The ball was held in an oblong hall, decorated with the flags of the two countries. Of the imperial family, only Pedro Augusto waltzed. Their Imperial Majesties, the Count of Eu and Princess Isabel left early, at one in the morning. The luxury of the occasion was intentional. The island was located opposite the palace, just a short distance by boat. It provided the perfect stage on which to demonstrate the grandeur of the empire. The ball on Fiscal Island was the first ever hosted by a government of the empire. Three thousand invitations were distributed and the main hall was lit up with thousands of candles. Putting their differences aside for the occasion, liberals and conservatives, members of the royal household and the aristocracy, even the first lieutenant of the navy, José Augusto Vinhais – who a few days later was to play a key role in the overthrow of the monarchy – all joined the party.
Although the people of Rio de Janeiro were excluded from the celebrations, entertainment was provided for them in the palace square, including fandangos, singing, and a police band in gala uniform.75 When he came ashore, helped by his ever-faithful doctor Mota Maia, the emperor stumbled. Without losing his presence of mind he said: ‘The monarchy stumbles, but it doesn’t fall.’ Little did he know, it would not be standing for long.
Meanwhile the conspiracy began and things started to move very quickly. On 10 November, Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca,76 Benjamin Constant,77 Sólon Ribeiro,78 Rui Barbosa and the leaders of the Republican Party, Quintino Bocaiúva,79 Francisco Glicério80 and Aristides Lobo,81 met at the marshal’s house. The elderly general needed a good deal of persuading because he preferred to wait until the emperor died. In order to convince him, his companions bombarded him with rumours and denunciations of what the court was planning for the army. There were just four days to go before the overthrow of the monarchy.
As conspiracies proliferated, the monarchy was becoming more and more isolated. In 1874 a serious rift had occurred between the Church and the State. The trouble began with the arrest of two bishops – Dom Vital and Dom Macedo Costa – who had tried to restrict the role of the Masonic lodges in Brazil. But the real reason went deeper – the bishops were frustrated at the government’s hegemony and autonomy. The government, in turn, had reacted harshly with the arrests, and the release of the bishops in September 1875 had done little to heal the rift.
But the army was the deepest source of discontent, and among their ranks were some of the main supporters of positivism and republican government. Since the end of the Paraguayan War, military leaders had been protesting over the ban on officers from making political statements in the press. The tension had been increasing since 1884 when members of the armed forces had supported the movement of the jangadeiros82 – led by Francisco do Nascimento, nicknamed the ‘Dragon of the Sea’. In Ceará, Francisco do Nascimento had refused to transport slaves to the ships that were to take them to the southeast, to the coffee planters and landowners who had bought them. In 1886, in a further demonstration of the army’s independence, Deodoro da Fonseca refused to punish a group of officers for insubordination, and was dismissed from his post. When he arrived back in Rio de Janeiro in January 1887, instead of repudiation, the military student cadets gave him a hero’s welcome.
Under pressure from the Paulista republicans and the increasing unrest in the army, Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca was forced to act before he was ready. Upon hearing the rampant rumour that Major Sólon had been arrested, he mounted his horse and rode to army headquarters, where he somewhat confusedly presented himself with the words: ‘Long live His Majesty the Emperor, the Imperial family and the Army.’ He then made his way to the court where he deposed the Viscount of Ouro Preto and said that he would personally form a new government for the emperor. There is controversy as to whether this was how it actually happened. It appears more likely that Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca and Benjamin Constant met at the army headquarters where they were joined by a contingent of around a thousand men, in addition to members of the navy. But the atmosphere was still one of uncertainty. It is unlikely that there was any public proclamation of the Republic at that point.
Between the dismissal of the Viscount of Ouro Preto and the proclamation of the Republic there was a lapse. The emperor waited in the palace for Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca’s visit, but the general never came, probably because he felt he could not face the old monarch. The hesitation of the conspirators was obvious. In the end, the youngest member of the Municipal Chamber, José do Patrocínio, announced the proclamation of the Republic in their meeting. The next day, the first edition of the Diário Oficial da República dos Estados Unidos do Brasil published the proclamation of the provisional government – announcing the extinction of the monarchy. But no one had yet informed the emperor. Such was the embarrassment that instead of sending a committee of high-ranking officers or senior politicians and diplomats, a delegation of subaltern officers was sent, at three in the morning on 16 November, to inform Dom Pedro II that the imperial family had been banished.
Before the imperial couple had come down to the city of Rio de Janeiro from their winter palace in the hills of Petrópolis, the empress had expressed her dismay that all was lost, to which the emperor had replied: ‘Nonsense dear lady! As soon as we get back all this will be over.’83 But his confidence was soon shaken. The provisional government gave the imperial family a period of twenty-four hours to leave Brazil. Ever theatrical, in his official response the emperor of the tropics, Dom Pedro II, paraphrased Napoleon, affirming that he would now leave the country ‘that was so dear to his heart’.84
It had been decided that Dom Pedro II would depart the afternoon of 17 November, after eleven o’clock Mass at the Carmelite church. However, anxious that pro-monarchy protesters would clash with republican students, the provisional government resolved to have the imperial family depart immediately. And so it was that Dom Pedro II and his family embarked before dawn. As the story goes, this was the only time the emperor engaged in a tense exchange. Dom Pedro II is said to have asked Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca if he was ‘mixed up with this’, and on receiving an affirmative reply, retorted: ‘I’m not an escaped slave. I will not leave in the middle of the night.’ Then, lashing out against the republicans, he yelled, ‘All of you are mad!’ Later in the day the provisional government published the following announcement: ‘Fellow citizens: the people, the army and the national armada, in perfect communion with the feelings of our fellow citizens in the provinces, have decreed the deposition of the imperial dynasty …’ The terms were changing, and they were announcing new times. As the emperor boarded the Parnaíba, he was surrounded by others who were either leaving of their own volition or had been exiled. With their departure, the fate of the monarchy was sealed. But as yet the new Republic was far from being established.
The republican project – despite the initial hesitation – was a legitimate solution to the collapse of the empire. It was more than an institutional change; instead, it was a response to increased public participation throughout the 1880s. Politics were no longer restricted to the parliament. With incidents such as the corruption surrounding the ‘theft of the crown jewels’, the monarchy had begun to lose its legitimacy. Intellectual trends were also influential insofar as learned people were using new language, were unafraid of controversy, and were undermining the three pillars of the empire: the monarchy, religion and romanticism in the arts. The intellectuals transformed the theories of evolution, materialism and positivism into action. Progress and modernization were associated with the word ‘republic’. New concepts – public space, learning and intellectual thought – created a new political culture and new symbols. The new Republic was under way.
But even so, uncertainty – the steady companion of even the best-laid plans – reigned. In his novel Esaú e Jacó, Machado de Assis recounts the hilarous story of a certain Mr Custódio who owned a shop called ‘The Imperial Bakery’. Coincidentally, on the day of the proclamation of the Republic, Mr Custódio had sent his bakery sign out to be touched up. Whe
n he learned about the proclamation, he tried to catch the sign painter in time, so he could have him stop the work. It was too late, the sign was finished. In desperation, Mr Custódio consulted the good Counsellor Aires, who advised him to change the name to ‘The Republican Bakery’. But then the two of them, worried about future political changes, had second thoughts – what if the Republic fell? Counsellor Aires suggested another new name, ‘The Government Bakery’. Next, they realized every government faces opposition, and someone might even destroy that sign. It then occurred to Counsellor Aires that the name ‘Imperial Bakery’ could be maintained, with a simple addition – ‘founded in 1860’ – just to avoid problems. They soon realized that name sounded old-fashioned – definitely not a good idea in such modern times! They finally agreed the shop should be named after the owner, ‘Custódio’s Bakery’, and the problem was solved. The narrator concludes the anecdote with the comment: ‘He had to spend a bit of money to have the word “Imperial” changed to “Custódio’s”, but revolutions always entail expense.’85
13
The First Republic: The People Take to the Streets
A NEW ERA AND A BATTLE OF SYMBOLS
On 17 November 1889, a Sunday, the imperial family departed at three in the morning, with a few of their supporters who had chosen to accompany them into exile. It is said that those in charge thought it best the family leave before the sun came up, to avoid a public outcry. The former emperor, refusing to bow before defeat, let it be known he would take nothing with him except a first edition of Camões’s The Lusiads, ‘that was all he needed’. In so doing, he maintained the perspective that ‘kings are never exiled, they decide to take their leave’. Of course, that is not what actually happened: as soon as Dom Pedro II arrived in Portugal, the Brazilian government formally decreed his banishment. The decree of 23 December 1889 also provided financial assistance of 5E000 contos de réis for him to establish himself and his family in Europe. But the former monarch refused to accept the money. His attitude irritated the provisional government and in an amendment written by Cabinet minister Rui Barbosa the donation was eliminated; and that was the end of the matter. The time had come to turn that page of Brazilian history and to open a new one: the era of the Republic.
To prove the Republic had come to stay, place names and national symbols were changed as quickly as possible to give a public face to the new regime. The name of the Largo do Paço (the main palace square) was changed to Praça XV de Novembro; the Pedro II Railway Station to Central do Brasil; the Colégio Pedro II to the Colégio Nacional, and the Vila Ouro Preto, a development of elegant town houses, was renamed Vila Rui Barbosa. The images on the banknotes were also, of course, changed: Pedro II and the monarchy were replaced with symbols of the new Republic of the United States of Brazil. Newly born children were named after historical figures from North America, such as Jefferson, Franklin and Washington.1 The name of Rio de Janeiro was changed by decree, from ‘The Court’ to the ‘Federal Capital’, although for a long time the Cariocas continued to refer to it by its old name. The national celebrations previously listed in the Almanack Laemmert were also altered: 1 January became ‘universal fraternity’ day; 13 May, ‘Brazilian fraternity’; 14 July, ‘the republic’, and 21 April, ‘precursors’ day’. This last was in tribute to Tiradentes, the only participant in the Minas conspiracy who had been condemned to death (in 1789). Since no one knew anything about his physical appearance, he was increasingly depicted like the figure of Christ: a candid look, white garments with a crucifix on the chest, and long hair coming down to his shoulders.2 From that moment on, the image of the new hero would triumph in Brazil’s political iconography, which presented Tiradentes not only as a revolutionary symbol but also as the martyr who sacrificed himself for the Republic.
On 20 January 1890 a public contest was organized for a new national anthem. The winning submission was a composition by Leopoldo Miguez3 and José Joaquim de Campos de Medeiros e Albuquerque, and yet the old anthem was maintained, even though it had not even been in the contest. Apparently Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca said he ‘preferred the old one’; this, despite the rumour Pedro I had helped to compose it! Even the new national flag maintained the colours green and yellow, representing the colours of the Houses of Bragança and Habsburg, not Brazil’s forests and mineral wealth, a concept attached to the flag later on. The new flag maintained the diamond; the only difference was that the imperial coat of arms therein was replaced with the positivist slogan ‘Order and Progress’.4 Despite all these efforts the images of the monarchy continued to be deeply rooted in the popular imagination, as they continue to be today, not only in political rhetoric, but also in Brazil’s fascination with honorary orders and rituals of consecration.
Nonetheless some changes had come to stay. The symbol of the Indian to represent the empire was now replaced by that of a heroic woman, who came to represent the Republic in newspaper advertisments and even in official documents. This association dated back to classical Rome, and more recently had been popularized in France in the period preceding the Third Republic. But whereas in France the image of Marianne was popular, with her bare breasts, mantle and Phrygian bonnet – representing the ideals of liberty, happiness and maternal fertility – the allegory failed in Brazil, even in its positivist form. In Brazil, women stayed at home, with their breasts and virtually every other part of their body clothed – and without the right to participate in politics.
THE ‘COFFEE WITH MILK’ REPUBLIC5
The 1891 Constitution defined the new regime – a presidential, federalist and bicameral system.6 The separation of Church and State was established, as was a national register of births, marriages and deaths. The new federalist government was no longer centralized, in part to establish a clear break with the monarchical system. Former provinces – now known as states – were given greater autonomy and powers of fiscal control. The idea that a monarchy was necessary for the sake of national cohesion was put to rest.
The centralizing mechanism during the empire – the Moderating Power – was replaced by a system of balance of powers between the Executive, Legislature and Judiciary. Freedom of religion was guaranteed, life mandates for senators were abolished, and suffrage was extended. The right to vote remained as restricted as it had been under the empire: only adult male Brazilians who could read and write were enfranchised. Those who were not enfranchised included women, beggars, soldiers, sergeants, and members of religious orders that imposed restrictions on individual liberty.
Long-standing policies of the empire were also held in place. Indeed, one of these was the oligarchical structure of the nation: new electoral laws perpetuated the limitations on voters and on citizens eligible for public office. In 1874 only about 10 per cent of the population voted. During the Republic, instead of the sharp increase in the number of voters that could have been expected, the restrictive suffrage criteria were extended. In 1910 only 67,000 were entitled to vote out of a population of 22 million. In 1920 the percentage was between 2.3 and 3.4 per cent of the total population.
The role of the army in the new regime was of prime importance. It should not be forgotten that the Republic resulted from actions taken by a group of officers who were both socially and intellectually opposed to the civilian elite of the empire. They were dissatisfied not only with the situation of the country, but also with their own political status.7 But there were internal divisions within this group as well: they disagreed as to the significance of republicanism and the objectives of the institutions of the new regime. They were also divided by personal ambitions and rivalries, and by their ideas for the future of the army and the country itself. Furthermore, the prestige the Republic conferred on the military encouraged the political ambitions of the officers, which also exacerbated internal disputes. On top of this, the civilian elites were uneasy and divided on the subject of the role the army should play in the new regime.
At the outset the republican regime was maintained by force. Until 1894
, the country had been governed by the military: Marshal Deodoro da Fonseca, leader of the coup d’état of 15 November 1889, became the Republic’s first president, followed by his vice-president, Marshal Floriano Peixoto. Deodoro da Fonseca’s presidency was far from easy. In 1891 the first ‘revolt of the Armada’ broke out. The spark that ignited the revolt was when President Deodoro da Fonseca, in flagrant violation of the constitution, closed the Congress in an attempt at a second coup d’état. His action was largely a response to his inability to deal with the opposition. His detractors were frustrated with the economic chaos that marked the first years of the Republic, the rampant speculation, fraud and inflation. Under the command of Admiral Custódio de Mello most of the fleet anchored in Guanabara Bay revolted. The armada – as the navy was called at the time – threatened to bombard the city if the Congress was not reopened. Faced with a choice between defeat and a civil war, President Deodoro da Fonseca resigned on 23 November 1891.
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