Meanwhile the same revolutionary breeze was beginning to blow in Lisbon. At the beginning of the French invasion, in 1807, and particularly after Dom João declared war against Napoleon on 1 May 1808, there had been popular demonstrations in support of the Bragança dynasty. Two further Napoleonic invasions, in 1809 and 1810, intensified the widespread hostility towards the French. It almost seemed as if, in spite of the uprisings, Napoleon’s troops were unwilling to accept defeat, could not resist the attempt to control the now kingless metropolis. Meanwhile, the Anglo-Portuguese forces’ final expulsion of the French towards the end of 1810 fundamentally modified the situation: with the re-establishment of Portuguese sovereignty, there was no longer any justification for the king to remain in Brazil. Faced with King João’s apparent inertia with regard to returning to Lisbon, the last demonstrations of blind loyalty to the monarch from the Portuguese population gave away to general indignation.
To make matters worse, a crisis now engulfed the Portuguese state. Crops failed, coins became scarce, paper currency lost its value, and the credit offered by other European countries vanished. According to the Portuguese elites, to re-establish Portugal’s wealth and stability Brazil’s increasing autonomy would have to be reined in. Not only did they attribute the growing financial disasters to Brazil, they also accused their ‘Brazilian brothers’ of neglect: ‘From Brazil they sent us neither troops, nor money, nor meat, nor flour, nor sugar, nor rice […] nor indeed anything at all.’2 Deprived of the resources of its overseas dominions, without profits from colonial trade and humiliated by its dependence on Britain, Portugal had been relegated to a secondary position within its own imperial system. Even the king seemed oblivious to the plight of its citizens. The crisis was economic, political and symbolic. The Portuguese elite believed that in order to avoid irreversible, radical consequences a gesture of great symbolic importance was now essential: the return of the king.
Within this context the 1820 Liberal Revolution of Porto broke out. The revolution represented two different aspirations. On the one side were the constitutionalists, who proposed that the constitution delineate the fundamental laws of the state, a general system of government, and the regulation of the rights and duties of citizens. Their slogan was ‘Cortes e Constituição’ (‘Courts and Constitution’). On the other side were the monarchists, who defended a sovereign national monarchy – which, in this case, meant the immediate return to Portugal of Dom João VI or, even better, of the whole royal family. These opposing factions in Portugal developed within a broader divide. One faction defended the ideal of political ‘Regeneration’, a shaking-up of Portuguese despotism. Supporters of this movement promoted freedom, constitutionalism and constitutional liberalism. The other faction demanded ‘realistic restoration’, the return and strengthening of monarchic regimes as proposed by France and the coalition formed by Russia, Austria and Prussia. Representatives of these countries, better known as the Holy Alliance, met at the Congress of Vienna between 1814 and 1815.
This polarization was the background from which a liberal, nationalist, constitutionalist movement now emerged. Their goal was clear: to restore the Portuguese-Brazilian Empire, based on a constitution, and to ensure that Portugal maintained its political and economic control at all costs. It goes without saying that these ideas were not well received in Brazil. They indicated that Lisbon was still unable to see beyond the traditional colonial structure and was only concerned with guaranteeing its own interests. The dream of a Luso-Brazilian Empire had almost come to an end.
It is hard to see how the Portuguese Revolution of 1820 could have been anything but a paradox. It was late in coming: participants in the Congress of Vienna were already imposing conservative measures across the continent of Europe. Nevertheless, new ideas and social practices were introduced: the intention of the revolutionaries was to establish a constitutional monarchy that would put an end to the ancien régime, although they viewed the king, rather than the nation, as the central force in this new society. Lastly, but no less importantly, they preferred the concept of ‘regeneration’ to that of ‘revolution’.3
With the arrival of Reason and Light on the political scene, a new political language emerged. In Portugal, the term ‘liberal’ had been adopted after the Cortes de Cádiz – the assembly of Spain’s Cortes Generales that had met in exile in Cádiz in 1810 and proposed the abolition of the ancien régime. In this context a ‘liberal’ was a person who defended the ‘good of the Fatherland’ in everything he did – a proponent of law and order, a believer in the freedom of expression and influential in public administration. This new political agenda included concepts such as the social contract, the importance of the constitution, and the autonomy and sovereignty of Parliament. In the Portuguese context, liberalism allowed for the recognition of the rights of others and a constitutional political system, which stood in contrast to the ancien régime model.
The works written by the ‘fatal’ encyclopedists – the group of eighteenth-century French Enlightenment intellectuals, including Rousseau, Montesquieu and Diderot – circulated within the kingdom despite systematic repression: books were burnt, banned from circulation or confiscated and locked away inside public libraries. The Portuguese press published abroad also did much to regenerate revolutionary ideas in Portugal. Chief among these publications was the Correio Braziliense, published in London by Hipólito José da Costa between 1808 and 1822, and banned in Portugal between 1811 and 1817. But there were several others, including the Investigador Português em Inglaterra, founded in 1812 in opposition to the Correio, but which changed its position in 1814; O Português ou Mercúrio Político, Comercial e Literário (the most contentious, and for this reason the most censored); and the Campeão português (the most doctrinaire of the journals, banned in 1819). These periodicals all actively sought to disseminate liberal ideas. A taste of their rhetoric can be seen in this example published in O Português on 30 April 1814:
While great revolutions spread across Europe, only the Portuguese government […] sleeps deeply, on the edge of the abyss […] erecting an impenetrable wall to block out the lights that come from our neighbours, as though they were contraband.4
Despite their differences, the various periodicals embarked on a campaign of enlightenment, uniting in their demand for a Portuguese constitution. It is no coincidence that, in June 1820, a month before the revolution occurred, O Campeão appealed to the king: ‘Awake, father, and hurry; if you don’t hurry, there may be no one left to save.’5
Dom João, however, remained immune to such appeals, preferring to remain in his palace in São Cristóvão in Rio de Janeiro, even if the price to pay was the adoption of a constitutional regime in Portugal.6 However, with the climate as it was in Europe, decisions could no longer depend entirely on the wishes of the king. On the one hand, the movements in favour of ‘regeneration’ sought to establish a liberal constitutional monarchy as the best solution for Portugal – in which the role of the king would be limited and the actual control of the government would be the responsibility of Constitutional Courts.7 On the other hand, more radical groups were already openly discussing a change in the dynasty or even in the political regime. Nevertheless, ‘freedom’ was still a rare word in Portugal, where newspapers were censored and secret societies persecuted.
However, it was precisely in these clandestine meetings, especially societies associated with the Masonic lodges, that the revolution was hatched. In Porto, on 22 January 1818, a group of nobles and property owners, many of whom were lawyers, formed a secret society that they called the Sanhedrin.8 Although the movement expanded during the next few years, it had no clearly defined revolutionary goals.9 The profile of its members was sufficient explanation for their moderation. Furthermore, the society never questioned the legitimacy of the House of Bragança. The members of the military who joined the insurgents in 1820 were equally cautious, and for the same reason. But the radicalization of the movement was unstoppable and on the morning of
24 August 1820 revolutionary troops seized the Campo de Santo Ovídio, Porto’s main plaza and barracks. After the formation of a provisional government, the Constitutional Courts were convened for the first time since 1698 and given the task of preparing a new constitution. The House of Bragança was to be spared but the royal family’s immediate return to Portugal was demanded as a question of national honour. An outdoor Mass was held, soldiers and citizens applauded the speeches and cannon salutes were fired. And thus began the Liberal Revolution of 1820.
The Courts appointed a Constitutional Assembly made up of members of the nobility and the bourgeoisie, including members of the clergy and military officers, all of whom were drawn from the ranks of the Sanhedrin society. But new converts to the cause were needed, and it was not difficult to find them. Naturally there was disagreement between the ‘revolutionaries’ and ‘realists’. Nonetheless, the movement continued to gather momentum and, on 15 September 1820, Lisbon joined the revolution. On 1 October the Provisional Constitutional Assembly decreed its first measures, which changed censorship laws and established elections of the deputies who were to write the new Imperial Constitution. The Courts were then established as the principal representatives of the nation, and elections were to be regulated. Throughout 1821 and 1822 the Constitutional Courts consolidated the clauses of the new constitution, while upholding the fundamental role of the monarchy.
The elected deputies began by establishing the internal procedures of the Courts, appointing commissions and establishing a new regency government. The work began on 26 January 1821 with a full agenda, including freedom of the press, new civil and criminal codes, the abolition of the Inquisition, a reduction in the number of religious orders and amnesty for political prisoners. Since the Middle Ages the Courts had been an institution for consultation. Now, faced with the responsibility of reconstructing the country, they acted as an executive body. The plan was to get the political support of the entire Portuguese Empire for the proposed Regeneration. In the north of Brazil the captaincies of Pará and Bahia immediately joined the Portuguese cause. As King João continued to postpone a decision, the opinions of his advisers and ministers were divided. Some thought either he or his son should depart for Lisbon immediately. Others believed he should remain, arguing that it was better to be a complete monarch in Brazil than half a monarch under a constitutional monarchy in Portugal. And there were still others who realized that a liberal revolution in Portugal would lead to greater freedoms for the colony as well.
The national debate occurred even among men close to the king. The Count of Palmela,10 for example, upon his return to Rio de Janeiro in December 1820, suggested that the king’s son, Dom Pedro, should be sent back to Portugal instead of the king himself. The Count of Palmela believed King João’s absence would have disastrous consequences for the colony. Tómas Antônio de Vila Nova Portugal, the king’s closest adviser, thought the monarch should impose his authority by simply remaining where he was and demanding obedience and submission from Portugal. The Count of Arcos, Minister of the Navy, was more pragmatic; he had little doubt that the king’s days in the colony were numbered.
There was also disagreement among the various political factions. The ‘Portuguese party’ in Rio de Janeiro was in favour of the king’s return to Lisbon. The members were high-ranking military officers, merchants and bureaucrats, whose interests were best served by a return to the old colonial system with the subordination of Brazil to Lisbon. The ‘Brazilian party’, on the other hand, wanted the king to stay in Brazil. This faction was made up of owners of rural estates in the captaincies surrounding Rio de Janeiro, bankers, military officers and members of the government and the judiciary who had been born in Brazil. They began to draw up plans for a ‘government independent from Portugal’. The third group was known as the ‘democratic party’. Its members included most of the clergy and the civil service whose goal was to establish ‘independent provincial governments’.11
These were not exactly ‘parties’, at least not in the modern sense of the word, but rather associations of people with similar opinions and interests that positioned themselves in favour of or against certain political practices. The word ‘party’ had a negative connotation at the time because it was linked to the notion of political factions and groups that promoted public disorder. As a matter of fact, throughout 1821–2 the term ‘parties’ was used to describe various groups expressing their discontent. The newspapers referred to the complaints of the ‘Paulista party’, the ‘ultra party’, the ‘European party’, the ‘colonial oppression party’ and the party of ‘demagogues and anarchists’. In general, these so-called parties could be divided into two broad categories. The first, predominant in Rio de Janeiro, was made up of Portuguese military officers and merchants loyal to the Courts in Lisbon. The second adopted a more independent stance and looked to the king’s son, Dom Pedro, for leadership. The role of the Masonic lodges became increasingly important for the latter group, serving as its political voice and a catalyst for discontent.12
For his part, King Dom João was still in doubt. He was neither prepared to return to Portugal nor to send his son – an alternative plan, incidentally, that was known to everyone except the prince himself. Married and with children of his own, Dom Pedro was kept completely in the dark. During this period, a pamphlet, written in French, began to circulate in the court, entitled ‘In the present circumstances, should the King and the Bragança family return to Portugal or remain in Brazil?’13 The ideas in the pamphlet were based on those of Tomás Antônio de Vila Nova Portugal who, as mentioned above, was opposed to the king and his family’s return to Portugal. The pamphlet’s argument went as follows: 1) Portugal needed Brazil more than the other way round; 2) the departure of the royal family would be a catalyst for independence; 3) Dom João could consolidate his authority in Brazil, from where he could found an empire with worldwide political influence; 4) in Lisbon, Dom João would be a hostage of the rebels; 5) he could better control the prosperous Portuguese Empire from Brazil; and 6) he could implement the changes currently being demanded at some future date. The authorship of the document was attributed to the French emigré Lieutenant-Colonel Francisco Cailhé de Geines. However, within court circles it was known that it had been written on the instructions of Tomás Antônio de Vila Nova Portugal, with the acquiescence of the king.14
At that time, pamphlets – both printed and in manuscript – were one of the few available means for disseminating political opinions and information on controversial topics.15 Those circulating throughout 1821 and 1822 revealed an emerging population of engaged citizens, and they adopted a new political vocabulary. Pamphlets could be written to undermine the legitimacy of royal authority as well as to support it, to question the ties between Brazil and Portugal, or to promote the permanence of the Portuguese Brazilian Empire. Most of these documents were written in Bahia and Rio de Janeiro to encourage citizens to become involved, arguing that it was no longer possible to remain on the margins of these debates. The positions of the two captaincies were radically different. Initially, Bahia, whose trade was almost entirely carried out directly with Portugal and Africa, was against British ‘interference’16 and in favour of the Courts. Rio de Janeiro, on the other hand, which had been the greatest beneficiary of Dom João VI’s government, placed all its bets on Dom Pedro remaining in the colony.
At the beginning of 1821 it was deemed fit to at last inform Dom Pedro that his departure for Lisbon was virtually certain. Despite the fact that his wife, Princess Leopoldina, was eight months pregnant and the two would have to be separated, the prince was delighted with the idea. He saw it as a chance to make his triumphant entry into the political scene. But he did not depart, not at that time. The idea seems to have been a manoeuvre to give Dom João yet another excuse to procrastinate; nevertheless, he made haste to comfort his daughter-in-law, fearing that the idea of her husband’s departure could affect the birth of his future grandson. The situation rapidly came to
a head. In February 1821, Dom João found himself obliged to swear fealty to the new constitution, his final official act in Brazil. With the prospect of the weakening of his royal authority, the monarch was assailed by another attack of chronic indecision. Then on 7 March the Courts in Lisbon issued decrees determining the return of the king to Portugal, with his son Dom Pedro to remain in Brazil as regent; furthermore, rules were set in place for the election of the Brazilian deputies who would represent the colony in Lisbon.
The situation, which was already serious, became explosive. On 21 April 1821, in one of Rio de Janeiro’s main civic buildings, located on the Praça do Comércio, a meeting of the electorate was abruptly interrupted with shouts of ‘Let the People rule Brazil!’ and ‘Revolution!’ The crowds demanded that Dom João VI sign the Spanish Constitution of Cádiz of 1812, and remain in the country. While the king hesitated and was inclined to agree, his son ordered the demonstration to be crushed. Maria Graham, the princes’ tutor, described the attack, lamenting the thirty deaths and many wounded.17 The next day the words ‘Bragança Butcher’ appeared scrawled across the building’s façade.
When the court finally departed on 26 April 1821 there was one person who seemed delighted to leave: Queen Carlota Joaquina, who had never concealed her dislike of court life in Rio de Janeiro. Only Dom Pedro remained behind as the monarchy’s arm in Brazil. A retinue of ministers, court officials, diplomats and their families, estimated at four thousand people, left along with the king. The Brazilian deputies followed a few months later. ‘To go or not to go, to stay or not to stay’ – that was the tropical ‘Shakespearean’ dilemma the king had to face.
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