusitania: Francisco de Brito Freire (subsídios para a sua biografia)’, 93–149; ibid., ‘Novos subsídios para a biografia de Francisco de Brito Freire’, 133–205. J.H. Rodrigues, Historiografia e bibliografia do domínio holandês no Brasil; Boxer, The Dutch in Brazil 1624–1654, 291–301 (bibliographic note). Still later is the work by the Carmelite Fr. João José de Santa Teresa, Istoria delle Guerre del Regno del Brasile accadute tra la Corona di Portogallo, e la Republica di Olanda, 2 vols. Rau and da Silva, Os Manuscritos do Arquivo da Casa de Cadaval respeitantes ao Brasil, vol. I, 104–11. J.H. Rodrigues, Historiografia e bibliografia do domínio holandês no Brasil, 6. E.C. de Mello, Olinda Restaurada, 12, 249–93. F.M. de Melo, Epanaphoras, 536. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V., 80–81. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 238–39; ibid., Cartas, vol. I, 314.

Chapter 13

The Inhabitants of Maranhão, Expeditions, the Peruleiros and the Slaves


Another method of considering the divisions between groups can be found in the descriptions, information and reports relating to Maranhão. Following the creation of the State of Maranhão on 13 June 1621, which coincided with the arrival of a strong contingent of settlers from the Azores, one of its inhabitants, Simão Estácio da Silveira, published a Relação sumária das coisas do Maranhão (1624).1 Repeating themes and arguments that were present in the sixteenth-century reports of Brazil, the author wrote a work of propaganda with a view to attracting a greater number of settlers. The Relação also includes a suggestion regarding the use of the Amazon for the transport of silver from Potosi, an idea that the author returned to again in a petition of 1626 in which he included the rivers in Maranhão.2 In the 1630s, the writings of Bento Maciel Parente, who was born in Viana de Castelo, continued to reveal an interest in the colonization of Maranhão. In a published Petición, after reporting the services provided in the discovery and conquest of more than 200 leagues of land, Bento Maciel suggests to the king the creation of a bishopric, the introduction of the Spanish system of encomienda for the Indians as used in Spanish America, the freedom of immigration and the dispatch of members of religious orders.3 Put together, these projects of colonization of Maranhão presented by a man from the Azores and one from Viana are an alternative to the actual colonization of Brazil. Less known is the attempt by D. Duarte de Bragança, the Marquis of Frechilla, whose intention was to obtain a captaincy in Maranhão in 1624.4 Regarding these projects of colonization, the Jesuits developed other ideas and other

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practices of writing. Father Luís Figueira continued some of the writing customs of the Jesuits started in Brazil by Nóbrega, Anchieta, Soares and Cardim, who had as their principal objective ‘information and indoctrination’.5 In the prologue to his Arte da lingua brasilica, published in Lisbon probably in 1621 he states: The delight and desire that I have always held for knowing this language to help these poor brasis and the absence there used to be of a method of learning it forced me to want to know it and to learn from the roots the foundations and rules I was looking for; consulting them and giving them to native Indians to examine, and to priests who are good interpreters, born and brought up among the Indians of Brazil.6

Following the example of what occurred with Anchieta’s Arte, this linguistic work should be viewed as an instrument of doctrine whose use is recognized in further editions of 1687, 1754 and 1795, besides the seventeenth-century editions already used for other subjects. Among the various letters, reports and petitions from Father Luís Figueira, what is of most interest here is the report of his mission to various captaincies in Amazonia in 1636 while he was superior of the Maranhão residence (from 1623). The Jesuit describes the opposition found in Belém do Pará to the installation of a house of the Society of Jesus. The main opponent was the procurador of the counsel, ‘who was a brutish man who did not know how to read or write nor did he have any knowledge of the Society, being already forewarned by others of its character’.7 In general, the opposition to religion had begun with the presence of the Capuchins and had extended by this time to the Jesuits, who spoke against the ‘injustices and violence’ practised by the settlers towards the Indians ‘as there are many who are unjustly captives against the form of laws of His Majesty, and are sold outside the conquered territory’.8 Father Figueira showed himself to be particularly agreeable to the clergy learning the language and to the need to teach and indoctrinate the Indian boys.9 The only printed report of Pedro Teixeira’s journey to Amazonia is that written by the Castilian Jesuit Cristoval de Acuña, Nuevo Descubrimiento del Gran Rio de las Amazonas (1641). The journey, started in Gurupá or perhaps in Cametá in 1637, ended two years later in Belém do Pará, during which it had reached the city of Quito. As an eye witness, the Jesuit describes numerous geographical aspects of the flora and fauna, as well as the social organization of the Amerindian populations, including a reference to Amazonia, whose existence he did not doubt. There are other reports of the same journey that remained unpublished until the nineteenth century, such as that of the Franciscan Brother Laureano

The Inhabitants of Maranhão  •  233

da Cruz, who also wrote in Castilian, and Maurício de Heriarte, the magistrate of Maranhão, that was written in Portuguese and entitled Descrição do Estado do Maranhão, Pará, Corupá e Rio das Amazonas.10 The existence of several reports, particularly those authored by members of different religious orders, reveals the presence of conflict. Together this and other written explorations of the great Amazon valley, considered when entered from the interior, reflects the movement of those carrying out expeditions. Sérgio Buarque de Holanda noted the discrepancy between the ‘incorporation of a large part of the Amazon valley with Portuguese America’ and the military – ‘fewer in number than appears on first examination’.11 The reason for this lies in the fact that the fifteenth-century colonization of Maranhão was merely a prolongation of the occupation of the coast or the regions lying along the margins of the Amazon and its tributaries, so following the previous model of the colonization of Brazil. As Father Antonio Vieira noted in 1654 regarding António Raposo Tavares’s expedition to the Amazon: ‘what must be noted is that these men talk only of what is built at the edge of the river, because going from there to the interior they did not see anything’. When Father António Vieira disembarked in S. Luís do Maranhão on 16 January 1653, his mission seemed to him a continuation of the work of Father Luís Figueira. Perhaps it was because of this that he recalled several times the death of his predecessor as analogous to the final destiny of other Jesuits. According to Vieira, Figueira and his companions on returning to Portugal in 1642 were shipwrecked on an island in Pará, ‘where those barbarians killed them one by one and ate them all’.12 In the kindly author’s words, the missionary practices of the Jesuits and their ideals were particularly systematic, but it is ever necessary to examine them, just as Vieira did, with the aim of evaluating the missionary work and the important moments of the lives of saints and martyrs, such as Francis Xavier in the east and Anchieta in Brazil.13 For this missionary work, Vieira felt it necessary for a large number of the religious to move to Brazil, and he asked the king to authorize their recruitment even from other countries. However, when he evaluated their work more thoroughly, the Jesuit pointed out the weakness of the other religious orders, in particular the Capuchins, who were incapable of speaking the local languages and were seen as conspirators in the violence practised by the settlers.14 On several occasions, Vieira explains the groups on whom the Jesuits wished to exercise their Christianity – the settlers and the various types of Indians. Most importantly, this was about the conversion of the Portuguese themselves, whom Vieira describes on his arrival in Maranhão as distant from the Church, living licentiously and lacking doctrine. The methods proposed comprised the organization of colleges

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for children, the celebration of masses accompanied by the respective sermons, the use of images such as the Stations of the Cross, the distribution of spiritual books and Christian doctrine. Added to this were processions every Sunday afternoon ending in lessons in doctrine at the college. With the objective of teaching the rudiments of the catechism to the more forgetful and ignorant – such as some who lived in the city, the settlers who lived in distant farms and the older inhabitants – the priests should also organize a bilingual catechism to be circulated in manuscript form, ‘so that the Portuguese and their wives and children pronounce in the same Portuguese language as has been taught to the Indians in theirs’. Further, sermons were to be delivered ‘to the Indians in their language, which all the settlers in the greater part understood’. When, in 1662, Vieira assessed the results of this missionary force of the Jesuits on the Portuguese settlers over nine years, he recalled most of all the removal of hatred among people and the union by marriage of those who were cohabiting and so having illicit relationships.15 In fact, through Vieira’s correspondence and sermons, it is possible to find recurring images regarding the settlers of Maranhão. Repeating the censure made by Luís Figueira, they are accused of being responsible for the ‘unjust capture’ of the Indians.16 The principal motive for this behaviour of the settlers was greed and self-interest and to such a point that hostages were taken violently or with ‘a pistol in the chest’.17 For these settlers, the Amerindians were known as ‘dogs’. In the Amazon region, the Indians were capable of perpetrating the greatest violence towards other Indians, whose lives were no more important than those of ‘wild boar or deer’.18 The relations among settlers were also violent, and they were likened in a sermon to fish, arriving from Portugal ravenous and able to eat small shoals, creating for themselves a hierarchical chain in which the greater ate the lesser, but once they returned to Portugal they were devoured by those who were greater still.19 This is a metaphor that corresponds with the criticism made in a letter of the governors and captains who favoured the capture and enslavement of the Indians and whose ideas it would hard to change ‘since they must always be able to do more than us and everything in their own interest’.20 So, violence, greed and the interests of the settlers of Maranhão led Vieira to call for an increase in ‘republicans and those keen for the common good’… ‘against the particular self-interest of each one’.21 Vieira created a typology regarding the Indians of Maranhão in 1653, which he presented in a sermon and wrote in a letter to the king, and he used it again in 1662 in an argument in which he tried to defend the activities of the Jesuits.22 This repeated classification divides the Indians into domestic slaves seen as free because they live in villages belonging

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to the king under the control of the Jesuits and those living in the hinterland in a natural and even greater freedom and who were sought out as hostages and frequently captured. Although Father António Vieira appears to be attentive to the diversity of the Amerindian groups, as is the case in the reports and letters regarding missions to the river Tocatins and the Ibiapaba mountains, this is not new in Jesuit writings or those of earlier authors.23 Nor are the methods of missionary work left unrecorded. These were: the use of the local language for sermons and the spread of catechism or prayers, the use of forms of musical communication, which Vieira attributes to Brother Manuel de Nóbrega, and the education of children.24 In addition, the descriptions of contact with Amerindian groups are not unknown, for these groups adopted into their own culture images of the Jesuits and the settlers.25 An analysis of earlier discursive configurations revealed many times over the existence of an anomaly that nowadays we would see as ethnographic regarding the specificity of local cultures. What does not appear in Vieira’s texts is the description of the Indians constructed with reference to colonizing groups and their methods. Thus the anomaly of the ethnographic descriptions that to a large extent takes on a repetitive character gives way to a perspective on the Indians that is centred on the interests and acts of the colonizing groups. Clearly, from the arrival of the Jesuits in the middle of the sixteenth century, there were conflicts with the groups of settlers interested in the enslavement of the Indians, but it was Father António Vieira’s departure for Maranhão that imposed the centrality of these conflicts to the detriment of other discourses. Vieira was interested in a defence of the Indians led by objectives of missionary work, and he classified the Indians and sought to argue that they had freedom. In essence, his argument is found to be influenced by reasons of a judicial or legal order and by the opposition between the ideals of the common good and the tyranny and personal interests attributed to the settlers and the powerful. The defence of the liberty of the Indians supposes its control by the Jesuit missionaries. As Vieira wrote in 1653: The remedy consists in the execution of all the remedies that up to now have been noticed: for if the Indians after capture become free; if the villages live as truly free, doing their work and serving solely because they want to earn; and if the incursions made into the hinterland were with true, not false peace, and if preaching to the Indians the faith of Jesus Christ without any more interest than what he sought from the world, which is souls, and there were enough religious who learn the languages and exercise their ministry with true zeal, there is no doubt that, with

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divine grace competing with this disposition of human instruments, the Indians will submit to our friendship, will embrace the faith, will live as Christians, and with the news of good treatment of these first will bring in many others with whom, besides their own spiritual good and that of all their descendants, the republic will also have many Indians who will serve it and defend it as were those who to a large degree helped to restore it.26

Following this process and the ruling of 1655 that gave the Jesuits control of the missions to save the Indians, Vieira presented the results of their work with the Tupinambas, achieved by Brother Francisco Veloso; the Nheengaibas and the Pacajas by Father João Soutomaior; the Araquins by Father Francisco Veloso; and their missions to the Rio Negro area by Father Francisco Gonçalves; the Carajas by Father Tomé Ribeiro; the Poquis by Father Manuel Nunes; and the Ibiapaba mountains by himself, ‘in which missions and in others less difficult more than three thousand souls of free Indians and more than one thousand eight hundred slaves succumbed’.27 For Viera, while the introduction of the examination of the slaves by the Jesuits on incursions into the hinterland did not prejudice ‘the use of the people’ solely for slavery, the work that Indians living in the villages were forced to perform six months of the year for pay was so ‘much to the favour of the Portuguese’ that the majority worked for more than eight months.28 The transfer of Indians to the Jesuit villages for the provision of slave labour is presented by Father António Vieira as being beneficial to the Indians, at least because they were not being slaughtered – some 2,000,000 Indians had been killed by the Portuguese in Maranhão.29 The opinions of the inhabitants of the state were quite different, as summarized in the colonizing project of Paulo da Silva Nunes, the procurador of Maranhão. Writing in 1655, he considered that while ‘Maranhão is not heaven on earth, it is the centre and delight of all the delights and wealth of the world’, but he criticized the fact that the inhabitants and the crown had not yet managed to benefit from this. Why had they not benefited? Firstly because the encomienda had not been properly used in the distribution of the Indians among the settlers, as was the case in the Castilian Indies. Secondly, because it was urgent to colonize Maranhão with the annual despatch of about fifty couples from Madeira and Porto Santo or other parts. In the absence of a policy of colonization of Maranhão and given their wealth, the French, Dutch and Spanish did not fail to show their ambition. In this way, the report of the Jesuit priest Cristoval de Acuña, the brother of the corregedor of Quito, in which he counselled the invasion of Maranhão and its annexation to the West Indies represented a real threat to Silva Nunes.30

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During his time in Maranhão, Vieira wrote his Esperanças de Portugal, in which he stated his faith in the prophecies of Bandarra regarding the Fifth Empire, believing that this would be the period of conversion of all the people of the world to Catholicism and attributing the imperial government to a recovered King John IV. The work suffered a variety of problems, starting with the fact that it had been dedicated to the widow of John IV. The accession of the Count of Castelo Melhor to the governorship and the end of the regency of D. Luísa de Gusmão coincided with a fall into disgrace of Vieira, which is usually attributed to the inquisitorial trial in which Vieira was the defendant, and he had this as his main motive for writing the book. Finally, the reading of the inquisitorial sentence in 1667 corresponded with a new political change – the dethronement of Afonso IV and the beginning of Pedro II’s regency, events that led to the re-establishment of Vieira’s connections with court circles. The record of these facts should not allow one to forget their possible links with the prophetic ideas of Vieira. Previously, Vieira and other Jesuits had alluded to prophetic ideas as a means of legitimizing their missionary activities. In Portugal, the Jesuits had also already shown their interest in establishing their version of popular prophesies of the sixteenth century. It is also necessary to recall that recourse to prophetic themes had spread particularly fiercely in the pamphlets that sought to justify the Restoration of 1640. From then on, arguments seen as prophetic had been used for the propaganda of the founder of the Braganza dynasty within a general framework in which juridical and historical arguments, among others, also competed. However, more important than the nature and genealogy of the prophetic ideas of Vieira appears to be the meaning they assumed within the precise context of a striking micro conflict.31 In one of his arguments, written a little before his sentence was pronounced, probably in 1666, Vieira explains at a certain point that more important than his ideas was the malice of his detractors. Independent of the motives existing – theological errors, doubtful references or even heretical ideas – the reason for the trial that had been brought against him by the Holy Office lay, in the final analysis, with his many enemies. Vieira divides them between lay and religious. Of the former, the fact that he had been favoured by John IV, D. Luísa de Gusmão and Prince Teodósio had been the cause of many enemies, all of whom at court wanted to win the approval of the royalty. Outside the court, many who had asked him for favours and assistance but were not favoured might loathe him. The same was the case with the ambassadors and ministers at the embassies, since the now-deceased monarch had forced them to keep Vieira informed of their business. However, it was not only around

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the court that Vieira found hostile arguments, for these existed also in his family circle, both in Portugal and in Brazil. The same was the case in Maranhão, where, in his words, because of the hard work in the conversion and freedom of the Indians that I desired I achieved general hatred not only among the settlers of the entire land but also of the governors and ministers who go there from Portugal and other greater persons who, without going there, through both open and concealed means have their interests there. Trusting in the powers of these interested people they dared to expel me and my companions, taking me away (in order to give some colour to such ugly excess) and testifying against me with many witnesses saying that I wanted to hand over Maranhão to the Dutch. If the Holy Office had been there perhaps that false testimony would not have been necessary from so far.32

Thus his enemies were, more than his motives, the main reason for the prosecution against him. Regarding his religious enemies, Vieira added that these could be from other orders – particularly those who did not work with him in Maranhão in the denunciation of the unjust capture of the Indians – rather than within the Society. In this last case, Vieira denies the possibility of considering the activity of the Jesuits as a problem, stating that the rivalry could be have been founded upon his success as a preacher, ‘principally since I am from a foreign province rather than the province of Brazil, between which country and Portugal there were great demands rather than good correspondence’.33 Throughout the second half of the seventeenth century, besides Maranhão – which in 1684 was the object of the work published in Madrid by Father Manuel Rodriguez, El Marañon y Amazonas – the involvement of the Society of Jesus in Brazil was the theme of a series of books published by Father Simão de Vasconcelos, Vida do P. João de Almeida (1658); Crónica da Companhia de Jesus no Estado do Brasil (1663); and Vida do Venerável P. José de Anchieta (1672). The Crónica traces the history from the arrival of the Jesuits to the death of Father Manuel da Nóbrega, after which comes the life of his main follower, Father Anchieta. The history is continued with the life of Father Almeida, a follower of Anchieta, who died in 1654. Vasconcelos reproduces wellknown themes of Jesuit writings, such as: the origin and identity of the various Amerindian groups, comparing those of Brazil with other south American groups;34 the methods of missionary work, in particular the indoctrination of children;35 the denunciation of the interests of the settlers in the taking of Indians;36 and also the references to authors of other religious orders and a criticism of Brother Bartolomeu de las Casas as to the supposed cannibalism by the Spaniards of the flesh of the Indians.37

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An inventory of the works of the Jesuits in Brazil also includes writings on economy, beginning with the ideas of Father Vieira on the creation of a Trading Company38 and followed particularly by the works of Fathers Benci and Antonil. Of the latter, Cultura e opulencia do brasil por suas drogas e minas was published in Lisbon in 1711, but it had been started in the 1690s and studied the Jesuit experience in the exploitation of sugar in Sergipe do Conde.39 In this way, one can understand why, in 1705, the Bahian poet Manuel Botelho de Oliveira, when he published his Rimas portuguesas in Lisbon, includes a praise of Bahia, ending with a eulogy to its beautiful chapels, particularly that dedicated to St Francis Xavier. This praise, ‘To Xavier, who was a sacred breathe/Glory of the Church, marvel of Japan’, is to him a sign of the importance of the Society of Jesus and its martyred saints in the names of the cities of Brazil.40

The Maranhão Rebellion In 1684, the Jesuits were expelled for the second time from the region of Maranhão, a vast Amazonian territory that at the time housed no more than a thousand Portuguese attempting to control a large but elusive indigenous population. The Jesuits had already been expelled once, in 1661–1662, after their outspoken criticism of the enslavement of the Amerindians had aroused the antipathy of the settler population. Almost thirty years later, the anti-slavery ‘rhetoric’ of the Jesuit António Vieira was again recalled by an historian of the rebellions of Maranhão for the anger it provoked among the settlers, for whom the main value of the Estado do Maranhão lay in the work of enslaved Indians.41 As was usual in the colonies, however, governmental decrees were rarely enduring and the Jesuits returned to the area soon after. Their second expulsion from the region resulted from a far more complicated local struggle between different factions of settlers within Maranhão, a struggle whose complexities remind us that the politics of even this sparsely populated frontier region cannot be reduced to a simple opposition between missionaries concerned with protecting the Indians and settlers eager to exploit them. In 1684, with the provincial governor temporarily away from the capital city of São Luís, the local mixed-blood population of mamelucos and the municipal council decided that they had had enough of both the Jesuits and a group of merchants in the city who held a royal monopoly on the trade in African slaves. Led by the merchant Manuel Beckmen, they seized the inhabitants of the local Jesuit house and placed them on board a ship bound for Lisbon. A representative of the Council accompanied them carrying a petition

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to the king urging him to repeal the privileges of the favoured group of slave merchants, who were accused of attempting to monopolize all local trade and drive up prices unfairly. Monopolies, even royally granted ones, were prejudicial to the common good, the rebels argued, adding that ‘the laws or orders of the Crown may be cancelled when there is good reason’ recognized locally by ‘the people and heads of the Republic’. A claim for the rights of the people to have a say in confirming laws is strikingly novel, or at least not very common, within a Portuguese context. When the governor sought to return to São Luís, the inhabitants of the town refused to let him enter. Only after a new governor, Gomes Freire de Andrade, was sent out from Lisbon to Maranhão did the inhabitants of the city recognize the authority of a royal lieutenant after a year of de facto autonomy. After ordering the execution of Beckman and pardoning the rest of the local population, Freire de Andrade set out both to reinforce his control over the region and to advance his own career by commissioning several histories in which his successful pacification of the region plays a central part in the story. What is remarkable about these histories is the ambiguous stance they appear to adopt toward the revolt of 1684–1685 and its theoretical justifications. The tendency in the accounts of the first expulsion was to stress the opposition between the settlers and the Jesuits. The political values and conflicts suggested by the second expulsion cannot be reduced to a single opposition between two groups. Three main questions will be addressed here: what were the principal political languages used to defend the new governor and who wanted to impose a new political order? How were the Amerindians perceived? Finally, what was the nature of the political dynamic at the time, consisting as it was of conflicts among different social groups, which was far more complicated than the simple opposition between Jesuits and settlers? The América abreviada suas notícias e de seus naturais, em particular do Maranhão, completed in Lisbon in 1693 by the priest João de Sousa Ferreira, draws from different political languages.42 References to the papal bulls conceding to the Portuguese kings the rights over the lands divided under the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494) suggest one kind of political theory. The authority of the pope is presented as being at the apex of a territorial hierarchy that had at its second level the authority of the different kings. Thus, the legitimacy of the Portuguese kings in relation to their conquests did not derive from their negotiations with the Spanish kings but directly from the pope. By the same token, since the English had submitted to the pope at the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth century, all claims to freedom on the seas developed from the age of Elizabeth I could not be considered valid. The

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existence of treaties dividing the American lands of Portugal and Spain and symbolizing an Iberian way of taking possession was parallel to the discussion of the scientific calculations of measurement in order to find the location of a frontier. This ongoing discussion between Portuguese and Spanish authorities that had started over the Moluccas (1524–1525) had reappeared in the dispute over the colony of Sacramento (c. 1680) and would continue during the discussions that led to the treaties of Madrid (1750) and Santo Ildefonso (1777). All these references suggest the existence of a static or invariable political theory based on papal bulls recalled by João de Sousa Ferreira although the meaning of the theory is dependent on its use at a specific moment. He suggests that some legal documents on the frontier question had recently been discovered in the royal archives by a Jesuit. The allusion to this new fact can be seen as documenting a type of common political language shared at the time by the Jesuits and those speaking against them. Another kind of political language used both by Sousa Ferreira and by Francisco Teixeira de Morais in his Relação histórica e política dos tumultos que sucederam na cidade de S. Luís do Maranhão is based on the model of the virtuous prince.43 The good prince, governor, or captain should value the common good over his own personal interests or individual passions. He should epitomize the virtues of justice and moderation and create an orderly policy in contrast to the lies of the tyrant, who is represented by Machiavelli in the work of Sousa Ferreira and by Nero in the Relação of Teixeira de Morais. The image of the virtuous prince comes from a medieval tradition and was of course criticized explicitly by Machiavelli, or it can be interpreted as a moral idealization in opposition to the realism of Tacitus. Whatever the case, the political language of virtue is reduced to simple moral oppositions between order and disorder, justice and tyranny, common good and individual passions, or the dramatic fight between truth and falsehood. There are references to a variety of historical situations that make use of this type of political language and are used as comparisons to make sense of the events that occurred in Maranhão. In the account of Teixeira de Morais, the Roman times of Tacitus are the main reference. In Sousa Ferreira’s work, it is a succession of injustices that led to the decline of the State of India. He draws from the history of the Spanish in the Indies to suggest some institutional mechanisms, such as the power of the audiências over the governors and the institution of the system of encomienda, which Ferreira believes should have been adopted in Maranhão. While those historical situations can be seen as patterns of comparison introduced in order to bring about reforms or alvitres, they are essentially a means of reinforcing the model of the virtuous prince and of defining what should be considered a correct

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political order. The description of the ceremony of entry performed in 1685 by the new governor of Maranhão, as opposed to the misuse of religious processions by the rebellious faction during the rebellion, was a fine instance of the use of ritual to stress the virtues of the new governor. Virtue here consisted of and was promoted by the proper use of ritual. Sousa Ferreira, the author of the América abreviada, also drew on a variant of the mythological and genealogical discourse on the origins of Europe, a recurrent theme that traced back the origins of the various people on earth to Noah’s three sons. This history, derived from Genesis, had already been suggested by the Jesuit Simão de Vasconcelos (based on the work of other Jesuits, such as José de Acosta). Sousa Ferreira’s purpose was to alter earlier Jesuit writings that were against positions held by the Society of Jesus locally and hence to defend the enslavement of the Amerindians. The same body of knowledge could be cited to defend opposing positions. In his particular interpretation, biblical texts validated a hierarchical concept of the world and justified the enslavement of the Amerindians. The descendants of Ham, after having populated Africa, migrated to America; this is the reason why ‘Africans and Indians are similar in their vices and faces, as they show in their noses and other grotesque features, as much as in their black colour, since many Indians are black, and many people from Angola have a red skin as do the indigenous people from America’. The Indians of Asia, descending from Shem, occupied a higher position, since they had straight hair and were organized in political units, while the descendants of Ham, without any form of political organization and considered cannibals, were below them. At the lowest level of this hierarchy, based on the mythology of the Bible and on strong racist criteria, one should place the Amerindians. The European descendants of Japheth with their white skin and their Catholicism were natural noblemen who could legitimately civilize and enslave their inferiors. Hereditary inequalities of ancient origin were not the only justification for the enslavement of Indians advanced by Sousa Ferreira. He also resorted to ethnography and told of local traditions passed from generation to generation, such as the practice of xeramunha ropi, whereby enemies captured in war were enslaved. The reference to these indigenous traditions in turn allowed the application of the juridical tradition ascribed to the Roman law, which accepted the legitimacy of buying local slaves, by then in use for seventy years, as was the case in Maranhão at the end of the seventeenth century. Were these colonial perceptions of the Amerindians mostly elaborate arguments for the purpose of justifying their enslavement? Sousa Ferreira and Teixeira de Morais paid particular attention to the history of the laws underlying the different types of enslavement, referring to the tensions

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among settlers, crown authorities, Jesuits and other religious orders. Alongside the conflicts for the control of the Amerindians, Teixeira de Morais refers to the constant dangers posed by the Amerindian groups. However, references to the threat posed by the Amerindians occupy a marginal place both in the America abreviada and the Relação histórica do Maranhão, which reveals more about the strategies of the observers than about the reality observed. The strongest stereotype that shaped the perception of the Indians was not their violence but their purported barbarism: they live ‘without law, faith, or any king’ (sem lei, fé, nem rei). To this statement, obsessively repeated by both authors, were added different judgements and examples respecting their cannibalism, their alcoholic tendencies and, in the case of women, their perverse sensuality. By repeating all these stereotypes about the natives that were so pervasive in so many sixteenth-century texts about Brazil and the New World, both authors intended to justify the civilizing mission of those sometimes known as conquerors and white nobles. It is difficult to determine whether this set of stereotypes or judgements arose directly from the original sources, such as the Bible – postulating a racial hierarchy or a scala naturae and imposing a civilizing mission on the Europeans and their descendants – or if they were already part of a special autonomous language. In any case, the religious frame of reference was so strong that the diseases decimating the Indians were perceived as God’s punishment for the sins of the indigenous populations. In all of Sousa Ferreira’s narrative, there is no mention of the biological transfers that occurred with the arrival of the Europeans. Another example of the bias introduced by the author of América abreviada concerns the practice of abortion. Cannibalism is the only explanation he gives of why women aborted a pregnancy, never that it should be understood as a form of resistance against the power of the settlers.44 In contradiction of the image of the Amerindians as barbaric and primitive, it is also possible to find in the works of both historians elements promoting and even glorifying their skills. The support that native Americans offered to the Portuguese during the fight against the occupation of Maranhão by the Dutch in 1641–1642 is one of the best examples of how warrior values were used to glorify, at the time, the brave Amerindians. The same can be said of their assistance during the jornadas or exploration of the hinterlands, where the Europeans and their descendants recognized that they were totally dependent on the local Indians for travel routes and the gathering of information and food. In one of the most radical statements, Sousa Ferreira argues that ‘for us [the Portuguese settlers] as for the Spanish and the English, it would be impossible to know the virtues of the matters in America

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if the indigenous had not taught them to us’. The dependence of the settlers on the enslaved Amerindians was also explained for other reasons. Since African slaves were expensive and the settlers were poor, the principal form of wealth was the Amerindians. This argument implicitly recommended moderation in the treatment of slaves and a comparative assessment of costs and benefits. Sousa Ferreira suggested, at a time of seemingly permanent rebellions by African slaves, that the Amerindians ought to be the principal source of slave labour. Even if this idea contradicts the belief that Africans had a higher potential for accepting Catholicism, the evidence of contemporary African rebellions is used to justify and to praise the Amerindian slaves. Finally, as for different ways of glorifying and praising the Amerindians, we can cite the parallel argument of the mazombos or filhos do Brasil, who were described as being more prepared to make war in Brazil than Europeans, precisely because they copied Amerindian habits of surviving in the hinterlands, most notably their nakedness. In short, the mazombos or filhos do Brasil turned native, which in this context is a virtue. The defence of the mazombos contained a series of contradictions, or at least ambiguities. It was explained, on the one hand, that the group turned native because of mixed-blood marriages and, on the other hand, because the values of the group were those of the nobility and white men. A second ambiguity concerns the political dynamism that developed in particular during the 1680s in S. Luís do Maranhão in opposition to the governors. The main tendency of these texts is the representation of municipal power as the defender of local interests, which suggests almost a kind of republicanism adopted by those born in the colony and elected by the Council who, with their families and properties, were well established. One of the strongest idealizations of a political order based on this implicit republicanism took place during the fight against the Dutch in 1641–1642, when the Council elected as Capitão-mor someone born in Maranhão. By the same token, this quasi-republican nativism includes a defence of the mamelucos against the Europeans, the latter represented in particular by the governors, who held short commissions of three years, which prevented them from establishing roots in the colony. In consequence, they tended to serve their own interests. These feelings against outsiders are well represented in the way Manuel Beckman, the leader of the rebellious faction, was portrayed. He was born in Lisbon, of a German father and a mother with Jewish blood, and was executed by the new governor. In conclusion, where we find an opposition between the municipal power and the governor, in situations where the former is defending the common good and the latter his own private interests, an ideal of

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conciliation between them persists. Therefore, there is no contradiction between the defence of a quasi-republicanism in Maranhão and the acceptance of a similarly mythical political order led by a paternal king and his allegedly virtuous governors. In 1685, the ceremony of the entry into S. Luís do Maranhão of the new governor, Gomes Freire de Andrade, is perhaps the best way of representing this articulation between the proto-republic and the authority of the king. On another perspective, one could also say that this event that ended with the celebration of a new and virtuous governor, the representative of a paternal king, illustrates an idea suggested by Capistrano de Abreu in a letter dated 1917 to Lúcio de Azevedo when he stated: I am more and more convinced that João Francisco Lisboa falsified the history and gave them [the actions of the councils] a position that the municipalities never held. Only when there was a revolt did they momentarily appear, in the manner of what the Castilians call cabildo abierto; beyond this, naming almotacés, checking measurements, ordering bridges, roads and pavements to be fixed, took up all their time.45

The Paulistas, Peruleiros and African Slaves Capistrano de Abreu wrote that: The Flemish invasion was merely an episode of the occupation of the coast. It leaves in the shade in all respects the settlement of the hinterland begun at various times at diverse moments until an internal chain was formed that was larger and more productive than the fragile coastal thread. There is a lack of documents for a writing of the history of those going into the interior although it is always the same: men supplied with firearms attack wild men who defend themselves with a bow and arrow; on the first assault many die following the attacks and then their courage fails them; the remainder, tied up, are led to the townships and distributed according to the conditions in which the invading group is organized. Will the realization that it is because of these invaders that the devastated land now belongs to Brazil be compensation for these atrocities?46

The question posed by the great Brazilian historian deserves thought because from the seventeenth century it was posed by the Jesuits, most of all in relation to the São Paulo invaders. For example, Father António Ruiz de Montoya, from Lima and the author of several works on Tupi linguistics and a catechism, left one of the most negative and fervent

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portraits of the Paulistas. In 1638, following investigations in Rome and Madrid, he succeeded in gaining authorization for the Indians to use firearms and so be able to defend themselves against the Paulistas. In his Conquista spiritual hecha por los religiosos de la Companñia de Iesús en … las provincias del Paraguay, Paraná, Uruguay y Tape (1639), he describes with geographic and ethnographic interest the vast regions, but he tells with rancour of the invasion of the bandeirantes and the violence caused by them in Paraguay. Although he was not actually interested in creating an anti-Lusitanian work, he calls them enslavers and Portuguese, denouncing them to the Holy Office as Jews and heretics.47 The Jesuit Francisco Lupércio Zurbano also begins his annual letter on the activities in Paraguay in 1641 celebrating the ‘insigne Victoria que alcanzaron nuestros indios de los portugueses de San Pablo’48 (noteworthy victory that reached our Indians over the Portuguese of San Pablo). But at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the realization became widespread that it was the Paulistas who had changed the original population of Brazil, limited to sea ports, invading the hinterland and discovering mines.49 Following several texts by the Jesuits on the explorations of the Paulistas, Father António Vieira wrote in a letter dated 1654 a denunciation of their territorial exploitation and the violence they perpetrated. The Jesuit refers to the group made up of 20 Portuguese and more than 1,000 armed Indians led by the mestre de campo, António Raposo Tavares and by Captain António Pereira, which had left São Paulo in 1649 in search of an Indian nation called the Serranos. The troops led by Antonio Pereira began by attacking an Indian village in Paraguay that was under the control of the Jesuits. The episode led to an armed response by other villages, with the Paulistas winning and a Jesuit being killed by a bullet. However, for Vieira, God went to punish the group with the plague, hunger and war. At the end of a year of campaigning, and with their number much reduced, the troops joined up with those of Raposo Tavares, rested some six months to recover their strength and then spent more than a year ‘discovering new hinterlands and people’.50 During these explorations, when they wandered unhindered, in the scathing opinion of Vieira, they reached and descended the Amazon, travelling more than 3,000 leagues. In all, they spent some three years and two months on these travels into the interior. For the Jesuit, the mission was a target for condemnation for the atrocities waged against the Indians; because the Paulistas did not practise the Catholic sacraments during the entire period; and also because of their lack of curiosity, demonstrated by the absence of instruments that would allow them to record the itinerary taken. On the other hand, the Paulistas’ journey to the Amazon should be seen as one of the journeys that was ‘more notable than any so far

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achieved in the world’, ‘where in the part of Peru the Castilians have not reached, and in that part of Brazil that the Portuguese have not reached, these undiscovered lands have without doubt far greater dimensions than until now measured by cosmographers and drawn on maps’.51 Based upon the opinions of those who took part in the journey, Vieira also records the peaceful way in which the Paulistas were received by populations whose languages were far different from those known. This attention on linguistic aspects had as its main objective the assessment as to how the Jesuits might be received in their missionary works and how to use Indians who had been left behind by the bandeirantes as interpreters. Thus once again a linguistic curiosity is found to be placed below missionary work. In contrast with the pacifism of the Indians, Vieira emphasizes the brutality of the Paulistas but finally forgives this by associating it with the ignorance with which it was practised. Following an almost anthropological method of reconstruction of giving voice to the point of view of another, he applies this to a conversation he held with a Paulista: And, when I asked as to this entrance into the interior how they had behaved with them he replied quite openly and calmly: “We gave them a heavy firing, some fell, others fled, we entered the village, we took what we needed, we put them in the canoes and if some of theirs were better than others we exchanged them and went on our way”.

Vieira concludes, ‘This is what the captain told me, as though he were talking about a most praiseworthy action; and so they all talk of the shots they fired, of those who fled, of those they took, of those who escaped, and of those they killed.’52 Beside the Paulistas, the peruleiros were another of the social groups that lived in Peru and identified as Portuguese. The word peruleiro is recorded in 1611 in the dictionary of Covarrubias and particularly defines the new-rich who had made their fortune in the Castilian Indies.53. In 1622, Martim Afonso de Miranda had compared the little esteem attributed to the bravest and most experienced soldier with the power of ‘a peruleiro who has bars of silver’.54 In 1629, Brother Benito de Peñalosa y Mondragon describes the Portuguese in Peru as having a monopoly on the principal economic activities.55 The African slaves were transported by the Portuguese from Brazil and Angola and were sold in Buenos Aires to the peruleiros in exchange for many bars of silver. These, in turn, sold them to work in vineyards, since it was only the Indians who worked in the mines.56 This way the social standing of the peruleiro – a word that has a certain ambiguity – is used to identify the traffic and emigration of the Portuguese to Peru. As was noted in 1633 on the overseas diaspora of the

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Portuguese, ‘muchos tanbien se han ydo a las Indias de Castilla, y se han connaturalizado en ellas’ (many have also gone to the Castilian Indies and have lived there).57 We know now that the activities of the Portuguese in Peru increased in the middle of the sixteenth century, in particular in the last two decades until the second quarter of the seventeenth century.58 The Portuguese economy seemed to be in control of the economy of Peru. It would export silver from Potosi along the River Plate and import slaves and other merchandise to the Atlantic or in the direction of the Pacific by the Galeão de Manila, taking the silver for economic exchange between the Philippines, China and Japan. However, from 1625, traffic along the River Plate began to lessen, and in 1635 the Inquisition, with the collaboration of the Viceroy, the Count of Chinchón, arrested the Portuguese and confiscated their wealth under the pretext of their having become Jews. Here is a clear example of the invasion by a group of Portuguese, who were interested in dynastic union and in the institutional frame this would offer. This thesis, which some investigators feel has deserved particular attention, needs to be reviewed in light of its timing. On the one hand, it is necessary to bear in mind the fact that the measures taken in an effort to prevent the traffic of the Portuguese to the River Plate began far earlier than 1630.59 On the other, the efficacy of these coercive measures should be questioned. On this, it is worthwhile recalling what is stated in a pamphlet published prior to the restoration: the Castilians ‘no pudieren impeder, como han procurado siempre, el comercio que havia por la China, entre la India Oriental Portuguesa y la occidental de Castilla, quedaran más perdidos, y arruinados’60 (they could not prevent, as they always wanted to, the trade they had with China between Portuguese East India and the Castilian west, they lost much and were ruined). If one believes this, then the Portuguese control of the silver routes to the Pacific would have remained, even after the coercive measures of the 1630s, while traffic to the Atlantic would have finished completely until, in 1643, Salvador Correia de Sá wanted ‘to open up trade with Buenos Aires’.61 Again, in 1648, Father António Vieira suggested the restoration of this traffic, speaking explicitly of the reconquest of the River Plate with the support of the Paulistas and recalling the profits Portugal had in earlier times received from this trade.62 Studies have emphasized that the Jewish origins and practices of the Portuguese in Peru were destroyed by the Inquisition between 1635 and 1639. However, in a memorandum in defence of the group – written by Lourenço de Mendonça and published and presented to the tribunals of Portugal and the Indies in Madrid in 1630 – it is the truly national character that forms the essence of the argument.63 Besides an analysis of

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the Peruvian economy, Mendonça defends the equality of the Portuguese and Castilians in Brazil, India and Angola as well as in Peru and other parts of the Castilian Indies. In 1595, in a letter from Philip II, there were arguments contrary to those given in the memorandum on the defence of the Portuguese,64 which were to be used by Juan de Hevia Bolaño, from Oviedo and resident in Lima, in a treatise on mercantile practices that was published in Valladolid in 1629: No foreigner in the kingdom can negotiate in the Indias so avoiding the export of its currency according to some laws of recompilation. But as this argument does not exist for those foreigners who are already in the Indias they can do business there … The foreigners don’t want to say they are there nor that they do business there, so that they do not ruin the customs of the inhabitants, nor do they use monopolies nor forbidden usury, nor a new type of profit-making so that they do not take their money and property and if they follow other bad practices and matters, as experience shows, they enjoy these; since we do not know their secrets and plans for this reason the Carthaginians and Greeks are forbidden … It should also be noted that those born in the kingdom of Navarre are deemed to be subjects of the kingdom … Although those born in the kingdom of Aragon are foreigners since it is still under the Royal Crown and connected to it, which is not at all natural … According to which, in the same way, the Aragonese for the same reason must be seen as Portuguese.65

Besides the debate on the standing of the group, in which one senses the importance of juridical arguments and the emphasis on nationalism and particularism related to xenophobic sentiments, the identity of the group is defined by its practices – in this case materialized in the ability to organize activities within the heart of a political and institutional structure that was, in principal, unfavourable to the group itself. Was it the weak degree of political institutionalization of the Portuguese in Peru that allowed them the flexibility necessary to control an important part of the economy of the Spanish Empire and to resist for so long the coercive measures for several decades? If one considers this question to be valid, it would be interesting to know more as to the forms of solidarity developed by this group that allowed it to establish and defend its positions. The Portuguese were also those mainly responsible for the traffic of African slaves to the new world.66 One of the important observers of this migration was the Jesuit Alonso de Sandoval, who lived in Cartagena from 1606 until his death in 1652 and who only went to Lima for two years (1617–19). According to studies by Enriqueta Vila Vilar, Cartagena imported about 135,000 African slaves between 1595 and 1640, and the same number was unloaded in the ports of Caraíbas and Buenos Aires.

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The Portuguese businessman João de Argomedo was one of the main characters who built this Atlantic economy, and had little respect for borders and national divisions.67 Sandoval would have been present at the unloading of the slaves, and in his works he gives witness accounts of the misery and pain suffered. In relation to the attention paid to the situation of the Indians and the attempts to enslave them, the African slaves and the violence exercised against them by the Portuguese moved few authors. In the middle of the sixteenth century, Las Casas, in his Historia de las Indias, which remained in manuscript form, wrote openly against the historians who praised the violence perpetrated by the Portuguese slave hunters along the coast of Guinea. The historian Enriqueta Vila Vilar finds further criticism of the enslavement of the Africans in the works of the Dominicans Bartolmé de Albornoz (Arte de los contratos, 1573) and Tomás de Mercado (Suma de Tratos y contratos, 1587) and in the works of the Jesuit Luís de Molina. But explicit condemnation of the phenomenon by the Dominicans gives way in Molina’s work to a more hesitant approach, where he does not arrive at an explicit criticism, stopping at an approach to the phenomenon that is ‘more paternalistic than just’.68 It is in this same paternalistic tradition, but combining it with a profound experience of contact with the slaves and Portuguese businessmen, that the work of the Jesuit Alonso de Sandoval (1st ed. Seville, 1927; 2nd ed., Madrid, 1647) belongs. The author’s main argument lies in the need for the conversion of the African slaves, or the salvation of their souls. Associated to this main objective is the obsession as to whether or not the African slaves were really baptized when they disembarked. Based upon these religious preoccupations, Sandoval attributed to the Jesuits the special duty of occupying themselves with missionary work among the Africans, finding a justification for this in a prophesy of Isaias (in his História do Futuro, Vieira widens this relationship between conversion and prophesy to more diverse peoples).69 In Book I, he is both an historian and ethnographer when describing the customs and social organization of the Africans, with particular emphasis on the internal wars and the conditions in which their embarkation and transport to the New World were processed. When approaching what he considers to be the controversy on slavery, he accentuates the importance of the internal wars between the various African kingdoms and powers as a source of supply in the market and, without avoiding the problems of conscience that the legality of the traffic granted to many Portuguese slave traders, he concludes in a very paternalistic form that the best thing to do is proceed towards the salvation of their souls in the country to which they are travelling rather than in Africa.70 As a result of his position, he transcribed a letter written by

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Luís Brandão, the rector of the College of the Society in Luanda, dated 1611, in which it says: Your Reverence writes to me that you would be most pleased to know whether the black captives who are going there are well. To which I reply that it appears to me that Your Reverence should not have any scruples on this. For it is a matter which the Mesa da Consciência in Lisbon has never condemned, comprising as it does men who are educated and of good conscience. Besides this, the bishops who were in São Tomé, Cabo Verde and here in Luanda, being educated and virtuous men, never condemned. And we who have been here for forty years and there were as well highly educated priests in the Province of Brazil, where there were always priests of our religion who were very eminent in letters, never held this business to be illicit. And so we and the priests of Brazil bought these slaves for our service without any scruples. And I would say more, that is if there is no-one who needs have scruples then this would be precisely the settlers in these parts, since as the merchants who take these Africans take them in good faith and they can buy them from the merchants without any scruples and can sell them to us since it is the general opinion that the owner of something in good faith can sell it and it can be bought from him. And Father Sanchez has this in his volume De Matrimonio, so resolving this concern which Your Reverence holds. For this reason we who are here could have more scruples since we bought these Africans from other Africans and from people who captured them. But the merchants who take them from here do not know this and so buy them in all good conscience and sell them there in good conscience. It is true that I have verified that no African says he was captured fairly and, for that reason, Your Reverence should not ask them whether they were properly captured or not, since they are sure to say that they were wrongly taken and captured, judging that in this way they will be given their freedom. I also say that in the markets where these Africans are bought some are wrongly captured, since they were taken or sent by the lords of the land for such slight reasons that they do not deserve capture. But there are not many of these and to search among ten or twelve thousand Africans who leave this port annually for some who have been unfairly captured is impossible however careful one may be. And to lose so many souls who leave here of the many that are saved so that some who have been wrongly taken do not go without knowing which they are seems not to be in the service of God since they are few and those that are saved are many and have been fairly captured.71

Father António Vieira did not go far from this paternalistic idea that lacked a proper condemnation of African slavery. In the debates with the settlers on Indian slavery, recourse to African slaves appears as an alternative. As Lúcio de Azevedo noted, this was an ‘intermediary solution: the settlers had their slaves as they wanted: the priests were in charge of the

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Indians’.72 The need for slaves to conform as well as better treatment of the slaves by the owners can be found in some of Vieira’s sermons. In one of these, given in 1633 to the Brotherhood of Blacks of a mill in Bahia, Vieira incites the audience to give thanks to God for having brought them from Africa to a new land where they could be instructed and live as Christians. Adding that this was a fulfilment of prophesies that had long before been made as to the conversion of Africans, he compared the work of the African slave in the sugar mill with that of Christ on the cross. ‘What appears to be captivity is nothing but a miracle, a great miracle,’ he exclaims full of praise, always searching to maintain as his main object the conversion of the slaves, or their salvation. In another sermon given after 1681, Vieira continues these ideas and although Charles Boxer considers that he is therefore condemning still more strongly the poor treatment inflicted by the owners on their African slaves, it does seem as though he wishes to emphasize the need for a greater obedience on the part of the slaves. Thus in a period when there were enormous numbers of escapees and the development of forms of resistance by those from Africa and their descendants, Vieira considers that captivity is never total, since the Virgin, or Christian religious life, endows each slave with freedom.73 The need for greater conformity and a Christian framework in the life of the mill, suggested by Vieira, appear all the more necessary as escapees and hideouts multiplied. These began to increase in density and frequency during the second half of the seventeenth century, though at the start they were of no great number. There is evidence of hideouts in Rio de Janeiro in 1660, in Bahia in 1692, with the most important being in Palmares, which were destroyed by a Paulista contingent in 1694–1695. An account of this violent destruction is found in reports and requests for honours by those who took part in it; they boasted of the toil of going into the hinterland, perhaps the hardest work up to then, in the opinion of some of those who took part.74 In that ‘den of Africans’ in the captaincy of Pernambuco that had been established for almost forty years, a good economic life and the organization of labour was to be found in several townships. Glorifying the actions along the frontier, Domingos George Velho, the camp leader in the Palmares war, identifies his enemies thus: It is quite true that the strength and den of Africans in Palmares in the starving Barriga (since this mountain area was their strongest hideout where they always escaped from so many and such strong troops of whites for almost forty years) has been overcome, its ruler has been killed (by a party of people of the regiment of the petitioner who attacked the leader Zumby on 20th November 1695), their relics dispersed, but all the same

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this is not the only reason we must consider that this war is over; it is undoubtedly near to completion if we continue with the great devastation of these hunting grounds of these relics and with the regiment of the petitioners remaining in that area. Then another, new den will be formed in Barriga or in any other place suitable for this which will grow in a few days both because of those who have joined it and because of the insolence of those beneath them, who are in their owners’ houses. And those whose relatives’ conflict brings them somehow to be reined in have the idea that they had thought it up and had taken the idea from their owners that kept them through habit and they will retain it while they feel that there might again be Angola janga, Angola pequena as they call it.75

One must also consider the attraction to certain religion practices on the part of the slaves. Gregório de Matos Guerra, the poet from Bahia, gives us a short testimony of the impact of African beliefs and rituals on the remainder of the population. It reflects that which Gilberto Freyre spoke of in his books: I have quilombos with wonderful abilities that at night the calundus and witches teach. Thousands of women visit them in devotion and also many young men who give them daffodils. They say they want luck. You never saw such delirium! I who see it listen and keep quiet so that I do not distract them. What I know is that Satan is mixed up in these dances and only such a master can teach them such delirium. There is no woman in disgrace, no overlooked young man who does not go to the quilombo to dance his little piece. And they spend a lot of money with the masters with their pipe extorting money. And when they go to confession they tell the priests about this for they perform this pastime through habit and custom. When they do penance they are rebellious and remiss and far worse if they are fasting or making sacrifices and I hear many talking of the excessive weight of this not because of the horror of the sin but because they did not commit it.76

Notes   1. S.E. da. Silveira, Relação sumária das coisas do Maranhão.   2. R. Garcia in Revista do Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro, vol. LXXXIII (Rio de Janeiro, 1919), 911.   3. B.M. Parente, Petición, s.l.n.d., in C.M. de Almeida, Memórias para a historia do extinto Estado do Maranhão, vol. II, 35–37; J.H. Rodrigues, Historiografia del Brasil siglo XVII, 45–48.   4. Macedo (Vila Franca) and Motta, ‘António de Sousa de Macedo, Capitão geral e Governador da Ilha de Joanes’, 163–64.

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  5.   6.   7.   8.   9. 10. 11. 12.

S. Leite, Luiz Figueira: A Sua Vida Heróica e a Sua Obra Literária, 75. Figueira, Arte da lingua brasilica (approval of Olinda, December 1620). Leite, Luiz Figueira: A Sua Vida Heróica e a Sua Obra Literária, 186. Ibid., 209, 210. Ibid., 200, 209–10. J.H. Rodrigues, Historiografia del Brasil siglo XVII, 48–49, 55–64. Holanda, ‘Período Colonial’, 398. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V – Obras várias, vol. III (1951), 238. On P. Luís Figueira, see ibid., 73–76; Vieira, Cartas, vol. I (1925), 276, 286, 308, 346, 354–55, 392–94. On the use of the word ‘barbarians’ for the Indians, see Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 381–82; Vieira, Obras várias, vol. V, 280. 13. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 389. 14. Ibid., 315, 359-361. 15. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 243–48; see also Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 306–7. 16. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 309, 338; Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI – Sermões, vol. II, 110. 17. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI, 115. 18. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 375, 414. For an earlier description of carnage by the Paulistas, see Ruiz Montoya, Conquista espiritual hecha por los religiosos de la Compañia de Jesus en las provincias del Paraguay, Paraná, Uruguay y Tape, 144–66, 297–98; see also Brading, The First America: The Spanish Monarchy, Creole Patriots, and the Liberal State 1492–1867, 172–76. 19. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI, 181; see also J.L. de Azevedo, História de António Vieira, vol. I, (1918), 253–56. 20. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 387. 21. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI, 1954, 183. 22. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI, 115; Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 306; Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 243–44. 23. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 97, 101; Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 474–83. 24. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 350–51; Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 98. 25. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 382–83, 389. 26. Ibid, vol. I, 314. 27. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 137. 28. Ibid., vol. V, 283–84. 29. Ibid., vol. V, 280. 30. Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe siècle. Documents inédits relatifs à l’Atlantique portugais, 189–91. 31. Capistrano de Abreu noted that ‘Vieira lembra-me nosso Rui Barbosa: poucas convicções inabaláveis e fundamentais, o resto conforme as constelações o exigiam’ (‘Vieira reminds me of our Rui Barbosa: few fundamental and unshakable convictions, for the rest as the constellations demanded it’), see J.H. Rodrigues, Correspondência de Capistrano de Abreu, vol. II (1954), 10: Letter from Capistrano to Lúcio de Azevedo, dated 7 February 1916. 32. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. VI, 152. The history of Vieira’s conflicts with the inhabitants of Maranhão has been recorded by Viana, História do Brasil, vol. I, 184: ‘In spite of the prestige Vieira enjoyed regarding John IV and the support of the Governor André Vidal de Negreiros, the reaction of the inhabitants some years later against the obstacles of the law of 1655 and the Jesuits opposed to the enslavement of the Indians was strong. They protested to the town hall of São Luís and

The Inhabitants of Maranhão  •  255

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

Belém and arrested the priests of Pará including Vieira and sent them to Maranhão and Lisbon in 1661. At court, Vieira did not retain the same privileged position with Afonso V, and the municipal judges won with new laws in favour of their entrance and buying of slaves in 1663. During the regency of D. Pedro in 1680 another law forbade the enslavement of the natives. To compensate for the loss of hands it fell to the signatories and then to the Companhia de Comércio do Estado do Maranhão to bring in African slaves. For lack of this when the inhabitants of Maranhão revolted in 1684 they once again temporarily expelled the Jesuits. In 1686 Pedro II approved the ruling of Missions of the State of Maranhão and Pará and two years later a decree on slaves’. Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. VI, 154. S. de Vasconcelos, Crónica da Companhia de Jesu do Estado do Brasil e do que obrarão seus filhos nesta parte do Novo Mundo …, vol. I, 119. Ibid., vol. I, 197. Ibid., vol. I, 201. Ibid., vol. I, 114–15, 127–31. Instituiçam da Companhia Geral para o Estado do Brazil (Lisbon: António Álvares, 1649) (BNP, Pombalina, 526). There were alternatives to the institution of the Company, see ‘Parecer sobre os meios mais faceis para conservar e melhorar os estados do Brazil’ [1654], in Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe siècle: Documents inédits relatifs à l’Atlantique portugais, 259–78. Antonil, Cultura e opulencia do Brasil por suas drogas e minas, ed. Andrée Mansuy. M.B. de Oliveira, Música do Parnaso, vol. I (1953), 135. For the manuscript tradition of criticizing Vieira’s semons, see Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, COD. 589, fls. 82–83v: Carta satyrica de D. Felicianna contra o Sermão q o P. Antonio Vieira prégou em a Capella real pelos annos da Rainha n.s. no de 1668. J. de S. Ferreira, ‘América abreviada’, 5–153. Manuscript copy BPE, CXVI, 1–8 m. F.T. de Morais, ‘Relação historica e politica dos tumultos que succederam na cidade de S. Luiz do Maranhão’, part I, 68–155, 303–410. On the relation between abortion and resistance to colonialism, see Davis, Women on the Margins: Three Seventeenth-Century Lives, 186–87. J.H. Rodrigues, Correspondência de Capistrano de Abreu, vol. II (1954), 10. Abreu, Capítulos de História Colonial e os Caminhos Antigos e o Povoamento do Brasil, 114. J.H. Rodrigues, Historiografia del Brasil siglo XVII, 121–23. Maeder, Cartas anuas de la Província Jesuítica del Paraguay 1641 a 1643, 25–28. Mauro, Le Brésil au XVIIe siècle: Documents inédits relatifs à l’Atlantique portugais, 214. Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 410. Ibid., 412–13. Ibid., 414; Taunay, Historia Geral das Bandeiras Paulistas, vol. IV – (1651–1683), 227–312; Cortesão, Introdução à história das Bandeiras. Sebastián de Covarrubias, Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana o Española, 867. Miranda, Tempo de agora em dialogos: dirigido ao… Senhor Dom Theodosio segundo do nome…, vol. I (1622), fl. 36v. ‘Los que traen los dichos negros a los puertos y los vienden son siempre Portugueses, y la plata va a Portugal, y adonde tienen sus contrataciones, y la passan a la India Oriental, porque tienen grangeira en ella’ (‘Those who bring the said blacks to the ports in order to sell them are always the Portuguese, and silver ends up in Portugal,

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56. 57. 58.

59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65.

66. 67.

68. 69. 70. 71.

through different contracts and exchanges, and then the same silver is transferred to East India where the Portuguese make a large profit’). Peñalosa y Mondragon, Libro de las cinco excellencias del Español que despueblan España para su mayor potencia y dilatacion, fl. 131. Ibid., fls. 131–131v. Informaciõ en la causa de los Estudios de Portugal (Madrid, 1633), fl. 13. Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela, 284–86, 489–90; Canabrava, O comércio português no Rio da Prata (1580–1640); Hanke, ‘The Portuguese in Spanish America’, 1–48; Reparaz, Os portugueses no Vice-reinado do Peru (séculos XVI e XVII); Braudel, La Méditerranée et le Monde Méditerranéen a l’Époque de Philippe II, vol. II (1982), vol. I, 206–7; Braudel, Civilisation matérielle, vol. II – Les jeux de l’échange, 135–37; Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, 2nd ed., vol. II (1983), 101–4; Saban, Los Marranos y la Economia en el Rio de la Plata. BNP, Pombalina, COD. 249, fls. 11–12. A.M. de Carvalho, Francia interssada con Portugal en la separacion de Castilla, 79. Porto, História das Missões Orientais do Uruguai, 242 (quotes Anais da Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, vol. XXXIX). Vieira, Cartas, vol. I, 135. L. de Mendonça, Suplicacion a su Magestad Catolica del rey Nuestro Señor, que Dios guarde. Ante sus Reales Consejos de Portugal y de las Indias, en defensa de los portugueses. Cortesão, Introdução à História das Bandeiras, vol. I, 258. ‘Ninguno estrangero del Reyno puede tartar en las Indias por evitar la saca de la mondeda del, segun unas leyes de la Recopilacion. Mas por cessar esta razon en los estrangeros que estan en las Indias, en ellas bien pueden tratar, y no ha lugar en esto su disposiciõ por argumento de razon cessante, conforme á derecho …. Aunque los estrangeros del reyno, conviene que no esten, ni traten en el, porque no depraven los costumbres de los naturales suyos, ni usen de monipodios, no de usuras prohibidas, ni de nuevo genero de ganancia, porque les lleven su pecunia, y hazienda, y se les siga otros incomodos, y males que dellos siguen, como la experiencia muestra: porque no sepan sus secretos, y cosas, segun por estas causas lo prohibieron los Cartaginenses, y Griegos … . Notese mas, que los nacidos en el reyno de Navarra, se reputan por naturales del reyno … . Aunque los nacidos en el Reyno de Aragon, son estrangeros, porque aunque fue puesto en la Corona Real, y juntado a ella, no fue en modo de natural, sino de su proprio, y primer estado, y fuerça en que quedò, regiendose por sus proprias leyes, y costumbres … . Conforme a lo qual, lo mismo que los Aragoneses, por la misma razon se ha de dezir de los Portugueses, en los quales se pratico assi en la composicion de los estrangeros de las Indias, en que fueron compuestos como tales.’ Hevia Bolaño, Curia Filipica. Vila Vilar, Hispanoamérica y el comercio de esclavos. Los asientos portugueses; NgouMve, El África Bantú en la colonización de México (1595–1640). ANTT, Registos notariais de Lisboa, Cartório 2 (antigo 1), box 23, books 112–16, passim. There is also documentation on the same businessman in the Archivo General de Indias (Seville), see Graça, ‘Documentos referentes a Portugal existentes no Archivo General de Indias em Sevilha’, 495–564, especially 549. Vila Vilar, introduction to Sandoval, Un tratado sobre la esclavitud, 22–23. Sandoval, Un tratado sobre la esclavitud, 513. Ibid., 142–54. Ibid., 143–44.

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72. J.L. de Azevedo, História de António Vieira, vol. I, 214; Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. V, 299–300, 308, 318. 73. Boxer, A Great Luso-Brazilian Figure Padre António Vieira, S.J., 1608–1697, 22–23; Vieira, Obras escolhidas, vol. XI, 1–95. 74. Ennes, Os Palmares (subsídios para a sua história), 114. 75. Ibid., 120. 76. G. de Matos, Obras completas, 15–16; Hansen, A sátira e o engenho – Gregório de Matos e a Bahia do século XVII, 160.

Chapter 14

Colonial Projects for West Africa


In January 1620, Captain Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco was in Madrid in order to suggest legislation for the granting of rights and taxation of some 200 Angolan chiefs. He had a wealth of experience accumulated over more than forty years during his career in West Africa, particularly in the Congo and Angola. This was not the first time that he had believed himself to have the authority to submit to the king and his advisers plans for the colonization of those territories. It would appear that even in 1603 he had suggested a resolution for the construction of a fortress in Pinda in the kingdom of Congo, with the double objective of controlling the coast and having a base for penetrating the interior. This was a method of developing a real strategy of land occupation in Angola. The documents that he presented at the time, including an historical digression on the conquest of Angola, reveal the existence of an economy that is rarely monetary; where cloth was the easiest form of payment of taxes. Each of the 200 chiefs was to be obliged to pay according to his wealth, this being 100$, 150$ and 200$ to the conquistadores, ancient and modern, to the settlers in the fortresses and troops, including those in Luanda, or to the religious, particularly the Jesuits. All these conquistadores, settlers and religious men would have the responsibility of charging taxes on interest and inheritance, which would be paid simultaneously to the soldiers and the king’s factor. With this taxation system, the chiefs would no longer be obliged to pay the macunces, a sort of ambassador of the captains who arbitrarily extorted payment from them, particularly in the form of slaves. It was only in the case of war and at the request of the governor that the

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chiefs would be obliged to make bearers available. The system proposed was not new, since it was limited to reproducing for their descendants the situation experienced by the chiefs regarding the deposed king of Angola. It would also fall to the holders of the leases to protect and support the chiefs, particularly defending them from the tyranny of the governors and captains of the fortresses to whom they were subject, leading to the payment of their taxes in two or three annual instalments. The land holdings were then to be registered and the conditions guaranteed for complete enjoyment of the property. Any assault on the property was also regulated with due punishments to be applied. And, since it was possible to identify each noble tribesman with his house or banza, the legal regime protecting them from assault by slaves belonging to the Portuguese and those who had been set free would function all the better. In this process of registration and possession by the chiefs, Garcia Mendes was the interested party. He wanted the position of general commissary and therefore was forced to act with the agreement of the superior of the Society of Jesus and the Overseer of the Treasury. The latter in turn had taken on the functions of an educated man, and it was his duty to organize all the documents and order the factor to record income received. The income made was to be used to pay the soldiers directly, ‘so that Your Majesty does not spend anything on officials’ – departing from the supposition that a project of internal colonization associated with a militarized concept of the empire was part of a simplified political order capable of dispensing with the presence and increase in number of officials and educated men. A form of giving power to each chief was also planned, and this would be in the hands of the commissary, with the respective declaration of what must be paid in tax and the freedom corresponding with this. In exchange for all these ideas, Garcia Mendes did not conceal his desire to obtain great honours, because there was now a new income of 150,000$. However, the Council of Portugal in Madrid was not convinced by this news and considered the chiefs to be free people and therefore their land could not be leased. Faced with this opposition, Garcia Mendes repeated the legitimacy of the proposal and clarified what he wanted to gain by it. One of the honours he desired, which was clearly inspired by the evaluation of an investment he wished to make, related to the creation of a fortress in Anzele, near Luanda. As far as he was concerned, this fortress that was to be built on the land belonging to the chief Caculo Quehancango would become the property of his own children and no governor could then place another captain there.1 Projects, memoranda and proposals for the taxation of the Angolan chiefs had been presented previously in Lisbon and Madrid; for example,

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in 1618 by Captain Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão, who had experience of service in Angola from 1593. In his proposal, he suggested a system close to that of Garcia Mendes, although certain variations existed. Each chief was given to a conquistador, who would make a payment to the royal treasury. However, the payment of taxes would be in agricultural products – corn, beans, olive oil and salt – and could also be made in slaves. Baltasar Rebelo also seemed to be predicting a system of payment in which the officials of the treasury would be in charge of the income. While the registry and taxation of the chiefs did not necessarily mean the development of bureaucratic machinery, it nevertheless meant the existence of more officials able to impose the authority of the Crown. For Baltasar Rebelo, this was because, in Angola, ‘all these measures render nothing to Your Majesty, nor is there in them anything that has the royal name since the captains and governors take everything’. For him, the captains and governors stole from the chiefs in a more premeditated manner than that of Garcia Mendes because they had imposed a tyrannical taxation in the markets, by which for every ten slaves one would be for themselves.2 This matter of taxation of the chiefs, who were seen as the vassals of the Portuguese, was taken up by Father João Salgado de Araújo and Bento Banha Cardoso from 1611.3 At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the annual letters from the Jesuits that were collected and published by Father Fernão Guerreiro broadcast an ideal of colonization of the Angolan territory that dated from the time of its conquest by Paulo Dias de Novais. For the Jesuits, it was he who had subjugated a large number of chiefs – who were classified as counts, marquises and dukes – with the use of arms, and their territories were provided with bishoprics. For him the chiefs, although absolute lords in their lands, had benefited from the protection of someone at the king’s court in Angola in the face of the Portuguese and the Africans. Following the death of Paulo Dias de Novais, the harmony of this system that was without doubt idealized no longer existed. For Jerónimo Castaño, who in 1599 shared the apologetic vision of the work of the Jesuits, the responsibility for this change fell to the ministers of Philip II, who did not oversee the government and the nomination of officials and aid to Angola, whose king once again won his sixty leagues while his vassals renounced the faith that they had professed for some ten years.4 According to Father Fernão Guerreiro, the changes also resulted from the fact that, at court, some ministers had begun to place obstacles in the way of the juridical position of the chiefs, considering that they should not recognize the captains and priests but only the king as their superior, and this was reiterated by the regulations of the governors of Angola of 1607 and 1611 and in the response of the

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Council of Portugal to the suggestion of Garcia Mendes.5 From then on, the chiefs began to rise up against the Portuguese. At the same time, in the absence of an effective conquest and colonization, the Portuguese devoted themselves exclusively to the slave trade.6 Thus, when the governor João Rodrigues Coutinho arrived in Angola in 1601, not one chief recognized the authority of the Portuguese, and he was forced to recommence subjugating the country. Manuel Cerveira Pereira, who succeeded him and who was also seen as a devout follower of the Society, continued this subjugation and created the conditions for the re-establishment of the missionary work of the Jesuits. At least this was the version that the Jesuits wanted to give of the history of the reports of vassalage in Angola.7 Following all these taxation projects aimed at the Angolan chiefs, when in 1641 the Dutch took Luanda they limited themselves to repeating a long-established image: the chiefs were nobles in the country; they were subjugated and paid a tax; when the governor visited them, three or four times a year, he received twenty-five slaves from them as a gift; and thus, to maintain these vassals under their control, it was necessary to use prisons or fortresses with well-disciplined soldiers.8 Projects such as that of Garcia Mendes and his predecessors created the problem of not knowing how the Portuguese presence along the west coast of Africa was viewed during the first third of the seventeenth century. A series of descriptions, suggestions and reports of experiences written by those who had taken part in the conquest and conservation of the Portuguese Empire, particularly in the Congo, Angola and Benguela, allows an insight into this.9 Among these descriptions, it is possible to recognize a limited group of fortresses and churches, which were to be realized as a project of temporal and spiritual conquest of the African territories. Clearly the meaning attributed to each of them is highly variable. The fortresses can be seen as a material expression of one of the most determining urban functions or that which is found to be associated with the defence and creation of a political order that could favour commercial exchange with the region and the surrounding limits of the walled area. In this way, it is possible to establish a relationship between the standing of the fortress, the city and the factory. But one should also note that the forts and fortresses could be seen in their relationships with each other, as a network acting as points of control in a larger territory. In this case, the forts acted as a method of displaying militarily the Portuguese presence along the road networks and rivers and they could be used as entrepôts as was the case with the highly desirable mines in Benguela. There is, however, another dimension that is more or less idealized and is associated with the existence of forts that lie in the hierarchy of the regimes of vassalage among the chiefs with regard to the Portuguese captains (who

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lived in fortresses) and the local kings under the protection of the governors and Portuguese monarchs. According to a petition, the intention of which was the granting of a royal honour, the governor of Angola, Bento Banha Cardoso, had forced more than eighty powerful chiefs to submit to his rule and had once again built a fortress in Angola although he had sustained many injuries, losing an eye and three fingers of one hand.10 However, it is not only in the personal representation of petitions and honours that one finds references to the fortresses, for these also appear as a theme in the geographical descriptions of the African coast. The initial model was formed by S. Jorge da Mina, which, in the 1620s, Garcia Mendes considered a ‘good fortress’.11 There the existence of a governor with a general understanding of products and dues presided over a population of 300 as well as 200 soldiers.12 The governor’s commercial understanding was particularly important, as this regarded the annual shipments of gold to Portugal and clothes and glass brought from India. Besides the gold, trade in slaves, ivory, musk and leather were important. A few leagues south of Mina, the Dutch had a factory that could demand better trading terms. This was a more flexible commercial system based upon a ship known as a factory that held merchandise taken off other ships and that then transported this to a permanent factory. The dispatch of three or four galleons that were well supplied with men and artillery could clear the coast of Guinea, particularly the port of Cara, the factory ship and the respective fortress.13 In 1621, the island of São Tomé was also recognized as having a good fortress with a good amount of artillery.14 Sugar was its main wealth, although there was a crisis due to a disease in the cane. The export of about twenty shiploads of sugar therefore fell to four or five. The population comprised 800 white residents and more than 2,000 creoles, not including the slaves. Following a highly militarized concept of society, all these people were seen as so well able to defend themselves given their natural ability that it was sufficient for them to have a good captain, munitions and gunpowder. The fact that the fortress had been occupied by the Dutch and the city was burnt was attributed to there being, in 1599, a lax captain.15 Following references to the fortress and the city, there is a reference to the factory, which at the time was rented out to a contractor who had enough ships to take slaves along the coast of Guinea. The inventory of those captured together with the respective products is well detailed: one or two ships were sent to the king of Arda, next to Mina, to take slaves, ivory, cotton cloth, palm oil, yam and other supplies; to the king of Benin the same as that sent to the king of Arda but also some strange ‘cucharas’ of ivory and straw bedding; as for the king of Xabu, the exchange was two ships a year loaded with slaves for

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cotton cloths with exotic designs that were used in São Tomé. As for the kings of the river Real, Ere and the river Forçados, slaves and other merchandise were taken from them. São Tomé was thus involved in a trade that covered ports between itself and Mina. The supplies used for exchange were yet again Indian cloth, although shells from India were also used as a local form of currency, as well as coral, glass counters, plain cloth in a variety of colours, caps and other knick-knacks.16 In contrast with S. Jorge da Mina and São Tomé, the island of Príncipe did not have any notable force17 even though its 700 residents were involved in the export of sugar and also rice. The island of Annobón had no force whatsoever, even though it too was involved in the export of goods (cotton). Along the African coast, more precisely at Cape Lopo Gonçalves, Dutch ships would take ivory and wait to attack Portuguese ships returning to S. Tomé. From Cape Lopo Gonçalves to the River Congo or Zaire were lands belonging to the king of Loango, who was considered a friend of the Portuguese. When in 1611 Father João Salgado de Araújo asked for a fortress for Loango, he came across the opposition of those who thought such a project would put an end to the good relations with the local king.18 In a port lying some 100 leagues south of the cape, the Dutch permanently kept two ships and a factory on land and dealt in ivory most of all, since they could pay better than the Portuguese. The Portuguese also had a factory there that was dedicated to the exchange of straw cloths for trade in Angola. Garcia Mendes argued for the need to change this situation, suggesting that a fortress should be built there and four Jesuits sent. Following a model previously practised in the Congo and Angola, they would have as their mission to convince the king that he should forbid exchange with the Dutch.19 The king of the Congo, whose predecessors had converted to Christianity more than 100 years earlier, had recently begun to show himself open to trade with the Dutch.20 In the estuary of the Zaire, the port of Pinda was visited by Dutch ships, and it was through there that the legations, both public and secret, were sent by Nassau. From at least 1603, Garcia Mendes had presented his plans for the construction of a fortress in Pinda, arguing that it was only with the materialization of this project that it would be possible to re-establish the desired conditions of sovereignty of the king of Portugal over the king of the Congo, who had stopped paying the taxes he was obliged to pay from the time that Paulo Dias de Novais had been there. With the construction of this fortress, the two or three Dutch ships that constantly travelled there to trade in slaves and supplies would at least have to go and drop anchor in another port. The objective of the construction of a fortress was thus to control the coast and prevent the presence of the enemy, particularly the Dutch. The

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plan was a fortress provided with much artillery which needed a garrison of 100 men for the first two months, after which forty men would be sufficient. It would have to be supplied with manioc from Brazil, given that the military presence would certainly ruin the market that existed there. This fortress beside the coast should be an entrance to the interior as far as Pemba, where there were more copper mines, the exploration of which would mean the construction of a further fortress. In 1609, Manuel Pereira Forjaz was charged with putting this project into practice.21 A year later, António Gonçalves Pita was sent to the Congo to discuss with the king the conditions under which the construction of a fortress in Pinda would proceed.22 In 1611, there were signs of a general consensus, and with two galleons it could secure the coast;23 in 1616–17, António Gonçalves Pita sought to realize it without the indispensable authority of the king of the Congo. Again, in 1618, Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão began to speak of the need to construct a fortress in Pinda, the objective being to eliminate the presence of the Dutch, who controlled the ivory trade there.24 In 1621, Garcia Mendes once again turned to the project; he wanted 100 white residents, who were in fact creoles from São Tomé, to move close to the fortress. It was only there that about 1,500 Portuguese spread across the kingdom could retreat in case of war.25 Garcia Mendes described the conquest of the kingdom of Angola that was started in the 1570s by Paulo Dias de Novais with a territory of about 100 leagues in width and 80 in length (some years earlier, Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão had provided somewhat different measurements: 50 leagues in length and 150 leagues into the interior). About 200 noblemen, lords of the territories, were obliged to be vassals of the king of Portugal. However, the lack of religious men, particularly Jesuits, and of arms did not allow for the use of the wealth of Angola. The lack of a fortress or a wall was the expression of this inability to found an effective imperial colonization in Angola.26 Garcia Mendes does not give the number of Portuguese settlers in Angola, but the situation was not very different from that which appeared later in 1599, when there was a complaint that of the 2,000 settlers no more than 200 remained, since the larger part ran off to Brazil, the Spanish Indies, the Congo and São Tomé.27 The fertility of the kingdom – of the salt mines in Adenda, in the southern part of the river Cuanza, and – the variety of supplies and fish guaranteed that for those natives of the country it would be easy to pay taxes. But in reality, what existed was merely a seaside city with about 400 residents – Luanda – which comprised a commercial entrepôt from where about twenty ships departed each year for the Spanish Indies and the Brazilian sugar mills, laden with slaves.28 In the interior, there were four small wood and clay fortresses with a garrison of about 250 soldiers,

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an insufficient number if it intended to retain control of the subjugated territories.29 The city of São Paulo de Luanda was about fourteen leagues from the river Cuanza, which was navigable for about sixty leagues. It was along this river that the fortresses of Muima, Massangano and Cambambe were sited.30 The creation of other fortresses and prisons followed. In 1606, Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão was captain of the prison of Angoacajongo, in Quissama.31 A year later, Manuel Pereira Forjaz was sent to build a fort in Demba, with the objective of controlling the salt mines.32 Bento Banha Cardoso, during his temporary governorship, sited a prison in Ilamba, about seven or eight leagues from Massangano, but the fact that this was far from the river, and therefore difficult to aid, led to its transfer to Ambaca by the governor who succeeded him, Luís Mendes de Vasconcelos.33 The fortresses of Cambambe and Massangano were described as a model that the captain Garcia Mendes wished to reproduce in Anzele, between the rivers Cuanza and Bengo, ten to twelve leagues into the hinterland Luanda.34 Belonging to this same series of political projects based upon forts and fortresses are also the construction of buttresses in the city of Luanda, which were to be the responsibility of the council, plus the construction of a type of fortress intended to protect the port of Luanda, as was the case with the Tower of Belém in Lisbon.35 In 1641, when the Dutch conquered Luanda, the preoccupation with the state of the walls and the construction of a new fortress remained. At the time, there was also the perception that there were numerous large, beautiful houses built in the Portuguese style, which meant that these were a considerable distance from each other, the most important buildings being near the sea and belonging to merchants.36 The image of an empire and colonization based upon the construction of fortresses was long-lasting, and well into the eighteenth century the existence of castles was associated with a Portuguese presence and an effective colonizing force of hereditary captains.37 In 1621, about sixty leagues south of the city of São Paulo de Luanda, the conquistador and governor of Benguela claimed to have built there a small fort, although its existence there had been spoken of in 1599. The extraction of copper and the discovery of the respective mines appeared as the main wealth of Benguela. But it was also considered to be very rich in supplies and cattle.38 While the temporal conquest was based upon the existence of fortresses together with a political system of vassalage and diplomatic relations between the courts and the monarchs, the spiritual conquest was attributed to the existence of churches and convents and, above all, the work developed by the clergy and religious orders. According to Oliveira Martins, Angola was, from the flight of the governor D. Francisco de Almeida, who did not want to be subject to the Society of Jesus, that is

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from 1593, a ‘Jesuit colony: the priests govern, the governors are their pupils and the secular clergy and bishops protest in vain and react against the teachers’.39 For the captain Garcia Mendes, the Jesuits deserved particular attention. Although we find him judging highly the missionary work attributed to the Society, in other places he is against their involvement in trade and a type of life that is dedicated to leisure and recreational activities. In the latter case, the missionary work developed by the Franciscans and Capuchins appears as an alternative, since the most important thing is to retain the objectives of conversion belonging to missionary work, this being the ultimate end of the entire conquest.40 The debate on the potential of the religious orders, which was at the time centred on the Society of Jesus, did not change the way in which the spiritual conquest relative to the ecclesiastical hierarchy was regarded. The particular activity of those who were at the top of this hierarchy, from the bishop to the dean, or the project of the creation of a new institution such as that of the Father of Christians, which had already been tried out in the State of India and was the objective of the Jesuits, at least in Angola, were other variants.41 Whatever the case, there is no instance where the work of the missionaries and of the Church in general appears to be dissociated from the concrete action of agents in the territory. In the kingdom of the Congo, whose king had converted to Christianity more than 100 years earlier, there were many members of the clergy, including natives of the country who were excellent Latinists.42 However, to understand the actions of these agents, one cannot turn to any type of legal or theological justification – from the papal bulls to the theories of Aristotle taken up by St Thomas Aquinas, and one must not forget the concepts of an associated way of life inspired by St Augustine – not even if one can attribute to them any type of prophetism or messianism. Thus the plans to subjugate the king of the Congo, once again as presented by the captain Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco, included the sending of twelve or thirteen Jesuit priests, with the bishop of the Congo being one of these Jesuits. With the tithes paid by the king of the Congo to the bishop, it would be possible to establish a college there. This was intended for the education of the native clergy, who would contribute not only to the spread of Christianity but would prevent the spread of Lutheran and Calvinist doctrines in the territory, a project taken on by the Dutch.43 According to Garcia Mendes, who was seeking support for his project, the earlier experiences in the kingdom of the Congo by the Franciscans and Dominicans had been a disaster, and now all forces should be concentrated on the Jesuit missionary work.44 Garcia Mendes had already insisted on the need to grant a monopoly of missionary work to the Jesuits when, in 1620, he gave his opinion on the case of Angola.45

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The building of churches in order to form a network appeared as the most urgent measure to be put into practice.46 Probably for Garcia Mendes it was only thus that it would be possible to guarantee that the chiefs would be baptized and instructed in Catholicism (although at no point is it stated that the baptism of the chiefs was necessary to maintain the relationship of vassalage).47 The temporal and spiritual conquest was also considered in relation to the actual process of conquest. The centrality attributed, in the case of Angola, to the conquests achieved initially by Paulo Dias de Novais is demonstrated by the fact that there is a determining influence in the concept of the relationships of vassalage.48 This was a type of founding act whose justification was associated with the documents kept in the Torre do Tombo. It was, besides, this recollection of the times of the initial conquistador that allowed the concept of a political imperial order that was profoundly militarized to always be returned to. An archived document and an historical narrative of deeds of arms thus act as a form of justification for the imperial projects of the time.49 Garcia Mendes, who portrays himself as an experienced head of companies and captain in the field states that he was always accompanied at his own cost by 100 slave archers and riflemen and that his four brothers and his father had died in the wars in Angola. Thus the image he wanted to give of himself was that of a warlord.50 The model of the noble captain surrounded by his own army was old. In 1588, when plans were being drawn up to resurrect the conquest of Angola there was the suggestion of sending ten mill owners from São Tomé, who would be accompanied by some whites and creoles from their houses. At the same time, the need for recruiting all Portuguese with experience in war who were spread across the Congo and who would be capable of bringing more than 4,000 slaves with them was emphasized.51 At the centre of the military strategies used for the conquest, there was an important place for the use of internal divisions. There were even explicit indications for a period prior to the governorship of Paulo Dias de Novais as to how the king of the Congo had been subjugated to vassalage to the king of Portugal precisely at the moment when the Portuguese had freed him from the position of subjugation in which he found himself regarding the Jagas or Imbangala from Katanga.52 But it is clear that such attempts were already evident during the reign of Manuel. On this, one should note that the same document that refers to the situation of vassalage to the king of Portugal that fell upon the king of the Congo also mentions that, should it be decided to proceed with the construction of a fortress in Pinda, where the Dutch had two or three ships permanently on hand for the collection of slaves, it would be

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necessary to keep it secret and even to lie, merely saying that there was an intention to build fortresses in Angola. The reason was simple: the king of the Congo had someone in Portugal who could notify him if the project of establishing a fort in Pinda became known.53 At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the memory still existed of how Paulo Dias de Novais, making use of the conflict between the king of Angola and one of his powerful vassals named Quiloange Qucacoango, had given military aid to the former and so benefited by his influence in bringing to fruition his intentions as to agreements and trade.54 The conquests along the river Cuanza that were carried out by Paulo Dias de Novais were also attributed to the existence of internal battles and to their use by the Portuguese. This was what occurred when Mochimba Quitangombe e Quiziua, who was regarded as a vassal of the king of Angola, asked for Portuguese help against his enemy, which meant that this protection implied the chief’s submission to his protector, a Portuguese captain.55 One of the most mentioned alliances during the period of the foundation of the conquests was that established with the Jagas. This was the case in Angola, and is found in the report of the conquest of Benguela by Manuel Cerveira Pereira.56 Garcia Mendes also noted this in 1620 regarding Angola: ‘the Jagas help us and are ferocious and are with us and have the effect of terrifying the people and do not rise against us, and would Your Majesty send them a gift of wine, since they want nothing else’.57 With this advice, Garcia Mendes was probably reacting against the attempts at controlling the Jagas by Luís Mendes Vasconcelos (1617– 1621), who had led them to abandon the alliance with the Portuguese.58 However, in spite of the persistence of these images regarding the ability of the Portuguese to benefit from local divisions and to take part in the alliances with the defeating factions, to the contrary there would have been local groups who on sensing the importance of external aid from the Portuguese understood how to take part in their military organization.59 In Angola, this would have occurred between 1622 and 1624, when Queen Nzinga turned to external military aid made available by the Portuguese. Besides, the external support was a constant in the political and military strategy of this queen, and the peace treaty she celebrated with the Portuguese in 1656 is most revealing as to her ability to create such support rather than allow herself to be controlled by those external forces.60 The existence of a climate of latent war was, if nothing else, at least another sphere where a political imperial order of a military character took on a meaning. The fact that wars produced slaves and that systematic attempts of direct extortion of slaves from the local chiefs existed among those who held imperial authority, be these governors, captains

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or settlers, appear as two principal reasons for attributing responsibility to the Portuguese in the creation of permanent wars. This was a question of ‘creating war through bribes’ – that is with slaves – as stated in an inquiry of 1609.61 In the case of extortions, the chain of events was particularly clear: the chiefs, annoyed by the violence against them, rebelled and fled to the scrubland, which was seen as justification for military action to be taken against them and therefore a war that would produce slaves.62 Responsibility was also attributed to the Jagas for fomenting these wars, for the ferocity of their cannibalism naturally drove them to favour them.63 More controversial is discovering the Portuguese groups that were most interested in fomenting these wars. On the one hand, those mainly responsible appear to be the governors and captains, who acted on the margin of market mechanisms, which in turn were the expression of the common good and of a supposed royal desire to favour peaceful commercial transactions involving local residents and traders.64 War therefore appears as a practice that is clearly opposed to trade. But it also seems to be opposed to the projects of internal colonization. At least this is what Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão and Garcia Mendes suggest. The two were party to this project of internal colonization based upon the leasing of land and the tributes made by the Angolan chiefs when they rose against the governors and captains who constantly wished to make war against the chiefs in order to extort slaves from them.65 On the other hand, there are other opinions that lead one to place the blame not only on the captains but also the settlers, as was the case in Luanda, again for the fact that wars were machinery for the production of slaves.66 It is with regard to this climate of latent war, where the interests created locally took on a permanent role, that the theme of a just or unjust war takes on meaning. In Angola, for example, it was necessary to define the norms and procedures that could justify war. For this, it was necessary to unite the advice of the bishop or his proxy, the rector of the Society of Jesus, as well the magistrate and the factor of the Council of São Paulo.67 Only through this advice, which was regulated and therefore invested with royal authority, would it be possible to bypass the interests created locally – that is, the motivations of the captains and settlers, together with those of the Jagas, regarding the wars as a method of production of slaves.68 One of the examples of a just war, according to the captain Garcia Mendes, is the war that Paulo Dias de Novais had waged against the king of Angola, who had broken off the peace relations that had initially been established, with his territory remaining subject to vassalage to Portugal after it had been taken over with the legitimacy granted by a ruling of the Mesa da Consciência e Ordens.69

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Military action, more than any other, was also required in order to diminish the power of European enemies, particularly the Dutch, who infringed the laws of monopoly along the African coast.70 However, to state that the structures of imperial domination were deeply militarized both at the level of daily experience and at the level of more intellectualized elaborations is not enough.71 An entire analytical work must be performed on the differentiation of the levels of significance existing in different military functions, which is indispensable if one wishes to take further an understanding of what is seen as a militarized political order. At the base of this order, as one of its most rooted elements, there is the figure of the conquistador able to perform acts of bravery. An elegiac report on Manuel Cerveira Pereira presents a mixture of bravery and violence in the figure of the conquistador of Benguela: ‘The conquistador was there for some days during which he ordered the burning of all its townships, the destruction of the crops, cutting down of palm trees, so that everything was razed to the ground in order that they would see they were obliged to obey, fearful of any similar event, as was later done.’72 Clearly the figure of Cerveira Pereira cannot be reduced to this image of the conquistador, since his involvement in the trade of salt exported from Benguela to Luanda is an integral part of his activity, particularly from the moment when his project of mine discovery ended in disaster.73 Besides, the involvement of Cerveira Pereira in trade, particularly in slaves, with the Spanish Indies and Brazil was a fact from at least the time when he was governor of Angola.74 The conquistador thus becomes the figure of the merchant, who represents the continuation of the type of knight-merchant whom Vitorino Magalhães Godinho placed at the centre of the Portuguese expansion. Besides the crystallization of more individualized records of acts of bravery in Portuguese historiography in the middle of the sixteenth century, one must consider the more institutionalized levels of military organization. The recruitment of soldiers at a time when the increase in the number of infantry placed the primacy of the cavalry in question was one of the greatest problems from an organizational point of view. In 1588, plans for an effective conquest of Angola a supposed contingent of 1,000 soldiers and 60 cavaliers recruited in the Congo, São Tomé and Brazil, including mamelucos able to bring in another 1,000 Africans, black and mestiço, who were well experienced as riflemen and archers in such wars.75 However, even in 1599 it was said that there were no more than 100 Portuguese in Angola capable of using a blunderbuss and that there was a need for 60 cavalry to be sent in order to scare the Africans.76 With regard to the governor of Angola’s regiment in 1611, when defining a clearly militarized political order the population was

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divided in two categories – those who received a wage and those who did not. Regarding those who were paid, it is important to know where they were housed, which is believed to be in prisons or fortresses, and what arms and munitions they had available. As for those who were not paid, namely those who were in Luanda, they had to be enlisted and elect officials and captains of the companies of troops from among themselves, with the obligation of having arms and of going on exercise every Sunday and Holiday of Obligation so that they could assist in the defence of the city, although they were not obliged to take part in wars in the interior.77 Would it be possible to transform those exiled from Portugal into soldiers capable of ensuring the control of new territories? In 1621, Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco answered this question, suggesting that more exiles should be sent to Angola, but instead of placing them in Luanda, since they would flee immediately to the Congo with no hope of their returning, he suggested that they be used in the fortresses of Muxima, Massangano and Cambambe along the river Cuanza and others in the interior – probably in Ambaca.78 What about soldiers sent to Africa who were merely a contingent of the inept? As Manuel Cerveira Pereira said in 1620, when he received sixty soldiers in Luanda intended for the conquest of Benguela, many of them were inexperienced and for the greater part young boys who immediately all became ill.79 This suspicion regarding the military ability of the exiles sent from Portugal led in 1588 to the drawing up of another plan for recruitment for Angola. This was a case of mobilizing the mamelucos of Brazil, the whites and creoles of São Tomé and the Portuguese with their respective slaves who lived throughout the Congo, many of them in the service of its king.80 Alongside these questions of recruitment of soldiers, it is possible to place many other matters of military organization according to the literature of the time on military treatises, doctrines of a good captaincy and discipline among the troops. However, the fiscal question as it was conceived is the one that best reveals the militarized orientation of the imperial political order. Two models appear to coexist, although it could be maintained that the parts of them that were attributed to the idealization and representation of lived experienced were totally different. On the one hand, there were the groups organized around the settlers, captains and governors with their private armies who celebrated alliances with African political groups, namely the Jagas, and desired the capture of slaves as favoured by war as their main basis of income. On the other hand, it is possible to conceive in a more idealized manner, and by partially reproducing the model of the encomienda, the hierarchy of the chiefs under the control of each captain of a fortress, who enjoyed the income from local agriculture and the stability of the market, including

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that of slaves.81 In any of these alternatives, the role of an economy in the South Atlantic dependent upon the supply of African slaves is a common element, as studied by Luiz Felipe de Alencastro.82 Until now, it has been possible to use a set of discourses on the spiritual and temporal conquest of West Africa in order to reconstruct the main frameworks that give meaning to the construction of the Portuguese Empire. It is worthwhile ascertaining to what point these frameworks are modelled on a discourse centred upon the person of the king – i.e. a discourse that is monarchical – where there are united the perception of African political societies and units, a model of virtues, a highly hierarchical concept of the social order headed by the person of the king and an almost permanent need for advice intended to restore a political order of the past. Each of these requires its own analytical treatment. In the first place, the perception of the African political order and units regards, specifically, the division of the territories into kingdoms; attempts at establishing a hierarchy of kings and lords, with the local chiefs being equal to the king’s nobles; and the reconstitution of the genealogy of local dynasties. The insistence with which the rites, ceremonies, parliaments, embassies and forms of treatment of the African political leaders are described is part of this same perception centred upon a monarchical discourse.83 These descriptions favour the concept of a policy of alliances with neighbouring kings following a model already developed in the State of India. What remains to be known, as Christopher Bayly says, is whether this perception of African societies, through the political bodies centred upon the person of the king, would not transcend the frameworks of a Portuguese and European culture, forming an archaic but globalizing culture.84 Secondly, the model of virtues allows for the establishment of clear differences, as though a counter-image is represented through the behaviour of the tyrannical kings (as, for example, the king of the Congo, at times)85 and the corruption of the governors, officials and the powerful.86 The image of corruption is thus in opposition to the virtuous behaviour favoured by the common good, symbolized by the person of the king, and simultaneously as a possible way of understanding interests created locally. Of all the virtues, justice appears to occupy the most important place. Within this, it is possible to distinguish between punitive justice and distributive justice, with a series of juridical mechanisms of control of those in the service of the king corresponding to the latter. This was the case with trials and the granting of residence, both of which were instruments of control that had direct implications – in the way careers were organized, in the question of new nominations and in the granting of honours, namely the insignia of military orders.87 One of the most

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frequent criticisms regarding the functioning of the imperial political system was aimed at the way in which the powerful and governors used trials and residencies in their own interest, in the same way that they caused confusion in the division of jurisdiction.88 One of the replies regarding this type of criticism appears in the defence of the behaviour of the conquistador of Benguela as a living example of the theme of loyalty to the Portuguese nation.89 A monarchical discourse and defence of loyalty to the nation seen as an individually demonstrated virtue are thus two sides of the same coin. A strong sense of hierarchy also invades the entire concept of a political and social order within which it is possible to identify how high the person of the king stood. In its material expression, the hierarchies that existed did not correspond to one sole designation, nor are they seen as coherent entities. In some cases, it is the governors, captains and settlers who appear as representatives in the service of the king. However, the criticisms that the name of the king was not respected are constant but not heard. For example, Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão refers to the magistrates who were responsible for the administration of the tax on slaves exported from Luanda using this for their own business and to pay their servants, the apontador and scribe, in salaries from the treasury. For this reason, it would be better if this administration was passed to the overseers of the council, who would better represent the royal name and interests.90 In other situations, the sense of hierarchy is bound to the relationships of vassalage and submission of the local kings and chiefs to the Portuguese monarchs and their representatives, governors and captains. In the same way, a deep feeling of hierarchy also existed within each group of servants surrounding a warlord. Where this sense of hierarchy appears to impose itself particularly is in the most threatening situations – that is, where it seems impossible to place within a scale groups or merely individual mestiços. Thus the mulattos were treated with enormous disdain because they were not truly in the service of the king. They knew local languages and performed a crucial role as intermediaries between the Portuguese authorities and the local populations.91 Tricks, manipulations, conspiracies and interests attributed to them are represented by the description of a Congolese mulatto, whose work of imposing legitimate order could not be counted upon, because he was capable of every form of treachery.92 In 1641, the Dutch had the same sense of hierarchy among the 400 white families in Luanda, who were in the main involved in trade but who always used a large number of Africans who lived in straw huts in the lower part of the city to carry out their negotiations.93 Advice to the king as another of the modalities of a monarchical discourse is difficult to determine entirely. In the first third of the

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seventeenth century, memoranda containing advice increased so much that they were given a common, frequently pejorative name as suggestions and opinions. The fact that a growing number of groups and individuals distant from court had begun to feel authorized to express their political opinions appears as a new factor. In the case of the African coast, the projects drawn up could relate to new forms of taxation of the chiefs, as already mentioned, or to the old debate regarding the forms of fiscal payment under contract with individuals or through direct administration by the royal authorities.94 One can also add that the advice as to how the institutional machinery functioned was not distinguished from interests associated with the reports of individual positions and, more particularly, the gaining of an honour for the individual or one of his family. Just as this was an exchange between the king and his servants who were more able to counsel him, the good captain hoped that his knowledge gained in a life of service to the Crown might deserve the favours of a distributive justice personified in the figure of the monarch. A final note regarding political counsel relates to the fact that this is usually presented as a reform or as a return to the past because it was considered legitimate. In contrast with historians on Africa, who are interested in reconstructing points of view and the dynamics of those societies that the Portuguese and other Europeans wanted to colonize, the analytical argument developed here is inspired by a re-examination of the imperial and colonial history of the Portuguese, which is far from the ideological and anachronistic use to be found in nationalist and fascist readings of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century empire. It is at the moment of greatest use of the anthropological paradigms centred on an understanding of local dynamics that a revisionary perspective appears that does not eradicate the existence of imperial and colonial factors. The anthropological view coincides, frequently unnoticed, with a euphemistic notion of an exceptional empire, a type of neo-Lusitanian tropicalism in praise of mixed marriage adapted to the multicultural discourses on globalization. A revisionary agenda of imperial and colonial history of the Portuguese centred upon a study of the West coast of Africa at the beginning of the seventeenth century had necessarily to include an examination of the various types of justification and points of view of the imperial agents. Obviously, one could always argue that no empire is the product of an ideological construction, and the determining factors of imperial and colonial dynamics have to seek these in economic, military and biological aspects. However, instead of reducing what there is of the order of justification, a consciousness or ideological construction that is more intellectualized to a type of epiphany on a super-structural level, it would be better to adopt a more concrete perspective in which the actions and

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performance of the agents are not independent of the creation of signifiers and discourses that give them meaning. This is because if an empire is not the product of any ideology it could also be said that, in its most relevant forms of action, its agents were permanently involved in a work of reflection on the programmes to be adopted, including the economic and military aspects that any historiography tends to present as a type of monopoly of its discoveries and its ability to reconstruct true structures. As a clear result of the analyses undertaken so far, the opinions and suggestions of Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco were not an isolated case. From 1570 to 1630, Diogo Ferreira, Domingos de Abreu e Brito, Jerónimo Castaño, Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão, Father João Salgado de Forjaz, Bento Banha Cardoso, Luís Mendes de Vasconcelos and Fernão de Sousa left signs and in some cases actual archives regarding the ideas and positions they took regarding Angola, the Congo and Benguela.95 Alongside this tradition, in which one finds the union of arms and letters, António de Oliveira Cadornega was later to assume responsibility for writing the História das Guerras Angolanas. One must add to this list of names the several ecclesiastics, with Father Fernão Guerreiro being one of the last links in an elaborate system of Jesuit communication. On this, it is important not to overlook the reference made to opinions regarding slave traffic drawn up in Luanda by another Jesuit, Father Alonso de Sandoval. Manuscript discourses but also published books formed, as the Jesuits testified, the main vehicle for the circulation of ideas. For Guinea and Cape Verde, there is a rare example of a published statement written by Manuel de Andrada Castelo Branco dating from the end of the sixteenth century. At the same time, the captain André Álvares de Almada circulated a manuscript entitled Tratado breve dos rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde.96 Meanwhile, projects and discussions on the colonization of Brazil were to be found in the writings particularly of Gabriel Soares de Sousa and Ambrósio Fernandes Brandão. The State of India was the subject of the same type of discourse, at least from 1570, with those of D. Jorge Temudo, the Archbishop of Goa; D. João Ribeiro Gaio, the Bishop of Malacca; Diogo do Couto; Father Francisco Rodrigues; Francisco da Costa, the scribe of the factory of Cochin; Duarte Gomes de Solis; Francisco Rodrigues Silveira; Father António Freire; Jacques de Coutre; Tomé Vaz Garrido; Brother Nicolau da Conceição; Jorge Pinto de Azevedo; Constantino de Sá de Miranda and so many others, including, in 1686, D. Luís Francisco Coutinho, the author of a work regarding the creation of a fortress in Bangarmassim.97 Identical preoccupations were to be found in Portugal, and indeed throughout the Iberian Peninsula, where the same type of recollections, advice and political discussions proliferated. These were by Martín González de Cellorigo to the

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choirmasters of Évora (Baltasar de Faria Severim and Manuel Severim de Faria) and Pedro Fernandez Navarrete and Sancho de Moncada to Agostinho Manuel de Vasconcelos.98 The fact that this increase in discourses existed on a global scale is also due to what was happening at the court of the Chinese Empire in Peking at the time.99 To understand the meaning of these discourses, which are well represented in the case of Angola by Garcia Mendes and by others, it is necessary to place them in the framework of various discursive traditions or thematic units. Some of these traditions or units go back a long time, such as those regarding the temporal conquest, symbolized by the fortresses; plans for spiritual conquest conceived in more or less material form; the different levels of meaning associated with the doctrines of the good captain or the practical soldier, exacerbated by the doctrines of Lipsian neo-stoicism from the final quarter of the sixteenth century; and the language of virtues, associated with the political model of the monarchy, which in part includes a series of juridical instruments as well as opinions, consultations and suggestions. However, what the suggestions of Garcia Mendes indicate is that they are discourses on political action that need to be analysed regarding the way in which political ‘negotiations’, to use a much-used expression of the time, were conceived and put into practice. Another expression used at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries is the concept of ‘created interests’ as a determining factor of the local political dynamics, according to historians of Brazil and Latin America, rather than a generalized recourse to the notion of negotiation as a means of understanding the ambiguities of the policy contained in post-modern agendas of investigation. Bearing in mind a correct interpretation of what was understood as political business, one should note that the discourses that contain suggestions appear not only associated in an explicit way to requests for individual or even family honours but one could also argue that its strong period, which without doubt is the period of its most spectacular emergence from the last quarter of the sixteenth century, is also the period when the annals and records of political events increased, from Cabrera de Córdoba to Manuel Severim de Faria. The second of these associations, without ever appearing as a force of a relationship of causality, also has clear implications – in both cases it is possible to ascertain the importance the events gain within a sphere of discussions that one believes could be defined as highly politicized. At the moment when the events are no longer exclusively either a series of exempla of higher values to be sustained or aspects of a present that was only allowed a metaphorical allusion regarding more prestigious historiographic traditions there appears the notion of political negotiation.

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The business of constructing a fortress in Pinda or of the tributes imposed on the Angolan chiefs, subjugating them by the use of arms, to use two cases in which Garcia Mendes was involved, are two good examples of the centrality assumed by events in the manner of seeing and creating policies at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Their proponent does not appear to have been successful in the defence of his own interests in exchange for his projects, and these indeed can only be seen in part as original. As he sought to emphasize, the ideas of Garcia Mendes were shared by many of his contemporaries who had experience of the Congo, Angola and Benguela. In other words, his projects were part of a small series of ideas and arguments shared by a wide community. A more or less exhaustive inventory of these projects relative to a precise chain of events would certainly allow for a better interpretation of the projects of Garcia Mendes. However, instead of any criterion aimed at an exhaustive study, it would be better to reduce a contextual exercise to one particular moment. In 1599, when Jerónimo Castaño produced his memorandum on the convenience of continuing the conquest and trade of Angola, he expressed better the interests and groups involved in this ‘negotiation’.100 As far as he was concerned, Paulo Dias de Novais conquered Angola but took for the Crown the benefit of tributes paid by the chiefs as well as that from the slave trade. The latter was particularly lucrative, since it was the basis for the production and trade of Brazilian sugar, producing new forms of income for the royal treasury. Novais counted on the collaboration of Castaño for the discovery of the mines and to maintain control. However, Castaño benefited little or not at all from the act of conquest. As he says in his recollections, he lost three sons as well as brothers and nephews, besides many other relatives, and fell into debt in order to assist Novais in the control of the silver mines, in spite of the fact that he had managed to prevent the royal treasury from spending any amount of money on this. The rhetoric regarding the individual modesty and suffering of the author of these recollections originates from discursive traditions regarding the virtue of humility and from the rules of supplication as well as old ideals of chivalry. However, this rhetoric does not conceal consciousness of certain individuals regarding the principal events that defined the conquest of Angola or the identification of the principal agents and interests involved in this process. For example, twenty years before the recollections were written, Paulo Dias de Novais managed to obtain the support of the Crown – that is, Cardinal D. Henrique – for necessary loans for the continuation and reinforcement of the conquest of Angola. But the initiative created strong opposition from those renting land in São Tomé, who did everything to prevent the continuation of Angolan trade to the

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extent of influencing the king of the Congo, who also sent an embassy to Europe to oppose this ‘business’. Without achieving a solution between the interests of the parties involved, the Cardinal nominated Dr Pedro Barbosa to judge the matter, and he determined without means of appeal that the control of Angola should continue. In the opinion of Jerónimo Castaño, Barbosa’s decision was most useful and profitable for Angola, ‘y esto solo basta para se uer quan contrastada cosa fue la conquista de aquella tierra que se puede deçir que las cosas grandes no pueden costar poco’ (‘and this is enough to confirm how different was the conquest of that land, which shows that great things cannot come at little cost’).101 Castaño presents himself as a loyal follower of Dias de Novais, giving great importance to his intervention in the discovery of the silver mines in Cambambe. These were irrefutable proof that the Crown could benefit from the control of Angola. But there were those who suspected that the silver did not come from there but from Spanish America. Therefore, even during the time of Cardinal D. Henrique, the Council of the Treasury and the Casa da Moeda examined the silver, certifying whence it came and its quality. The situation changed with the administrative bodies Philip II ordered to meet regarding the control of Angola; influenced by Francisco Duarte, the overseer of the treasury, they decided on placing Angola under the control of São Tomé, which was the equivalent of abandoning its project of control. But the new king, ordered that Rodrigo Vasquez, president of the Council of Castile, be brought in, and he confirmed the decision made by Pedro Barbosa. The control of Angola was again autonomous. Meanwhile, the involvement of Jerónimo Castaño in this process brought him enemies. One of these was Manuel da Fonseca, the brother of António Moniz da Fonseca, secretary to the Council of Portugal in Madrid, who felt his interests were prejudiced by the final resolution. In addition, Castaño claimed that during the time when the ministers of the Council of Portugal wished to make a decision on the business of the control of Angola, distancing themselves from such matters, they uselessly spent money on assistance, since the chiefs who had been subjects and paid tribute to Paulo Dias de Novais were now subjects of the king of Angola. In order to recover Angola, the king now needed to invest more. The rationale of assessing the costs and benefits of a business as used by Castaño led him to defend the idea of recovering Angola. It was only in this way that they could enjoy its wealth, which was even greater than had been previously thought when Benguela was taken. The fact that both the king of Benguela and the king of the Congo were fearful of the ferocity of the Jagas favoured an alliance with the Portuguese. It could even be felt that the wealth, or the benefits, to be gained by the Crown were greater in Benguela than in Angola.102

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By expressing a partial point of view of a reality that other sources can help to reconstruct in an even more varied way, Castaño’s recollections are most revealing of the ability of consciousness shown by this type of discourse. The conquest of Angola is seen through a chain of events that reveal advances and retreats, as well as a series of negotiations regarding how groups and institutions positioned themselves. The slave traffic within the explicit ambit of the creation of an economy of sugar plantations in the South Atlantic, the much-desired silver mines whose promise had been favoured by the discovery of silver in Potosi, a system of tributes from the chiefs who were vassals of the king of Angola, and the conquest of Benguela (to which one can add the longstanding idea of subjugating the king of the Congo) are the great negotiations with which it was desired to justify the benefits of the empire. In his discourse intended to capture the attention of the king, Castaño presents himself as a supplicant, at times disinterested and at others penalized by the interests of his enemies, who were always able to harm him and his king, whom he idealized as representative of a good political order. The heart of the political dynamic does not appear to be in any type of conflict between jurisdictions, although there were apparently several councils and tribunals involved in the conquest who represented conflicting points of view in a permanent battle between groups, families and individuals who wished to achieve the legitimacy of the councils and tribunals as well as to maintain their projects through judgements and legal documents. On this, Castaño is very explicit when referring to an alliance between the king of the Congo, the settlers in São Tomé and the Council of Portugal in Madrid (where one of its secretaries was protecting the interests of one of his brothers). Clearly, when talking of this alliance, Castaño wants to denounce a conspiracy where the holders of contracts in São Tomé were able to manipulate the king of the Congo and where a member of the Council of Portugal controlled the remainder of its members. However, one can always interpret Castaño’s recollections as an act of consciousness within a framework where the interests and decisions of groups, families and individuals are entwined. Besides Castaño’s recollections, it is necessary to consider other examples in order to understand how Garcia Mendes’s suggestions were not at all exceptional. They merely represent one case that is without doubt individualized and contains specificities but that is not necessarily the most exhaustive and explicit within the broad group of negotiations and interests being debated. What I wish to demonstrate is that a full knowledge of these negotiations and interests was not absent in the discourses of the judges. This was necessary in order to refute an interpretational perspective that tends to reduce imperial ideologies to a type of artificial

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construct in relation to the factors considered to be essential, as could be the case with the determining character of economic groups and with a rationale merely based upon the evaluation of costs and benefits.103 However, to reconstruct the points of view of the agents involved in building empires in order to identify their forms of consciousness means immediately that the way in which they rationalized imperial logics as negotiations does not necessarily imply excluding successive forms of archaism from the imperial processes invested in those processes.104 On this, a permanent recourse to idealizations of noble and chivalric behaviour suffices to illustrate the presence of such forms of archaism within the heart of the empire. It could therefore be said that archaism and rationalization of costs and benefits coexisted at the time and also in the same discourses. In other words, the ideal of the noble soldier assumed by the good captain in the service of the king was not separate from the mercantile logic of the trader. The strength of the ideal type proposed by Vitorino Magalhães Godinho – that of the cavalier-merchant – once again returns. However, besides this set of attitudes to be found in this social hybrid, it is difficult to place the small processes of individual accreditation of the imperial agents, particularly those who used the written word to confirm their position. The experience of more than forty years in Angola was, for Garcia Mendes, the best form of proving the veracity and relevance of his knowledge. Jerónimo Castaño also mentions his years as a fighter, the sacrifices suffered and the fact that he had lost so many relatives in Angola to confirm his point of view. The experience in arms together with the use of letters, the topic of civic humanism so well identified by Luís de Sousa Rebelo, is evident. However, while it is possible to understand the position of each author, the insistence with which one speaks not only of family relations suggests another method of considering accreditation or recognition. For example, when in 1611 Bento Banha Cardoso wanted to disqualify the discourses of Father João Salgado de Araújo – the ‘person who capitulated and made suggestions’ and who without doubt represented a faction opposed to himself, although this has little basis in his arguments – he wished to make it known who he was and what he had done: ‘I tell this all to Your Majesty so that you know who Joam Salgado is and his opinions, and what they are really saying, so that Your Majesty is not taken in by him.’105 There were his enmities with his uncle, the Bishop of the Congo, his extravagance in the public square of Luanda and his dislike of the magistrate André Velho da Fonseca when he arrived as a judge in Angola. Therefore, how could the king and his counsellors, particularly Diogo Soares, to whom this information was sent, believe in what Salgado de Araújo was suggesting?

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But, as Banha Cardoso indicated, the true reason for so much distrust lay in the fact that, for him, Salgado de Araújo was his enemy. Since he therefore did not belong to his group, their negotiations and interests were hard to reconcile. A final note regarding negotiations and interests relates to the need to include among them local initiatives, particularly those involving African monarchs or political leaders. Castaño is clear on this point when he places the landholders in São Tomé within this alliance together with the King of the Congo. As far as he was concerned, the latter was being manipulated by the former. However, Garcia Mendes, when dealing with another subject, presents the King as a manipulative person himself. In spite of its scarcity, this type of information helps to question the notion that negotiations and interests regarding local dynamics were too biased towards Africa. In contrast with the group dynamics – families, tribes or customers – one must consider other attempts at classifying Angolan colonial society. In 1633, for example, Father Gonçalo de Sousa, the rector of the college of the Company of Luanda, wanted to defend the point of view held by the council of the district of Luanda. The council was against the decision to introduce a new tax imposed by the Crown, while de Sousa said that the income would do little for the inhabitants. In his description of the poor of Luanda one must take into account that, (i) the majority comprised ‘lowly people who come from the Kingdom, having no funds and who only survive on alms’, (ii) ‘others are soldiers who have nothing but the pay that they receive from Your Majesty; (iii) ‘and those who have a trade are so in debt that if people from overseas who sell them tied property for one, two or three years, decide to press them for payment, all their capital and the houses in which they live would not be sufficient to pay their debts’. Undoubtedly the fact that all supplies necessary for their wellbeing were imported and sold locally at exorbitant prices contributed to this situation of permanent debt. Was there a Portuguese colonial system invested with its own ideology and used along the west coast of Africa? The answer would appear to be ‘yes’ if we consider the reports by Pieter Moortamer dated 1642 and 1643. For him, the objective of securing trade in Angola and the Congo implied order and stability such as the Portuguese had managed to create. Therefore, there was no doubt as to the need to imitate the Portuguese model in many areas. For example, it would be necessary to send someone to the Congo who was diligent, together with at least three protestant clergymen, three school masters and three nurses. Together with this, in order to overcome distrust of the locals, it was necessary to show an ability to defend against external enemies, which necessarily implied the construction of three stone fortresses in Luanda. It was only thus that

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the city would be safe and the trust of the kings and local powers could be won. Whatever the case, and just as the Portuguese had wanted, the militarization of the colony, starting with the fortification of Luanda, would have to be paid for with contributions from the local kings, who would remain subject to or vassals of the Society of Jesus. With the creation of a militarized imperial order developed alongside missionary and pedagogic activity, it would be possible to create the conditions necessary for the development of the slave trade. The Portuguese, according to Moortamer, had also tried to put this system into practice, convincing the great chiefs to supply them with slaves at a stable price. However, they never managed to create the conditions for this stability in price. Why? Precisely because each merchant wished to exercise his own trade freely, meaning that each ended up damaging the trade of his competitor. Under these conditions, it was the Africans who had managed to gain the greatest profit. Therefore it fell to the Dutch Company to create the necessary conditions for the creation of a monopoly, prohibiting individuals from trading. With this measure, as well as with the creation of obstacles to monetary exchange and the discovery of mines, it would be possible to guarantee the future of a colonial project that would not seem to differ greatly from that which the Portuguese had tried.106

The Funeral Ceremony for the King of Bissau A short list of works written about the west coast of Africa, which includes on the one hand discourses on Guinea, Sierra Leone and the Cape Verde islands and, on the other, the Congo, Angola and Benguela, reveals the limits of Portuguese culture regarding its ability to present the west coast of Africa. The case of books published in foreign languages on the Congo and Angola, for example, is particularly significant. In 1591, Filippo Pigafetta published his Relationae del Reame di Congo in Rome, which was an extract of writings by Duarte Lopes. Samuel Purchas included in his collections information and a report of the voyages of Andrew Battell, with emphasis on the version given in Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas His Pilgrimes (1625). The Jesuit Alonso Sandoval, who lived in Cartagena, published in Seville and Madrid in 1627 and 1647 respectively his De instauranda Aethiopum salute, whose first part is dedicated to a description of the African people, particularly of Guinea and Angola. The Dutch doctor Olfert Dapper is also the author of a published history that grants much importance to Angola (Naukeridge Beschrijvinge der Afrikaensche Gewesten) (1686), with a second edition in 1676 and a French translation, Description de l’Afrique (1686),107 while in

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1687 the Capuchin Cavazzi de Montecúccollo published in Bologna his Istorica descrizione de’ tre regni, congo, Matamba et Angola.108 As for works published in Portuguese, we should start with the annual reports from the Jesuit missions compiled by Father Fernão Guerreiro (1603–1611), where news of the missionary activities in Brazil and on the west coast of Africa are presented en bloc yet always at the end of each volume, so granting less importance to the Atlantic than to Asia. The Tratado de las siete enfermedades (1623), by the doctor Aleixo de Abreu, contains a brief description of Luanda regarding venereal disease and its cure. The publishing initiatives of the Jesuits with descriptions of clothing and language appear in the works of Father António Couto, namely Gentio de Angola (1642) and Gentilis Angollae Fidea Mysteriis (1651).109 Published during the restoration, the Manifesto das ostilidades que a gente que serve a Companhia Occidental de Olanda obrou contra os vassalos del Rei de Portugal nest Reyno de Angola (1651) by Luís Félix Cruz shows that the increase in publications on the wars of restoration included events such as the recovery of Luanda by Salvador Correia de Sá. Despite being incomplete, this brief list of works in Italian, English, Dutch and Latin shows that works in Portuguese on the Congo and Angola are peripheral. A case in point is the fact that the most exhaustive work on Angola written in the seventeenth century, the História geral das guerras Angolanas (1680–1682) by António de Oliveira Cadornega, remained in manuscript.110 A general review of the main works and discourses remaining in manuscript reveals opinions that are, in part, fomented or compiled by those who were in central positions in the decision-making process. During the first four decades of the seventeenth century, besides the projects relating to the exploration of the wealth and population of Angola, the Congo and Benguela, an administrative culture based upon the written word began to materialize in the correspondence of the governors to the counsellors in Lisbon and Madrid, in the judicial inquiries, in financial and military reports and in the organization of collections of requests and opinions given by some governors.111 In 1618, for example, the king requested a complete report from all the officials of the treasury, justice and war who were based in Brazil and Angola.112 Within this selection, both opinions and texts that were more directly related to the practices of government and administration are discourses on action. Could the increase in these discourses therefore be seen as a sign of the institutionalization and regulation of authority? Which also means, were the conflicts between groups in Angola and Benguela – particularly those involving Manuel Cerveira Pereira and the Mendes de Vasconcelos family, which were the object of strong criticism by the Bishop of the Congo and Angola, D. Manuel Baptista (1610–20)113 – giving way to more integrated forms

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of government from the end of the 1620s with Fernão de Sousa and Francisco de Vasconcelos da Cunha? These questions that are based on the hypothesis of a correlation between the written word when considered an essential element of an administrative culture and the processes of institutionalization of authority can only find a response through a deeper investigation than that sketched out here. With present knowledge, it is hard to define the global meaning of the processes. What arises as the most defining point is the way in which short periods of time are affected by the personality and negotiations of each governor, particularly regarding the slave trade, which in itself indicates a lack of consistency regarding institutional organization.114 Portuguese works relating to Guinea, Cape Verde and Sierra Leone are equally marginal when compared with the works published in foreign languages. A description of Guinea written by Pieter de Marees was published in Amsterdam in 1602 and was partially used in Purchas’s collection of voyages (1625)115 as was Pieter van den Booecke’s report of the voyage to Cape Verde, Guinea and also Angola116 and the report of the exploration of the river Gambia by Richard Jobson from the beginning of the century.117 No work published in Portuguese amounts to the size of the books by Father Alonso de Sandoval S.J. (1627, 1647) and Olfert Dapper (1668).118 The reports of voyages by Villault de Bellefond in 1666 and 1667, which were immediately translated into English; by Michel Jajolet de La Courbe, the director of the Senegal Company from the river Gambia to Cacheu in 1686–87; by Jean Barbot, whose manuscript was only partially published in English in 1732 and the adventurer François Froger, published in 1698, instantly translated into English, are related to French trade projects in the Senegal region.119 Translations into English of some of these works indicated more than a mere curiosity, interest and commercial rivalry. Besides, in the case of the French translations into English, the work of Willem Bosman, Nauwkeurige Beschryving van de Guinese gaud-, tand-, en slave-kust, nevens alle desselfs landen, koningryken en gemenebesten (Utrecht, 1704), was published in in London the following year with a second edition in 1721. Within this framework, references relating to Guinea in the works published by Portuguese or in Portugal are relatively marginal and did not merit special attention. The opinion of Manuel de Andrada Castelo Branco regarding the need to fortify the public areas of the Atlantic that was published in Castilian in the 1590s starts with an allusion to the kingdom of the Jalofos and Sierra Leone, which was followed by a set of considerations on Bahia, Rio de Janeiro and trade along the River Plate. The author’s objective was to start by defending the Portuguese rights in the Atlantic that were being attacked by the French and English.120

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Hidrographia, exame de pilotos… Com os Roteiros de Portugal pera o Brasil, Rio da Prata, Guiné, S. Thomé, Angolla, & Indias de Portugal, & Castella (1625, with earlier editions in 1609 and 1614) prioritized the routes of the Atlantic, which received little or no attention among route books that dealt with the India Route.121 Following a ruling by the cosmographer, Manuel de Figueiredo, an autonomous body was created for the route books of the coast of Guinea and Mina, Angola, Brazil and the River Plate. Guinea and Angola received little attention in the reports of Father Fernão Guerreiro. For him, as for the cosmographer, Brazil was part of a block together with Angola, Cape Verde and Guinea. The methods of missionary work are also the subject of a discussion in the published works of the choirmaster of Évora, Manuel Severim de Faria.122 Manuel de Faria e Sousa dedicates some pages to Guinea in his África Portuguesa (1681).123 In 1695, a small folio was published entitled Conversam de elrei de Bissau … e bautismo do principe D. Manoel de Portugal filho primogenitor do mesmo rei, which was one of the reasons for a conflict in which the bishop of Cape Verde, D. Brother Vitoriano Portuense, took part.124 A very short catalogue of the works, discourses and correspondence that remained in manuscript form about the coast of Guinea should include the following authors and types of discourse. Most of all, one should consider the administrative relations created by royal officials as well as the tradition of maritime books on routes.125 But a list of the works of a more considerable dimension should have at the top André Álvares de Almada, from Cape Verde, who completed his Tratado breve dos rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde in 1594,126 and André Donelha, also from Cape Verde, the author of Descrição da serra Leoa e dos rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde, which appeared in 1625.127 Both authors travelled to these places in the 1570s and display their interest in the population and political organization of the territories. Father Baltasar Barreira and Father Manuel Álvares, with their descriptions of Guinea and Cape Verde, in 1606 and 1616 respectively, present the most elaborate attempts at a knowledge of missionary work in the territories by the Society of Jesus.128 In the second half of the seventeenth century, the arrival of the Spanish Capuchins in 1647 marked a new orientation in missionary activities. The Portuguese André de Faro, a Franciscan Capuchin, wrote a report of his missions undertaken from 1663–64 in the region running from Cacheu to Sierra Leone.129 But the great novelty at the end of the seventeenth century was the Castilian anti-slavery discourse of the friars Francisco de la Mota and Angel de la Puenta, presented at the time of their departure from Guinea in 1686.130 Meanwhile, in 1669 and 1684, Francisco de Lemos Coelho produced two descriptions of Guinea.131 Following

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the removal of the Spanish Capuchins from Guinea, the arrival of the bishop of Cape Verde, D. Brother Vitoriano Portuense, who was made bishop in 1687 and made his first voyage to Guinea in 1694, led to an interesting report. The two final decades of the seventeenth century form a framework that has been well researched by Avelino Teixeira da Mota and that corresponds to an intensification of missionary activity intended to compensate for the departure of the Spanish friars; an increase in French pressure on the region, which was answered by the creation of the Company of Cacheu and Cape Verde; and the institution of a captaincy in and the construction of the fortress of Bissau, added to which was the situation in which conflicts increased between the local authorities, the bishop and the first captain.132 An analysis of this set of records reveals different types of fluctuations regarding the different practices of identity. The first of these relates to the nature of the Portuguese presence in Guinea and can be defined in the following manner: while André Álvares de Almada and André Donelha, basing themselves on their experiences during the 1570s and interested in bringing attention to the population, constantly make use of the words ‘lançados’ and ‘tangomaos’, characterizing their experiences of life outside the institutional and religious frameworks that they saw as legitimate and denouncing the trade contacts maintained with the French and English,133 the texts of the second half of the seventeenth century indicated most of all the conflict among institutionalized powers. The anti-slavery opinion of the Spanish Capuchins and the writings arising from the presence of the bishop of Cape Verde are the best indicators of this process of institutionalization and the intensification of conflicts within a general framework of intense involvement of the Portuguese in slave traffic (regarding the identity of the Portuguese, the Spanish Capuchin Father Anguiano spoke at the time of the presence of about 3,000 Portuguese of whom only a few hundred fulfilled the minimal obligations of the Catholic rites). However, it is necessary to consider that this same process is very limited regarding the exclusion of other European powers. On this, it is worth recalling the witness account of Gonçalo de Gamboa de Ayala, the first captain of Cacheu, who in 1614 wished to continue to attract the Castilian ships into his port in order to trade in slaves, so preventing them from travelling on to the entrance of the Gambian rivers, which was outside the control of the Portuguese.134 There are also records of changes in the various types of interaction among the populations of Guinea. For example, André Álvares de Almada starts his Tratado dated 1594 with an interesting reflection on the use of the written word and oral translations among the populations:

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Among the blacks of Africa there were no writers nor did they use writing although they can read, for among these people there are some who are religious, called Bixirins, who write on paper and in bound books of folio size but their ability to write is such that it serves no one nor is it understood by anyone else but those who have written it, because there are certain signs and individual ideas rather than intelligible letters; and since it is thus one cannot know what notable things have passed among them since they usually transmit it in stories; for as the memory of the men cannot contain much, supposing that they have understood everything, they cannot retain more than that which time has not eradicated, so that we cannot know more about them than what they still retain in their memory today.135

André Álvares insists on the importance of the written word when he refers to the king of a village of Africans, Sapes, who was Christian and knew how to read and write and who favoured the teaching of the Christian doctrine. This association between linguistic and religious ability is completed by bringing attention to the need to increase the activities of the Jesuits.136 A century later, when writing his report of his voyage to Guinea in 1694, Brother Vitoriano Portuense repeated this same type of association between conversion to Christianity and use of the Portuguese language, but he places it within a framework of national loyalty, adding to it the African recognition of only the Portuguese as being white: ‘so that Your Majesty should pity those poor souls more, who are asking for the bread of the Christian doctrine and there is no one to give it to them’, he says in a letter: and you should know that all these gentiles only recognize the Portuguese as white, seeing a difference among all the nations of the north as more white than they are. And for many years they have treated many villages of the gentiles as foreign, and so do not speak their language, and they no longer use their mother tongue but only use our Portuguese language.137

Letters sent in Portuguese by Inzinhá, the king of Bissau, to the governor of Cape Verde and D. Pedro II confirm this panorama.138 There is in addition another element introduced by the Bishop of Cape Verde regarding his relationship with the king of Bissau. This was the king’s use of a report published in Lisbon at the orders of the Bishop regarding the voyage and baptism in Portugal of the heir to the throne of Bissau. For Inzinhá, who had succeeded to the throne on the death of the prince, who had been baptized in Lisbon: ‘so that he could better be induced and fearful had been ordered to be shown the report that is in a letter that the king before him had sent to the king of Portugal and that he would make all those of this Island his vassals’.139

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Another linguistic fact relates to the functions of the interpreter. In 1625, André Donelha was the first to apply the word chalona to an interpreter, linguist or turkiman. Two years later, Alonso Sandoval used the verb chalonar, while the noun chalona was once again used by André de Faro, Francisco de Lemos Coelho and the bishop, Vitoriano Portuense.140 The bishop was forced to communicate through an interpreter during an audience with the king of Bissau, who wished to convert to Catholicism, although the monarch well understood Portuguese and could speak Creole: ‘he understands the Portuguese language very well and could speak Creole if he wished, but among all the gentile kings to add gravitas to the occasion they speak through an interpreter or chalona’.141 Later, communication between the bishop’s envoys and Inzinhá’s successor was established through a chalona, who had earlier sworn on the bible ‘so that he well and faithfully translates the response of the king into Portuguese’.142 How should one interpret this linguistic fact and what it reveals regarding interaction through different methods of communication? The creation and diffusion of a Creole word to apply to the functions of a translator suggests that the ability to carry out this work was mainly in the hands of agents and local intermediaries. This is confirmed by information of 1686, according to which the ‘cristianos criollos de esta tierra, que son los que mas entran a comprarlos [slaves] y les serven de interpretes’ (‘creole Christians of this land, who are the most important brokers of the slave traffic, working as interpreters’).143 It is important to point out how the local identities defended themselves in situations that were seen to be important – that is during ceremonial occasions, with direct communication based on Portuguese or Creole being substituted by other means of indirect communication established by an interpreter. Up to here, I have analysed the forms of linguistic interaction through Creole or the use of interpreters, to which one can add on a more symbolically ambiguous scale the use of pictures.144 Let us now see what occurred regarding the most important form of interaction – the trade in slaves and produce. For André Álvares de Almada, the suggested model of populating the area was to place the Portuguese in villages or townships close to fortresses and to organize trade from there. This model of colonization, which was compatible with the opening up of trade to individuals along the coast of Malagueta and Sierra Leone,145 had the advantage of making possible the administration of justice and the organization of religious life for all who until then had been spread out, living ‘housed in the residences of nobles’.146 This method of concentration and control of the population thus prevented the settlers from continuing to live without religion and trading with the French and English.147 André Donelha appears to refer

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to the same model when he idealizes the fact that ‘with this country populated by Christians it will be better supplied and have more trade with all Ethiopia’.148 However, this model of a social order that integrates simultaneously the political organization by the Portuguese, religious life with the introduction of a larger number of clergy and religious orders, and commercial prosperity, had two disadvantages. First, the price of slaves and other produce necessarily increased; and second, from the moment when the Portuguese were organized into villages, no longer living spread out, the Africans began to feel their presence as somewhat coercive, which led to violence.149 This model, which should be seen more as an idealization than as a portrait of a social order, suggests that the traffic that was in the hands of the settlers, who were in contact with the ships belonging to other European nations, should be controlled by the Portuguese authorities. Álvares de Almada and Donelha also speak of the participation of local populations in trade and specific groups of local Jalofo and Mandinga merchants.150 However, their references are too generic for one to be able to understand the economic rationale. The most explicit sign relates to the hypothetical increase in the price of slaves offered to the Portuguese living in the townships. With this situation, what changes occurred at the end of the seventeenth century? When in 1686 the Spanish Capuchins established their anti-slavery position they partly based their argument on the information collected by the local merchants and Creole Christians, who bought slaves and acted as interpreters.151 The indication that local agents took a direct part in the organization of this traffic is also evident in the letters sent by the king of Bissau. For him, what was important was an increase in profits. The local king could not accept that on an English ship’s arrival in port the captain of Bissau called upon the rights of Pedro II to buy cows from him and sell them on to the English: ‘an English launch came and he does not allow us to sell our cows and he wants to sell them himself to the English’.152 In another letter, Inzinhá goes further in his argument and develops a series of thoughts on the prices and mechanisms of supply and demand: Your Majesty should know that I am a poor King and that here in my land I demand nothing but foreign wealth, which is iron, brandy and clothing, and the people of Your Majesty who are here do not sell me either drink or iron, nor do they have enough for my country, and I know that you will not deny more wealth than that which the lords of the Company order which is not enough for my country, nor is the produce good like that of the foreigners, and Your Majesty should know that it is necessary for this country that the foreign price is better for me than the price that the Company pays me for my products.153

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Taking into account Inzinhá’s thoughts, the Overseas Council in Lisbon realized they were under the misapprehension that in order to put an end to local conflicts in Bissau all that was necessary was to send some clothes and brandy as a gift and everything would be settled in the interests of Pedro II.154 From the point of view of the African authorities involved in slave traffic, decisions and alliances obeyed an economic rationale in which prices were compared and the possibility of offering products was evaluated, which did not correspond at all to the paternalist ideas of the Council in Lisbon. In a situation in which understanding the rationale of the Africans is important, gifts and presents should not be confused with market mechanisms. Rites and ceremonies, as well as forms of interaction made through a language of symbols and gestures, is a theme that occurs most frequently in the texts I have analysed. This is the case with the description of the funerals of the kings of Guinea, particular the king of Bissau, including the wailing and ritual sacrifice of women.155 The most complete of all the descriptions was written in 1616 by Father Manuel Álvares S.J. According to him, the idol of the residents of Bissau was represented by a bundle of sticks smothered in the blood of birds, such as chickens, as well as that of goats and cows with cockerel feathers on top. Their king had a statue made that consisted of a stick on an iron object that was accompanied by a small spear, the handle of which was also made of iron. When he was taken to his grave, he was carried in a type of coffin. After the funeral, the spear was handed to his successor. This, in the opinion of Manuel Álvares, was an ancient insignia of State. The chapel of these idols, the bundle of sticks, the statue and the coffin were constructed where the residents met, and at night a fire was lit. The coffin was described in detail. It was a type of cage built of thick canes under which was a young goat and a large dog, while on top of the cage was another, smaller cage in which the king had been placed. He was dressed in Portuguese clothing (since the country was one occupied by whites), having first been washed in wine. The cage was covered in blankets and fine clothing and in front of it were two or three heads and tails of cows. For three days, the residents went with the sepulchre to the village covered in earth and with their heads shaved and cords around their necks and round their waist. Some would not eat, others would not wash, and they did not sleep during this time. This was all done, according to Father Álvares, with ‘true weeping’ and ‘with great misery and feeling’. On this occasion, the population and, in some cases, the neighbours arrived with gifts of cows, goats and cloths. While these ceremonies were going on, the tomb was built outside the town, and there was a series of human sacrifices involving the ‘chinas’ (the king’s young

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girls). For the construction of the tomb, they first cut off the ears of the principal girl so that her blood would mark out the curve of the hole where the body of the dead king would be placed. Then the girls, who had danced during the ceremonies, were drowned. The number of girls sacrificed was in relation to the power of the king or nobleman. There were those who wanted to die with the king, those who wanted to flee or those who preferred to be sold. Only the king lay in the hole, together with his principal wife or ‘china grande’. Once the mouth of the hole was closed and a container of wine placed on top, a straw house was built above to protect it from the rain. Every night, a man was charged with lighting a fire at the tomb. The chinas were buried in another cemetery. A horse, an ox and a boy were then buried in another tomb.156 Manuel Álvares notes a specific case in the Papel people of Bissau, where he sees in another civilization visible aspects of European ceremonies. Symbolic instruments – the bundle of sticks, the statue and the spear – with symbols of power are kept in a place that is the equivalent of a sacred church. This identification between the customs of the residents and those of Europeans is valid for the coffin and for the tombs. As for the actual ceremonies, Father Álvares notes the ‘true weeping’ and the suffering, observing the contrast between us and them. However, there are at least three aspects that the priest does not accept and feels obliged to denounce. The first is the object the residents use as their main idol – the bundle of sticks: ‘this is the uncivilized side of all the Papel people’, in his words. The second includes the cruelty of the human sacrifices at the burial of kings and noblemen. This cruelty is presented as useless and involving above all women, which is equally denounced by other authors. The final aspect, which transcends the question of the death of the kings, relates to the efficacy of the missionary work regarding the religious customs and practices of the Papels. Manuel Álvares’s argument has several meanings here. On the one hand, it is a criticism of those who felt it sufficient to baptize the people and hope that God would enlighten them, without thinking of any form of more permanent indoctrination. He questions here other missionary methods. On the other hand, his argument departs from the assumption that the Papels were well-meaning and practised rites and customs that could be identified with those of the Europeans. The problem lies solely in the fact that they are badly led. According to Manuel Álvares, the Papels were led into error since they depended on some ‘corofins’, who made them believe in false things. Based on this statement, the Jesuit’s agenda lay in substituting these witches with priests, able to lead the Papels along the Catholic path. This new direction would be materialized in another attitude relative to the cult of the dead, eradicating the possibility of their speaking

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with the living through the ‘corifeus’, and in a more spiritual concept of belief, eliminating the belief they held according to which ‘there is nothing more than what can be seen and touched’.157 The programme suggested by Manuel Álvares regarding the Papels questioned implicitly the European concept that considered the king to be at the same time alive and dead and the belief regarding the power of touching the king’s corpse or his tomb. What remains to be known is whether questioning such beliefs, when viewing a universe distant from that of the Papels, is the result of a process of European loss of such beliefs or whether, to the contrary, this is an operation of disqualification of a specific mode of belief, which, based upon contact with a distant peoples, is the equivalent of a process of innovation moving from the periphery to the centre. In Álvares’s description of the ritual sacrifice of the women, it is noted that the women could elect to be sold as slaves. For Álvares, the barbarism evident in the ceremonies of the Papels legitimizes the slave trade; and André Álvares de Almada emphasizes the cannibalism of the African barbarians in his own defence of the slave trade.158 Thus at the end of the sixteenth century and beginning of the seventeenth, the description of ceremonies in part justifies, for them, the arguments concerning the inferiority and barbarism of the Africans and, therefore, slavery. In contrast, we can take into account a different perspective of the ceremonies of the Papals presented by Bishop Vitoriano Portuense. In 1696, a dispute arose in Bissau between two pretenders to the throne following the birth of the first-born Manuel, who was baptized in Lisbon. One of the pretenders was supported by the Bishop Vitoriano Portuense, who in his letters to Portugal talked of the right of succession, of the manner of the funerals, the rites and insignias of the coronation ceremony. The bishop’s argument was connected to the efforts he had made to baptize the prince of Bissau D. Manuel with much pomp in the royal chapel in Lisbon. On the other hand, the captain of Bissau, José Pinheiro, justified his support for Inzinhá, arguing that he was more powerful, and took into account the rights falling to him. Of interest in this episode, which ended in victory for Inzinhá, is the bishop’s argument, which the Overseas Council in Lisbon repeated, regarding the ‘style and laws that those Africans observe among themselves’.159 Here one finds a true identity granted to the Papels – displayed in rites, ceremonies and duties – that is quite different from the insinuations to be found in the discursive strategies that connect the ceremonies to barbarism. In this particular case, Africans are respected and their rights valued. It is a pity that we only find this with Vitoriano Portuense.

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Notes   1. Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco accompanied Paulo Dias de Novais to Angola on his second expedition of 1574–75 and remained there for at least 46 years; the following are attributed to him: ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?] in L. Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 168–78; ‘Projecto de um regime de aforamento e tributação dos sobados’ [1620], in ibid., 178–85; [response to the earlier project or memoir of Garcia Mendes, by an anonymous author, 1621], in ibid., 185–98; ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in ibid., 199–211 [p. 206: ‘Reino de Angola … que há quarenta e seis anos que começámos a conquistar’].   2. Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão was part of the expedition to Angola organized by the governor D. Francisco de Almeida in 1592, and he wrote: ‘Informação do reino de Angola, 1618’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 220–34. On Baltasar Rebelo, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 8–10.   3. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621), 19.   4. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 57.   5. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 268–69; ibid., vol. VI – (1611–1621), 24–26.   6. Report on lack of agricultural work and the effective colonization in the regiment in 1607, Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600– 1610), 273.   7. F. Guerreiro, Relação Anual das Coisas que fizeram os Padres da Companhia de Jesus nas suas Missões, vol. I, 395–98; Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 82. For a general interpretation of this matter, see Heintze, ‘Luso-African Feudalism in Angola? The Vassal Treaties of the 16th to the 18th Century’, 111–31, especially 121 (in which he says 1582 is the date of the first document on the vassalage of sovereigns towards the Portuguese).   8. Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 97.   9. Ravenstein, The Strange Adventures of Andrew Battell of Leigh, in Angola and the Adjoining Regions, Edited with Notes and Concise History of Kongo and Angola. 10. A. de A. de L. Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 438. 11. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 199. In a report on the coast of Guinea in 1607, he suggests that already in the time of the Infante D. Henrique Mina was a city, see Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 287; Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 374. 12. In 1607, there was talk of the existence of 40 men plus 130 Africans capable of taking up arms in Mina, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 249–51. 13. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 199–200; Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 20–25. Information on the aid to Mina in 1606 in ibid., 216–18. Reference to the situation during the siege by the Dutch in 1607, in ibid., 249–51, 331–32, 335–40, 346–49, 353–56. Aid in 1610 in ibid., 593–97.

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14. In 1607, in contrast, the fortress of S. Sebastião was seen as being very small and not strong, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 378. 15. On this, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 9–12, 15–19, 27–28. See vol. III, 594, 598, 603. 16. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 200–2. 17. In 1607, the construction of a fort in stone and whitewash was planned for the defence of the port of Príncipe, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 382. 18. Ibid., vol. VI – (1611–1621), 19–20. 19. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 203–4, 209–11. 20. On the relations of the king of the Congo with Christianity, particularly how he worked with the cathedral and the Portuguese king and the ambassador to Rome Antonio Emanuele Ne Vunda, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 110–18, 121–22, 280–93, 310–15, 367–71, 393–23, 431, 449–50, 455, 467–77, 588–89, 649–51; Cuvelier and Jadin, L’ancien Congo d’après les archives romaines (1518–1640), passim; Filesi, Le Relazioni tra il Regno del Congo e la Sede Apostolica nel XVI secolo; ibid., Roma e Congo all’inizio del 1600. Nuove testimonianze. On the initiatives of the king of the Congo with Catholic missionaries during the occupation of Luanda by the Dutch, see Toso, Il Congo, Cimiterio dei Capuccini nell’inedito di P. Cavazzi (sec. XVII), 51–52. For a full, renewed critical view of the problem, see Thornton, ‘The Development of an African Catholic Church in the Kingdom of Kongo, 1491–1750’, 147–67. 21. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 518–20. 22. Manuel Vogado Sotomaior, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 310–11. 23. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621), 20. 24. Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão, ‘[Informação do reino de Angola, 1618]’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 228–29. 25. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 172–76; ibid., ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 205–6. 26. In 1606, in his report on the offices and buildings of Angola, Manuel Cerveira Pereira refers to the state more than the defence of Luanda, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 224–25. In 1607, it was said that Luanda had no sort of fortification and the factory had mud walls covered with straw that were very weak and lacked artillery, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 389–90. 27. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 61. 28. In 1641, the Dutch found the same number of families on taking Luanda, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 104. 29. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 206–8. 30. These forts are also mentioned in a description of 1607, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 390. In 1606, Manuel

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31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38.

39. 40.


Cerveira Pereira referred to the state of the fortresses, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 224–27. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 227. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 246–47. B.R. de Aragão, ‘[Informação do reino de Angola, 1618]’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 223–24. See A. de O. Cadornega, História geral das guerras angolanas, vol. I, 75–78; vol. II, 588. Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco [Response to the earlier project or memoir by Garcia Mendes, by an anonymous author, 1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 190. Ibid., 193–94. In his report on the situation of São Paulo de Luanda, dated 28 February 1641, Cornelis Hendrickz Ouman also starts by describing the state of the fortresses, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 21–25. However, in 1641 the Dutch refer to the existence of an almost impregnable fortress by the sea (see ibid., 94), but during the conquest there is no mention of an actual wall, see ibid., 127. On the aesthetic evaluation of the houses, convents and definition of the Portuguese fashion, see ibid., 103, 127. On the plans for the new fortresses, see ibid., 111, 134, 351. The weakness of the forts and fortresses in Luanda and also Massangano, Cambambe and Ambaca is noted in 1642, see ibid., 157. Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 418–19. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 208. On the existence of a fortress in Benguela in 1599, see Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 74. Also, the ruling given to the governor of Angola in 1607 refers to the existence of a fort built by Paulo Dias de Novais in Benguela, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 277, which precedes the foundation of a fort in Benguela by Manuel Cerveira Pereira, in 1617, referred to by Cadornega, see Childs, ‘The Peoples of Angola in the Seventeenth Century According to Cadornega’, 271–79, especially 272. J.P.O. Martins, O Brazil e as colonias portuguezas, 23. As said at the end of the ruling given to the governor of Angola in 1607, ‘in the first place is conversion, that must always precede and be above all other things’, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 278. The same was said at the end of the ruling of 1611, see ibid., vol. VI – (1611–1621), 38. On the activities of the Capuchins, who were requested in 1618 by the king of the Congo and supported by the Congregação da Propaganda and the Spanish crown, see Jadin, ‘Le Clergé Séculier et les Capuccins du Congo et d’Angola aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles’, 185–83; ibid., L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, XXVIII–XXXII. For a list of the main works regarding the activities of the Capuchins in the Congo and Angola, see Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 9–10. Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 319.

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42. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 205. 43. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 139–40. The Catholic fear of the spread of protestant doctrines by the Dutch was long-standing, see as a perfect example Toso, Il Congo, Cimiterio dei Capuccini nell’inedito di P. Cavazzi (sec. XVII), 47–48. 44. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 176–78; ibid.,‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 205–6. From the beginning of the seventeenth century, there were alternative missionary projects on the west coast of Africa based on the construction of a seminary in Lisbon for the education of native clergymen, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 149–50, 156, 172–73, 451–52, 557. 45. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Projecto de um regime de aforamento e tributação dos sobados’ [1620], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 181. 46. G.M. Castelo Branco [Response to the earlier project or memoir of Garcia Mendes by an anonymous author, 1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 198. 47. Although Beatrix Heintze believes that baptism was not the necessary condition for vassalage by the rulers, one could say that it was almost always present in an implicit form as an unspoken force, see Heintze, ‘Luso-African Feudalism in Angola? The Vassal Treaties of the 16th to the 18th Century’, 111–31. In 1588, it was explicitly considered that vassalage and baptism were two sides of the same coin, see Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 52. 48. It is still not known what the responsibility of the Jesuits was in establishing the image of Paulo Dias de Novais, protector of the Society and conquistador who saw to the submission to vassalage of the rulers of Angola, see F. Guerreiro, Relação Anual das Coisas que fizeram os Padres da Companhia de Jesus nas suas Missões, vol. I, 395–98. 49. This occurred most clearly in the case of Garcia Mendes Castelo Branco, in his ‘response to the earlier project or memoir of Garcia Mendes by an anonymous author, 1621’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 185–98. 50. Ibid., ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 207. 51. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 51–52. 52. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 171–72; António Diniz [Memorial, 1622,] in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 319–20. Information on these wars can be found in a letter from a Jesuit dated 1563 and published by Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana, vol. II – 1532–1569, 509; see Miller, ‘The Imbangala and the Chronology of Early Central African History’, 549–74, especially 561, 564. On the Jagas and Imbangalas, there is much bibliography, starting with Plancquaert, Les Jaga et les Bayaka du Kwango: Contribution historico-ethnographique; Vansina, ‘The Foundation of the Kingdom of Kasanje’, 355–74; Birmingham, ‘The Date and Significance of the Imbangala Invasion of Angola’, 143–52; Vansina, ‘More on the Invasions of Kongo and Angola by the Jaga and the Lunda’, 421–29; Miller, ‘Nzinga of Matamba in a New Perspective’, 201–16, especially 208–9. The most important work remains

Colonial Projects for West Africa  •  297

53. 54. 55. 56.


58. 59.


61. 62.



that of J.C. Miller, Kings and Kinsmen: The Imbangala Impact on the Mbundu of Angola. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 174. Ibid., 187. Ibid., 189. ‘Relação da conquista de Benguela’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 258– 59. On other references by Manuel Cerveira Pereira on the arrival of the Imbangala in Benguela, see Miller, ‘The Imbangala and the Chronology of Early Central African History’, 564. G.M. Castelo Branco (‘Projecto de um regime de aforamento e tributação dos sobados’ [1620], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I) insisted on the need for this alliance with the Imbangala, see also Miller, ‘The Imbangala and the Chronology of Early Central African History’, 565–67. Miller, ‘The Imbangala and the Chronology of Early Central African History’, 568. In 1641, the Dutch produced this theory of alliance with the local powers with a view to defeating the Portuguese, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 23–24, 35–36, 40, 49. Miller, ‘Nzinga of Matamba in a New Perspective’, 206–8, 211–12. On the treaty of 1656, Cavazzi, Descrição histórica dos tres reinos do Congo, Matamba e Angola, vol. II, 332–33. For a view of forms of internal legitimacy and how external support was used, Thornton, ‘Legitimacy and Political Power: Queen Njinga, 1624–1663’, 25–40. Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 424. ‘Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 336. On the same relationship between war on the local powers and the objective of getting slaves, the Dutch made their feelings clear in 1642, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 157–58. ‘Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 335. On the information that the Jagas had frequently supplied slaves to the Portuguese, see Boxer, Salvador de Sá and the Struggle for Brazil and Angola 1602–1686, 228. For a repeat of the image of the cannibal Jagas, see a Dutch description dated 1642, Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 159; Dr. Francisco Leitão talks likewise in his report of 1643, see F.L. de Faria, ‘A situação de Angola e Congo pareciada em Madrid em 1643’, 235–48. [Descrição do Reino de Angola, 1618], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 226–27. On slave markets and fairs, see Domingos de Abreu e Brito, ‘Sumario e descripção do reino de Angola … anno 1591’, in A. Felner, Um inquérito à vida adminstrativa e económica de Angola em fins do século XVI, 6, 35. The intention of regulating the fairs as a peaceful mechanism of slave traffic forbidding white men from participating in them as able to extort and destroy them can be found in the ruling given to the governor of Angola in 1607, Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 274. In 1641 and 1642, according

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67. 68. 69. 70.


72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78.

to the Dutch, the principal inhabitants of Luanda used black intermediaries called pombeiros for slave trafficking, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 97, 166, 348; ibid., t. II, 1141; ibid., t. III, 1470. For more information on the pombeiros as intermediaries in slave trafficking, see F.L. de Faria, ‘A situação de Angola e Congo pareciada em Madrid em 1643’, 236–39. Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão, ‘[Informação do reino de Angola, 1618]’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 224; G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Projecto de um regime de aforamento e tributação dos sobados’ [1620], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 183–84. ‘Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 335. P. Alonso de Sandoval also mentions that for the traffickers their business was the main cause of inter-tribal wars; see what Boxer says on the editions dated 1627 and 1647 of his work, Salvador de Sá and the Struggle for Brazil and Angola 1602–1686, 239. At the time of the conquest of Luanda in 1641, the Dutch gave the same arguments; the more the sovereigns made war on their neighbours, the more people they could sell as slaves, Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 97. Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 335. Ibid. G.M. Castelo Branco [Response to the earlier project or memoir of Garcia Mendes by an anonymous author, 1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 189. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação da costa de África’ [1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 200, 211. Military measures intended to end infractions of the monopoly of navigation increased from 1605, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 141–45, 305–6. In the second half of the seventeenth century, the realization of the ruptures caused by the Dutch conquests revealed in the writings of P. Cavazzi adopts as a principal the conquest of Olinda in 1632 (when in fact this occurred in 1630) and Luanda in 1641, see Toso, Il Congo, Cimiterio dei Capuccini nell’inedito di P. Cavazzi (sec. XVII), 47. An excellent example of the imperial political order is to be found in the reports on the offices and buildings of Angola sent by Manuel Cerveira Pereira in 1606, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 223–29. ‘Relação da conquista de Benguela’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 259. ‘Tratando do que sei de Angola …’ [1622], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 322. Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 424–25. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 48, 50–51. Ibid., 61, 64. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621), 22, 24. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 197–98. In 1588, it was believed that it was

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79. 80. 81.


possible to recruit for the conquest of Angola soldiers and knights from the Congo (as well as São Tomé and Brazil) and that without these ‘white men’ the king of the Congo would lose a main source of support, see Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 48, 52. The flight of the captains and soldiers to the Congo is also referred to in the trial of the governor Manuel Cerveira Pereira, due to his tyranny in 1606, see Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 424. In the ruling given to the governor of Angola in 1607, every Portuguese man remaining in the Congo without justification would have his belongings confiscated and would be declared a traitor, Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 276. Equally, in 1607, there is the nomination of the captain of the Portuguese in the Congo succeeding António Gonçalves Pita to Bento Banha Cardoso, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 357–58, 364, 444–45, 490–91, 533–34, 544–45, 548–51, 219. Also in 1607 in a description of the Congo there is reference to the many Portuguese who live in the Congo, of the aid given and the profits obtained and that they fled from Angola, Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 386. Reference dated 1610 to debtors to the Fazenda Real who escaped to the Congo following the arrest of André Velho published in Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de doc umentos históricos, 429; and in Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 641–42. Statement that the garrison of Luanda was weak as it comprised mulattos and bandits (i.e. deportees) is found in 1641 in the report by Cornelis Hendrickz Ouman, see Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 23. ‘Relação da conquista de Benguela’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 263. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 47–54. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Projecto de um regime de aforamento e tributação dos sobados’ [1620], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 178–85; ‘Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 334. In 1588, there is a reference to the model of repartimiento practised in Peru and that it would be necessary to put into practice in Angola, see Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 48–49. Francisco Correia da Silva, named governor of Angola, a post he did not take up, said in 1611 that the crown would suffer much loss if slaves, who lacked the respective taxes, did not leave Guinea for Peru and New Spain, ‘if they lose the conquests, which will only be supported by this trade, they will also be easily understood and so more than has been lost in India for lack of slaves who work the gold mines and cultivate the land and work on all works that there are those who if they do not go there would not be necessary and can be excused, for one must believe that they will not buy them at such prices; and since each day the need for them and their value increases because they buy them; but I shall not interfere in this except on Angola’, Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621), 39–40.

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83. Paulo Dias de Novais only called the king of the Congo ‘Senhoria’ and criticized those who called him ‘Alteza’, see G.M. Castelo Branco,’Relação … do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 171–72. However, in 1607, the king of the Congo is described with ‘his house and court looking as much as possible like that of Portugal’, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 386. The report by Francesco Contarini on the ambassador of the king of the Congo to Rome in 1607 poses the question of his wanting to obey the pope as opposed to the ambassador of Spain, who saw him as dependent on the crown of Portugal, see Filesi, Roma e Congo all’inizio del 1600: Nuove testimonianze, 35–45. On the embassies of the kings of the Congo and Angola, see G.M. Castelo Branco [Response to the earlier project or memoir by Garcia Mendes, by an anonymous author, 1621], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 188, 197–98; Gray, ‘The Papacy and the Atlantic Slave Trade: Lourenço da Silva, the Capuchins and the Decisions of the Holy Office’, 115. On the specifics of the Ambundo political system and its role at court, see Miller, ‘Nzinga of Matamba in a New Perspective’, 201–16, especially 204–5. As sustained by F. Fanon, ‘Le colonialisme ne se contente pas de constater l’existence des trubus, il les renforce, les différencie. Le système colonial alimente chefferies et réactive les vieilles confréries maraboutiques’, 127. 84. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World 1780–1914, 43. For examples of this perception of alliances and attempts at control from Temate to Monomotapa, see Lobato, Política e comércio dos portugueses na Insulíndia: Malaca e as Molucas de 1575 a 1605, 108–9. 85. G.M. Castelo Branco, ‘Relação… do reino do Congo’ [1603?], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 170. 86. Appropriation by the governors and other officials of what belonged to the king, see Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 226, 228. Conflict in jurisdiction, particularly inter-regional rivalry: the case of Luanda against Benguela (where Manuel Cerveira Pereira is shown as personally benefiting from the salt trade, ibid., p. 322). 87. Regarding residency, there is a discrepancy between the theory that the viceroy produced and its practice, see Boxer, Portuguese India in Mid-Seventeenth Century, 10. On the conflict of jurisdiction on overseas matters between the Counsel of India and the Fazenda, see ibid., 8; between the Conselho da Índia and the Mesa da Consciência e Ordens, see Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600–1610), 163–65. 88. ‘Lembrança das coisas que se há de declarar a Sua Magestade, tocantes ao reino de Angola’ [1629], in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 336–37. 89. ‘Relação da conquista de Benguela’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, 262. In fact, Cerveira Pereira had sought from at least 1606 to work on the services of residencies, see Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela extraídos de documentos históricos, 421–26; Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. V – (1600– 1610), 213–15, 219–22. 90. Baltasar Rebelo de Aragão, ‘[Informação do reino de Angola, 1618]’, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 228. 91. Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 232. 92. Manuel Vogado Sotomaior, in Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 311– 12. 93. Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 104.

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94. Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 179–78, 229, 302. 95. The most important group was also the subject of the careful edition by Fernão de Sousa, see Heintze, Fontes para a História de Angola no século XVII. 96. Hair, To Defend Your Empire and the Faith. Advice offered to Philip, King of Spain and Portugal c. 1590; A.A. de Almada, Tratado Breve dos Rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde. 97. ANTT, Manuscritos da Livraria, cod. 805 – P. Francisco Rodrigues, Tratado breve (c. 1600), quoted and analysed by Lobato, Política e comércio dos portugueses na Insulíndia: Malaca e as Molucas de 1575 a 1605, 228 and passim; F.R. Silveira, Reformação da milícia e governo do Estado da Índia oriental; [António Freire, S.J.] Primor e honra da vida soldadesca no Estado da Índia (Ericeira: Mar de Letras, 2000); ‘Copia da carta que de Bengala escreveo hum Thome Vaz Garrido’ [1637], in Blanco, O Estado Português da Índia. Da rendição de Ormuz à perda de Cochim (1622–1663), vol. II, 351–56 [document summary in Flores, ‘Entre Bandel e Colónia: o regresso dos portugueses a Hugli, ca. 1632–1820’, 337–38]; ‘Relação que dá o Pe Fr. Niculao da Conceição a El-Rei Nosso Senhor que Deos Guarde, das couzas de Bengala’ [1644], in M.AM. Guedes, A História Birmano-Portuguesa para além das relações oficiais. Assimilação e aculturação nos séculos XVII e XVIII, 463–79; A.T. de Matos, ‘“Advertências” and “Queixumes” by Jorge Pinto de Azevedo on the decadence of the Estado da Índia and “Proveito” de Macau na sua “Restauração”, 431–545; on Constantino de Sá de Miranda, see Flores, Os olhos do Rei: Desenhos e descrições portuguesas da Ilha de Ceilão; on D. Luís Francisco Coutinho, see J.M. dos S. Alves, ‘Dois sonhos portugueses de negócio e evangelização na Insulíndia’, 235–54, especially 249–52. In spite of its importance, the territorial conquest was not the only reformist dimension in all these discourses and colonial projects, contrary to what Sanjay Subrahmanyam suggests, see The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700, 125, based on the work of Boxer, ‘Portuguese and Spanish Projects for the Conquest of Southeast Asia, 1580–1600’, 118–36. For the plans for conquest in Southeast Asia by the bishops D. Jorge de Temudo (1569) and D. João Ribeiro Gaio (1588), see Boxer, Alves and Manguin, O Roteiro das Cousas do Achem de D. João Ribeiro Gaio: Um Olhar português sobre o Norte de Samatra em finais do século XVI and Lobato, Política e comércio dos portugueses na Insulíndia: Malaca e as Molucas de 1575 a 1605, 74–77. 98. The best introduction to this type of discourse is still the pioneering work by Vilar, Literatura y economia: la figura satírica del arbitrista en el Siglo de Oro. 99. Spence, To Change China: Western Advisers in China, 1620–1960. 100. Imperial y Gomez, Angola en tiempos de Felipe II e de Felipe III: Los memoriales de Diego de Herrera y de Jerónimo Castaño, 69–74 (where on several occasions we come across the word ‘negócio’). 101. Ibid., 71. 102. Ibid., 72–74. 103. Hobson, Imperialism: A Study; Lénine, Imperialism: The State and Revolution; Louis, Imperialism: The Robinson and Gallagher Controversy. 104. Schumpeter, Imperialism and Social Classes. 105. Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621), 17. 106. Jadin, L’Ancien Congo et l’Angola 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles, t. I, 350–60. 107. Jones, ‘Decompiling Dapper: A Preliminary Search for Evidence’, 171–209.

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108. See Guattini and Piacenza, Viaggio nel Regno del Congo, 72–73 for a list of written and published works mostly by Italian Capuchins on the west coast of Africa. Added to this list is the point of view of the Spanish Capuchins, see Anguiano, Misiones capuchinas en Africa vol. I – La Mision del Congo; vol. II – Misiones al Reino de la Zinga, Benín, Arda, Guinea, y Sierra Leona. The report of the voyage by Guattini and Carli was translated into English as: ‘A Curious and Exact Account of a Voyage to Congo in the Years 1666 and 1667’, in Churchill and Churchill, A Collection of Voyages and Travels, 611–756. 109. BNP, Res. 3933P; Livraria Duarte de Sousa, XVII–93. There remain in manuscript linguistic works on the Congo by the Spaniard P. Antonio de Teruel, see P. Buenaventura de Carrocera, ‘Introducción’, in Anguiano, Misiones capuchinas en Africa, vol. I, XVI–XVII. 110. Copies and originals of História Geral das Guerras Angolanas are known to be in the Biblioteca da Academia das Ciências in Lisbon, in the Biblioteca Pública in Évora, in the British Library and in the National Library in Paris. See A.C. Martins, ‘A História de Cadornega na Biblioteca Nacional de Paris’, 207–13. A printed edition by Cónego José Matias Delgado and P. José Alves da Cunha was produced between 1940 and 1942 and reprinted in 1972. Charles Boxer noted the need to compare the printed version with the copies to be found in Évora. On analysing the London manuscript, which is a partial copy made in Luanda between 1720 and 1745, he compares it with the published version and noted the fact that it was probably produced by a Jesuit. This explains both the introduction of references to and praise of the Jesuits that were not in the Cadornega original as a collection of texts taken from the work of S. de Vasconcelos, S.J., Vida do Padre Joam d’Almeida. See Boxer, ‘A História de Cadornega no Museu Britânico’, 291–98. According to Boxer, the História Geral das Guerras Angolanas was written between 1680 and 1684 after its author had lived forty years in Angola. In the third volume, the people of the Congo and Angola are described. Boxer considers this an authentic ‘geography and ethnography’ although he has pointed out that, ‘like many Europeans of the time’, Cadornega was often ingenuous in his descriptions of Africa as well as being a believer in magic. See Boxer, ‘Background to Angola: Cadornega’s Chronicle’, 665–72. Included in a political context signalled by the beginning of the colonial war in Angola in March 1961, this article reveals how far the Portuguese presence increased internal wars – without doubt following internal conflicts but that became greater in number due to the growing search for slaves for the plantations and mines in Brazil and the Spanish Indies. Cadornega also reveals his interests when arguing for the use of force and retention with regard to the Africans. As for the mulatto population, he praises their military valour, which according to Boxer is a biased view, for he was contracted a marriage with a mulatto woman. It is interesting to note that in the context in which Boxer’s article was published there was clear wordplay between the full name of António de Oliveira Cadornega and the then prime minister of Portugal – a fact that would have annoyed Salazar, connecting him to the debate surrounding race relations in the Portuguese Empire. Biographical notes on Cadornega were collated by Heitor Gomes Teixeira in his introduction to the work of the author of Descrição de Vila Viçosa, I–XII. There are references to a Cristóvão Peres de Cadornega, the executor of the District of Estremoz, in Mercês de D. Teodósio II Duque de Bragança (Lisbon: Fundação da Casa de Bragança, 1967), 53. His daughter Violante de Azevedo, a new Christian, was condemned to three years deporation to Brazil in the auto-da-fé of 1666, in

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Lisbon: Rau and Silva, Os Manuscritos do Arquivo da Casa de Cadaval respeitantes ao Brasil, vol. I, 193 (biographical notes by Luís Filipe Farinha Franco). 111. Cordeiro, Questões Histórico-Coloniais, vol. I, 163–380: documents of the codex, BA, 51-IX-25, probably collated by Francisco de Vasconcelos da Cunha, according to Avelino Teixeira da Mota, intr. to A. Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde (1625), 26; Felner, Angola: Apontamentos sôbre a ocupação e início do estabelecimento dos portugueses no Congo, Angola e Benguela; Arquivos de Angola, vol. III, 19–21 (April to June 1937); Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana: África Ocidental, vol. VI – (1611–1621); Heintze, Fontes para a História de Angola do século XVII, vol. I – Memórias, Relações e outros manuscritos da Colectânea documental de Fernão de Sousa (1622–1635). 112. ANTT, Desembargo do Paço, correspondência, book 5, fl. 124. 113. Parreira, Documento n.º 105 da caixa n.º 1, Angola, manuscrito avulso depositado no Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino. On Manuel Cerveira Pereira, see the sentence printed 1609, probably in Madrid, to be found in the BNP, Pombalina, 526, fls. 294–99v. 114. Arquivos de Angola, vol. III – 34–36 (December 1937): Catálogo dos governadores de Angola (1825). 115. Marees, Description and Historical Account of the Gold Kingdom of Guinea. 116. Fleur, Pieter van den Broecke’s Journal of Voyages to Cape Verde, Guinea, and Angola (1605–1612). 117. Gamble and Hair, The Discovery of River Gambra (1623) by Richard Jobson. 118. Duarte, ‘Os Rios da Guiné no livro do geógrafo flamengo D. O’Dapper: Descrição da África, século XVII’, 711–43. 119. Villault, Relation des costes d’Afrique, appellées Guinée … dans le voyage qu’il a fait en 1666 & 1667; ibid., A Relation of the Coasts of Africk Called Guinee; Cultru, Premier voyage du Sieur de La Courbe fait à la Coste de l’Afrique en 1685; Hair, Jones and Law, Barbot on Guinea: The Writings of Jean Barbot on West Africa 1678–1712; Barbot, ‘A Description of the Coasts of North and South-Guinea and of Ethiopia Inferior, Vulgarly Angola’; Froger, Relation d’un voyage fait en 1695, 1696 & 1697 aux côtes d’afrique, détroit de Magellan, Brezil, Cayenne & isles Antilles, par un escadre des vaisseaux du roy, commandée par M. de Gennes; ibid., Relation of a Voyage Made in the Year 1695, 1696, 1697, on the Coast of Africa, streights of Magellan, Brasil, Cayenna, and the Antilles, by a Squadron of French Men of War, Under the Command of M. de Gennes. This French interest in West Africa, particularly the coast of Guinea, spreads to Labat, Nouvelle relation de l’Afrique Occidentale. See Roussier, L’établissement d’Issiny, 1687–1702 : Voyages de Ducasse, Tibierge et d’Amon à la côte de Guinée, publiés pour la première fois et suivis de la Relation du voyage du royaume d’Issiny du P. Godefroy Loyer. 120. Hair, To Defend Your Empire and the Faith: Advice Offered to Philip, King of Spain and Portugal c. 1590. 121. A.F. da Costa, Roteiros portugueses inéditos da Carreira da Índia do século XVI; Reimão, Roteiro da Navegação e Carreira da Índia. 122. M.S. de Faria, Discursos varios politicos; ibid., Noticias de Portugal, disc. VI: ‘Sobre a Propagação do Evangelho nas Provincias de Guiné’. 123. M. de F. e Sousa, África portuguesa. 124. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné e a cristianização dos reis de Bissau, 81–94.

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125. Cosme, ‘O Arquipélago de Cabo Verde em 1582’, 82–91; F.L. de Faria, ‘Relação do porto do rio Senegal feita por João Baptista Lavanha’, 359–71; F.P. de Carvalho in Documentação Ultramarina Portuguesa, vol. II, 195–97. 126. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve dos rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde. 127. Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios de Guiné do Cabo Verde. 128. B. Barreira, in Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana, 2nd edn, vol. 4, 159–73; M. Álvares, Etiópia Menor, part I, cap XI, eds L. de Matos and A.T. da Mota (manuscript dated 1616), in A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné e a cristianização dos reis de Bissau, 59–63. 129. L. Silveira, Peregrinação de André de Faro à Terra dos Gentios. 130. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné, 121–33. 131. Peres, Duas descrições seiscentistas da Guiné. 132. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné, 10; Anguiano, Misiones capuchinas en Africa, vol. II – Misiones al Reino de la Zinga, Benín, Arda, Guinea, y Sierra Leona, especially 199–206. 133. F.L. de Faria, ‘Relação do Porto do rio Senegal feita por João Baptista Lavanha’, 366. 134. Esteves, Gonçalo de Gamboa de Aiala, capitão-mor de Cacheu, e o comércio negreiro espanhol (1640–1650), 93–94. 135. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve, 1; on ‘livros encadernados’, 47. 136. Ibid., 74–75. 137. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense, 77. 138. Ibid., 171–72, 175–76. 139. Ibid., 169–70. 140. P.E.H. Hair, note to André Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios da Guiné e Cabo Verde, 290, note 228; A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense, 70. 141. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense, 69–70. 142. Ibid., 169. 143. Ibid.,121. 144. ‘Relação da gente que vive desde o cabo dos Mastos té Magrabomba na Costa da Guiné’ (1574), in Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios da Guiné e Cabo Verde, 354; Anguiano, Misiones capuchinas en Africa, vol. I – La Mision del Congo; vol. II – Misiones al Reino de la Zinga, Benín, Arda, Guinea, y Sierra Leona (included numerous references to interpreters and suspicions against them, learning of local languages by the Capuchins and the constant obsession regarding the destruction of idols and talismans). 145. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve, 149. 146. Ibid., 103. 147. Ibid., 101, 147. 148. Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa e dos Rios de Guiné e Cabo Verde, 80. 149. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve, 102–3. 150. Ibid., 48; Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa, 126. 151. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense, 121. 152. Ibid., 171. 153. Ibid., 175. 154. Ibid., 166. 155. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve, 37–38, 120–24, 139; Donelha, Descrição da Serra Leoa, 16; L. Silveira, Peregrinação de André de Faro à Terra dos Gentios, 39; Peres, Duas Descrições seiscentistas da Guiné, ‘Descrição de 1669’, chap. III.

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156. M. Alvares, Etiópia Menor in A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné e a cristianização dos reis de Bissau, 59–63. 157. Ibid., 63. 158. A.A. de Almada, Tratado breve, 135, 139, 145. 159. A.T. da Mota, As viagens do Bispo D. Frei Vitoriano Portuense à Guiné e a cristianização dos reis de Bissau, 165.

Part III

Enlightenment and the Written Word, 1697–1808 In 1702, Brother António do Rosário wrote, ‘East India has for a long time not been India because of sins and injustices; Brazil, because of the sugar cane, the quantity of diamonds that are shipped in thousands of cases every year is the true India and Mine of the Portuguese’. With these words, the Franciscan, who lived in Bahia, put in words the process that was occurring in the Portuguese overseas territories of the time: the centrality of India had given way to Brazil. However, the metaphoric meaning of his work, Frutas do Brasil numa nova, ascetica Monarchia, in which he describes Brazilian society at the beginning of the eighteenth century as a Pineapple Monarchy, reveals that the written word is a more complex practice than a translation of the realities being discussed. In his book, the written word acts to create a new identity – that of a Brazilian, independent monarchy. For the moment, this is not about attributing to this published discourse anything regarding Brazil’s independence. All the more so since this part intends to discuss this final perspective, particularly regarding the culture of colonial Brazil when it is reduced to a type of longstanding precedent of a result (i.e. Brazil’s independence) that is only recognized by the new arrivals. The quote from António do Rosário acts merely to explain, from the start, the spatial meanings of this third part of this book – the State of India, particularly Goa, being in the first part, followed by Brazil. In 1769, José Basílio da Gama returned to the same spatial meanings at the beginning of his epic poem O Uraguay, when he evokes the deeds of the Portuguese in India as an example of the celebration of making heroes of Brazil. A clarification of these limits implies a record of a group of authors and works not included in this third part but which meanwhile are of great importance. Above all, one must consider the two large volumes

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of Historia das Plantas da Europa, e das mais uzadas que vem de Asia, de Affrica, & da America (1718) by Jean Vigier, a French doctor living in Portugal; Crónica da Província de São João Evangelista das Ilhas dos Açores by Brother Agostinho de Monte Alverne (1629–1726), which remained in manuscript form; and Fenix Angrence by Father Luís Maldonado (16424–1711), which was also left in manuscript form. In this last book, genealogy lives alongside history. Meanwhile the Jesuit António Cordeiro made his mark in Lisbon in 1716 with his Historia Insulana. In 1782, Elias Alexandre da Silva Correia, a sergeant in the infantry in Rio de Janeiro, dedicated a manuscript entitled Historia de Angola to the prince regent. The author, who was born in Brazil, states that following four years at court he went to Africa and conceived the project of analysing unknown peoples, ‘excited by patriotic zeal’. Bernardino António Álvares de Andrade’s manuscript entitled Planta da Praça de Bissau e suas adjacentes is dated 1796. Throughout the eighteenth century, several manuscript records describing the Portuguese presence in Mozambique appeared.1 Ásia Sínica e Japónica, the work of the friar José de Jesus Maria, from Arrábida, is an example of a chronicle on Macau, written there from 1744–45. To this short inventory of works – some published, others in manuscript form – should be added the many cartographical works as well as more rare iconographic writings on the Portuguese territories and people across the world. Also, in watercolours dating from the last quarter of the eighteenth century there are to be found panoramic views of Goa, Diu, Rio de Janeiro and Mozambique, and there are images of the customs of the Portuguese in the cities, including the ‘Clothes of the Chinese of Macau’.2

Notes 1. Dias, ‘Fontes para a História, Geografia e Comércio de Moçambique (séc. XVIII)’; A.A.B. de Andrade, Relações de Moçambique Setecentista; Liesegang, ‘Resposta das Questoens sobre os Cafres’ ou Notícias Etnográficas Sobre Sofala do Fim do Século XVIII. 2. A Engenharia Militar no Brasil e no Ultramar Português Antigo e Moderno – Exposição, 221, no. 697 (a watercolour reproduced from the Gabinete de Estudos Históricos de Fortificação e Obras Militares).

Chapter 15

Reports of Voyages, Histories and Translations of Enlightened Europe


In the first half of the eighteenth century, some publishing initiatives revealed an interest shown by the educated European public in history and reports of voyages presented in large format. They included books that continued the practices of use and reading from the sixteenth century, such as the four volumes of the vast Collection of Voyages and Travels (1704), collated by Awnsham and John Churchill.1 In France, Antoine Augustin Bruzen de La Martinière, who states he is geographer to Philip V, organized a Grand Dictionnaire Géographique et Critique (1726–1739) in ten large-format volumes but without engravings. On the Iberian Peninsula, the bibliography by António de León Pinelo, now entitled Epitome de la Bibliotheca Oriental, y Occidental, Nautica e Geografica (1737–38), was produced as a revised version in quarto format and comprised three volumes. An initiative to systematize works relating to the European expansion, more specifically Peninsular expansion, was developed by academies and reflected in the establishment of libraries and in the production of dictionaries and encyclopaedias. An example, perhaps the most meaningful in terms of size and display, is to be found in the highly illustrated Cérémonies et coutumes religieuses de tous les peoples du monde (11 vols., 1723–43), also known as Histoire générale des ceremonies religieuses de tous les peoples du Monde (1741).2 This is a collection of descriptions of the religions of the world in which the engravings of Bernard Picart (1673–1733) deserve greater attention than the historical explanations by the abbots Banier and Le Mascrier. The universal coverage of this work can be seen as a step in the direction of cultural

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relativism or a tolerance of all religions; at least this is the sense of the initial engraving.3 This interpretation corresponds to a broader interest of the period in defining the study of religion, as can be documented in David Hume’s dissertation The Natural History of Religion (1757) or in the work of Charles de Brosses, Du Culte des dieux fetiches (1760).4 Meanwhile, an analysis of Picart’s themes and images reveals the recurrence of some stereotypes and representations of ceremonies considered to be exotic. Some examples are present in the representation of the sati, the ritual sacrifice of widows practised in India, and the funerals of the ‘brasileiros’, the people of Guinea and the ‘kaffirs’ of South Africa. Perhaps more important than a definition of religion as a European means of perception of peoples on a global scale was the use of a language that one could consider simply to be commercial. For instance, in 1756, Charles de Brosses, on publishing his vast Histoire des Navigations aux Terres Australes in two volumes (1756) considered that the greatest glory of modern times, the discovery of the so-called Australians, could only be achieved by a great sovereign, such as the king of France or, alternatively, by the entire body of a commercial republic. Isolated individuals motivated by a simple business spirit did not have the ability to take on such a task. However, the principal justification for such a project, which, according to the author, would logically fall to the French and their sovereign, would consist in ‘enrichir l’ancien monde de toutes les productions naturelles, de tous les usages utiles du nouveau’5 (enriching the ancient world with all natural products for all uses in the new). The discourse on the glory of the French monarchy thus ended by being articulated as the political language of the defence of trade. By this, the author intended to upset worldwide the British maritime hegemony, ‘dans un tems où une puissance voisine affecte visiblement la monarchie universelle de la mer, sans égard ni management pour aucune autre nation’6 (in a time when a neighbouring power visibly affects the universal monarchy of the sea, with no regard or thought for any other nation). This was therefore far from being one of the idealized projects of conquest. Honour in acquiring territory had nothing to do with arms and military conquests but rather peaceful trade and geographical knowledge.7 As Charles Brosses asked rhetorically: What comparison could be made between the execution of such a project and the, at times unjust, conquest of a small, ravaged country; of the two or three fortresses demolished by canon, obtained by the slaughter, the ruin, the desolation and the regrets of the conquering peoples as well as of those who were conquered; everything bought at a price one hundred

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times greater than that which should have been necessary for the entire desired discovery?8

The works of Awnsham and John Churchill, La Martinière, Picart and Charles de Brosses – as well as the imposing further edition of Léon Pinelo’s bibliography – represent a change in terms of cultural geography. The previous centres of production of works in large format on the literature of voyages – Italy, Holland, Germany and, in part, England, give way to a different configuration in which one can detect a type of transference in the domination of the culture of political and economic rivalry between England and France, which were the main protagonists in a European balance in which Spain was still seeking to demonstrate its imperial acts. This generalization, from a restricted number of works, is arguable and would be incomplete without a reference to the publishing initiatives of greater continuity regarding the spread, within a European language, of information on other civilizations. A work by the Jesuits, Lettres édifiantes et curieuses, des missions étrangères, was translated and published in French, with several editions; the first comprised thirty-four volumes and was published from 1702–3 to 1776, followed by several editions the most preferred being that of 1780–83, in twenty-six volumes (other collections date 1787, 1789, 1797).9 Assuming the same character of compilation, one should consider the Histoire Générale des Voyages by Abbot of Prévost (16 vols, Paris, 1741–61, with a supplement in 3 vols, Amsterdam, 1761–79) in quarto format.10 It should be noted that with the publication of the Lettres édifiantes, a specifically editorial aspect cannot be overlooked. This is the question of format, since the Jesuits, who were prominent in the use of quarto format, then turned to smaller sized books, in octavo and duodecimo. Lowering the price of books directly related to a change in patterns of consumption and the broadening of a public interested in reports of voyages directly. One could say that following the analysis suggested by Roger Chartier, the second half of the eighteenth century would give preference to the use of small formats in circulating this type of literature.11 One of the examples of adapting the production to new reading habits can be found in the works of Abbot Joseph de la Porte, Le voyageur français, in forty-two volumes in duodecimo (1764–95), published in Portuguese between 1798 and 1815 (51 vols.), from the Castilian version. It should be noted that La Porte claimed as his own the intention of correcting the confused, long and boring spirit of the collections of earlier voyages. Also translated from French are Descripção da terra, ou methodo breve de geographia (1757) by Abbot Nicolas Lenglet Du Fresnoy, translated by João Batista Bonavie,

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and the Atlas moderno para uso da mocidade (2nd ed., 1791), translated from French by Rollin, both of which were in a small format.12 It should also be noted that in Portugal there was an interest in conforming to the patterns of consumption of a Europe largely influenced by French culture. From an historiographic point of view, the great change that occurred during the Age of Enlightenment had enormous implications for the method of identifying Portugal and its empire. The Essai sur les mœurs et l’esprit des nations (1756) by Voltaire was one of the most significant works in opening up the world to an historiographic discourse that was traditionally directed at the description of dynastic events and those concerning the activities of the elite classes – essentially political, diplomatic or military. Any type of generalization regarding this historiographic discourse brought up by Voltaire would need to consider the fact that its thematic limits were equally established by centring either on court or war settings, including those that occurred in the supposed frontiers of Christianity or imperial demarcation. It was in fact within a global historiographic orientation that strong criticism of the atrocities committed by the Portuguese expansion and other types of European colonialism are included. This was the case with the work of the Abbot of Raynal. Meanwhile, in more generic terms, criticisms of Eurocentrism were not merely the result of an historiographic mutation, for one could say that above all at their base were inventive literary constructions developed through imaginary reports of voyages. This was the case with the works of Daniel Defoe and Jonathan Swift, through references to the experiences of the Portuguese overseas and, later, with the Supplément au Voyage de M. Bougainville by Diderot. Alongside these works through which Europeans (some of whom knew the Portuguese Empire) came into contact with good natives, it is possible to detect other attempts at criticism of Eurocentrism. This was the case with Lettres Persanes (1721) by Montesquieu and the praise of a wise Chinaman in The Citizen of the World (1762) by Oliver Goldsmith. Besides this, China, as the model of civilization, particularly in administration, was much in vogue throughout the eighteenth century.13 However, one should not exaggerate this admiration for China, for authors such as Montesquieu, Defoe, Winckelmann and Hume remained opposed to this fascination.14 The publication of national histories strongly based on colonization cannot be isolated from this context in which there was strong historiographic consciousness throughout Europe on a world scale. But one must consider that this context of cosmopolitan and universal knowledge so well presented by Voltaire and Raynal gave way at the end of the eighteenth century to tendencies that were far more oriented towards a celebration of the progress of European civilization. It is within this tendency, from Condorcet

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to Hegel, that more teleological concepts of human progress and great narratives of European development were aligned. This led to the attribution of maximum supremacy in the organization of national states. In an analysis of the various tendencies of historiographic production, the contextual framework to be considered therefore implies different and dynamic tendencies regarding national states from those of Europe and the world. While national histories reveal a consistent continuation in the models of writing adopted throughout the century, one should note that it is the most general framework – European and global, particularly the triumphalism of European hegemony that was to be felt at the end of the eighteenth century, specifically at the moment of the Napoleonic campaigns – that profoundly altered the meaning to be attributed to the histories of Portugal. In general terms, one might think that the process of creation of hierarchies of development, which throughout the nineteenth century is translated into criteria of racial division capable of granting hegemony to Europe or the East, was preceded by a series of operations of hierarchical organization of the national states. It is within this more precise framework that the successive histories of Portugal published both in France and England are included. French publications regarding Portugal entered a new phase with the work of the Abbot of Vertot, in which the national history and that of overseas expansion occupy an important place. His Histoire de la conjuration de Portugal was first published in 1689, within a set of the author’s works on the revolutions in Sweden and Rome. The work was widely circulated in an enlarged version of 1711 entitled Histoire des Révolutions de Portugal. Nineteen editions were published between 1712 and 1796 besides five translations into English by 1758 and one in Spanish in 1745.15 Another author to be considered in this sequence is Jacques Le Quien de la Neufville with his Histoire générale du Portugal, in two volumes (1700), which covers the period from the foundation of nationality to the end of the reign of Manuel, so covering that which is seen as the golden era of the Portuguese presence in the East.16 In 1701, the Mémoires de Monsieur d’Ablancourt … contenant l’Histoire de Portugal appeared. In the following year, a French translation of John Colbatch’s description, Relation de la cour de Portugal, was published in Amsterdam. Following the vogue for editions in large format of the first half of the sixteenth century, the Histoire des découvertes et conquests des portugais dans le Nouveau Monde (1st ed., 1733)17 by the French Jesuit François Lafitau responded to two main points: first, the important position given to heroic acts by the Portuguese and the value of their meetings with the civilized peoples of Asia, who were so distinctive from the barbarians conquered by the Spanish in America and to which was added the fact

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that missionary work was therefore possible. Second, Lafitau appears interested in a new appropriation of Portuguese actions in the east, stating that the last published work on this dated from the end of the sixteenth century, with a significant number of works in English. This work, which is limited to narrating the deeds of the Portuguese in the State of India in the sixteenth century, was popular and was republished in a more reduced format in 1734 and 1736. There is also evidence that the Marchioness of Távora, who in 1750 accompanied her husband, the viceroy, to India, read Father Lafitau during the journey.18 The author had promised to cover religious aspects and the activities of the missionaries in another work, but he did not forget to praise the activities of the Society, particularly St Francis Xavier, its founder in the east. This praise remained in the faithful translation in Portuguese that was attributed to the Captain, Manuel de Sousa, and published in Lisbon in 1786 but which had no author’s or translator’s name attributed to it.19 Between 1734 and 1749, the Elementos da Historia by the Abbot of Vallemont was published in translation by Pedro de Sousa de Castelo Branco. It was then republished in five volumes in Lisbon between 1766 and 1767. In the French translation, some facts regarding Portugal and its overseas territories are added, and a criticism of the work by the members of the Academia Real de História is also included. In 1735, another Histoire Générale du Portugal, by La Clède, was published and appeared in Portuguese during the reign of Maria I, between 1781 and 1797. While the engravings in Lafitau’s work are intended to give value to the deeds of the Portuguese in the east, La Clède’s work is distinguished by the inclusion of a map of Brazil as well as maps of Lusitania and Portugal.20 One should also note that the translation into Portuguese of La Clède’s work contains praise of Jesuit missions in the east that were recorded in the original French text prior to the expulsion of the Society.21 In this context of translations into Portuguese and publications in small format of the reports of voyages by La Porte and the histories of Portugal by Lafitau (1786) and La Clède (1781–1797), Damião António Lemos de Faria e Castro published his História Geral de Portugal in twenty volumes (1786–1804), which included information on Francis Xavier and the work of the Jesuit missionaries in words analogous to those of La Clède’s Histoire.22 A final example of this French influence is the publication of the História de Portugal composta em inglez por uma sociedade de literatos trasladada em vulgar com as addições da versão francesa (1802), by António de Morais e Silva, which appeared in several editions up to 1828. In contrast with the French instance, English works relating to Portugal do not appear to have the same influence there. John Colbatch and John Stevens published in 1700 and 1701 respectively descriptions of

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Portugal with historical notes. The latter translated two works by Manuel de Faria e Sousa into English. In 1726, Charles Brokwell published his Natural and Political History of Portugal, which for Jorge Borges de Macedo resulted from a collection of extracts from Colbatch, Stevens, Verto and other authors, including a second part relating to the history of Brazil and the other Portuguese territories in Asia, Africa and America.23 More important than these works is the impact that the Portuguese experiences had in England during the second half of the eighteenth century regarding other civilizations. One can trace this influence in the work of Daniel Defoe, Jonathan Swift and Samuel Johnson. The last of these translated A Voyage to Abyssinia, by Father Jerónimo Lobo, into English in 1735 and was inspired by the same subject in The History of Rassegnas, Prince of Abissinia (1759). If we follow the short inventory of published books suggested by Borges de Macedo regarding the second half of the eighteenth century, besides a small set of histories, guides and reports of voyages and specific works relating to the events during Pombal’s time, one should record the second translation of The Lusiads into English by William Julius Mickle (Oxford, 1776; the first translation into English by Richard Fanshaw was published in 1655). Camões’s epic is at the time presented as ‘the epic poem of commerce’. At the end of the sixteenth century, this was followed by William Beawes in A Civil, Commercial, Political and Literary History of Spain and Portugal (1793), which was translated into Portuguese by Morais e Silva, besides the French version already referred to.24 The reports of voyages to the east published in several European languages during the final decades of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth are included in what Paul Hazard called ‘the European crisis of conscious’. This is because the reports of voyages, in which multiple models of social organization and a variety of experiences and individual points of view are included, assumed an ever-increasing importance regarding the circulation of views of the State of India and the Portuguese in the east.25 This period also witnessed a series of appropriations of Christianity by the agents of a local culture as well as an interest in describing other religions. Throughout the eighteenth century these two aspects would continue to be felt, with several examples such as reports of voyages and the ‘oriental’ appropriation of a ‘western’ discourse. The reports of voyages denote, however, a loss of dynamism in the creation of images relating to the State of India, particularly Goa, and stereotypes of its decadence. In 1808, for example, G. Boucher de la Richarderie transcribed the report of a voyage by William Franklin (1787–1788) in which the descriptions of intolerance and decadence symbolized by the Inquisition in Goa are repeated and, supported by Dellon,

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he adds ‘that, in its old splendour, [Goa] merely retained the unhappy memory of the barbarous Inquisition’. This concern as to the Inquisition led the compiler of the Bibliothèque Universelle des Voyages to consider that the only method tried to restore Goa consisted precisely in the recent abolition of the tribunal.26 The use by Dellon of the stereotypes he mentioned regarding Goa and the Tribunal of the Holy Office was proof as to how the old images continued to be circulated within the reports of voyage at the time. Besides the author’s quote in Part II of this book, a history of the re-use of Dellon’s work entitled Relation de l’Inquisition de Goa should include the book by the Baron of Lahontan27 and the work of Picart already mentioned above. The latter not only contains engravings of the Inquisition and autos da fé in Goa but also projects into the past the fact that the Portuguese were ‘the lords of India’, emphasizing that the ‘other European nations established themselves there on its ruins’.28 Together with Bernard Picart’s Histoire (1741), the Lettres édifiantes et curieuses (1st ed., 34 vols, 1702/1703–76) written by the Jesuits is one of the most notable printed records of the customs and religious practices of other civilizations. It should be noted that the descriptions or information on India to be found in the much-read publication in the final decades of the sixteenth century were in many cases expanded upon at the end of the seventeenth century and beginning of the eighteenth. In 1752, Voltaire changed the terms of viewing India when he published his Dialogue entre un Bracmane et un Jésuite sur la nécéssité et l’enchaînement des choses.29 In 1767, this view took on the essence of a parody when it was published, probably together with the anti-Jesuit polemic Almanach philosophique … à l’usage de la nation des philosophes, du people des sots, du petit nombre des sçavans, et cu vulgaire des curieux, with the following footnote: A Goa, ches Dominique Ferox, impr. Du Grand Inquist, a l’Auto-da fé, rue des Foux. Jean-Louis Castillon (1720?–1793?) published in 1765 the Essai sur les erreurs et les superstitions and, in 1769, the work Zingha, reine d’Angola. The Histoire générale des dogmes et opinions philosophiques (1769) was also attributed to him, though de Diderot was probably the author. The work Anecdotes chinoises, japonoises, siamoises, tonquinoises (Paris: Vincent, 1774) was also very probably his.30 Following a collaboration between Father Tieffanthaler, a Jesuit; Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil Duperron, a traveller and antiquarian; and Rennell, an engineer and cartographer, the Description Historique et Géographique de l’Inde began to be published in 1786. In 1798, Duperron (1731–1805) published a broad analysis on the commercial spirit of Europe and India. For him, the interest of the Europeans in increasing the wealth of their nations was the main objective of trade with India. This interest was, of course, frequently masked by glory or religion and

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was to be considered the main criterion of a French commercial policy. In the consideration on the experiences in Asia of the various European nations, Portugal occupied a much-reduced role in comparison with the activities of the English, Dutch and French and even the Swedes and Danes. Most of all, Duperron presents the Portuguese as having pillaged India more than having traded there, which prevented them from benefiting from local support, while the Dutch worked with them from their main centres. The certainty that this is how things were led the author to insist that the Portuguese had begun their conquests without ever developing commercial companies. This inability to organize such companies allowed the Jesuits to take over trade until their expulsion from Goa in 1761. The author also sought to place Portuguese establishments in India and the Far East in the service of a new French commercial policy. Thus, taking up again a project dating from 1753 attributed to Gouvest de Maubert, he believed that Macau and Diu should be ceded by the Portuguese to the French. Particularly here the market would allow for greater control in the gulf of Cambaia and in a general manner along the west coast of India. Such a project would be justified, as Gouvest de Maubert said, because, ‘Goa could provide in trade that which the vassals [of the Portuguese king] have at the moment in Asia.’ With this viewpoint, which tends to diminish the importance of the State of India, since it veered from the commercial spirit, Goa was still considered one of the three cities in which France should have informers on trade along the coast of Malabar.31 Duperron’s project and ideas appear strange to us in their heterogeneity, from the report of voyages to opinions on the organization of trade, from the description of antiquities to works of translation. His linguistic interests led him, for example, to translate Avesta to Surat (1759), which served Voltaire’s proposals, and the treatise entitled Upansihads (1786). But one should recognize that Anquetil belongs to a gallery of orientalists whom Charles Boxer called professional orientalists, among whom several Englishmen and an intellectual elite based in Calcutta stand out from the final two decades of the eighteenth century. This wave of orientalism remained, while earlier works in Portuguese, published and in manuscript form, were to a large extent overlooked, although there was a desire to achieve the same objectives of knowledge of the local languages and culture.32 Debates on the Portuguese case, including the colonies, also remained within discourses that were a part of the new discipline of a political economy. The positive statement of values associated with the notion of interest and the autonomous nature of political economy are relevant aspects that would be developed particularly in The Wealth of Nations (1776) by Adam Smith. In a series of earlier works,

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it was possible to find references to the case of Portugal and its empire within a comparative European sphere. This was the case in L’Esprit des Lois (1748) by Montesquieu, for example; the large work by Baron Bielfeld, Institutions politiques (1760–1772) and in Tableau des empires, ou notions sure les gouvernements (1788) by Louis-Sébastien Mercier.33 Jacques Accarias de Sérionne dedicated a long introductory chapter in his Les Intérêts des Nations de l’Europe, dévélopés relativement au Commerce (1766) to Portugal. The departure point of his observations is the Treaty of Methuen, between Portugal and England, in 1703. This agreement sought to allow England to enlarge its informal empire: ‘cette nation bien loin de s’être alors, n’a jamais fait de si riche conquête’34 (this nation, far from what it is now, has never made such a rich conquest). Portugal, which had sought to establish its wool factories from 1688, found itself in the impossible situation of maintaining them after 1703 because of competition from English manufacturers. However, the author maintained that it would be an error to think that England held Portugal to be dependent on it, since this was far from the case: ‘l’Angleterre depend plus du Portugal, que le Portugal de l’Angleterre’35 (England relies more on Portugal than Portugal does on England). Why? Because while Portugal needed foreign products, particularly for supplies to its colonial markets, it could get these by maintaining the highest possible competition between European nations. But it did not do so, precisely because of the need for protection from England if it wanted to retain its empire: The court of Portugal does not neglect, it is said, the interest of its commerce, but it believes it has the need for the protection of England against the other European powers, whose ambition it distrusts and sees the ruinous advantages given as a subsidy like the price of protection which assures it the peaceful ownership of all its possessions along the coast of Africa and the Indias.36

Still more important were the general reflections regarding the decline of the Portuguese in comparison with the overseas success achieved by other European nations. Among the several sedimentations of a black legend, the contributions of Accarias de Sérionne are fine examples. The Portuguese and Spaniards were, for him, characterized as conquistadores and intolerant, as opposed to the Dutch, who were associated with the values of trade and religious tolerance. However, it is precisely within this representation that is so in contrast with the Iberian Catholicism regarding Dutch Protestantism that political, military and strategic

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organization, among which are included the activities of Dutch trade companies, gains importance. As Accarias de Sérionne suggested in another work, The Dutch wished to agree on the places and suitable habitations to keep their belongings and merchandise there and to live there most comfortably (a) they wanted fortified areas on the lands of the monarchies with which they have made contracts (b) and to have the certainty not only against the Portuguese and Spanish and against the nations of Europe who could cause trouble for them against the monarchies and even under the empire of which they form their possessions … we add to all these reflections that the Dutch government seems to have had the desire above all to hold negotiations and to take their advice on all matters concerning commerce.37

Notes   1. Churchill and Churchill, A Collection of Voyages and Travels, vol. II (J. Nieuhof, ‘Travels and Voyages’ – Alegoria, 1703, the second engraving in this book). BNP, Duarte de Sousa, XVIII–17.   2. Picart, Ceremonies et coutumes religieuses de tous les peuplee du monde, representées par des figures dessinées de la main de Bernard Picard: avec une explication historique, & quelques dissertations curieuses; Histoire générale des ceremonies religieuses de tous les peoples du Monde.   3. Histoire Générale des Cérémonies, Moeurs, et Coutumes Religieuses de tous les Peuples du Monde, vol. I, initial engraving: ‘Tableau des Principales religions du Monde’ BNP H.G. 360 A.: this is a copy from the library of D. José da Silva Pessanha (7 ts., H.G. 360–6 A.). See also, images of a sati as one of the Indian rites (vol. VI, 348–49) or ‘Brazilian’ funerals (VII, 173–74), of the people of Guinea (VII, 218–19) and the ‘kaffirs’ of southern Africa (VII, 278–79).   4. Hume, Principal Writings on Religion Including Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion; and the Natural History of Religion; Brosses, Du Culte des Dieux Fétiches.   5. Brosses, Histoire des navigations aux terres Australes, I, 5.   6. Ibid., vol. I, IV.   7. Ibid., vol. II, 369–70.   8. Ibid., vol. I, 5.   9. Brunet, Manuel du libraire, t. III, col. 1028. 10. Brosses, Histoire des navigations aux terres Australes, I, V. 11. Chartier, ‘Les Livres de Voyage’, 266–68. 12. The original of Méthode pour étudier la géographie, dans laquelle on donne une description exacte de l’univers by Lenglet Du Fresnoy appeared in Paris in 1716, but it was from 1736 and then in 1741–42 that Rollin set up in Paris and published the work. It is in this framework of French booksellers and publishers who were also in Portugal that one should note the circulation of these works, see Domingos, Livreiros de Setecentos;

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13. 14.

15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30. 31.

Lenglet Du Fresnoy, Descripção da terra ou methodo breve da geographia …; Atlas moderno para uso da mocidade … (Lisboa: Na Typ. Rollandiana, 1791). Chabod, Stora dell’Idea d’Europa, 82–121; Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident: Le Commerce à Canton au XVIIIe Siècle, 1719–1833, vol. I, 21–43. Macfarlane, The Riddle of the Modern World: Of Liberty, Wealth and Equality. Charles de Constant – who tried his fortune in the business world, settling between Canton and Macau, and who joked as to the illuminist image of a philosophical China – was the inheritor of the fascination of generations of Jesuits, see Dermigny, Les mémoires de Charles de Constant sur le Commerce de la Chine, 15–16, 396. G. de M. e Matos, ‘Introdução’, X. Neufville, Histoire générale du Portugal, vol. II, I: An engraving in the Torreão da Ribeira should be compared with that belonging to Lafitau on the same subject, in BNP, collection Duarte de Sousa D.S. XVIII–3. Lafitau, Histoire des Découvertes et Conquestes des Portugais dans le Nouveau Monde; BNP, H.G. 4351 A.: Engraved ‘Ville de Lisbone et Flôte des Indes’; BNP H.G. 8526 P.: 3rd ed. (Paris-Amsterdão: J. Wetstein and G. Smith, 1736), vol. I, between pages 17 and 17: Mapa Mundi, where the Portuguese conquests are emphasized, particularly India. F.R de M. Pereira, Relação da Viagem que do Porto de Lisboa Fizerão à India os Ill.mos e Exc.mos Senhores Marquezes de Tavora, 57. Lafitau, Historia dos Descobrimentos e Conquistas dos Portuguezes no Novo Mundo, vol. III, 271–72. La Clède, Histoire Generale du Portugal, vol. II: end of the introduction and p. 1 – map of the captaincies in Brazil. BNP, H.G. 2573 V. La Clède, Historia Geral de Portugal, vol. VIII, 239–42. D.A.L. de F. e Castro, Historia Geral de Portugal e suas Conquistas, vol. XIII, 227–29. J.B. de Macedo, A Historiografia Britânica sobre Portugal; Brokwell, Natural and Political History of Portugal, 266: ‘Brasil Divided into its Captain Ships’; BNP, Duarte de Sousa, XVIII–87. J.B. de Macedo, A Historiografia Britânica sobre Portugal; Beawes, A Civil, Commercial, Political, and Literary History of Spain and Portugal. Curto, ‘Descrições e Representações de Goa’, 45–86, especially 70. Richarderie, Bibliothèque Universelle des Voyages, vol. IV, 466–70; vol. V, 57–59. Baron de Lahontan, Dialogues de Monsieur le Baron de Lahontan et d’un Sauvage dans l’Amérique … Avec les Voyages du en Portugal et en Danemarc, where on the Inquisition Dellon recalls: ‘Ce Tribunal, dont un Médicin François nous a fait une description passionée, par la triste expérience des maux qu’ils a souferts dans les Prisons de Goa’ (this case, of which Dr François has made such an impassioned description of the sad experience of evils which he has suffered in the prisons of Goa) [note by A.F. Tomaz in Boletim de Bibliographia Portugueza I(11) (Nov. 1879), 180]. Dellon, Relation de l’Inquisition de Goa. Histoire Générale des Cérémonies, Moeurs, et Coutumes Religieuses de Tous les Peuples du Monde, vol. VI, 163; Churchill and Churchill, A Collection of Voyages and Travels, vol. III, 574–75: ‘Goa’; BNP, Duarte de Sousa, XVIII–18. Published in L’Abeille du Parnase, vol. V, no. VI (5 Feb. 1752); republished in Voltaire, Oeuvres, vol. IV (Genève: Cramer, 1756); see Voltaire, Mélanges, 311–15. Castillon, Anecdotes chinoises, japonoises, siamoises, tonquinoises. Duperron, L’Inde en Rapport avec l’Europe, vol. I, 59–60; vol. II, 4, 52–59, 71–73; see Kieffer, Anquetil-Duperron: l’Inde en France au XVIIIe Siècle. On French plans

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32. 33. 34. 35. 36.


to gain Portuguese capitulation in the besieged Macau in 1788, see Dermigny, Les Mémoires de Charles de Constant sur le Commerce de la Chine, 443–48. Kopf, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance: The Dynamics of Indian Modernization 1773–1835. Bielfeld, Institutions politiques. Sérionne, Les intérêts des Nations de l’Europe, dévélopés relativement au Commerce, 20. Ibid., 23. ‘La Cour de Portugal n’ignore point, dit-on, les interest de son commerce; mais elle coirt avoir besoin de la protection de l’Angleterre contre les autres puissance de l’Europe, don’t elle redoute l’ambition, et regarde les avantages ruineux qu’elle lui donne, comme une espe de subside, comme le prix d’une protection qui lui assûre la paisible possession de touts ses établissements aus côtes d’Afrique et dans les Indes.’ Ibid., 24. ‘Les Hollandais eurent soin de se faire accorder des lieux et des habitations convenables, pour y placer leurs effets et leurs marchandises, et pour s’y loger eux-mes commodément (a): ils eurent soin d’avoir des endroits fortifiés sur les terres des Monarques, avec lesquels ils contractoient (b): et de se donner par la une sureté nonseulement contre les Portugais et les Espagnols, et contre les nations de l’Europe qui dans la suit pourroient les inqueéter contre les Monarques même sous l’empire desquels ils formoient leurs établissements … . Ajoutons à toutes ces réflexions que le gouvernement Hollandois paoit avoir eu pour maxime de consulter les Négocians et de prendre leurs avis sur toutes les affaires qui avoient trait au commerce.’ Sérionne, La Richesse de la Hollande, vol. I, 380–82.

Chapter 16

Heroes of the State of India, Scientists and Orientalists


In an editorial and intellectual panorama that tends to marginalize the initiatives of the State of India and to accentuate the marks of its decadence, what was the place occupied by a set of Portuguese discourses, both printed and in manuscript, relating to the deeds of the Portuguese in the east? Firstly, one must consider the several reports printed in Lisbon intended to make known and to celebrate the deeds of the Portuguese, particularly the viceroys, in India. This is a set of printed works yet to be catalogued and that reveal a type of political discourse in celebration of new heroes. The best-known authors of the reports that are in part related to the works of the Academia Real de História are the overseas counsellor António Rodrigues da Costa, José Freire de Monterroio Mascarenhas, Diogo da Costa (who, Inocêncio suggests, wrote under the pseudonym of André da Luz), Inácio Barbosa de Machado, Francisco José Freire (better known by his pseudonym, Cândido Lusitano) and José Barbosa (under the pseudonym Ambrósio Machado).1 Their plans to grant importance to the deeds of new heroes appear to be in accord with the observation made in 1737 by the English governor of Bombay: ‘The Crown of Portugal hath long maintained the possession of its territories in India at a certain annual expense, not inconsiderable; purely as it seems from a point of Honour and Religion.’2 After 1740, the new heroes were created by new conquests made possible with Brazilian gold, or so Jaime Cortesão thought.3 One of the examples of these discourses of glorification is to be found following the death of the fifth Count of Ericeira and viceroy of India

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Luís de Meneses. The Relaçam das Victoria, alcançadas na India contra o inimigo Maratá (1743) celebrates the hero both because of his academic works, particularly his contributions towards a Portuguese and French dictionary, and for the fact that he had carried out the greatest acts of violence.4 In passing, it should be noted that the record of the recollections of D. Luís de Meneses and his death on 12 June 1742 is also on an inscription on his tomb, although throughout the eighteenth century this type of epigraphic discourse in Goa was less frequent than in previous centuries.5 In the Relaçam, one of the victories is described in detail: the capture of a fortress, which meant the loss of the ‘lives of many barbarians; there are 42 prisoners, of whom some had their heads cut off and others their right hands, which were tied to their necks and they were thrown out for having taken part in the sad announcement of the tragic events and our triumphs’.6 Academic knowledge and the praise of violence are discussed in equal measure. Other reports describe ceremonies praising the monarchy or its highest dignitaries, so continuing in print the effects of a political culture based on symbolic representation. For example, Romualdo Gloíso Freire is the author of a Descripção funebre das exequias que a Inquisição de Goa dedicou à memoria do … Senhor Nuno da Cunha de Ataide … Inquisidor geral dos Reinos (1753), a work with a double objective – to reproduce a celebratory tone of the funeral of John V and to reply to the criticisms of the Inquisition.7 Besides the short reports, five authors of important works stand out. In 1735–36 Bernardo Gomes de Brito published, in the context of editions of the works of the Academia Real de História, a collection of the reports of shipwrecks.8 Dom Tomás Caetano de Bem dedicated to the Duke of Cadaval a poem in Latin on the siege of Diu and its hero D. João de Castro, Castreidos libros V (1739).9 Inácio Barbosa de Machado, of the Academia Real de História, produced in 1743 a large volume entitled Fastos politicos, e militares da Antigua, e nova Lusitania.10 The work is presented in the form of a diary following the critical method of a type previously used by Brother Francisco de Santa Maria in Anno Historico (vol. I, 1714; vols I–III, 1744; vol. IV, 1746), based on the example of the ecclesiastical calendars and lives of the martyrs. The word fastos, or calendar, is used as a ‘synonym of a diary in which the heroic deeds and histories of a Nation, the births and deaths of its princes, and of those heroes who in the ministry and in the campaign left a respected memory of their names’. The author confesses he was faced with doubt as to the date of various events as mentioned by earlier historians such as Barros, Castanheda, Faria e Sousa, Jacinto Freire de Andrade, Duarte de Albuquerque Coelho, Francisco de Brito Freire, Father Fernão Queiroz, the Count of Ericeira and others. The major events mentioned are naval

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and land battles, conquests of towns and cities, discoveries of kingdoms and provinces, and a report of the actions of princes and their servants that the author considers to have honoured the Portuguese monarchy, such as births, marriages and deaths in what was ultimately a secular history of Portugal. The ecclesiastical, according to the author, was studied by another academic, António Caetano de Sousa, the author of a supplement to the Agiologio Lusitano, written by the fifteenth-century antiquarian Father Jorge Cardoso. An account of the events related in this book should confirm the importance assumed by the Portuguese heroic deeds in the east in comparison with other political and military scenarios. Another member of the Academia Real da História, Francisco de Pina e Melo, following his Triumpho da Religião (1756), published an epic poem in ten cantos celebrating the Conquista de Goa, por Affonso de Albuquerque.11 The work and the author received scant attention from historians.12 The defence of the Jesuits attempted in this work and in a Resposta compulsoria that followed it would have been the main reason for the ostracism of the author following the expulsion of the Jesuits ordered after the attempted regicide of 3 September 1758. The fact that the work was dedicated to the Duke of Lafões once again brings up the situation of the Duke and his birth during Pombal’s consulate, at least in comparison with the central position the Duke took on as promoter of the Academia das Ciências during the reign of Maria II.13 The epic glorification of Albuquerque and, with him, the deeds of the Portuguese in the east seem therefore to represent the defence of a particular time during the era of Pombal, leaning more towards an evaluation of Brazil. At the end of the eighteenth century, there was a series of re-publications of texts by sixteenth-century historians. Within this evaluation of sixteenth-century heroes that should be related to the intellectual work of the Academia das Ciências Lourenço, Anastácio Mexia Galvão’s Vida do famoso heróe Luiz de Loureiro (1782) appeared for the first time.14 After these historic works, one should consider the royal instructions or those of the viceroys regarding the State of India, with an emphasis on two cases: the manner of reorganizing the State of India and the methods of local negotiations, and the nineteenth-century publication of two of these instructions that granted them the standing of classic texts relating to the representations of the State of India.15 The political experience of the Marquis of Alorna, the viceroy of India, which included a set of writings, as we shall see in greater detail later, suggests the following systematization. Firstly, one should consider the forms of oratory that gave rise to the importance of ceremonies at the arrival of the viceroys, which were recorded and organized by the Marquis, as well as the visit to Goa by his successor in October 1750.16 This was the Marquis of

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Távora, who carried on with this preoccupation of organizing poetic debates. The intention of defining a ceremonial order has a parallel in the many conflicts involving other bodies and communities. This was the case with the controversy on precedence between the town councils of Salsete and Bardês.17 Secondly, the Marquis of Alorna’s instruction to his successor starts by demonstrating a clear understanding of the importance of diplomacy and reveals the role granted to the institutions and forces with which the viceroy was to develop his own personal policy.18 Thirdly, the report of conquests, particularly of Alorna (1746), should be considered together with a list of those given rewards and the association shown by the close relationship between the narrative of the acts and requests for honours.19 The publication of the many opinions and proposals circulating among counsellors and secretariats also belonged to this system, including projects for the creation of trading companies in Macau at the end of the seventeenth century and in parts of the State of India during the Pombal era, as well as opinions on military conquests and actions.20 Thus the work of collecting information on the situation in Macau and programmatic instructions regarding the city was particularly intense between 1783–84 following the initiative of the Naval Minister, Martinho de Melo e Castro.21 Was it the case that Pombal’s reforms during the third quarter of the eighteenth century and the intellectual movement, based around the Academia das Ciências in Lisbon, that followed altered the earlier discursive order? This appears to have been the case, but only a thorough investigation would be able to demonstrate this hypothesis in three specific areas: administration, education and academic activities. A tendency towards greater rationality, particularly in statistic and numerical terms, regarding the discussion of administration and military organization in books, reflected a decrease throughout the second half of the eighteenth century in the circulation of publications on the glorification of the image of the State of India and its main representatives. The Sistema Marcial Asiático, Político, Histórico, Genealógico, Analítico e Miscelânico (1772) by D. António José de Noronha starts immediately with a description of Goa that is clearly realist, stating the need to increase a ‘certain knowledge of the area, the weather and the necessary forces’, but many of his descriptive suggestions repeat the spirit of the instructions earlier produced by the Marquis of Alorna.22 The effects of the expulsion of the Jesuits and the reform of studies during Pombal’s time were felt in Goa in the braking up of the educational system, but it is hard to evaluate to what extent this apparent rupture led to the return of earlier methods, particularly in terms of a linguistic policy. An example of these measures, where rupture and

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continuity are hard to distinguish, can be found in the instructions given to the viceroy, the Count of Ega, by the Secretary of State, Francisco Xavier de Mendonça Furtado: The departments that seem most appropriate for Studies at the … College [for the locals] in which they must aim to gain and promote every ability in teaching the students in the shortest time where possible are the following: the first should be those of instruction of the territory’s languages where we have churches or missions; to follow the Jesuits in the arts, in which they taught the respective languages; that they should at the beginning be well reviewed and spoken correctly; and ensuring there is no lack of these or the arts, which the priests had; or for others that arise at the expense of the Royal Treasury, with their vocabulary.23

The greatest novelty in the different leanings of political discourse is associated with a set of expeditions and works regarded as being scientific. The Academia das Ciências in Lisbon had an important role here, maintaining relations with correspondents in Goa.24 One of the objectives of the Academy, whose effects were felt throughout the Portuguese Empire, is listed in the Breves instrucções correspondentes da Academia das Sciencias de Lisboa sobre as remessas dos productos, e noticias pertencentes à Historia da natureza, para formar hum Museo Nacional (1781), a short, 45-page work containing two discourses that were most significant in the final quarter of the eighteenth century.25 The main proposal was to collect a variety of animals, vegetables and minerals, transforming the collection into a ‘public good’ of ‘great use’. Once the National Museum was created, with the products of the kingdom and its colonies, the result would be ‘the progress of the Arts, Trade, Products and all other branches of the Economy’. Thus the directions given to correspondents reveal a particular preoccupation with the transportation of the examples, particularly those from ‘distant countries’, to ensure that they do not arrive ‘damaged and therefore unworthy of being kept in the Cases’. The system of classification of animals, vegetables and minerals – whose collection was entrusted to the corresponding members together with a list containing the description of the products – was to be completed by local artefacts. The express intention for the final pages of the Instrucções was to have a collection of geographical descriptions of the countries from whence the contributors came, including everything observed and ‘worthy of the attention of a Philosopher’. Observations were to be featured in the following order. First, the important points regarding latitude and longitude, climate and situation; next was to be a description of the mountains, fauna, flora and mineralogy, followed by descriptions of local animal, vegetable and mineral

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products. Then to be considered were the men, their height and shape of face, strength and colour, the fertility of the women, diseases in both sexes and their causes. Added to this were observations on the subsoil. Observations of the air and water were to include methods of measurement and quantification and, in the case of countries bordered by the sea, a clear description of the coastline. The correspondents were invited to send all physical information on the countries, ‘principally those that can in some way be useful for an increase in trade and the arts’. As to moral aspects, the Instrucções added that these should be classified according to a division that was ‘more natural, on Religion, Economy, Arts, Traditions, etc’.26 There are other, normative texts that should be related to these Instrucçoes and that are, in part, inspired by Linnaeus.27 These are the Viagens filosoficas ou dissertação sobre as importantes regras que o filosofo naturalista, nas suas peregrinações deve principalment observar, by Domingos Vandelli, written in 1779 within the sphere of the Academy’s work and which remained in manuscript28 and the Compendio de observaçoens, que fórmão o plano da Viagem politica, e filosofica, que se deve fazer dentro da Patria (1783) by the academic José António de Sá.29 One can also add to these normative works a sort of botanical guide, the Compendio de botanica by Félix Avelar Brotero (1788). Between 1783–84 one of the correspondents, Manuel Galvão da Silva, put together a work on herbs in Goa and sent this to Lisbon for use by the Academy. Some facts are known about this work. In April 1783, the Secretary of State Martinho de Melo e Castro wrote to the governor of India, D. Frederico Guilherme de Sousa, that Galvão da Silva was to take up the Captaincy of Mozambique. More important than this political appointment was the fact that he was a naturalist and was to be accompanied by António Gomes, an engraver, and José da Costa, a botanical gardener, both working for the monarchy and charged with taking orders from the governor and captain. The intention of the mission was to examine and describe everything related to natural history to be found in Mozambique and to collect, prepare and send to Lisbon everything they felt necessary following the particular directions written in the Instrucções. These instructions, according to information from the Secretary of State, had been sent to the governor during an earlier monsoon. The same letter specified that the captain should, prior to going to Mozambique, go to Goa to make some observations and collect all the examples he could. It was up to the governor to determine where he should go and to put him in contact with Assa and Charmon so that he could make use of the time spent there to look for ‘everything he could discover about the natural history’. He added that the governor should order Galvão da Silva and those travelling with him to

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go along the coast and the margin of the Island of Goa and other Islands and the adjacent Provinces, travelling on water and landing in those areas where they might find or discover everything regarding natural history, and then send them for examination to Gates, in the province of Pondá, Bicholim and Panelim (i.e. Sanquelim) so that they might collect everything in the realms of natural history.

The governor replied in a letter from Goa dated 20 March 1784: As soon as the ship arrived here, on 4th December 1783, I told the naturalist, engraver and gardener to be housed … and that they talk to Colonels Assa and Charmon … and told the adjutant captain of Agriculture, Simão Rodrigues Moreira, who is able and intelligent and knows the country and its products well to assist them and accompany them … . They spent a short time here making their discoveries and observations on Natural History. In the attached document, number 1, is a list of the boxes and cans containing the products they have discovered and in document number 2 the Observations made by the naturalist.

Manuel Galvão da Silva’s travels in Mozambique and his Relação da Viagem feita pelas terras da Manica em 1788 is still a recognized volume.30 While the Academia das Ciências promoted the study of natural products with an economic interest, as well as the culture and forms of social and political organization, so contributing towards identifying local realities, which in part suggest movements of opposition of which there is a known example in 1787,31 it is necessary to recognize that earlier the State of India had witnessed various processes of affirmation of other local realities. The importance assumed by writings in these processes of representation of identities can be followed through official correspondence, legal documents, judicial processes and manuscript and published works. Throughout the eighteenth century, there were at least three groups that were not always homogenous and that were involved actively in processes of this type: the Cipaios, who had little ability to ensure they were represented in writing;32 the Guancares, or representatives of the communities of Goa; and the priests born in Goa. The processes that acted in the identification of these groups are distinguished from the proposals of and limits imposed by the missionary work that existed in the works of some Jesuits regarding the perception of eastern religions. One should also note among descriptions of local creeds the importance of the work of the Augustinian Brother Agostinho de Santa Maria, the author of a vast collection of writings on the cult of the Virgin and its local adaptations, the Santuario Mariano (1720).33 Volume VIII of the work is dedicated to India Oriental, e mais conquistas de Portugal,

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Asia Insular, Africa, e Ilhas Felipinas. Another author already referred to is Brother Jacinto de Deus, of Macau, the provincial of the Capuchin Madre de Deus and vicar general of the minor friars. One of his works published posthumously, Caminho dos Frades menores para vida eterna, and which appeared in two editions (1689 and 1721) includes a list of the history, doctrine, privileges and rules of the minor friars. Written in Goa, the book reflects several times on the need for friars to adopt local characteristics to blend in more and also to contribute to the identification of local groups. Those of mixed blood were the sons of a Portuguese father, born in India or Portugal or any other European country, and an Indian mother (first degree gentiles). There were also second- degree gentiles (with one Indian grandparent and one European grandparent). Although Brother Jacinto de Deus referred to a dispensation achieved by the Jesuits for Portuguese born in India, with this being widened to cover those who ‘had something Indian’, it excluded all mestiços from entering the order.34 On the administration of the sacrament of penance, the author once again lists characteristics that are specific to Indians: since the natives ‘are so ignorant and rough’, ‘it is hard for them to understand anything about contrition or attrition and neither admonition nor reasoning is sufficient to make them capable, therefore they should not desire the sacrament of penance’.35 An example of adopting characteristics to blend in more with locals can be found in the material of the habit. The rules ordered the use of rough cloth and, ‘since the nobles and even the noisy mechanics in India do not dress in grey cotton’ the use of this material was recommended.36 The central position taken on by the Portuguese Jesuits to describe local authorities was to give way to a different focus from the end of the seventeenth century. Throughout the eighteenth century, the French Jesuits continued to be energetic in their production of publications such as Lettres édifiantes et curieuses. Other works by the Jesuits should be noted, such as the books by Father Manuel Ferreira, who continued the descriptive tradition of the Jesuits with his Noticias summarias das perseguioes da Missam de Cochinchina, principiada e continuada pelos padres da Companhia de Jesu (1700), and Father Fernando Pereira de Brito’s Historia do nascimento, vida e martyrio de Ven. Padre João de Britto da Companhia de Jesus, martyr da Asia, e protomartyr da Missão do Madurey (1722).37 However, a new factor appeared in the form of treatises by the priests António João de Frias and Leonardo Pais in which the hierarchy of the Hindu castes to which they belonged was discussed within the sphere of the history of Christianity.38 Such treatises had as a precedent – according to one of the many bibliographical facts given to me by Luís Filipe Farinha Franco – the manuscript Tratado apologético contra várias calúnias pelo malevolência

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contra a sua Nação Bracmana by Father Francisco do Rego of Goa, who died in 1686 and who had been procurator of the See of Goa. One should also note the descriptions of the local forces and figures by authors who are secular officials of the State of India. Some examples of this tendency can be found in the Marquis of Alorna’s Instrucção, in Sistema Marcial Asiástico by D. António José de Noronha and in Memorial Histórico da vida do regulo chamado Aydor Aly Naique.39 A sign of this laicization can also be found in the works of Ananta Camotim Vaga (1752–93), a Hindu who was the official interpreter of the State of India, to whom Noticia Summaria do Gentilissimo and Tradução summaria do Bagavotá Guitá are also attributed.40

Oriente Conquistado by Francisco de Sousa The two volumes of the Oriente Conquistado a Jesu Christo pelos Padres da Companhia de Jesus da Provincia de Goa written by the Jesuit priest Francisco de Sousa illustrate some of the problems generated by the two terms of our working hypothesis and contribute to clarifying my analysis.41 Born in the island of Itaparica near Bahia in Brazil between 1648 and 1649, Francisco de Sousa entered the Society of Jesus in Lisbon in 1665 and was immediately sent out to India. On arrival in Goa, he started his studies at the College of St. Paul, beginning rigorous preparations that would last a lifetime. Over the course of his career, de Sousa served as priest in Salsete, as superior of the College of St Paul, and as Father of Christians before dying in Goa in 1712.42 Francisco de Sousa’s work was intended to provide a narrative account of the Jesuit mission in the Indies from their arrival in Goa in 1542 to 1584.43 Following a tribute to previous works on the history of Jesuit missions under the patronage of the Portuguese crown in the east by Jesuit and lay scholars,44 de Sousa begins his text with the life of St. Francis Xavier, narrating his actions and thoughts as an example of virtuous life and sanctity. Many other lives of Jesuits and Portuguese viceroys or captains contribute to a hagiography or biography of virtuous and exemplary men, with the history of colonial encounters brought about by the Portuguese State of India in East Africa, India, Southeast Asia, China and Japan. The intention of describing examples of conversions made by the Jesuits led de Sousa to write more biographies, mostly of local princes and princesses, nobles and well educated or high caste persons but also of individuals who may be considered ordinary men and women. These biographies and hagiographies reveal how important the language of virtues and sanctity was for the author. The same language

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combines religious and moral judgements, also to be found in a series of criticisms of the situation of the State of India. This is particularly evident in the condemnation of captains and Portuguese rebels, whose lives were essentially characterized by their sins: an excessive passion for riches in the former, and dissolute behaviour in the latter, who ‘went native’ living beyond the political and religious control of the European authorities. In more general terms, the decline of the Estado is seen as a punishment from God in light of the dissolute and conspicuous life of the Portuguese. The language of virtues that simultaneously shapes the narratives of individual lives as well as the more general criticisms of the Portuguese Empire is also for Francisco de Sousa an object of reflection on the nature of tradition, discipline and the hierarchy of values. At a rare moment of digression, inspired no doubt by the life of a Jesuit missionary in East Africa that the author was recounting, de Sousa reaches an interesting level of generalization on the theme. Recognizing the biographer’s need to praise virtues such as modesty, patience, mortification of the flesh and the perseverance of prayer, de Sousa distinguishes these virtues by identifying the correct context for their practice. While the correct school for these virtues was religion, every college in a true republic needed to reward students who practised these on a daily basis, so motivating them towards the supreme reward and providing a model for all others. In other words to serve religion (or the college) was to serve God, which presupposed a virtuous and holy life. Directly related to this is a consideration of learning and letters, which for the author meant different skills within different disciplines. For de Sousa, letters are enamel and virtues precious gold. The study of humanities, the practice of letters or philosophical and theological arguments all needed to be oriented towards the glory of God and dedicated to pious matters. A concluding remark of this reflection on values returns to the discussion of a virtuous life cultivated in Goa among Jesuit novices and college students, where strict obedience to Jesuit rules and respect for superiors had created a model of discipline that Francisco de Sousa believed would be emulated and diffused through other colleges in Europe. Thus, the language of virtues is used to characterize individuals, to define situations of God’s punishment and to shape models of education and organization of religious life. Its main features, normative in essence, can be identified as what French Jesuits would call édifiante (uplifting). The fact that the reflection on virtues provided by the author comes almost at the end of the first volume signifies that he perhaps is calling attention to an audience of European college students and masters. However, this orientation described as édifiante is also imbued with

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a dimension that is curieuse (curious). Lettres curieuses et édifiantes, the multi-volume compilation that appeared at the same time as Francisco de Sousa’s work in Lisbon, O Oriente Conquistado, is the best demonstration of édifiante and curieuse. The ‘curious’ is found within a series of geographical and ethnographical descriptions, and in de Sousa’s volumes they include a description of the caste system in Goa, the intricacies of land possession and politics in Goa, more particularly in Salsete, the local political alliances in southern India and Japan, as well as the economy of fairs along the rivers in East Africa. Sometimes curious descriptions assume the character of small vignettes. In this category is a recount of the theft of books containing the mysteries of Hinduism, which gave the Jesuit priests an upper hand in their disputes with the Brahmins. The story of Buddha’s tooth is another example, for it was taken on the Coromandel Coast by the Portuguese, and a viceroy committed to the Jesuits refused to sell it for an enormous sum to the king of Pegu, hoping to put an end to a superstitious belief. Many such descriptions and small vignettes give the book this so-called curious dimension. If we take this seriously, we can argue that it is composed of different forms of knowledge assembled by a Jesuit author regarding different oriental societies. Some of those forms suppose the existence of situations of intermediacy, comprising mostly information already existing before the arrival of the Europeans. Particularly interesting in the case of Francisco de Sousa is the amount of detailed information that he was able to accumulate on South Asia and East Africa. Yet this is not always a good criterion for evaluating his descriptions or his authority on local knowledge: de Sousa never set foot in Japan, yet the text is full of Japanese data. Directly related to the effort of gathering information – sometimes with a very utilitarian purpose as with regard to property and taxation in Salsete but more often without any practical goal of imposing authority – is the work of translation. However, in Francisco de Sousa’s volumes, the figure of the translator is only occasionally a fellow Jesuit, as for instance the Italian priest expert in many languages of India whom he mentions in the first volume. Indeed, de Sousa makes it clear that Jesuits might favour situations where local interpreters are working. This perhaps occurred in Goa, where one of the functions of the creation of a collegial system was to educate young interpreters for missionary work. More difficult to reconstruct are situations of intermediacy where it was unclear who is meant to function as ‘translator’: at a certain point of the text, de Sousa refers to a Brahmin chronicle of cases where an interpretation of local politics did not include the impact of St Francis Xavier’s missionary activities – an interpretation that Francisco de Sousa considered mistaken.

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It would be wrong to generalize that the Jesuits always acted as cultural mediators and much more appropriate to claim that they were sometimes involved in situations of intermediacy. While Oriente Conquistado does not allow an unambiguous picture of the Jesuits acting as cultural brokers, it is much clearer on their role in supporting consistent strategies of political and social control, especially in Goa. In this missionary sphere, explicit use of coercion was exemplified in the violent destruction of Hindu temples and the prohibition of local ceremonies. In both cases, violence was justified by a downgrading of what was considered superstitious and ridiculous by both religious and secular scholars. The constant measures to eliminate Hindu temples and rituals were determined within the context of a political authority. The vice-regency of Francisco Barreto (1555–1558) started a serious eradication of ‘gentilismo’ in Goa. Constantino de Bragança (1558–1561), another viceroy praised by Francisco de Sousa, followed the same strategy. The prohibition of rituals and ceremonies, particularly marriages, as well as the destruction of temples and images and the forced baptism of ‘gentile’ orphans by the Father of the Christians were the initiatives of these viceroys, although Francisco de Sousa expresses nothing but praise for these measures.45 As for the Nestorians or Christians of St Thomas in southern India, it was the failed alliance with political powers that accounted for their submission to Catholicism. Nor was it by chance that Utopian plans for a confessional religious state emerged in territories where it was actually quite difficult to develop concrete forms of political and colonial control. In East Africa, Francisco de Sousa argues, in order to eliminate polygamy from the recently converted Christians, it became necessary to have one missionary priest controlling each district and at least one catechist in each village. All these structures of control and instruction needed to be supported by local taxation.46 This confessional model of religious and social control relates in part to the forms of authority exercised by the Jesuits over indigenous people either recently converted or still belonging to other faiths. In this respect, Francisco de Sousa used the notion of accommodation towards those who were ready to abandon their old superstitions in order to embrace Catholicism.47 However, religious and social control also applied to the Portuguese settlers: Goan women were censured for their vanity;48 the Portuguese lost Meliapore because it was so debauched that even St Francis Xavier had not been able to successfully convert it.49 This situation contrasted with Malacca, a city reformed by St Francis and under the control of new priests from Malabar.50 A denunciation of the dissolute habits of Christians in Hormuz completes this series of examples.51 The existence of a confessional model of tight control based on vigilance

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and instruction can also be used against the attitude provoked by the Portuguese and Christians living outside the institutional framework of the Portuguese State of India. In fact, Francisco de Sousa considered it most dangerous to have Christians living in territories around Goa without parochial support.52 By the same token, he also condemned the renegade Europeans living in Persia.53 In these last two cases, which are striking because of their potential to create situations of genuine intermediacy between different cultures and religions, the condemnation is evident. Added to this was a condemnation of political plans to extend the State of India, as such projects did not favour the right political control of its population.54 What is striking in the text is the contrast between the confessional model of religious and social control and the constant references to encounters and disputes between Jesuits and local intellectuals or scholars. This contrast is analogous to the one analysed above, opposing the édifiante and curieuse dimensions of Jesuit influence. A brief inventory of these arguments, which always assumed a public character, includes those between the Jesuits and the Nestorians in Cochin, with a Brahmin well trained in law and expert in litigation in Goa, with another Brahmin from Goa considered a great scholar in ‘Hindustan theology’, with yet another Brahmin priest (Bôto) also well read in ‘gentile theology’, and with Brahmins in general, between converted Christians from the Costa da Pescaria in southern India and other Brahmin priests, and between Jesuits and Japanese scholars eminent in ‘Japanese theology’, as even with Rabinical Jews and with a Muslim philosopher and astrologer, all from Hormuz.55 These arguments were intended to demonstrate the truth of Catholicism vis-à-vis other religions. They certainly imply mediation, where the Jesuits hold a dialogue with representatives of other faiths, but their main goal was to demonstrate the truth of Catholicism interpreted by the Jesuits, as the best representatives of the Council of Trent.56 The same method of dialogue – through which it was possible to give voice to representatives of other religions merely to demonstrate their falsehood before the truth of Catholicism – can be found in a singular case in East Africa. It was in Otongue that the Jesuit priest André Fernandes preached to the indigenous kaffirs on the immortality of the soul, the punishment of Hell and the glory of Paradise. At the end of almost two years, one of the neophytes, apparently the most intelligent, stood up and raising his voice asked the priest: ‘Father, why are you wasting your time preaching such things? There is no other God besides our king. There is neither Glory nor Hell, no reward nor punishment, we only live and die.’57 In general, those who had converted to Christianity could not give up their

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barbarous habits and old witchcraft. When rebuked by the Jesuit priest, the neophytes tried to kill him. Only God was able to protect him, almost miraculously. Finally, for three reasons these barbaric men came to believe the Jesuit was no more than a wizard: firstly because his hair was white and he exceeded all others in their vitality and strength despite the fact that he was considered to be more than one hundred years old; secondly, because he was considered different from all the other men, not only because his hair was straight but because without moving from Otongue he was aware of what was going on in the world by the letters that he received; and third, because he read or held the Breviary, which the illiterate Kaffirs believed must certainly give him some obscure magical power.58 What is the meaning of this story recounted by our author? If it supposes the structure of a dialogue, one that gives voice to indigenous people, its lesson does not lie in relating Catholicism for the benefit of any African culture. On the contrary, the structure of the story works as a parody of cultures and religions other than Catholicism. Its model seems to reproduce, by inversion, a satanic model where other religions are simply identified with witchcraft. The analytical argument developed until now is based on the reconstruction of the languages, conceptual structures, strategies and practices of the Jesuits as they appeared in Francisco de Sousa’s Oriente Conquistado. The limits are now clearer, as is the meaning of situations of cultural intermediacy for the Jesuits. In other words, we can no longer accept generalizations, or anachronistic projections of categories of the present into the past, of the Jesuits as cultural intermediaries. The language of virtues and sanctity – that is, their forms of religious and social control and even their Utopian goal of creating a confessional and religious state – succeeded in Paraguay but to a lesser degree in Salsete in Goa.59 Jesuit curiosity in the production of geographical and ethnographical knowledge, their role in translating and gathering local knowledge, their public debates and their structures of dialogue – these are all themes suggesting situations of cultural intermediacy. However, it is hard to argue the centrality of anachronistic statements about the tolerance of the Jesuits or demonstrate that they were at the centre of a global network of communication. If we want to take seriously the contribution of the Jesuits in the process of ‘archaic globalization’ (to use the stimulating though controversial expression of Christopher Bayly),60 we should start with their doctrines on instruction, rule and obedience, their methods of religious and social control, and above all their devotion and spirituality as shaped by the language of virtues and sanctity. One of the most visible achievements of this doctrinal model reproduced around the world was the college, intended for the recruitment and education of children and

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adolescents. As an institution, the college could also be compared with units such as the hospital or even brotherhoods created under Jesuit protection.61 In its ability to accumulate experience and help conversion, the college takes central place both as an ideal and as an institution of mediation. Therefore, while in the discourse of the Jesuit Alessandro Valignano, reproduced by Francisco de Sousa, it was possible to find ideas on adaptation to local languages and customs, this was seen as justifying the fact that patronage of colleges could be assigned to local elites converted to Catholicism.62 However, Valignano’s instructions were also perceived as a way of introducing to India the gentleness (brandura) used by the Jesuits within the government of Italy.63 Gentleness inspired by the wellknown Valignano contradicts the rigour defended by Francisco de Sousa as one of the virtues of St Paul’s College in Goa. Once again, we find a clear defence of a Jesuit model of control and obedience coexisting with a structure of dialogue comprising different models and interpretations. Perhaps one of the key moments where we can see this structure at work in Francisco de Sousa’s account is when Viceroy D. Luís de Ataíde (1568–1571) convenes an assembly of theologians to discuss the permission for or prohibition of Hindu ceremonies in Salsete. Here again the method of conversion based on social and religious control eventually prevails over any form of flexibility and tolerance.64 As in the days of the Viceroy D. Constantino de Bragança, the greater the rigour of persecution the more intense was the period of conversions and baptisms.65

Notes   1. A fine set of three volumes of Rellações da India, Boxeriana noted, preceded, perhaps for the first time, the publication in Portugal of the creation of the Real Academia de História (see Boxeriana, especially numbers 114, 126–27, 144, 170, 173–75, 262–65, 295, 394, 416–22, 439, 457, 461–62, 535–36, 538, 540–44, 546, 548–50, 552, 562, 570–71, see on the same theme numbers 134, 152, 171, 242–43, 534, 551). See the republication of Boxeriana in Boxer, Opera Minora, vol. I. The collections of shipwreck reports by Bernardo Gomes de Brito and reports including Epanaphora Indica (6 parts, Lisbon, 1746–1752) by José Freire de Monterroio Mascarenhas – which is also noted in Boxeriana – also belong to this set and needs to be studied. With use of an inventory there are further titles: A.R. da Costa, Relação dos Successos e Gloriosas Acções Militares Obradas no Estado da India, Ordenadas e Dirigidas pelo Vice-rei e Capitão General d’Aquelle Estado Vasco Fernandes Cesar de Meneses, republished by J.F. de M. Mascarenhas and titled Relação do Progresso das Armas Portuguezas no Estado da India, no Anno de 1713, Sendo Vice-Rei e Capitão General do Mesmo Estado Vasco Fernandes Cesar de Meneses. Parte 1.ª, to be found in Boxeriana 570. In C716 M544r of the John Carter Brown Library there are further

Heroes of the State of India  •  337

  2.   3.   4.   5.   6.   7.   8.   9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

parts, totalling four; with two in Lisbon, Oficina Deslandesiana, 1715, and Oficina Pascoal da Silva, 1716. And finally in this miscellany, in parchment, Os Orizes Conquistados ou Noticia da Conversam dos Indomitos Orizes Procazes, Povos Barbaros, & Guerreiros do Certão do Brasil, Novamente Reduzidos á Santa Fé Catholica, & á Obediencia da Coroa Portugueza by J.F. de M. Mascarenhas; ibid., O Parnaso Transferido de Grecia a Goa: Assembléa das Musas, Serenata de Apollo; Applausos Poeticos da Feliz Viagem do e Sr. Marquez de Tavora. Copiados por um Anonymo; D. da Costa (or André da Luz, as suggested by Inocêncio, Dicc. Bibl., II, 153) Relação das Guerras da India desde o anno de 1736 até o de 1740, Boxeriana 170, another example numbered 171 (published in Oporto: António Pedroso Caminha, 1741); F.J. Freire, Elogio de D. Francisco Xavier Mascarenhas, Coronel que foi de um dos Regimentos de Marinha, e Commandante da Esquadra que em o Anno de 1740 foi para o Estado da India; I.B. de Machado, Nova Relação das Importantes Victorias, que Alcançaram as Armas Portuguezas na India, e da Gloriosa Paz que se Ajustou Logo que Chegou o Vice-Rei do Estado, o D. Luis de Menezes, Conde da Ericeira; Barbosa, Relação da Posse, e da Entrada Publica que fez na Cidade de Goa o Sr. D. Pedro Miguel de Almeida, Marquez de Castello-Novo. One should compare these reports with Cosme da Guarda, Vida e Acçoens do Famoso e Felicissimo Sevagy, da India Oriental (Lisbon, 1730) in the Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (BNP L. 2518 P.); F.R. de M. Pereira, Relação da Viagem que do Porto de Lisboa Fizerão à India os Ill. mos e Exc.mos Senhores Marquezes de Tavora. On a report on Brazil that belongs to this group, see Madahil, ‘Relação e Notícia de Vários Sucessos Acontecidos no Brasil em 1754, Segundo um Folheto Contemporâneo’, 411–20. Quoted by Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415–1825, 147. Cortesão, O Ultramar Português Depois da Restauração, 76–79. Meneses, Relaçam das Victorias, Alcançadas na India Contra o Inimigo Maratá. Rivara, ‘Inscrições Lapidares da Índia Portugueza’, 584–743. Meneses, Relaçam das Victorias. R.G. Freire, Descripção funebre das exequias, que a Inquisição de Goa dedicou à memoria do … Senhor Nuno da Cunha de Ataide … com a oração funebre, que … recitou o … Fr. João do Pilar. Curto, ‘Littératures de Large Circulation au Portugal (XVIe–XVIIIe Siècles)’, 299–329, especially 319. Bem, Illustrissimo ac pracclarissimo Domino Nonio Alvares Pereira de Mello, Castreidos libros V. D. V. C. I.B. de Machado, Fastos politicos, e militares da Antigua, e nova Lusitania. F. de P. e de Melo, A conquista de Goa por Afonso de Albuquerque: poema épico que á Magestade do … Monarcha Joseph I ; ibid., Triumpho da religião: poema epico-polemico. Ferrão, O Poeta, Crítico e Moralista Francisco de Pina e Melo (1695–1773) (Apontamentos para a sua Biografia). Ferrão, ‘O Segundo Duque de Lafões e o Marquês de Pombal’, 407–588. L.A.M. Galvão, Vida do Famoso Heróe Luiz de Loureiro. Portugal, P.M. de A., Instrucção do Exmo. Vice-Rei Marquez de Alorna ao seu Successor o Exmo Vice-Rei Marquez de Tavora; Barbuda, Instrucções Com Que El-Rei D. José Mandou Passar ao Estado da India o Governador e Capitão Geral e o Arcebispo Primaz do Oriente no Anno de 1774. Added to these texts written in the eighteenth century but only published in the nineteenth are: ‘Instrução de S. M. dada ao Marquez de Louriçal Quando Veio por Vice-Rey da India, 1740’, O Chronista de Tissuary, vol. 4, 77–80, 89–92; ‘Notas Escriptas e Deixadas pelo Conde das Antas, à sua Partida

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17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28. 29.


31. 32.

de Gôa, ao Governador que o Substituio, e ao Presidente da Relação, Sá Ramalho’ (23-4-1843), in J.P.C. Soares, Bosquejo das Possessões Portuguesas no Oriente, vol. III, 372–82. Portugal, P.M. de A., Instrucção do Exmo. Vice-Rei Marquez de Alorna ao seu Successor o Exmo Vice-Rei Marquez de Tavora; Barbuda, Instrucções Com Que El-Rei D. José Mandou Passar ao Estado da India o Governador e Capitão Geral e o Arcebispo Primaz do Oriente no Anno de 1774. Xavier, Nobiliarchia Goana, 131–73. Portugal, P.M. de A., Instrucção do Exmo. Vice-Rei Marquez de Alorna ao seu Successor o Exmo. Vice-Rei Marquez de Tavora, 7–129. Ibid., parte II, 3–31. O Chronista de Tissuary, vol. 2 (1867), 147–55; Boxer, ‘O Plano da Reconquista da Província do Norte Elaborado pelo Capitão Caetano de Sousa Pereira’, 1–12; M. de J. dos M. Lopes, Goa Setecentista: Tradição e Modernidade(1750–1850), 61–63. Múrias, Instrução para o Bispo de Pequim e outros Documentos para a História de Macau. Noronha, Sistema Marcial Asiático, Político, Histórico, Genealógico, Analítico e Miscelânico. Estêvão, Grammatica da Lingua Concani, studies of E. Perry and J.H. da Cunha Rivara. Aires, Para a História da Academia das Sciências de Lisboa, 211, 236–37, 287–88. Breves Instrucções aos Correspondentes da Academia das Sciencias de Lisboa Sobre as Remessas dos Productos, e Noticias Pertencentes à Historia da Natureza, para Formar hum Museo Nacional, 3–5, 40–45. BNP, P. 3370 V. (another example in Biblioteca do Palácio Nacional de Mafra, 2-38-2-22, as can be seen in Boletim Internacional de Bibliografia Luso-Brasileira VIII(1) (Jan.–Mar. 1967), 142. Ibid. A Swedish botanist better known by his Latin name Carolus Linnaeus, author of Systema naturae (1735), Genera Plantarum (1737) and Species Plantarum (1753). ACL, Ms., Série vermelha, no. 405. Cardoso, Memórias Económicas Inéditas (1780–1808), 33–36; J.L. Cardoso, Pensar a Economia em Portugal: Digressões Históricas (Lisbon: Difel, 1997), 101-118. J.A. de Sá, Compendio de observaçoens, que fórmão o plano da Viagem politica, e filosofica, que se deve fazer dentro da Patria (Lisbon: Francisco Borges de Sousa, 1783). M.G. da Silva, Observações Sobre a Historia Natural de Goa Feitas no Anno de 1784; Ibid., ‘Relação da Viagem Feita pelas Terras da Manica em 1788’, 242–46; Simon, Scientific Expeditions in the Portuguese Overseas Territories (1783–1808) and the Role of Lisbon in the Intellectual-Scientific Community of the Late Eighteenth-Century, 65, 77, 106. Rivara, A Conjuração de 1787 em Goa, e Varias Cousas Desse Tempo. In the work by Picart, Banier and Mascrier, the people of India are divided into Moors, gentiles and topas. The topas or mestiços were, for the authors, descendants of Portuguese and Indian parents; their profession was usually in arms and although they did not have the wealth of their forebears they retained their gravitas. Their name, topas, derives means ‘people with hats’. Their language was a corrupted Portuguese, which was the language used in business in India (Picart, vol. VI, 163). On the sipais, see as an example the report to the Count of Ega by Francisco Tosi Colombina, Pangim, 27 June 1759, see BNP, Pombalina, 643, fls. 94–96.

Heroes of the State of India  •  339

33. Santa Maria, Santuario Mariano, vol. X. 34. Deus, Caminho dos Frades Menores Para a Vida Eterna, 177–78, which appeared in two editions. 35. Ibid., 230–31. 36. Ibid., 240–41. 37. M. Ferreira, Noticias summarias das perseguioes da Missam de Cochinchina, principiada e continuada pelos padres da Companhia de Jesu; Brito, Historia do nascimento, vida e martyrio de Ven. Padre João de Britto da Companhia de Jesus, martyr da Asia, e protomartyr da Missão do Madurey. 38. A.J. de Frias, Aureola dos Indios e Nobiliarchia Bracmana. Tractado Historico, Genealogico, Panegyrico e Moral; L. Pais, Promptuario das Definições Indicas, Deduzido de Varios Chronistas da India, Graves Auctores, e das Historias Gentilicas. On this question, see Pissurlencar, ‘Contribuição ao Estudo Etnológico da Casta IndoPortuguesa Denominada “Chardó”, à Luz de Documentos Inéditos Encontrados no Arquivo Histórico da Índia’, 194–200 offprint from Actas do I Congresso de Antropologia Colonial, where the character of the Chardo caste and the differences existing between the Christian and Hindu versions it is argued by use of references to Leonardo Pais. 39. ‘Memorial Historico da Vida do Regulo Chamado Aydor Aly Naique’, 260–66; 288–94; see M. de J. dos M. Lopes, Goa Setecentista: Tradição e Modernidade (1750– 1850), 37, note 61. 40. Academia das Ciências de Lisboa, Collecção de Noticias para a Historia e Geografia das Nações Ultramarinas, que Vivem nos Dominios Portuguezes, ou lhes São Vizinhas, vol. I; Pissurlencar, Um Hindu, Autor Desconhecido de Duas Publicações Portuguesas; M. de J. do M. Lopes, Goa Setecentista: tradição e modernidade, 36. 41. F. Sousa, Oriente Conquistado a Jesu Christo pelos Padres da Companhia de Jesus da Provincia de Goa. 42. For the biography of Francisco de Sousa, see Schurhammer and Wicki, Epistolae S. Francisco Xaverii, vol. I, 107. There is a more recent edition of the Oriente Conquistado edited by Manuel Lopes de Almeida (1978). 43. There is also a contemporaneous reference to a third volume that was left in manuscript. See D.B. de Machado, Biblioteca Lusitana, vol. II, 266. 44. Among jesuit scholars, Francisco de Sousa cites the work of João de Lucena, Sebastião Gonçalves, Fernão Queiroz and Daniello Bartolli; he also displays a great deal of familiarity with the writings of João de Barros, Diogo do Couto and Manuel de Faria e Sousa, the Portuguese historians of the Estado da Índia. 45. F. de Sousa, Oriente Conquistado, 113, 129–33, 147, 856–57, 904–5. 46. Ibid., 740. 47. Ibid., 158. 48. Ibid., 103. 49. Ibid., 233. 50. Ibid., 241. 51. Ibid., 678–79. 52. Ibid., 113. 53. Ibid., 670–71. 54. Ibid., 845. 55. Ibid., 141, 142, 148–51, 177–80, 207–8, 260–61, 489–12, 659–61, 665–67. 56. Ibid., 45–46. 57. Ibid., 768–69.

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58. Ibid., 769. 59. Ibid., 882–86. 60. Bayly, ‘“Archaic” and “Modern” Globalization in the Eurasian and African Arena, c. 1750–1850’, 47–73. 61. Ibid., 86, 106. 62. Ibid., 885–87. 63. Ibid., 880–81. 64. Ibid., 926–34. 65. Ibid., 933.

Chapter 17

The Journey to the Far East of António de Albuquerque Coelho


When in 1717 António de Albuquerque Coelho left Goa for Macau, he took a very risky route. Instead of going by sea, he decided to cross India from the west to the east coast, hoping to find an English ship in Madras able to take him to China. His decision was a result of an unexpected situation, for the ship that was supposed to carry him had left early. The beginning of the Monsoon with its dramatic change of the winds might have precipitated the departure of the ship on the night of 22 May. However, it seems that a more solid reason was an old rivalry between the ship’s captain and the newly nominated governor of Macau. The determination of the latter to take up his post as soon as possible was supported by the governor of the State of India, the archbishop D. Sebastião de Andrade Pessanha, by his chief minister, the overseer of the treasury, D. Cristóvão de Melo, and by D. Luís da Costa, general of the province of Salsete. Therefore, on 2 June he began the journey from Goa to Macau, symbolically starting by attending a mass. The description of his departure also includes the names of the entourage that followed him: the captain João Tavares de Velez Guerreiro, appointed for the Fortress of Macau; his assistant Inácio Lobo de Meneses; two other men identified as being Portuguese, João Nunes and Pascoal Ribeiro; five slaves, probably born in East Africa; and two Franciscan friars, Ângelo de Santo António and Benedito, whom he went to find in the Capuchin convent of Madre de Deus, where he had gone just before departure to pray for protection on the journey.

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All these facts can be found in the well-known Jornada, que Antonio de Albuquerque Coelho, Governador, e Capitão General da Cidade do Nome de Deos de Macao na China, fez de Goa até chegar á dita Cidade no anno de 1718. This book by Captain Velez Guerreiro, comprising some 185 pages, was first printed with the use of woodblocks in Macau after the arrival of the governor at the end of May 1718 and before his departure for Goa in January 1720. A second edition, with an intriguing dedication to the Duke of Cadaval by the Catalan printer Don Jayme de Te Sagau, appeared in Lisbon in 1732.1 With its two editions published during the lifetime of Albuquerque Coelho, the book likely had a bearing on his career. It served to ascribe to him both the values of a devout Catholic and the virtues of prudence recognized in a noble soldier. These are two of the most common values to be found in the narrative of the different actions of this hero and his journey from Goa to Macau. To contextualize them suggests, first of all, noting the existence of a system of references within the book, represented by the models of virtue and action of Alexander the Great and the Portuguese heroes of the sixteenth century: Afonso de Albuquerque, D. Francisco de Almeida, Duarte Pacheco Pereira and D. João de Castro.2 Portuguese historiography from the middle of the sixteenth century spoke mostly the language of virtues, necessary to define devout Catholics and noble soldiers. A second and perhaps more precise context is given with the publication of a series of small books and pamphlets describing specific military actions and narrating the deeds of noble heroes. Viceroys and governors of Brazil and the State of India are the central figures of this series of texts published in Lisbon from the beginning of the eighteenth century. A varied classicism inspired by Plutarch and Caesar and associated with the tradition of Portuguese imperial historiography are the main features of these texts. The glorification of the noble soldier contrasts with – or even intends to respond to – the Portuguese narratives of shipwrecks.3 A third exercise of contextualization relates to the reception of the two editions in Macau and Lisbon. Until 1718, the Jesuits had monopolized the European use of woodblocks to print books diffusing religion or their ideas on the question of Chinese rites. The printing of the Jornada by the same process was a unique case. One could say that all references included in the book about missionary activities conducted by the Jesuits contribute to the propaganda of the Society of Jesus. By the same token, the portrayal of the noble soldier in woodblocks was invested with the same authority attributed to religious texts. Knowing that Albuquerque Coelho was accepted as a member of the Order of Christ in 1719, the publication of his rise to governor of Macau was certainly a way of confirming his noble status and his legitimacy.4 As to the Lisbon edition

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of 1732, also evident is the intention of associating his portrayal with one of the highest figures of the Portuguese great nobility to whom the book was dedicated. One might wonder whether this operation could serve the purpose of protecting him against severe judgements regarding his recent actions as governor of Pate, on the East African coast, near Mombasa,5 or whether the publication of his exemplary portrayal as a noble soldier could be used to challenge the noble courtiers or even the legitimate heir of his father, whose marriage plans linked him to another distinguished Portuguese noble family.6 Important as they are, these brief remarks on the context of the book do not cover the main meanings found in the Jornada. They intend to disentangle it from a simple narrative concerning the biography of António Coelho Guerreiro. This point deserves particular attention, precisely because the analytical argument that I will try to pursue in this chapter depends on this exercise of disentanglement. The life of Albuquerque Coelho represents one of the few curious exceptions in the field of Portuguese imperial historiography, where claims as to the absence of biographies are a current issue. Born in 1682 in Maranhão, he was the illegitimate son of the governor António de Albuquerque Coelho de Carvalho and a woman of African and Amerindian blood. In 1700, he went to Lisbon, and six years later he embarked, for the first time, on a trip to the Portuguese State of India. After a short period in Macau where he was in the business world, he decided to return to Lisbon without permission. This decision meant a fall in status when he returned to Macau. Once back in China, he married a rich Portuguese orphan, putting an end to a rivalry with another suitor. Although this cost him the loss of an arm, it gave him access to a rich dowry and municipal power in Macau. Based on what seems to have been a successful business career, Albuquerque Coelho sought to involve himself in the local political life, which was characterized to a large degree by disputes between various factions.7 His nomination in 1717 to the post of governor was achieved during his visit to Goa.8 The voyage narrated in the Jornada refers precisely to the period of his life that followed and has been read by his biographers as a way of filling the gap between two different moments of his career – the one that characterized his involvement in the local life of Macau, as a citizen and member of the Senado da Council, and the other represented by a series of nominations as governor of different parts of the State of India. Curiously, his personal and public life in the former period – the rivalry, conflicts and the dramatic death of his wife and daughter – has sometimes been romanticized. Regarding his nomination to different governments within the Portuguese State of India and elsewhere (Macau, 1718–1719, Timor, 1723–1725? and Pate, 1729), one

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could ask whether or not the last nomination to the East Coast of Africa (over the importance of Macau and Timor), especially Mozambique and the Sena rivers, was an upward move in his career.9 His qualities and experience in creating consensus and defending the public interests of the State of India are the main features used to define the second part of his life, which illustrates an ascending career. This includes his acceptance into the Order of Christ and, at the end of his life, his nomination to head the Misericórdia of Goa.10 There is also a larger context explaining how for some years Macau benefited from the official closure of Canton to the Dutch and the English, which created new opportunities of trade from Batavia and Timor to China under the Portuguese flag.11 The legitimate aim of understanding the life of António de Albuquerque Coelho by reconstructing the main facts of his career has led his biographers to see the Jornada, written by a member of his entourage, as a simple collection of events that could be placed on the level of factual works. Curiously, one of the few recent attempts to present the book in a literary and cultural historiographic mould falls into the same trap.12 One can also attack the literal understanding of the book as a source of information as to his psychological qualities, namely his astuteness. However, by no means does this ingenuous positivism justify a strong change of paradigm to reduce the analysis of the book to a textual approach and forget the relationship between the Jornada and the life or career of its main protagonist. Therefore, it is only a starting point to say that the book should be read as a mirror of the Catholic values of devotion and the virtues of the noble soldier, to be placed in the context of different political situations and the use of specific types of language. In other words, while the book narrates facts that really happened – and some of them, like the voyage of Albuquerque to the Far East, cannot be accused of being a product of imagination – it does this through a specific vocabulary, used for the good of Albuquerque’s image. Therefore, this was not a product of negotiation or a result of an unstable psychological character. On the contrary, the work is intended to defend the opportunities created by an ongoing, ascending career. In this chapter, I shall identify the main types of language used in the Jornada and the corresponding image of António de Albuquerque Coelho. Through the development of an analytical argument, I will demonstrate that these are used in relation to the construction of a political image, which supposes a choice and a contrast regarding other forms of political imagination available during the same period. The language of virtues perhaps features most prominently in the Jornada. A good example can be found in the prologue, where Velez Guerreiro writes: ‘Prudence without resolution is cowardice; and

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resolution without experience or without prudent evaluation of the consequences should be considered carelessness.’13 This formulation defines a general image of the governor Albuquerque Coelho and corresponds to what the book broadly illustrates in many episodes narrating his actions. A selective inventory of the different virtues performed by the main hero includes the equality he promoted among the Portuguese who went with him and his refusal of demonstrations of honour that he naturally deserved along a difficult journey. This ‘urbanity’ reminds me of an old model of chivalry and the ideal of primus inter pares.14 More apparent is his military ability in evaluating the strength of his forces against an enemy, as well as his fearlessness and tight control of situations. Discipline, self-control and urbanity all belonged to the military culture of neo-stoicism in Europe from the sixteenth century onwards.15 However, in a text that does not explain its own references, it is evident that it is more important to translate the same virtues into an anthropomorphic metaphor so frequent in books of emblems. This is the case when the governor is described as representing ‘more the maturity of a head without arms, than the bravery of many arms without a head’.16 However, in other situations, the ‘astute prudence’ claimed by the governor is substituted by immediate courage in demonstrating an exemplary use of force.17 This occurs when the governor does not hesitate to grasp and pull off the beard of a treacherous guide.18 His defence of personal or national reputation against the Dutch or the English also implies a resolution to fight with the certainty of achieving a glorious death. Within this evident vocabulary of virtues, the writer acknowledges that ‘Fortune favours the brave’.19 António de Albuquerque Coelho presents a myriad of virtues including prudent audacity and the capacity to forgive.20 The virtues demonstrated by his actions do not exclude the use of dissimulation in situations of war in order to compensate for inferiority in the face of a considerable force, which, Velez Guerreiro argues, is a quality to be found in ancient histories of notorious captains.21 Decisions to negotiate with local princes or to face open war against them use the same vocabulary. Nevertheless, one of the main features of this language is the simple moral opposition between good and bad. The governor represents more and more in the book the virtues of military ability and a genuine Catholic devotion to the Portuguese nation while opposing merchant interests and the ambition to make money, which was attributed to the English – mostly their captains. In other words, the defence of Portuguese honour, nobility and generosity reigns over lowly ambitions for profit that characterize English traders. Only once, as an exception to the rule, does the author

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consider that the English with their ability to do business and make trade contracts have been able to impose their presence in the East.22 The language of virtues is directly related to what can be called organizational logic of discourses. This is the case in the beginning of the second part of the book dedicated to the actions of the governor in Johor.23 Velez de Guerreiro makes clear the reason why it was such an important issue to write down the names of all those included in the small group led by Albuquerque Coelho. Their brave actions in a situation of inferiority regarding the huge forces of an enemy could not remain unrecorded. Their names follow a hierarchy, reminding us of the imaginary three orders and old models of princely houses: after the governor come the captain and author of the Jornada, then the master of the pilots João da Costa, the condestável Domingos dos Santos, and nine other men referred to by their complete name. Besides this group of Portuguese soldiers, there were the two Capuchins; the ship’s chaplain, Brother Tomaz de S. José; and Brother Ângelo de S. António, an Italian and also a doctor. Finally, there is the anonymous group of black men unable to use fire arms and with their only skills lying in manoeuvring the ship. This process of nomination, following an accepted social hierarchy, creates an image of the Portuguese noble soldier always ready to face situations of inferiority and supported by friars and churchmen. The language of virtues in relation to the naming of individuals belongs to a political order where rituals, ceremonies and visual symbols occupy a central place. In the Jornada, ceremonies of diplomatic interaction between the governor and the foreign kings or political leaders encountered by Albuquerque Coelho during his voyage are simultaneously forms of expressing Catholic devotion to saints and the Church in general. The diplomatic, high status ascribed to each situation leads to a celebration of the virtues of the governor, who is seen as the legitimate representative of the Portuguese crown. The details of the apparatus, elephants and pageantry involved create a sense of communication between different cultures, and while there is a clear intention of imposing the dignity of the Portuguese, this does not intend to lessen the local political systems.24 On the contrary, it seems that the idealized reputation given to the governor by the author depends directly on the sophistication of the ceremonies that represent other political centres. Questions of hierarchy, precedence, exchange of presents, and protocol – reproducing rules easy to recognize by a contemporaneous reader – also belong to these descriptions. However, one of the main features of each cycle of rituals and ceremonies consists in ending with an explicit reference to Catholicism, including attending mass, praying to the image of Our Lady or even founding a new church. A last general remark concerns the fact that,

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although two were Capuchins in the governor’s entourage, the majority of the clergymen encountered during the journey were Jesuits. This fact can be interpreted as a sign of harmony between different branches of the Catholic Church and suggests another way of idealizing the portrayal of the governor Albuquerque Coelho as able to stand above all the conflicts with and within the church.25 The virtues of the governor – particularly with regards to the naming of his entourage and their participation in diplomatic and Catholic ceremonies – are all articulated in a language of politics – of situations of war and peace, of conquest or conservation of territories or status. In comparison with the preceding analysis, the origin of the elements comprising this language – used simultaneously to narrate concrete actions and to improve the image of the governor and the Portuguese – is difficult to trace. It is true that from Machiavelli to Botero, or to different forms of Tacitism, one can find the roots of this political thought. However, perhaps more important than finding the remote roots of this language is understanding how it was spread by the art of war and how it is related to specific forms of thinking on social and political units. Within the different situations of military confrontation, Albuquerque Coelho is always represented as making the right decisions and putting into practice the theory of the military art. Therefore, the Jornada illustrates the model of the good captain well versed in the art of war. But one can ask how a vocabulary containing the different forms of thought on war and peace develops a specific language concerning what would nowadays be called the role of individuals, social groups and political units – together seen as the source of conquest and conservation, in what can be considered as situations of war and peace. Although the primacy conceded to the governor – with his military strategies and audacious prudence – has no parallel in the book, it establishes a pattern regarding individual actions. The role of individual agents, such as the French cavalier of the Order of Christ who helped the Portuguese in Vellore or the Greek who mediated between the governor and the king of Johor, follows the same pattern. Although it has a negative connotation, the ability to manipulate and conspire attributed to the second figures in the court of the king of Johor correspond to the same pattern of individual action. Besides this sphere of individual agents, the units that participate in the so-called political sphere correspond to a very strong sense of social hierarchy. For instance, the Portuguese named as constituting the governor’s entourage stand above the anonymous group of black men who follow them. This kind of hierarchy reveals a consistent form of racism as a way of imagining the noble Portuguese nation. At another level, Albuquerque and the Portuguese

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were able to defend and improve the reputation of the Portuguese nation in Vellore against the lower level of the anonymous Portuguese living in the area and along the Coromandel Coast in general. By the same token, one can find specific forms of hierarchy when reflecting on the relations between different European nations. The Portuguese representing noble, Catholic, and honourable values occupy the highest place in comparison with the English and the Danish encountered in Madras or Johor, who represent a different religion and are moved by simple commercial interests. Following the same line, the non-Europeans encountered by the Portuguese are labelled as barbarians, superstitious and always acting in a state of fear. This strong sense of social and political hierarchy, including the vertical relations between nations, is even more present than the more explicit horizontal conflicts between different factions in the same court. Curiously, in the Jornada, factions disputing the power attributed to political centres are always non-European. This is the case in the dynastic conflict for succession in Johor. On that occasion, Velez Guerreiro argues, instead of supporting one of the sides, the Dutch in Malacca preferred to apply the formula ‘of promoting quarrels among the neighbours to increase the power of their own state’.26 This attitude contrasts strongly with the position of Albuquerque Coelho, who did not hesitate to take part in the conflict between different factions in the court of Johor in order to re-establish legitimate authority. Although the Portuguese governor is portrayed in the Jornada as acting without any self-interest, his evident collaboration in the dynastic conflicts of the kingdom of Johor follows the tradition of military and political advice developed in Southeast Asia by European individuals long before Conrad’s Lucky Jim.27 A final and perhaps even more complicated language concerns the description of kingdoms, manners and societies encountered by the Portuguese during the journey. One could say that this type of knowledge accomplishes a political function, for it makes available information necessary for the governor to make decisions. In this case, the common characterization of other people as fearful – a repetitive feature close to a stereotype – is directly related to the decision to move quickly to military action. However, it is difficult to argue that the knowledge collected in the Jornada was organized in order to be used in political decisions. It is more accurate to argue that the knowledge concerning other people is first of all shaped by the languages that define the actions of the governor and the Portuguese. First of all, one should consider the language of virtues which are used to define the noble or princely behaviour of the local kings of Vellore and Johor. In this case, liberality, generosity, urbanity and the ability to provide paternal protection to subjects, including the

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Portuguese, are some of the most important virtues referred to. This language is a framework for understanding the new realities met by the governor’s entourage, and it appears more frequently than analogies in the book that are from Roman times.28 The art of describing cities and kingdoms, well developed since the Renaissance and with a tradition whose roots can be traced to Aristotle and Vitruvius, created another way of perceiving other societies. However, the tradition of describing the political situation of the neighbouring kings was also well established in the correspondence of viceroys and governors from the sixteenth century.29 Finally, the tradition of describing processions and ceremonies developed by antiquarians and masters of ceremonies also has a bearing on the perception of the most visible aspects of the political units encountered by the Portuguese. Different traditions and models coexist in the perception of other people. The first and perhaps most general tradition concerns an interest in defining the kingdoms of Vellore and Johor as being despotic and therefore able to provide protection to the Portuguese and the Catholic Church. In this sense, one can argue that if despotism is a characteristic of western perceptions of the east, this is not a result of giving less importance to those political regimes; on the contrary, despotism or strongly centralized political regimes are praised for their ability to provide security and tolerance towards Catholicism. A second problem is related with the description of other people and societies characterized by the racism towards those same societies. Of course, racism as a Portuguese attitude towards being in the tropics is more evident regarding the poor than in relation to kings and royal courts, where, nevertheless, different forms of racism are evident. A final question is posed by the reference to local interpreters acting as brokers or diplomatic agents and able to manipulate the relations between the Portuguese and the local princes. The process of information-gathering on Indian and Southeast Asian societies relied heavily on those local informers rather than being imagined or created by Europeans.30 The analysis of the different languages, vocabularies and traditions of thought should be completed by a full understanding of the travel report genre of which Jornada is part. The journeys and adventures of the hero by land and by sea – including struggles with geographical incidents and bad weather conditions, the wars and encounters with foreign people, or unexpected situations almost leading to shipwrecks – constitute the main element of travel literature. In comparison with the popular accounts of shipwrecks where God usually punished the sins and ambition of decadent human beings, the Jornada formulates a clear message of hope regarding the human capacity to control and to decide

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individual, collective and imperial destinies. In the entire book only once is there an allusion to the loss of Malacca, taken by the Dutch from the Portuguese as a result of their sins, and even then the author adds that the reason could be also attributed to Portuguese inertia.31 The book should ultimately be read as a programme of action of a hero that should be followed by a nation involved in imperial enterprise. Nobility and devoutness are the main values represented by a virtuous man like Albuquerque Coelho. Are these traditional values opposed to modern ones represented by commercial interests (as defended by the Dutch, the English or the Danish) encountered during the journey? I wonder if this is perhaps the wrong question (question mal posée), based simultaneously on an anachronistic principle that puts modernity in opposition to tradition and the reproduction of ideas shaped by Dutch and English imperial propaganda against the Portuguese and Spanish empires. In fact, the construction of an image of Albuquerque Coelho as a virtuous noble soldier and a devout Catholic does not exclude a strong defence of his tenacity, initiative and advice, contributing to a model of active individualism. Indeed, the construction of this image reveals a need to compensate for a successful career in trade and a marriage that made him a rich man. By the same token, and perhaps following a more pertinent argument, one could also ask why the example of the governor excludes from the sphere of political imagination discourses on legal legitimacy, the functions ascribed to the work of jurists, and a concept of political systems based on specific institutions. It would be tempting to argue that in the long run the Portuguese empire was justified more by actual models of action – starting with the work of historians of the mid-sixteenth century – instead of following the type of Spanish justifications formulated by jurists aspiring to create a corpus of legal theory. The defence of monopolies, leading to the formation of mercantilism as a political and economic theory, is also absent from the political imagination found in the Jornada. However, it is also possible to argue that from the second half of the seventeenth century, and with particular intensity from the beginning of the eighteenth century, diplomatic relations reinforcing the importance of ambassadorial ceremonies created a basis upon which European negotiated empires could remain. While the language of virtues that shaped a model of action and the description of diplomatic or religious ceremonies is the result of a Eurocentric and imperial vision, it is not at all the result of what has more recently been called orientalism, seen as a way of diminishing people and political units encountered by the Europeans in the East. When the author of the Jornada uses the language of virtues to praise the kings of Vellore and Johor, and when he goes into the details of

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the ceremonies of reception organized by them for the governor and his entourage, he is not downgrading the image of those Indian and Southeast Asian societies. On the contrary, what he intends to do is praise the political centres encountered by his hero in order to construct an image of him as an imperial agent able to negotiate with other kingdoms official forms of Portuguese and Catholic presence. However, this idealization of diplomatic relations conducted by a man who aspired to represent noble and Catholic values was in part in contradiction with his mixed-blood status.32 This contradiction also suggests that within the same process of idealization, and in contrast with his origins, one can place the different forms of racism and references to the barbarity of other people. A last and brief concluding remark concerns the method of identifying the types of language used in the Jornada that create a specific image of António de Albuquerque Coelho and the Portuguese in the east. Following an initial explanation, my method, based on textual analysis, was a way of disentangling the voyage of the governor of Macau as narrated by the captain Velez Guerreiro in a series of repetitive biographies. The construction of this image in the Jornada would have evident implications for the career of its main hero, and both writer and patron knew it. What is more difficult to trace is how the book was received. The first edition creates an image of harmony achieved by the governor, in clear opposition to the conflict between different Portuguese groups that characterized social and political life before his rule. The second edition of 1732, published after the loss of Pate, which was attributed to Albuquerque Coelho, could act as a defence of his military and strategic qualities, well demonstrated in the second part of the book regarding his intervention in Johor. The language used in the Jornada may favour a certain kind of reception but is not necessarily determined by the different meanings of the text. Indeed, a critical understanding of a book such as this demonstrates that a plurality of ways of reading a text is never as important as the identification of its real meaning.

The Estado do presente Estado da India (1725) by Fr Inácio de Santa Teresa In 1725, the Archbishop of Goa, D. Inácio de S. Teresa, wrote a long political discourse entitled Estado do presente Estado da India. Meyos faceis, e eficazes p.ª o seu augmento e reforma spiritual, e temporal. Tractado Politico, Moral, Juridico, Theologico, Historico e Ascetico. Some episcopal and governmental activities of the author are already known. He arrived in the

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capital of the State of India at the end of September 1721 and immediately gave directions for the destruction of Hindu temples. This measure was part of a programme of pastoral visits and reforms that characterized his stay in Goa. In 1724, he made use of his functions as governor and put an end to the Tribunal da Relação. D. Inácio de S. Teresa’s work presents a full programme of reforms that the succeeding viceroy, João de Saldanha da Gama, attempted to put into practice from the beginning of his governorship in October 1725. However, the actions of D. Inácio de S. Teresa in Goa continued to be felt until 1739, when he was transferred to the position of See of the Algarve, which oddly coincided with the loss of Bassein and the Province of the North. His reforming initiatives, particularly at an ecclesiastical level, as well as his interventions in the political sphere – particularly when one considers that in October 1732 he once again took on the function of governor while still the See of Algarve – led to him being seen as having a troublesome nature and causing conflict.33 I am intending to limit my analysis here to political discourse. The only copy of the work I have managed to find has been described on various occasions, but it has never been fully studied. It is a manuscript of seventy tightly written pages that includes various corrections and marginal notes. Its incomplete nature is clear due to the fact that there is much documentation to be found in an appendix that was never written or that is now lost. Whatever the case, the work belongs to the genre of political testimony, instruction or opinion, presented at the same time as the Instrucções from D. Luís da Cunha to Marco António de Azevedo Coutinho, as well as the Marquis of Alorna’s Instrucção to his successor as viceroy, the Marquis of Távora.34 The treatise of D. Inácio de S. Teresa suggests a certain logic of empire, defended through reference to Goa at a precise moment. The calm work of reconstruction of these imperial logics appears to have been absolutely necessary at a time when the historiography of the expansion of empire was found to be subject more to the logic of organization of groups of historians, who act as clients of those invested with institutional authority, than to an interest in developing a debate based upon an analysis of sources. For the Archbishop of Goa, the main meaning of this imperial logic rests in a return to the past – a recovery of an ancestral and traditional order that is accepted as the sole form of rejecting the errors and decline to be found in the present. It is not worth determining whether this recollection is treated as a construction or seen as something that is naturalized; the most relevant thing is to understand that this way of battling with the past is directly linked to the notion of reform of the present. It

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is therefore through this concept of the past that one can evaluate the decline of the present and suggest measures for reform. A hierarchical vision of society corresponds with this way of conceiving time and using recollections. At the summit of this hierarchy, D. Inácio places the pope as God’s delegate on earth and lord of a spiritual empire as well as being a temporal emperor. The Portuguese king aspired to this universal empire (at least this is what the prophesies lead us to believe – particularly those that proclaim the first king, Afonso Henriques). From the highest point of this pyramid, defined in an Augustinian manner through the image of two empires, there was a double hierarchy. On the one hand, the bishops presided over a chain of command that also included both the secular clergy, ending with the parish priests, and with the regular clergy, the religious orders, particularly the Franciscans, Dominicans and Jesuits, and even the Inquisition or the Father of Christians. On the other hand, there were the viceroys, followed by an entire military hierarchy comprising generals and captains, legal officials such as high court judges and then overseers of the treasury until reaching the lower level with customs officials or factors and still lower the works contractors. It is through this language of the two empires, ecclesiastical and temporal, that D. Inácio views the political sphere. But as we shall see later, the words used are intended to defend, within this sphere, the authority and power of the