RIO DE JANEIRO: THE TROPICAL SEAT OF THE EMPIRE
History is only predictable with hindsight; at close-up, everything is uncertain. This was certainly true for the Viceroy of Brazil, Dom Marcos de Noronha e Brito, Conde dos Arcos. In October 1807, while still trying to maintain a policy of neutrality, Dom João had decided to close the ports to the British, causing immediate concern over possible retaliation against the colony. Instructions were sent from Lisbon for Pernambuco, Bahia and Rio de Janeiro to prepare to defend their territories against a possible attack. On 11 January 1808 the count published an edict containing the measures that had to be taken to protect the capital from an attempted invasion.12 Just three days later all his expectations were turned on their head: the brig Voador arrived in the city with the news that the French had invaded Portugal and that the royal family, with the support of the British, had decided to retreat to the colony, from where the empire would be governed. From one day to the next, not only had the enemy changed, but also all the measures that had to be taken. The count was now able to turn his thoughts to more peaceful concerns, but ones that were no less urgent: to prepare the unsophisticated city of São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro to receive the court and to become the seat of the Portuguese Empire.
It was no small task. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Rio de Janeiro was an emerging town whose centre was constricted by four hills: Castelo, São Bento, Santo Antônio and Conceição. The city centre was at the foot of Morro do Castelo (Castelo Hill), where its defences had been installed since the time of its foundation, and from where it spread out into the four urban parishes: Sé,13 Candelária, São José and Santa Rita. The town had forty-six streets, four bystreets, six alleys and nineteen public squares, all of which were of beaten earth, full of potholes, puddles, marshes, and littered with rubbish.14 In fact, most of the terrain was swampland since the chief preoccupation of the city’s authorities in urban expansion had been to stave off flooding.
However, not far from the Morro do Castelo was the main square, facing the ocean – the Largo do Paço, where the government of the colony had been established. Here the town assumed a more imposing appearance. The square was first called terreiro do Ó (Ó yard), then terreiro do Polé. And finally, Largo do Carmo when the Carmelite Order built its church and convent in the area. In the 1740s the Royal Treasury and the Council Chamber (which also housed the prison) were erected and, shortly afterwards, the Royal Mint and Royal Storage House. These last two had been joined together and expanded to serve as the seat of the government of the captaincy and, after 1763, of the viceroyalty. During the government of Viceroy Dom Luís de Vasconcelos the square was paved and a fountain installed, based on the designs sent to Rio de Janeiro executed by Charles Mardel, the most important architect at the court in Lisbon. In 1789 the original fountain was replaced by a new one: the work of the Brazilian sculptor and engraver Valentim da Fonseca e Silva, known as Mestre Valentim.
Nevertheless, as the capital of the colony, Rio de Janeiro left much to be desired. The power of a monarchy can be measured by the magnificence of its palaces and monuments, and, in this respect, the new capital of the Portuguese Empire had very little to offer.15 There was, however, one exception: the group of imposing buildings formed by the church and hospital of the Carmelite Order, which had been built in the 1700s. These were beautiful buildings, and although they could not officially be called a ‘palace’ – a prerogative reserved for royal residences – they nonetheless became known as the Paço dos Governadores (Governors’ Palace), and later when the capital was transferred to Rio, the Paço dos Vice-Reis (Viceroy’s Palace). Next to the palace, a carved stone quay had been constructed with three stone steps and a ramp that led down to the sea. The street that ran through the square was called Rua Direita – Straight Street – (present-day 1º de Março), ‘the largest, busiest and most beautiful street in the town […] irregular and crooked despite the name’.16 The street was the centre of commerce, which, like in every small town, closed for a long siesta after lunch. Rio de Janeiro was in fact a sleepy village. The arrival of the court woke it up.
The count had a lot of work ahead of him. He began the preparations on 14 January by moving out of the Viceroy’s Palace and having it made ready for the royal family. The Council Chamber and prison also underwent remodelling: the bars were removed and doors were widened to allow for the entrance of carriages. A new gallery was built connecting the palace to the Council Chamber, so that the royal family would not get their footwear dirty in the muddy streets. A Decree for the Distribution of Lodgings was issued, instructing the owners of the most suitable houses in the immediate surroundings to vacate their properties, which would be used for housing the aristocrats, military officers, merchants and civil servants who had arrived with the Prince Regent. Two letters were written in chalk on the street wall of the houses selected: PR. They officially stood for ‘Príncipe Real’, but in popular jargon they soon acquired a new meaning: ‘ponha-se na rua’ (‘put out in the street’), or ‘prédio roubado’ (‘stolen building’).
The count was equally preoccupied with providing food for the illustrious visitors. He solicited help from the governors of São Paulo and Minas Gerais, both of whom sent supplies. Although scarcity of food was one of the largest problems in the town, he managed to provide a bill of fare that contained foods well known to Europeans, with the addition of one or two novelties: beef, pork, mutton, fowl, manioc, sweet potatoes, beans and corn, as well as grapes, peaches, guavas and bananas. But physical nourishment was not enough. Divine protection also had to be invoked, and a space for the feast provided. An ample programme of religious and civil festivities was decreed, which included the illumination of the city for eight consecutive days, dances and popular entertainment. The streets were adorned and decorations hung from the windows in preparation for the royal procession, in which the Prince Regent and his retinue would be conducted from the docks to the cathedral where a Te Deum would be sung to celebrate his arrival. There would be bullfights, horse races, firework displays, music, dances and theatrical presentations.17 The greatest novelty would be the royal receptions, which included the ritual of kissing the monarch’s hand.18 It was traditional for these ceremonies to be conducted by the viceroy in front of a portrait of the Prince that symbolized the royal presence and the legitimacy of his representative. Much to everyone’s excitement, they would now be conducted by the Prince Regent himself.
It was a struggle. On the morning of 20 January – before he had managed to complete the preparations – he received a semaphore communication from the fortress on the Morro do Pico at the entrance to Guanabara Bay: the royal squadron was approaching the city. There was great excitement in the streets. In their curiosity, people ran to the Praia de Dom Manuel in the area around the port, or climbed to the top of the Morros do Castelo and de São Bento to watch as the fleet arrived. At the end of the afternoon, seven Portuguese ships accompanied by three British vessels dropped anchor in the bay. To the tremendous disappointment of the public – and, to a certain extent, to the relief of the viceroy – only two of the queen’s sisters, Dona Maria Benedita and Dona Maria Ana, and two of the infantas, Maria Francisca de Assis and Isabel Maria, were on-board. Their ships had been separated by the storm and had made their way directly to Rio de Janeiro. They knew nothing of the other ships’ whereabouts. Although they were invited to disembark, the princesses did not accept: they would not set foot in the colony before the Queen and the Prince Regent arrived. They were only to come ashore a month later, on 22 February, after receiving the news that their relatives were safe in Bahia, and would shortly join them in Rio.
Finally, on 7 March 1808, the crème de la crème of the imperial court arrived in Guanabara Bay. The city came to a halt; not a soul remained indoors. Houses, shops, government departments – all were completely deserted. As soon as the royal squadron was sighted on the horizon the signal was given for the tributes to begin: the church bells pealed and fireworks
were set off in the streets. All the ships in the port and the fortresses around the bay were decked out with banners and ensigns. The sound of cannon salutes followed by rounds of rifle fire was simply deafening. It would not have been surprising had the honorees become terrified, fearing the war had now broken out in the tropics! But the noise was not war, it was celebration. No sooner had the fleet docked than the tributes to Dom João and his wife Dona Carlota Joaquina began. Even happier were the Portuguese aristocrats whose ships had been separated from the fleet, and now re-encountered the families and friends whom, for all they knew, had been left behind amid the chaos on the docks in Lisbon. The priest Luís Gonçalves dos Santos – nicknamed Padre Perereca (tree frog) due to his frail build and bulging eyes – was among the observers, and commented with his usual enthusiasm on the royal family’s arrival.19
The royal family, however, did not come ashore that day. The solemnities the Council had been preparing since 16 January had to wait until the following morning, when the travellers had recovered from the long journey. At around four o’clock in the afternoon on 8 March the royal family – with the exception of the queen, Dona Maria – entered the boats that were to take them to the dock. For the people of Rio, to whom the Prince Regent had thus far been little more than a figurehead on coins, pamphlets and engravings, this was an historic occasion. The members of the court were received by the Senate, the clergy and the nobility of the land, wearing their finest clothes and powdered wigs. However, if anyone expected to see a pair of regal figures in purple mantles lined with ermine, they were sorely disappointed. Dom João was short, had a long face, large forehead, a glazed expression in his eyes, meaty lips, low chin ending in double chin, protruding belly, large legs and a shy look. His wife Dona Carlota Joaquina was also short, but unlike her husband, she was angular and bony, and she had a limp. Her face, remarkable for its thin lips, prominent jaw and warts, also revealed the signs of an incipient moustache.20
The disappointment, however, had to be set aside, as the ceremonial could not wait. At an altar in front of the docks, especially set up for the occasion, holy water was sprinkled on the royal family, incense was lit and the Holy Cross presented to the Prince Regent for him to kiss. A line was formed to pay homage to the royal couple, composed of government officials, civilians, military officers and clerics from the various Orders, which followed the Prince and the Princess in a solemn procession to the city cathedral (Igreja do Rosário). The route had been strewn with white sand and aromatic leaves. Quilts of damask and silk hung from windows and verandas from where people threw flowers onto the cortège. In the Rua do Rosário, where a large bandstand had been erected, hymns were sung in praise of the Prince Regent, who was rapidly becoming Brazilian royalty. Meanwhile the chanting of excited crowds could be heard from the streets: ‘Long live our Prince. Long live the Emperor of Brazil.’
When the religious ceremony was over, the Prince Regent and his family left the cathedral for what was now the Paço Real.21 The square was adorned with a display of allegorical figures carved out of wood beneath a balustrade inscribed with verses from Virgil. At the centre of the piece, the coat of arms of the Senate of Rio de Janeiro was mounted on an orb that displayed the royal crest of Portugal: the mother nation united with her American Empire. A portrait of Dom João, adorned with a wreath of roses, was framed by symbolic figures representing the virtues attributed to the Prince: religion, justice, prudence, strength and magnanimity. Before him, between two allegorical figures – on the one side Africa, on the other Portugal, weeping for the absence of her sovereign – knelt an Indian who represented Brazil. Wearing a mantle and leather boots, with his feathered headband resting on the ground, in his outstretched hand he offered the sovereign gold and diamonds: the riches of the land.
To complete the tribute was a painting of the Prince Regent’s ship, entering Guanabara Bay to the sound of cannon fire from the fortresses, and heralded by the words:
For the greater glory of America,
A bounteous heaven sends us John the Sixth.22
Above the ship was painted a serene sky filled with clouds – a metaphor for a peaceful future – and verses by Manuel Inácio da Silva Alvarenga, the Arcadian poet from Minas Gerais:
From afar black clouds exhale
Havoc, poison, pain and death,
Whilst here at home with every breath,
Tranquillity and peace prevail.23
Silva Alvarenga was one of the leaders of the Minas Conspiracy who had been arrested ten years earlier for his part in the plot to found a republic. He was still alive and must have been infuriated that his verses had been purloined to salute a monarch.
It had been a long day. After the Prince Regent and his retinue had retired to the Royal Palace the people continued to celebrate far into the night. There were fireworks, music, poetry recitals and speeches in honour of the Prince Regent, all of which were observed by the Prince from a window in the palace. It had been a good pretext for a fine reception, but also for the symbolic affirmation of the new government. Across the colony, from Recife to São Paulo and Santa Catarina, there were spontaneous demonstrations of support. After all, as far as the people knew, the monarchy had come to stay. Until 1820, that date, 7 March, was decreed a public holiday in Brazil, celebrated as a new discovery.
TIME TO SET UP HOUSE
As soon as he set foot in Rio de Janeiro, the Prince Regent must have realized the amount of work it would take to transform the new capital into the seat of the royal court. He was used to the splendour of Mafra, his favourite palace, and of Queluz, where his mother the queen had resided. The palace now placed at his disposal was a far more modest affair. But if the town could not adapt to the monarch, the monarch would have to adapt to the town. With his wife and children he moved into what had previously been the Viceroy’s Palace in the Largo do Carmo, annexing the Council Chamber and Royal Prison next door as a residence for the palace servants. However, since there was still no room to accommodate the queen, the Carmelite convent was requisitioned as a residence for her, and the friars were transferred to the Order’s seminary in Lapa. It was not long before the Prince Regent found a new palace to live in, however – and one that was at a convenient distance from his wife, with whom his relations had been strained for some time. A rich Portuguese merchant, Elias Antônio Lopes, ceded his country house in São Cristóvão,24 on the outskirts of the town, for the monarch’s use. Although he insisted he had no other motive than ‘His Majesty’s well-being’, years later he would be generously remunerated for his ‘gift’.
Meanwhile the government continued to requisition houses for members of the nobility, civil servants and military officers who had nowhere to live. Some of the local property owners managed to defend themselves against this ‘invasion of aristocrats’ by ‘simulating or even effecting renovations that were entirely unnecessary. Renovations that lasted forever …’25 Others simply ignored the government’s demands. Instead of directing their anger at the Prince Regent himself, citizens turned against members of the royal entourage. They were seen as remorseless ‘liberty takers’.26 As more and more of the royal retinue landed, more and more of the local elite were forced to renounce their houses.
The merchants who already lived in Rio de Janeiro, the majority of whom were Portuguese, did not take kindly to the presence of their fellow countrymen who, with the acquiescence of the Crown, were gradually taking their places. The government soon realized it needed to appease the local people, and to restore itself to the good graces of the aggrieved merchants and local landowners. And what better means of achieving this than by conferring a title of nobility or some other distinction? To this end a General Register of Grace and Favour was established and, in 1810, the Noble Corporation of the Heraldic Kings – as the means for the creation of a nobility in Portuguese America. By the time he returned to Portugal in 1821, Dom João had bestowed no fewer than 254 titles, including eleven dukes, thirty-eight marquises, ninety-one viscounts and thirty
-one barons.27 He also created the Order of the Sword and the titles of Knight and Commander of the Grand Cross.28 As Prince Regent and, after 1816, as king, Don João created 2,630 Knights and Commanders of the Grand Cross of the Order of Christ: 1,422 of the Order of St Benedict of Avis and 590 of the Order of Santiago.29 Alongside the titled aristocracy in Portugal, a new nobility was emerging in Brazil, avid to display the new symbols of its distinction.
The Prince Regent now turned his attention to an effective administration for the new seat of government. Since his arrival in Rio de Janeiro, Dom João had made it clear he would govern the empire from the colony, a decision that he had taken before leaving Lisbon.30 From Brazil he would now send instructions out to all the Portuguese dominions. Dom Rodrigo de Sousa Coutinho was appointed Minister of War and Overseas Affairs; João Rodrigues de Sá e Meneses, Viscount Anadia, Secretary for the Navy and Overseas Dominions (the post he had held in Portugal); and Fernando José de Portugal, Viceroy of Rio de Janeiro from 1801 to 1806, Minister of Internal Affairs.
This triumvirate of ministers soon became the target of popular sarcasm. They were known as the ‘three clocks’: the one that was always fast (Dom Rodrigo); the one that was always slow (Dom Fernando Portugal), and the one that had stopped altogether (Viscount Anadia). And the hands of all three moved prince-wise.31 Meanwhile the number of civil servants continued to grow, clogging up the machine of government and inflating its cost: positions were created with the sole purpose of accommodating the new arrivals, who expected the court to provide them with a means of survival. The hordes of hangers-on – ranging from monsignors, judges, legislators, doctors, royal household servants, the king’s personal servants and favourites of the royal household – behaved like a ‘gang of parasites’. ‘They were vagrants and scroungers […] who continued the profession they’d pursued in Lisbon in the colony’s capital: living at the state’s expense and doing nothing for the good of the nation.’32 In order to fund this increasingly bloated administrative machine, new taxes were imposed on activities all over Brazil. The people’s anger at such unbridled corruption was expressed in ironic verses:
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