He penned the first letter while still on the high seas, aboard the frigate Princess Carlota. It is dated April 12, 1811 (Good Friday), 10 p.m., in the vicinity of Cape Verde, off the coast of Africa. The last letter bears the date March 26, 1821, one month before the return of King João VI to Lisbon.2 Some of these letters discuss historical events, such as the death of Queen Maria I, the coronation of João VI, and the arrival and departure of ships in the port of Rio de Janeiro. Others slide into pure and simple gossip, as on May 19, 1812, when dos Santos Marrocos criticizes the sexual affairs of João de Almeida de Melo e Castro, count of Gâlvea and minister of naval affairs and overseas territories. Without offering many details, the archivist suggests that the count maintained homosexual relations with vagabonds in the center of Rio de Janeiro, around the docklands. “It is frightening and disgusting, the age-old, filthy vice of this man,” he writes. “A married man, he completely ignores his wife, nourishing his frailty with rascals and shameful parasites.”3
In Portugal, the dos Santos Marrocos family belonged to an elite class of bureaucrats affiliated with institutions of culture and knowledge. Francisco, strict, educated, and authoritarian, was a professor of philosophy in Belém. In 1797, he had ordered the reprinting, in the office of Simão Ferreiro in Lisbon, of a bibliographic jewel: A History of the Discovery and Conquest of the Indians by the Portuguese, written in 1559 by Fernão Lopez de Castanheda.4 In 1811, the Royal Press published Francisco’s own book, An Alphabetized Map of the Settlements of Portugal. Luiz, a graduate of the University of Coimbra, followed in his father’s footsteps as a literary custodian, translator, and author. He worked as an assistant in the royal libraries in 1802. In 1807, he finished translating, by royal order, the five-volume, 2,500-page Treatise on Legal Medicine and Public Hygiene by French doctor F. E. Foderé.5 He had also written his own book, An Inoculation of Understanding. Neither of these two works saw publication, though. The originals of the former remained forgotten on the docks of Lisbon in the commotion preceding the court’s departure to Brazil, never to be seen again. The latter is known only through the letters that Luiz wrote to his father.6
The Lisbon of the dos Santos Marrocos family was a conservative city, profoundly religious and based on antiquated customs. Its homes featured Eastern tapestries, and quilts from India covered its verandas. Historian Oliveira Martins calls it the most oriental of European capitals.7 Other chroniclers and travelers of the time describe it as a medieval city: dirty, dark, and dangerous. The burial of corpses in cemeteries became obligatory only in 1771. Until then, they had been abandoned, cremated, or laid to rest in improvised graves on the periphery of the city. Those who had wealth or power were buried in churches.
Lack of hygiene was a chronic problem. “Dirty water, dishwater, urine, and excrement were tossed out of windows with no advance notice at any hour of night or day,” wrote Frenchman J. B. F. Carrère, a resident of Lisbon at the end of the eighteenth century. “One who walked through the city streets was always at risk of being soaked and covered with filth.”8
“This great city had no illumination at night, as a result of which it frequently occurred that a person would become lost at night, running the risk of being soiled in the squalor that was unloaded from windows onto the streets, as houses did not have latrines,” wrote French traveler Jácome Ratton.9 “Everyone is supposed to bring their waste to the river, and there is a great quantity of blacks who perform this service, but this law is not exactly followed, especially by the masses.” Another traveler, William Beckford, spoke of the ravenous and stray dogs that wandered the street, scavenging in the garbage for scraps of food. “Of all the capitals in which I have lived, Lisbon is the most infested by packs of these famished animals, who at least provide the service of cleaning the streets of a bit of its aromatic waste.”10
The absence of collective good hygiene brought on the spread of plague and disease, not limited to the common people of course. Such problems affected the royal family as well. We can gather some idea of the fragility of life in the court through a letter that Prince João wrote in 1786 to his sister Mariana Vitória, who had moved to Madrid after marrying the Spanish infante. In the letter, the prince conveys that Carlota Joaquina, his wife for just a year at this point, had to cut her hair due to an infestation by lice. “The Infanta is getting better, but her head still itches a lot,” he writes. “You know quite well that skin irritations don’t give up easily. I cannot explain to you the lice she has. It’s like a plague. After cutting her hair, her head became even drier. But she left a forelock, which seems to be the hiding-place of all the lice, and you can believe how she suffered, but nonetheless she took it all in stride, as if she were a thirty-year-old woman.”11 At the time, Carlota Joaquina was just eleven years old.
As employees of the Royal Library, the dos Santos Marrocos had a close familiarity with the prince regent’s court and with the palaces frequented by the nobility. The suffocating presence of the Church and its numerous religious rituals dominated the grim and depressing atmosphere. Travelers and diplomats found surprising the lack of parties, dinners, balls, or receptions in the Portuguese court, in marked contrast with the animated palaces of Paris and Madrid, where music, dance, and the colors of culture predominated. In Lisbon, “a decadent court surrounded a half-insane queen and an obese prince royal who suffered from a chronic case of indecision,” writes historian Alan Manchester.12 Another scholar, Pedro Calmon, described the Portuguese court as “one of the most frail and sickly in Europe” at the end of the eighteenth century. “The inbred marriages, the morbid legacy, the melancholy of its mystic, apathetic court, stunned by undefined fears, gave it the visage of an aged, crumbling lineage.”13
In this repressive, holier-than-thou atmosphere, the effects of the French Revolution of 1789 reverberated and terrified the nobility. The superintendent of police, Diogo da Pina Manique, rigorously battled the revolution’s influence. Combining the roles of magistrate, customs inspector, and administrator of pavements and public illumination, da Pina Manique blocked the entry of books considered dangerous and ordered the closure of Masonic lodges, suspected of promoting the spread of revolutionary ideas.14 He ordered the arrest of subscribers to Diderot’s and Voltaire’s encyclopedias and deported writers sympathetic to the French Revolution.15 Among his oppressed was Manuel Maria Barbosa du Bocage, one of Portugal’s greatest writers and poets.
On discovering the establishment of a Masonic lodge on the island of Madeira, some six hundred miles southwest of Lisbon, da Pina Manique sent a police magistrate there with the following instructions:
Whoever you see with pointed, shiny shoes, suspenders on their leggings, a necktie up to their beard, a collar up to their ears, hair cut close to the neck and coiffed up to their fontanel, and sideburns down to the corners of their mouth—apprehend him immediately and lock him up in an ironclad jail until a ship can take him to Limoeiro prison: he’s either a follower of the Enlightenment or a freemason.16
Manique’s persecutions were so intolerable for the French and the followers of the ideas of the revolution that, under pressure from Napoleon Bonaparte, the prince regent fired him.
In this Lisbon, where culture and science had long since fallen into decline, the mere existence of the Royal Library represented a particular eccentricity. It showed that the Portuguese court pretended to be more learned that it actually was, according to historian Lília Schwarcz, author of the most authoritative book written about the library. Portuguese kings had cultivated its fabled collection since the fourteenth century.17 It was there that dos Santos Marrocos, father and son, passed their days cataloguing, copying, filing, and preserving books and documents. The Royal Library wasn’t just a means of livelihood for the family—it was their very reason for existing.
In the months following the departure of the royal family, thousands of Portuguese citizens raised arms to resist the French invasion. Luiz dos Santos Marrocos stood among them. B
efore embarking for Rio de Janeiro in 1811, he served on the battlefields and fought on the barricades erected around the entrance of the Portuguese capital. His good service raised him to the rank of captain in the Portuguese army.18 Like all of the Portuguese in this period, though, his family went through great tribulations. With the departure of the court and the virtual paralysis of the Portuguese government, the salaries of public servants, including the dos Santos Marrocos family, remained overdue for more than a year. Prices tripled. Citizens lacked basic necessities and starved.
Involuntarily swept up in the gale of history, the royal archivist himself became a symbol of the great transformations that profoundly affected Brazilians and Portuguese on both sides of the Atlantic during the court’s years in Rio de Janeiro. For Luiz, however, a journey of great changes was just beginning, as we will see in greater detail in the final chapters of this book.
VII
The Voyage
Designed to prevent seawater infiltration and to survive the most violent ocean storms, Portuguese ships two centuries ago resembled hermetically sealed wooden compartments with small hatches that remained shut most of the time. The atmosphere inside, lacking ventilation, was asphyxiating. During the day, under the equatorial sun, they became floating saunas. The ships had neither running water nor toilets. To attend to bodily necessities, mariners and passengers alike used cloacas—platforms tied to the bow, suspended over the gunwales of the ships, through which they defecated directly into the sea.1
The menu consisted of biscuits, lentils, olive oil, sour cabbage, and salted pork or cod. But in the suffocating heat of the tropics, rats, cockroaches, and weevils infested the stored rations. Contaminated by bacteria and fungus, water putrefied quickly. For just this reason, the regular beverage on British ships was beer. On Portuguese, Spanish, and French ships, the seafarers drank wine of poor quality. The lack of fruits and fresh foods caused one of the greatest threats on long voyages: scurvy, a fatal disease caused by a vitamin C deficiency. Its weakened victims burned with fever and suffered excruciating pain. Gums became gangrenous, and even a gentle touch could knock teeth clear of a jaw. By coincidence, 1808 was the first year that the young navy of the fledgling United States of America distributed doses of vitamin C among its crews to prevent the disease. In tropical regions, other threats included dysentery and typhoid, caused by lack of proper hygiene and contamination of food and water.2 “The water supply was insufficient, food ran short, and plague beset the émigrés in the crowded and unhygienic quarters,” records historian Alan Manchester of the Portuguese fleet.3
Shortly after arriving in Rio de Janeiro in 1811, Luiz dos Santos Marrocos wrote his father a letter that provides an idea of the discomfort involved in sailing across the Atlantic. Cramped and bumpy, the ship was thrown from one side to the other by the waves:
My dearest father and master of my heart,
It merits serious consideration, the discomfort suffered by one not used to sailing, especially if he has threatening illnesses requiring care, and must restrain himself from coughing, sneezing, or blowing his nose. . . . It is injurious, and of greatest consequences, to expose oneself to the seasickness that wrenches one’s entrails and bursts one’s veins, a torment lasting days, weeks, and sometimes even the whole trip. Besides this, the shock of the sea, thunderstorms and downpours, the rocking and dipping of the ship are no laughing matter for anyone who is refined.4
To avoid disease and the spread of plague, commanding officers required linens and the ships themselves always to be clean through rigorous discipline. In this regard, the British Navy serves as a paragon. In times of war, Britain stationed more than 60,000 men aboard its gigantic fleet—a number equal to the entire population of Rio de Janeiro in 1808. For these sailors, life at sea began early, often before adolescence. At seventeen, they already had become trained professionals. But a steadily substandard diet and grueling work, without breaks or comfort of any kind, shortened their careers to a maximum of ten to fifteen years. Life expectancy didn’t extend much beyond age forty except for the very lucky.5
Aboard British ships, sleeping on duty, disrespecting a superior, or attending to bodily necessities on deck instead of using the rudimentary cloacas represented grave misdeeds. The punishments for putting the crew in danger, which included failing to respect the rules of hygiene and cleanliness, came down hard and severe. In such cases, sailors could be flogged. In more grave cases, the captain had the authority to have them hanged. Such punishment, always on public display, served as an example for other members of the crew.
The logbooks of the British ships accompanying the Portuguese royal family to Brazil, published in 1995 by historian Kenneth Light, reveal the harsh routine of onboard discipline:
Diary onboard the HMS Bedford:
“5 December 1807: James Tacey, 48 lashes for negligence of duty;
14 December: John Legg, 12 lashes for negligence;
24 December: Hugh Davis, 24 lashes for negligence and disrespect; Neal McDougal, 24 lashes for negligence and attempting to incite mutiny; Thos Mirrins, 3 lashes for negligence.”
Diary onboard the corvette HMS Confiance:
“23 November: Got Horp, 36 lashes for desertion; Mcdougold, 36 for insolent behavior; Staith, 18 more for negligence.” 6
In 1807, it took the Portuguese fleet nearly two months to cross the Atlantic Ocean. The reports of the trip are incomplete and confused, but the voyage clearly teemed with malady and suffering. Antiquated and badly equipped, the vessels and frigates from Portugal heaved with crowds. The captain’s ship, the Royal Prince, which conveyed Prince João and Queen Maria I across the troubled waters, carried 1,054 people.7 We can imagine the disarray. Even with three quarterdecks for the battery of eighty-four cannons and a cellar full of cargo, at 220 feet long and 55 feet wide, the ship simply didn’t have space for all her passengers.8 Many slept on deck in the open air.
On the first days of the voyage, while the ships still sailed the waters of the northern hemisphere, strong waves pitched cold water onto the overloaded quarterdecks, where sailors worked in thick fog and cold gusts of wind. Hulls leaked, and the boats filled with water relentlessly. Many sails and ropes had rotted. Timbers groaned under the waves and wind, spreading panic among passengers unused to the roughness of the seas. Nausea overtook every ship.
The haste of departure and the miserable state of the Portuguese Navy further increased the journey’s discomfort. A third of the ships that Prince João had at his disposal before setting sail were left abandoned in the port of Lisbon at the mercy of the French invaders. They were useless.9 “The fleet left the Tagus in such haste that very few of the merchant ships had rations or water for more than three weeks to a month,” wrote Lord Strangford. “Many warships found themselves in the same state, and Sir Sidney Smith is of the opinion that most of the convoy should head towards England in order to stock up on provisions.”10
On the eve of departure, a report summarized the startling shortcomings of the Portuguese fleet:
Queen of Portugal: in need of 27 tanks of water, all are empty
Frigate Minerva: has only 60 tanks of water
Count Henrique: has 6 empty tanks, needs apothecary
Golphinho: has 6 empty tanks, lacks apothecary, hens, and firewood
Urânia: lacks firewood
Vingança: lacks water and firewood
Royal Prince: needs an apothecary, hens, cables, wax, 20 tanks of water, cleats, a chip log, and firewood
Flyer: lacks three tanks of water
Prince of Brazil: lacks olive oil, wax, cables, thirty tanks of water, firewood, and a chip log 11
At the end of the afternoon of the first day of travel, after performing the protocol of trading volleys of cannon fire, the combined fleet remained stationed near the Portuguese coast for the final inspections before crossing the Atlantic. At around 4 p.m., Lord Strangford and Admiral Sidn
ey Smith visited Prince João aboard the Royal Prince. Both Britons considered the conditions far short of the needs of the prince regent. The atmosphere was grim and depressing, as Strangford recorded in one of his dispatches to London. “It is impossible to describe the situation of these distinguished persons, their discomfort, the patience and resignation with which they have tolerated the deprivations and difficulties resulting from the transfer of the capital.”12 Smith offered to convey the prince regent on the Hibernia, lead ship of the English fleet, a new and more comfortable vessel. But João refused. The Portuguese court already felt more than sufficiently beholden to and dependent upon Britain. Traveling as a guest of the British commander would send a politically heavy and undesirable message.
The meeting among Strangford, Smith, and the prince lasted nearly three hours, during which they discussed the final details of the voyage. In case of any unexpected event while crossing, a contingency plan directed that all ships head toward the island of São Tiago in the archipelago of Cape Verde, where the fleet would regroup before proceeding to Rio de Janeiro. The only exception was the Medusa, which, bearing the ministers Antonio de Araújo, José Egydio, and Thomaz Antonio, would sail directly to Bahia.13
The meeting had barely ended when an abrupt change of weather took the passengers and crew by surprise. The wind—until then pushing the ships further into the ocean—changed course and blew strongly on a diagonal, perpendicular to the direction from which they embarked and directly opposite to the planned course. By nightfall, the wind had gathered the force of a storm that threatened to push the entire fleet back to the Portuguese coast, already occupied by French troops. After much anguish and tension, the commanding officers decided to take advantage of the windstorm and navigated northwest, as if heading toward Canada. This change of course would keep the ships at high sea, preventing them from being pushed back to shore. Only on the fourth day, having traversed more than 160 nautical miles, could they finally correct their sails and head southwest toward Brazil.14
1808: The Flight of the Emperor Page 6